#I haven’t been to the city in 4 months. I will not let my bog self make me feel like shit today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 1 year

Text

I posted 42 times in 2022

That's 4 more posts than 2021!

5 posts created (12%)

37 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@elytrians

@muchymozzarella

@hamartia-grander

@demigoddessqueens

@thotty-bog-body

I tagged 42 of my posts in 2022

#not writing - 32 posts

#not mine - 10 posts

#art tag - 6 posts

#lol - 4 posts

#resident evil - 4 posts

#@hermione-grander - 2 posts

#my love! - 2 posts

#i dont think im capable of normal anymore - 1 post

#me w/ my villians - 1 post

#next tumblr april fools pls and thank u - 1 post

Longest Tag: 82 characters

#like i adore all of the adaptatiosn but am also sad that were loosing the og myths

My Top Posts in 2022:

hey... r u alive??

Am,,, I...?

(Lol, jk- yes I am. And I'm working on stuff I promise.)

((On A Totally Unrelated Note: Do NOT stop masking and get covid again because it can literally steal months of your life.))

0 notes - Posted October 11, 2022

not for nothing but i absolutely do see the trend of newcomer tumblr users only liking posts and not reblogging them

0 notes - Posted May 6, 2022

actually have a wip!!!

woo-hoo!!!

6 notes - Posted March 30, 2022

update. ask box still closed.

i survived the fall semester only to get covid.... ugh. omnicron is no joke.

stay safe out there y’all!

-Mothmom 💚

7 notes - Posted January 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Nurse!Reader x Carlos Oliveira & Nikolai Zinoviev Headcanons

A/N: (Everyone’s a touch OOC as I doubt either one would willingly drag a civilian along, albeit for different reasons: Carlos because once you’ve been escorted to safety, you’re no longer his immediate concern; Nikolai because he was never all that interested in saving civilians, to begin with, but let’s say you’re just so darn cute/special that you alter canon circumstances, okay? Okay. Also, all of them survive RE3 in this, so yeah.)

☣ ☢ ☣ ☢

When shit starts hitting the fan, you don't panic immediately. After all, you work in a hospital, what better place to be during a pandemic, right?

Wrong! Oh so wrong.

You see the effects of the T-virus up close and personal, and it’s not pretty. Prior to this point, you thought such viruses only existed in science fiction or cheesy B-grade horror movies. But here it was in your workplace, quickly overcoming all quarantined forces, hospital staff, and security.

So you flee. You leave through a back exit and get the hell out of dodge, or at least, the center of dodge. You soon find, however, that it’s not just the hospital that’s overrun, but the city as well.

Maybe that’s how you meet them…

Carlos:

He swoops in and saves you from a hoard of zombies, looking like an A-list action star as he does it. (It’s the hair- it’s incredible.)

He tells you his platoon is rounding up survivors in the subway, that it’s a temporary shelter until they can get the trains up and running again. That he and his teammates were sent in to get everyone safely out of the city. You’re not sure if you believe this plan, but you follow him eagerly as he leads you to the subway.

On the way, you tell him who you are. When he finds out you’re medical personnel, he’s both impressed and relieved. He tells you his captain has been injured, and they haven’t come across a doctor or nurse that hasn't already been infected. You of course offer to help in any way your can. (Because you’re awesome like that.)

You’re not surprised when he tells you he’s working with Umbrella because you also work with Umbrella as a hospital employee. But to you, they’re a pharmaceutical company, why would they need military personnel? It doesn't sit right with you, but Carlos is an absolute sweetheart. (I mean the man is cracking jokes in the middle of the apocalypse.) So you trust the guy.

Carlos does his best to assure you you’re not a burden or some sort of unwanted weight when you first arrive at the subway car. Mainly, because he can tell by the way you keep offering to help get the trains running, even though you’d be no match for the horde, but also because of Nikolai’s snide comments about Carlos bringing in “yet another one” when the cars still weren’t working. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s our job to protect you.”

Carlos takes you to his Captain- Captain Mikhail Victor in charge of Umbrella's Delta Platoon. You try and treat the Captain’s injury the best you can, using what little supplies from the first-aid kit that’s available. You apply a generous amount of first aid spray and wrap a makeshift bandage around the cut. You would have attempted sutures if the kit had any but unfortunately for the Captain, it didn’t. The wound isn’t deep but it’s in a compromising place. You know this man won’t make it out of here on foot.

Overall, you feel you’ve done an inadequate job because you know the Captain is still incredibly vulnerable, but both Carlos and Mikhail assure you, you’ve been more than helpful.

But you want to help more! When Carlos admits he and Tyrell won’t be catching the train and will instead stay behind to look for Bard, you offer to come with them, to help them navigate the hospital.

Of course, everyone thinks it’s a horrible idea. One: because Bard is supposedly at the police station, not the hospital, and Two: because you have no weapons training whatsoever. You’re a walking liability. Nikolai teases Carlos about “taking on the burdens of strays”. You flip him off behind his back.

After a ton of back and forth, you insist you go with Carlos and Tyrell, refusing to get on the train. At one point you take a seat on the ground of the platform and cross your arms stubbornly. (You’re not going and they can’t make you!)

Carlos is the first to accept the situation and roll with the punches. “Alright. But I have one rule.” He says. “No dying on me.”

You stand, smile, and shake his hand. “Deal.”

The three of you make it to the police station, where you hang back with Tyrell in the main lobby as Carlos looks around for Bard. Once it’s revealed that Bard is still at the hospital, you offer to escort Carlos there. After giving him your best “I told you so” smirk that is.

On the way you find Jill, clearly having been infected by something, even though you’re not certain what. But none of that matters as you and Carlos bring her to the practically abandoned hospital.

Once Jill is settled, you give Carlos some directions and a rudimentary drawing of where to locate the asshole Bard’s office. “You’ll need a voice key,” you tell him. “You’d have to look around these rooms for one of his cassettes.”

He thanks you before asking you to look after Jill for the time being. You promise to radio him if her condition worsens.

When Carlos comes back with the vaccine, you could practically kiss the man. You don’t, of course, it wouldn't be appropriate. (But the thought does cross your mind very briefly.) Carlos lets you administer the vaccine to Jill, you being the trained nurse and all. With all that's happened, being able to do some actual healing feels like nothing short of a miracle.

You begin to take notes on Jill’s condition, commenting that although it doesn’t seem to be a speedy cure, her fever’s going down and her skin doesn’t look as clammy.

The miraculous feeling doesn't last long, however, as Tyrell comes bursting through the room, clearly out of breath and pretty banged-up. He turns on the TV and to your horror, you find you have only hours to make it out of Racoon City unless you want to be vaporized. (Which, no, thank you! You certainly don’t!)

After catching up, Tyrell being high-key surprised you’re still alive, (which honestly, you’re like ‘same’ lol) you decide to go with Carlos underground, to locate the stockpiled vaccine as a last-ditch effort to save the city. You hope whatever they made, that there’s tons of it.

Before going underground though, Carlos gives you a gun from one of the killed security guards. It only has a few bullets but he feels safer knowing you’re not just going to walk completely weaponless into whatever danger Umbrella has waiting for you.

See the full post

187 notes - Posted April 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #bruh this year kicked my ass fr

4 notes · View notes

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years

Text

Dennis

Welllllll this one got a bit away from me. I blame cabin fever (two days snowed in) and my angst addiction. Story 4 for @drawlight‘s advent challenge.

Couple of notes: Dennis, MA is a real place, and chosen for the setting because (a) it is the site of the first recorded commercial cranberry bog in America, and (b) it has a very silly name. It’s actually quite nice, if you manage to visit between the overcrowded tourist season and the completely dead off season, Crowley just has no patience.

Cranberry wine is not as common as the story might imply, especially in 1982. Crowley is drinking Truro Vineyard’s Cranberry Red from their Lighthouse Wine Series, which my parents are big fans of (it’s good, if you like red wines), even though that wasn’t available until the late 2000s. Bad historian, no cookie for you.

Thanks to @angel-and-serpent for reminding me about the wolf spiders.

04 - Cranberry (2,600 words)

Crowley sat on the four-poster bed, staring at the phone. The clock beside it clicked from 1:59 PM to 2:00. He tensed…but nothing happened.

Don’t panic. It’s not always exactly the same time. He tried to occupy himself by listing things he disliked about the hotel room.

The lighting room was atrocious, casting everything in a sickly yellow color. Even sitting alone, he wore his glasses to dull the glow a little. The bed was…passably comfortable, the quilt too stiff, the pillows far too flat. The carpet was worn, though only a little. The color scheme was too…green. He’d seen three ants, which might just be a coincidence, or the start of an infestation.

The phone rang, a sharp jangle cutting right across his nerves. 2:03 PM.

He scooped up the handset and said as casually as possible, “Yeah?”

And relaxed, smile drifting across his face that he’d never allow in a face-to-face conversation.

“No, I’m not too busy, Angel. How was your week?”

Slowly, he leaned back on the bed, stretching the coiled cord as far as it would go.

“Really? No. The audacity, coming in and trying to buy a book. What do they think it is, some kind of shop?” He listened another moment. “Aziraphale, I am taking this exactly as seriously as it deserves.”

He listened for a while longer, with an occasional, “Yeah. Yeah.”

“How are my plants?” He frowned. “Perfectly fine? They’re dropping leaves all over the shop, aren’t they?” Rolled his eyes and sat up. “No, I don’t care if it’s November, they know what’s expected of them. I’ve only been gone…” he sighed. “Twenty months.” He was really going to have to re-establish dominance when he got back.

“Nah, I mean, New York was great. Plenty going on there. We should – you should – yeah, I think you’d like it there.” He winced. He sounded pathetic. “Then two days ago, hey, congratulations, now on to the next location. But…I really think someone cocked this one up. No way this is where I’m supposed to be.”

“Dennis.”

He jumped to his feet. “No, not Dennis who, Dennis. It’s a town.” Pacing was difficult in a room this small. He almost immediately became tangled in the phone cord. “I have no idea who names a town ‘Dennis.’” He struggled to free himself without moving the earpiece. “Some bloody tourist place, beaches and sea food, only it’s the off-season.”

He kicked the last bit of cord off his leg – how had that even gotten there? – and flung himself dramatically into the armchair. It wasn’t as good without an audience.

“Now I’m stuck here, nothing to do, until Hell admits they made a mistake. Who knows how long that’s going to be.”

Furious scowl. “No, I’m not being… who even uses the word histrionic? There’s really nothing here. Even the hotel – you’ll never guess. Three stars.” He frowned. “You try it.”

“There is a cranberry bog.” He admitted sullenly. “Lots of spiders. I’m sure there’s something I can do with that.” Pause. “No, I will not behave myself, I’m a demon. And I was told to make trouble, not that there’s any trouble to get into here.”

He sighed. “Haven’t the first idea, they just congratulated me for something to do with politics or the economy.” Crowley pulled off his glasses rubbing at his eyes. “Come on, Aziraphale, you know that’s not how I work. I don’t even understand the economy. Supply-side whatsname, what’s that even mean? But Hell was really happy.” He shuddered. “Ah, I hope I don’t get a commendation. Then I’ll know it’s bad. It’ll be like the Spanish Inquisition all over again. Or the French Revolution.”

He smiled, twisting the cord around his finger. “No, I – you don’t have to. If you want crepes, I’m sure there’s someplace closer.” He laughed. “Yeah, now you mention it, they do still have the death penalty here, but I think you need something more than a bad outfit.”

He was running out of things to say. He tried desperately to think of something, anything. “Uh, any dinner plans?” Nodded. “No, that’s – that sounds good. I wish – I hope you enjoy it.” He knocked his head against the back of his chair. “Got some wine at the airport. ’S alright, I guess.” Nodded again. “Yeah. No, definitely. Talk to you next week.”

Crowley walked back to the bed and dropped the phone into the cradle with another sigh.

It was 2:07 PM and Crowley had the phone to his ear before the first ring even finished. “Yeah?”

“Not good, Angel. I spent days getting those wolf spiders to listen to me, and before I could enact my plan, they closed the bog for the season!”

He covered the mouth of the phone and scowled at the half-dozen spiders on his curtain. “Oi, you lot. Back in the planter or you can winter outside with the rest.” He glared until they had settled back among the spiny shrubs with small red blossoms. He would not be telling Aziraphale about his new roommates, or that the best option at the undersized plant shop had been a succulent called crown of thorns.

“No, it was going to be a great plan. All my plans are great.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Well, that worked, didn’t it?”

He groaned and flung himself back onto the green quilt. “Of course I’m still in Dennis, where else would I be? I told them it was probably supposed to be Denver, but does anyone listen to me?” He pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “The worst is, they keep congratulating me on all the good work I’m doing.”

“No, Aziraphale, I don’t think they meant the spiders, either.” He picked up a newspaper – an actual, local paper, not one of the ones put out by Hell. “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on, but they don’t exactly get the New York Times here.” He flipped through the titles – Cape Cod Chronicle, Provincetown Advocate, The Register. He’d tried to get a few older issues, but everything was from the current month: November, 1982.

“Why would I go to a library?” Pause. “Ohhhhh. Mm, I suppose I can try that if I get desperate.”

Aziraphale asked a question. “Nh, ah, ok. So. Someone wrote this book about this huge secret satanic organization that, I don’t know, controls the world or something. Accused my side of…some stuff.”

He sighed. “If you must know. Torturing and murdering children.” Crowley sat bolt upright. “No, Aziraphale, obviously not. You’d know if it was true.” He picked at the seams of his black jeans. “I suppose you had to ask.”

“Well that’s the thing. We didn’t know anything about it either. So they sent me here to figure out what was going on.”

He flipped through the pages of the newspapers. “Not much, really. All in their heads, right? Didn’t even need to bother stirring it up, these things really take care of themselves. I’ve just been doing my usual, traveling to different cities, causing a little trouble.”

Giving up on the tiny newsprint, Crowley reached for one of the bottles of cranberry wine that the liquor store had had in abundance. “Well, that’s the thing. I can’t find anything in the papers, so that can’t be it.” He poured himself a glass. “Just…you know. Economic stuff. Banks. Taxes. I don’t know.”

He took a drink. “Mh. There was something, can’t find it now. Some men getting sick out in California. Hope it’s not another plague.” He laughed a little. “Hooray penicillin. Honestly, I’m glad to see the end of plagues. Lousy way to do things.”

Aziraphale turned the conversation to lighter things, and for a while Crowley sipped his wine and listened, learning everything going on back in London, what the customers had tried to buy now, and the angel’s dinner plans.

“Oh, you’ll like this. You know what next week is? Thanksgiving.” He poured the last of the bottle into his glass. “It’s like Christmas, only instead of presents, more food. Very American. The hotel’s serving it in the main dining room.” He drained his glass. “Eh, turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce. The usual. I probably won’t have any, you know, you’re supposed to celebrate with friends, but – yeah I thought you’d like that.” He smiled at the phone. “I’ll…uh, I’ll talk to you then, right?”

After he hung up, he noticed one of the spiders sitting on the floor next to him. “I thought I told you to stay in the planter.” At least they’d cleared up the ant infestation. He’d have to get some crickets in the morning.

The wolf spider waved hairy legs at him. “Oh, alright.” He let her scramble up his arm and settle on his shoulder. “But no wine for you. That’s all I need, bunch of drunk spiders.”

The phone rang at 2:01 PM. Crowley didn’t pick up.

Or at 2:10. Or 2:13.

It was 2:29 PM – long after Aziraphale had lost track of the number of times he’d called and hung up – when Crowley finally knocked the handset out of the cradle. “Wha’?” he demanded, slouched on the floor amid empty bottles of cranberry wine.

“’M celebrating, tha’s what.” The spider on his shoulder scurried down to settle on his knee instead. She was always nearby these days. “Cuz I know what Hell c’gratulated me for.”

He dug around for a bottle that was still half-full, drank straight from its mouth. “Not the economy. Well. Starts with that. Whole time I’m here, people been…losing jobs, banks closing. Did I notice?” He leaned his head against the bed. “No, s’pose not. But people…you know people.”

He nodded, watching the spider jump from one knee to the other. “Satanic Cult story just…keeps growing. Accusations. People in prison. Kids always in the middle. ’S not even real. Just. Panic. And then the other thing.”

He held out his hand, let the spider crawl across his fingers. “Said I was done caring, after the Black Death. You can’t… can’t care, you know? Plague’s gotta run its course.” He hadn’t ever really believed that anyway. “But this is… something new.”

He raised his hand and the spider clambered onto his head. It felt nice, little fuzzy legs combing through his hair. “Dunno. Something with… ’mune system? ’S bad. And…and no one cares. Aren’t studying it. Aren’t talking about it. Cuz of who’s sick.”

He picked up the bottle again, draining it, sweet-tart wine running down his throat. “’S what ’m s’posed to’ve done, y’know. Make ’em turn on each other. Cut off th’ ones who need help. ’S like I did in Spain…and France…”

He leaned his head against his knees, curling up beside the bed in his nest of bottles. “Nnhhh, ’f its nothing to do with me, why do I keep getting credit?”

Crowley couldn’t listen any longer. He let the phone tumble out of his fingers, onto the floor. Aziraphale’s voice grew louder, more insistent, then abruptly cut off.

Of course he’d hang up. Why would anyone want to talk to a demon who –

With a strange hum, something burst out of the phone, materializing in the hotel room very close to where Crowley sat. The pale figure stumbled on the wine bottles, then straightened his tartan bow tie and glared.

“Don’t you dare ignore me, Crowley.”

“I…how’d you…”

“Traveling through the telephone lines. You told me you’d tried it once before.”

“It was awful.”

“Not nearly as awful as your driving.” Aziraphale looked him up and down. “Look at yourself. You’re dressed like some sort of…teenaged ruffian. Why is there a spider in your hair?”

“’S fashion,” Crowley answered vaguely.

The angel leaned down and lifted the wolf spider, being careful not to hurt her legs. He watched the spider run across his palm. “And how long has he been like this?”

“Look, Angel, she just –”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Aziraphale walked away, whispering to the spider. “Really? And you didn’t try to tell him – No, I suppose not. No, you’ve done your best. I’ll take it from here.” He set the spider down among the crown of thorns.

The angel still looked absolutely furious. “You could at least stand up instead of skulking on the floor like that.”

Crowley stumbled and tottered getting to his feet, and it wasn’t only because of the all the empty bottles. Well, in a way it was.

“Angel, you shouldn’ be here –”

“I should absolutely be here. You’ve been on your own far too long.” He eyed the bottles. “How many of those are from today?”

“Nn. All of ’em. Housekeeping clears them out every morning.”

He tried not to notice the look Aziraphale gave him as the angel snapped his fingers, miracling the bottles into a neat row across the bedside table. “Now sober up.”

“C’mon, Angel, ’m fine.”

“Sober up. I’m not talking to you like this.”

The cranberry wine was a lot less pleasant coming out than it had been going in. And sobriety only made all the emotions he’d been feeling more clear.

Aziraphale watched the liquid pour back into the bottles, and when he was satisfied, jabbed a finger into Crowley’s chest.

“I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense. You are not responsible for what the humans do, or believe, or ignore. That is their choice.”

“I know.” He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “I just…how can they be so cruel to each other?”

“Free will.” Aziraphale sat beside him, so close their shoulders just barely brushed. “One day an act of kindness that surprises even me, the next…”

“The next, they leave hundreds of people to die horribly, just because they’re different.” This wasn’t any easier to process sober. “Are you going to tell me this is all part of the Ineffable Plan?”

“Would that make you feel better?”

“Has it ever?”

“Then, no. I think I’ll leave it at that.”

They sat together in silence for a long time.

There really weren’t any words to make it better. Free will or not, Plan or not, sometimes, humans were the absolute worst. He didn’t know why, after six thousand years, it still hurt to learn that.

But it helped to know, from the pressure of one shoulder leaning on another, that at least someone else had never learned to stop caring.

“So, are you going to head back to London?”

“After coming all this way?” Aziraphale had run out of severe looks; he just smiled sadly. “I have a few healings left in my allowance for the year. I think I might…see what I can do out in California.”

Crowley nodded, and for once he was the one on the verge of a forbidden thank you.

“Before you go. I think the Thanksgiving dinner is about to start. I don’t suppose…”

“My dear, I would never turn down a feast.”

The demon quickly stood up, re-settling his glasses, manifesting something a little more sophisticated than the punk-inspired look he’d been wearing.

Aziraphale dug under the bed and found an unopened bottle of cranberry wine. “I’m looking forward to seeing how this tastes. Oh, it looks like a little lighthouse! Lovely.”

Crowley paused at the door. “You’re not going to be all weird and pretend we don’t know each other, are you?”

“I suppose not. Since this is supposed to be a celebration with friends.” He eyed Crowley suspiciously. “Don’t go being overly familiar just because I said that.”

“Me? I would never!”

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #ineffable husbands #31 days of ineffables #aziraphale #crowley #hurt comfort #but tough love comfort #aziraphale is a bastard

53 notes · View notes

quoteablebooks · 5 years

Text

Genre: Fantasy, Classic, Fiction

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Synopsis: Continuing the story begun in The Hobbit, this is the first part of Tolkien’s epic masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings, featuring an exclusive cover image from the film, the definitive text, and a detailed map of Middle-earth. Sauron, the Dark Lord, has gathered to him all the Rings of Power – the means by which he intends to rule Middle-earth. All he lacks in his plans for dominion is the One Ring – the ring that rules them all – which has fallen into the hands of the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins. In a sleepy village in the Shire, young Frodo Baggins finds himself faced with an immense task, as his elderly cousin Bilbo entrusts the Ring to his care. Frodo must leave his home and make a perilous journey across Middle-earth to the Cracks of Doom, there to destroy the Ring and foil the Dark Lord in his evil purpose.

*Opinions* Well, it is that time every five years or so where I get the itch to reread The Lord of the Rings Trilogy. Now, I read the Hobbit (link) a couple of months ago, but never made it into the Fellowship because let’s be honest, Tolkien can be a bit of a commitment with all that walking. However, my friends decided to start reading it so we’re doing a bit of an informal book club read, though they are much faster readers than I am, so I dove in as well. Now, I feel as if it took me eight years to read, but I forgot how wonderful the novel is as well as how well the movies really captured the events truthfully. Probably one of the best book adaptations I have ever seen.

While reading through The Fellowship this time around, I found myself paying a little more attention to Tolkien’s craft. The first chapter of this novel is a great hook and well-paced, dropping enough information about the world so that the reader doesn’t get lost, but also doesn’t get bogged down with the immense world-building that we all know Tolkien did in regards to Middle Earth. Now there are some info dump sections in this novel, Gandalf discussing the history of the Ring in the Shire, and the council of Elrond, but they are presented in such a way that they don’t bore the reader. At the council, enough different voices take up the tale that it is small bite-sized bits of information instead of a boring monologue. While there has been criticism that Tolkien spent too much time on setting, atmosphere, and walking, we need to take a moment and remember when these books were written. Information and entertainment weren’t so easily attainable and there were some people who had never left the city, so they would need these beautiful or terrifying natural landscapes built up in their minds. Tolkien makes the environment just as much of a character, as seen when the Fellowship is denied crossing the mountains and are therefore forced into Moria.

My edition starts with a foreword from J.R.R Tolkien about the process of writing the novel and how he didn’t mean it to be any of the allegories that have been attached to it over the years. As someone who would love to get published someday, it was rather comforting to see the years of time it took him to finish the narrative. True, I am not developing an entire language to go with any of my stories, but that is beside the point. My edition also has a prologue, which I am not sure if is in all editions but I believe it is, about Hobbits and their history. As my first introduction to this world was through the movies, I always forget that Merry and Pippin were the sons of important people in the Shire and just how old Frodo actually is when his adventure beginnings. Also, unlike in the movie, Merry and Pippin are with him from the beginning and while they are not aware of the ring and the danger Frodo is in, they are very good friends to him all the same. While I enjoy their comedic element in the movies, it also kind of makes them wrong because they are valuable members of the journey way before they are made on the film.

I’m not really going to touch on the events in the novel because, well, it’s The Fellowship of the Ring. If you haven’t read the book or watched the movies by now, you aren’t going to and I don’t know why you’re reading this review. One thing I will say is that some of the characters, while their core features are the same, have more time to develop in the novel. We get to see Aragorn’s indecision and possible fear in leading, we see Boromir desire to do right with unbelievable pressures facing him on all sides. Legolas and Gimli don’t get as much page time, but Gimli at least gets a change of heart when he meets Galadriel while Legolas was just there. I enjoy that the movie made them more characters and that they left an impression.

My biggest criticism, knowing how the story continues, is how this book ends. While I get that there is a solid conclusion that Frodo and Sam are leaving, the start of book Two is so jarring. I think the movie made a better break in the narrative. I know as the books continue there are more divergent from the novels and I am excited to continue on the journey.

#review #4 out of 5 Stars #The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship Of The Ring #the fellowship of the ring #J.R.R. Tolkien

2 notes · View notes

danny-the-shade-blog · 6 years

Text

Writing about my DnD sessions

Hey haven't been drawing much cause I sprained my hand a bit (mixture of repetitive motion at work and to much gaming). It’s feeling better now just feeling to down in general to do anything. so I decided to make a quick update about something that I did enjoy that happened a couple months ago. My first DnD campaign. ^_^

Okay so this is something http://imxthexhandler.tumblr.com

have been planning for a while and a friend of mine offered to DM. We didn’t have a name for our setting world I don’t think but between the three of us we had a map and a general idea of what it was like. General DnD setting with some other elements like Warforged with some different real world cultural settings fantasy tweaked depending on the part of the map.

I was a 1/2 Dwarf 1/2 Dragonborn named Kindlin’ I was starting out as a Barbarian with the Outlander background. Was kind of going for the angle of being this incredibly muscular, scaly, intimidating looking guy but really peaceful and timid, especially around people but having this feral nature that kicked in when he or his friends were in danger.

http://imxthexhandler.tumblr.com/ was a (variant) human Sorceress named Neith. she was using the sea sorcery origin I found in Unearthed Arcana and the reformed cultist background from Matthew Mercer’s Taldorei campaign. She was basically going for the angle of she was taken in by the cult but when she saw what was really going on she bolted but not until there was some kind of magic experiment that gave her the water nature. Eventually we were going to have her progress into a transformation story line where she became a water genasi.

We were supposed to have met by her carriage being attacked by bandits or wildlife and I coming to help. she followed me back to my camp after I ran off and convinced me to come along with her. I did it partially to help her and partially hoping she would help me find my father (who was missing)

Well that’s enough of the set up details onto the adventure! I’ll just do a general summery here. no need to bog it down with OoC stuff and rolls other than 1′s or 20′s.

we started out at my camp. we gathered up some rations and I said goodbye to my campsite which I had lived at for years. being raised alone with my father.

we then started the long trek to town. getting sidetracked along the way as I found some boar tracks and was hungry. (survival check) when I caught up to it I failed my stealth check (not the sneakiest thing ever) but I raged and slew it with 1 hit! (rolled 5 on a d6 damage dice for my hand axe +4 str +2 rage = 11 which is exactly what I needed apparently) after that I field dressed the meat cooked light lunch and then we looked up encumbrance and how much meat it would have made.. it was like 100 lbs of meat.. and Kindlin’ refused to waste any so I piled it onto my pack and tied it up as I slowly carried most of it. (gave Neith a smaller amount so she wouldn’t be weighed down.)

Neith not being the outdoorsy type we stopped for breaks fairly often (for rp not mechanics) and would chat. I tried to rouse our spirits with a bit of the violin as we played. It worked alright (roll of 11 with -1 charisma = 10) but not great. it also seemed to have attracted a bear. which Neith alerted us to.

the bear came toward us and I grappled the bear. Neith panicked and bopped it on the nose with her staff. after the bear failed to escape my grapple and got booped we were able to use an animal handling check to shew it off. tossing it a little meat as it left to show no hard feelings. :3

(DnD Life Goal: Wrestle a bear. Check)

That was the first session. Onto Session 2! (like a month later)

now unfortunately that was both my rages for the day but it had only been a few hours and we wanted to get to the city. so we pressed on. we came upon a small caravan that was under attack by bandits. 5 of them. Now I knew it was stupid to attack them head on, without rages, at level 1. but the last words Kindlin’s father told him before he left were “be good” and that included helping people beset by bandits. he tried to sneak closer to maybe help quietly.. that worked about as well as you would think. after he was spotted he tried to just keep the bandits attention while Neith tried to sneak over and free them. she was also spotted. seeing the bandits were about to attack Kindling threw off his wooden mask (oh yeah he wears plain wooden mask to hide what he perceives as his monstrous appearance.) and unleashed a breath attack at them (lightning element)

he hits 4 of the 5 as they were approaching him in a basic line the one in front taking the brunt of it the others making their saves for 1/2 damage. I then pulled out my war hammer and readied for their counter attack. they came at me some missing but I was pretty sure I was gonna die. especially when Neith took 1 hit from the leader and was down to 1 hit point. She managed to retaliate with a ray of frost slowing down one of the bandits so I didn’t take all 4 of them at once. one of the caravan seeing an opening managed to free himself and attacked a bandit as well. I smashed one bandit over the head with my war hammer. One of the others calls me a monster and though I’m out of actual rages I go into an rp rage and drop my hammer, popping my claws. I dodge their attacks next turn and yell “I’m not a monster!” and slice into both their throats with my unarmed attacks. the man from the caravan and Neith manage to take out the 4th. in anger the leader took a swing at Neith and she just managed to use Shield to block it. seeing he was outnumbered he fled. as an oppurtunity attack Neith swung and hit him but rolled a 1 on damage so the DM flavored it as a butt thwack adding insult to injury.

As I calmed down I looked at my bloody claws through my torn gloves and knelt down to wipe them off on the grass. we introduced ourselves to the caravan (luckily they thought I was just lizardfolk so I didn’t need a lot of explaining) and then I buried the bodies of the bandits. I recovered my pack and we hopped on the caravan the rest of the way to the city. I passed out and Neith tended to her wounds then slept as well.

end of Session 2.

Onto session 3!

So we arrive in the Dwarven Harbor city of Tideforge (I came up with the name) a massive city of trade built into a sheer cliff face overlooking the ocean. the dm described it as tiered lower being mostly the harbor and a few homes the middle being the trade portion and the upper level being reserved for the rich and nobility. she didn’t say this but I kind of pictured it as a sort of bowl like Cape Suzette from Tail Spin with Dwarven/pueblo Indian twist.

We look around for a while and my character is trying so hard to remember this place but is failing miserably on all his history checks. This was where he lived when he was a kid but it had been a long time. at one point I was examining an archway and didn’t realize I had wandered off from Neith to do so. After a moment she realized she lost me in the crowd and I realized I was alone. My char instantly became very anxious and frightened. Feeling isolated around all these people he didn’t know.

So yes that’s right. Yesterday my character wrestled a bear. No problem. He gets in the city and he is reduced to the crying lost child at the mall.

through a few checks and a semi pathetic hop to poke my head above the crowd of people Neith finds me and she calms me down and chastises me for wandering off.

We are then approached by a dwarf “white haired dwarven man approaches. He has white scruffy hair, an older gentleman with ice blue eyes. He's in studded armor, with a long sword on his back. One of the dwarves arms is also cocked at an almost unnatural angle, clearly stuck that way due to prior damage judging by the scars visible as well“

at first I have trouble remembering but after he calls me “lizard” I roll and get a natural 20. It’s my “uncle” Atland! I quickly give him a big hug then introduce Neith. He offers to show us around and this is the first person Kindling has met in a long time he is really comfortable around he begins just babbling stream of consciousness style about everything up to that point. ending about the time they get to a tavern with asking if Uncle Atland would like to hear him play the violin. something he learned after he left Tideforge. aaaand NAT 20 performance check! *meme air horn music*

(DnD Life Goal: Play Epic Public Violin Performance. Check)

after that there’s a lot of just us talking learning about what’s been going on in tide forge, talking to atland, inquiring about a temple for neith to seek shelter in and maybe help her figure out what’s going on with her and her powers and the cult. and we end the session. the last session is basically just us selling the meat then our dm getting a headache and ending early. and it’s been 3 months since then I think so yeah :( hoping to get back into it someday but *shrugs*

I did run a one shot with http://imxthexhandler.tumblr.com that maybe I’ll talk about next time in summery form. She said she was doing a detailed edit of our skype and posting it though so probably just let her do that. If you want the Full skype post of this campaign let me know. (it would be looong)

#DnD #Dungeons and Dragons #Campaign #Story #dnd character #Kindlin'#Neith

2 notes · View notes

mensbodybuildingtips · 6 years

Text

14 Things I Learned from One Year of Lifting and Keto

Celebrity fatalities, election insanity, and gorilla celeb fatalities. 2016 was an all-you-can-eat food poisoning fever desire. 2016 was likewise the first year in my life that I functioned out and consumed right the entire year. Right here's exactly what I have actually found out about myself from a strong year of getting down to business. Maybe you can swipe a method or 2 from my victories as well as failures.

1) I Intended to Stop So I Had to Trick Myself Out of It

I have actually learned that I do not respond well to logic. I require pure, base, psychological allure. If I don't want to function out, I have to identify a way to deceive myself right into the gym. This might be entering as well as Out healthy protein style, animal style after my work out or just letting myself view West Globe on the treadmill. I had to lay a catch for myself. It's very easy to outmaneuver on your own when you're an idiot.

2) Clinical depression May Be Metabolic for Me

I have actually always fought with depression. Up until this year. This is likewise the very first year I lifted weights like I was auditioning to play 'Tubby He-Man'. You do the math.

3) I Learned to Cook

I was a quite great cook prior to yet eating healthy and balanced forced me to become a better cook. When you're limiting your diet, it could be a great deal easier to earn your personal food. My favored, reasonably healthy food on keto used to be chicken wings. My partner as well as I would pay out the nose for wings at an area that simply blared run ball as well as stick ball (those are names of sporting activities? The only sport I lettered in was Speech as well as Discussion). I might never find out ways to make great, wing-place-style-wings. After two months of Keto, I 'd figured out where to acquire cooking oils, obtained myself a fryer and also was making some damn excellent poultry wings. They taste like victory ... as well as SAVINGS!

4) I Cheat On Squat Day

I discuss this in another write-up however unfaithful on my diet plan on a squat day made points a great deal simpler for me. When you can locate a cheat for disloyalty ... it feels good.

5) I Load My Own Salami (Laugh it Up)

When I reach a celebration, I'll inhale a whole package of salami as well as never ever break eye contact with whoever makes the blunder of talking with me. I have no embarassment. Specifically when it comes to events with food. People are low-cost as well as monotonous. So are fine-tuned carbohydrates. I can not inform you exactly how many times I've been welcomed to a breakfast gathering with various other parents as well as it's just donuts as well as bagels. Be the guy that brings a sack of his own ham, splits portions off it, talks with his mouth complete and also DGAF.

6) It's Harder Than I Thought

I stalled. I had plateaus. I reduced weight a lot slower than I thought I should. I had to force myself to obtain to the gym some days. Bear in mind, likewise ...

7) It's Easier Than I Thought

My food cravings went away as well as I found out to enjoy the gym. I additionally admired how swiftly my 'novice gainz' escalated. That encouraged me to maintain going.

8) I Shed My Preference for Scrap Food

I assumed I liked fast food. The longer I have actually eaten healthy as well as worked out the more bogged down I really feel by bad consuming. A similar point happened to me with alcohol. The memory of my hangovers obtained stronger the older I got as well as currently when I assume about drinking I begin to feel the hangover before I also start. The same thing is happening with poor food. I begin to really feel unwell as well as exhausted when I take a look at it. It resembles the finale of West Globe instructed us: there can be no modification without memory. It additionally educated us not to 'f around' with robots ... yet that's another subject for my 2020 list.

9) It Turned into one Of The majority of Crucial Parts of My Life

I really did not realize exactly how required exercising and consuming right would end up being to me. I need it like I as soon as needed bong slits as well as all night morning meal diners. It's become a component of exactly how I function at my best.

10) You Could Never Have Sufficient Butter

My better half always asks if we require a couple of butters when we're at the store. We constantly need 4. Constantly. All year. We've never not required 4 packs of Kerrygold, Salted, Lawn Fed Butter a week. 4 is the variety of butters we make use of in a week. We've tested this for 52 weeks in a row and also we always, 100% of the moment, require 4. We obtain two.

11) I Became Frugal

Eating keto can be costly. I chose up tricks occasionally to slow the cash hemorrhage. Beef cubed for stew is typically more affordable compared to full on steaks yet skilled right is much like little steak nibbles. A great deal of supermarket market bacon ends which is mostly all fat, smells much like bacon and also is more affordable. Keto win-win. You'll discover your own methods, too.

12) I Was Unfortunate I Really did not Begin Sooner

Like whatever cool I have actually ever done, I'm really depressing I didn't start seriously raising as well as doing keto earlier. I can't get bogged down with remorse yet I am kicking myself. Specifically because I like it.

13) My Wife Loves It

It's indisputable that being appealing is extra eye-catching than being unsightly. You understand exactly what? I assume that covers it.

14) I Got Much better at Every little thing I Do

Everything I do, from composing to stand up to image has improved this year. I can not aid yet think that remaining in the most effective form of my life (although I'm still tubby) has a lot to do with my increased efficiency. It makes sense when you think of it. I do stand with my body, I write with my mind, I draw with my hands, all of this stuff has actually been positively influenced by training and also keto. Why would not I have improved at it all? It's not like my brain was crouching in some diminish Craigslist one bed room, fifty percent bath garden apartment temporarily. It lived there. When I moved my mind to a better community it began functioning harder. It may have allow me down on that allegory, though.

That's just what I picked up from a year of adhering to training, eating right and also remaining on top of my physical fitness. I wish it influences you to remain on your path to physical fitness or if you haven't begun currently, I wish it offers you some valuable methods as well as excuses to start now. Here's to 2016. We miss you, Harambe. Always.

Andrew DeWitt is a comic, author, illustrator and daddy living in Los Angeles. Andrew won the TruTV Development honor at the New york city Television Celebration for his comedy docuseries, Mike and also Andrew Attempt to Lose Some Weight. He's created for E-How, Broscience Life, Geekster Ink, Skies Does Gaming, holds the Andrew DeWitt Show podcast, a previous voice actor for Activity Number Therapy and also has actually shown up several times on The Jimmy Kimmel Show as an illustration actor.

#bodybuilding #bodybuilding workout #fitness #gym #weight #work out #workout

1 note · View note

seenashwrite · 7 years

Text

The Midwife: Part Three

Status: Complete (Part 3 of 4) Word Count: 3.7K Category: Multi-part; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Mystery; Teamwork; Historical; On-the-hunt Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Various O.C.s; References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A Warnings: None Overall Summary: In the mid-1950s, a member of the New York City chapter of the Men of Letters is sent to the United Kingdom to assist with what appears to be another stack of cold case dead-ends, when he suddenly finds himself questioning one of his closest-held convictions.

*~* The Midwife : Master Post *~*

I’d been wrong before.

No, this was how I’d die, walled in by heavy clouds that had lazily seeped down into the fog. They mixed with it seamlessly, swirling into tiny tornadoes. It was almost as if our surroundings wanted to make damn well sure we couldn’t find our way out.

He’d probably held promise at some point, they’d write. Perhaps a tragedy, hard to say, being taken away at so young an age, lost out on the moors, before the promise might’ve revealed itself. He leaves behind a fiancée who will most assuredly move on quickly, about a month from now, give-or-take, so as not to forfeit all the money her father has invested in the planned nuptials, please place your bets now. In lieu of flowers, move on with your lives as there is nowhere to send them, seeing as how the Men of Letters will deny he even existed.

I’m sure Burt was wishing I didn’t exist. I had brought us out here, with my idiotic decision. I didn’t want him to be lost with me, though if there could be a silver lining to the thick clouds, it would be that his family would envelop the Moles, the former members and civilians alike, bringing such pressure to bear that I wouldn’t envy them. They’d not let Burt be lost for long, that was fact, no question in my mind.

Burt had never asked many questions of me.

I knew far more about him, his family, his many likes, his few dislikes, his past, his present. I’d always wondered if he thought I’d left him hanging with my shrugs and short replies about anything more personal than what Colleen was upset about in a given week, and I suppose now I had my answer. He was done waiting on me to decide what he should know.

“What did you say to them?” he repeated.

I blinked in surprise at the stern expression and no-nonsense voice. “What?” I blurted.

“What!? About the case! Was it about her daughter?” he demanded. “Did you tell them what we’d been thinking? I know you didn’t put it in writing, or else we’d have been sent to some back room in the furthest chapter they could find.”

I stayed quiet.

“I know they knew about the colluding with witches theory because I helped you type up the damn reports - you kept misspelling everything, wasted a whole ribbon, you were so excited, even though we weren’t really convinced! All because you thought it was something that was finally going to get them to notice you. And like a dummy, I went along.”

I crossed my arms. All I could manage to do was look into the fog. Done with its twisting, it was folding in on itself, edging closer at what seemed like a borderline alarming rate, getting denser with every inch. And I found I didn’t care. I wished it would leave Burt alone and swallow me up.

“The Men of Letters have had vast resources in place long before anyone ever knew they existed,“ Burt continued. "They’ve always known about angels.”

“Your family tell you that, too?” I asked bitterly.

“Yeah, they did!” he shot back. “And it doesn’t take a genius to put it together - when the lore goes from nothing to left to find, to a random professor in Maine publishing revolutionary theological breakthroughs, translating Enochian left-and-right. Of course she had a heavenly source. No wonder the witch thing didn’t wash with them!”

“You can’t be sure that—”

“Then you started talking like we knew for a fact an angel had fathered her daughter, and… and… Jack, I just don’t know you anymore! Have I ever?”

I shifted from foot to foot. We’d agreed there was no way she’d have murdered her own child, even if her daughter was Nephilim. Sunder wasn’t some blind, naïve pew-warmer. We’d agreed she wouldn’t have bought into all the abomination talk. So we didn’t put it in the report, the part about how her daughter may still be alive.

Because we’d figured what the Moles would assume. Because we could imagine what they might do. But mostly because he and I, together, we’d agreed.

Then he’d gotten distracted with his wife, with the baby, so I’d talked myself into believing that Sunder had given birth to a Nephilim. Then killed her… killed it. And then I’d talked myself into believing she hadn’t - that she was using the chi… using it. For power.

But I had to be convincing when I brought it to some of the elder brothers, didn’t I? It was a mental marvel, really. Never been much good at believing before.

“Say it,” I told him, finally looking him right in the eye.

And Burt called me on it - everything I’d just turned over in my mind.

“Why would I have done that?” I asked him, my voice not sounding right in my ears. They were ringing. I waved mist away from my face, wiped the moisture it brought from my already-sweaty brow, as if it’d do any good.

“So the Moles would be scared into paranoia. So they’d promote you, put you to work finding her, get you out of our dingy office. But it didn’t work, so here we are,” he answered softly, now speaking to me more kindly than I deserved. “And that’s why you’re so angry - I can see it in you, underneath, all the time. Am I wrong?”

I was trying to fight back nausea.

“Jack?”

“No,” I whispered, a strong burst of wind nearly drowning it out.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God!”

I frowned at the out-of-character exclamation from Burt, not just the words, but because it seemed a bit over-reactive given he likely knew what I’d reply before he’d asked. But his sudden pallor told me I was no longer his focus. He was looking just over my shoulder, wide-eyed.

There, probably twenty feet away, right at the edge of the slope, was a circular break in the thick grey mass. In it stood a small group of various-sized people. And in the center was a dark-haired woman in a plum-colored dress, the tallest of the collective. She had a touch of a closed-lipped smile on her face, and her relaxed posture was completely at odds with what I would’ve asserted was quite the tense situation.

“We are interrupting.”

The woman’s voice had a scant bit of an accent that I couldn’t place, and her tone indicated a statement of fact, not one of apology.

The seven figures around her - and based on the size of their hands and their feet, I was beginning to think they were all children - wore long, hooded capes. They were ground-grazing, stick-straight, and black as coal. The hoods were of such a cut and depth that any chance for a glimpse of faces was rendered null. Despite our dank setting, where they were gathered some sunlight was slicing through the haze, but I suspected it wouldn’t have mattered if we stood next to the Chrysler Building - the purpose was to hide, and hidden they were.

We remained still and silent for what seemed like an eternity, not even the wind turning up to give us reprieve.

Burt spoke first, but just to me, out of the corner of his mouth. “There’s opportunity here for a Snow White joke that I’m not calling up.”

“Disappointing,” I muttered, neither of us moving, not looking at each other, not reaching inside our jackets for our pistols.

Strange thing was, it wasn’t because we couldn’t have done so. The appearing-out-of-nowhere had me convinced we were dealing with beings of an otherworldly nature, to say the least, and I found it odd that we hadn’t been handicapped in some fashion, but I was thankful. So when Burt moved his hand inside his jacket, I felt myself stiffen.

Not a flinch from the woman or the children, however, so my anxiety eased. A little. Mildly.

Burt was trembling, but I could tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t out of fear. It was pure excitement. We all watched as he fumbled with the strings on his notebook, nearly dropped his pencil, then tried to get the now damp, misted pages to separate.

“Really?” I hissed.

“Burt?”

He slowly looked up at the woman, and I followed suit.

“You know… you know my name, ma'am?” he replied.

“I do. We all do. Yours and your friend’s… Jack, yes?”

I nodded.

“H-how do—”

“You and Jack here are incredibly loud.”

I blushed like a boy who’d been scolded by his teacher.

Burt began to stammer, but I cut in, my initial shock now worn off. Moderately worn off. Fine, I told my nagging brain. Barely worn off.

“We’re leaving, ma'am. Apologies for the disturbance.”

She turned her head ever-so-slightly to me, arching an eyebrow, though the grin remained. “But you haven’t hardly looked around, brought out your fancy tools and taken measurements, Jack. Nor have you found your beanstalk. What ever will your employers say?”

The tiniest amount of tittering could be heard amongst her group, followed by a few hand-hidden whispers between several of them. Burt had let the backpack slip from his shoulders to the ground, and was scribbling furiously, not a sign of nervousness about his person. And for whatever reason, I opened my big mouth.

“Nice bog you have here.”

“We think so,” she replied, not missing a beat, though her voice lacked the jovial lilt one would’ve thought with such a come-back, and she was still staring me down.

“Ma'am?”

Her eyes didn’t leave mine as she answered. “Yes, Burt?”

“I, ah… I was wondering… well, you know my name, so I… what should I call you?”

Again she willingly answered, and I tore my eyes from hers, looked over to what Burt was writing. Underneath hastily scrawled descriptions of the group, he jotted down what he’d heard her say.

“Miss Finn, now is that F-I-N-N?”

More tittering, and if my ears didn’t deceive me, a giggle or two, which made me suspect Burt had gotten it all wrong, and that made me smile - briefly - despite our circumstance.

“No,” she replied, and left it at that. When I looked back up, her grin had widened slightly and the intensity was gone from her eyes, but her gaze hadn’t left my face.

“Oh,” Burt said, then let out what I knew to be a forced chuckle, the one he used when he was trying to cover embarrassment.

But any that he might’ve felt flew away when the woman gently touched the shoulders of the two children standing directly in front of her, prompting them to move aside, and walked towards us. She wore heeled boots under her heavy skirt, but they didn’t sink into the marshy soil one iota. She stopped in front of me, though she now looked at Burt.

“Fen, as in your current locale,” she told him. “No ‘Miss’. Only Fen.”

Burt crossed out what he’d written, then corrected it. He looked up to her with a smile, put his pencil behind his ear, and stuck out his hand. You dolt, I thought - we had no idea what we were dealing with. Little wonder he’d hardly been put in the field.

“Burton Rendell Rawlings, pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”

The woman - Fen - merely reciprocated, giving him a firm handshake with a gloved hand. Upon the release, she extended it to me. Burt hadn’t dissolved or imploded, so I figured I may as well jump off the bridge with him.

“Just Jack,” I told her as we shook.

“Well, then, Burton Rendell Rawlings and Just Jack - would you care for some tea?”

Burt put away his notebook and pencil, nodding vehemently, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. He retrieved the discarded backpack and slipped it on. While he did, Fen removed a glove, then motioned behind her and one of the smaller children came over. As the hood was pulled back, I saw its wearer was a young girl, couldn’t have been more than ten, yet she walked with such purpose, with such confident posture, and if I were a poetic man I’d have said she had an old soul behind her wide-set, ridiculously large eyes.

“Ever, would you be so kind as to escort Mr. Rawlings while I escort Jack?” asked Fen.

The girl nodded, and slipped a hand in one of Burt’s immediately.

He smiled at her, saying, “Hi - Ever, is it? That’s a… a unique name.”

There was no reply, and Burt didn’t follow-up, mainly because he’d immediately started to sway, his knees almost giving out.

“Oh my, sorry about that, I guess I got a… got a little too excited to… to meet you, dear.”

I frowned, but Fen had clutched one of my hands - tightly - and the girl quickly reached over and snatched the other.

And now, here I was, sitting in a large kitchen drinking tea I didn’t want, in a large castle-like house on what appeared to be an equally-large, plush estate. That is, if my stolen glances through windows as we’d walked into a massive foyer and dining area were anywhere near accurate. I was certain I’d seen at least a baker’s dozen of children playing outside. There were handfuls more in a parlor we’d passed, and I was trying to construct a roster in my head of estimated ages.

Burt had gotten considerably faint around the time we’d walked past a staircase, and two teen-aged boys seemed to come from nowhere, meeting us in a hallway, each taking one of his arms. They guided him - accompanied by myself, Fen, and the girl called Ever - to a bedroom, made sure he was settled, then left after a nod to me and Fen. No one made a move to keep me away or hinder my line of sight - no evident worry on their parts for anything I might witness.

Ever had removed her cloak and sat herself in a chair across from the bed, pulling a small book from her dress pocket, then went to reading without a word. Burt was snuggled down and snoring in no time, dead to the world. Whatever… wherever… this world was. It didn’t feel as abnormal as I thought it should have, something it had in common with my tea time companion.

“Jack, I don’t believe what I’ve said surprises you. I don’t believe you truly thought witchcraft was the reason your quarry’s been able to repeatedly go to ground. And I also don’t believe you ever thought the girl was alive. Or that she was Nephilim.”

I sighed, shifting in my chair, and I pushed the still-full teacup and saucer away. I was getting irritated. And it irritated me further that Fen noticed but didn’t seem to care. “You already heard Burt and I, right? So what’s your point? Why bother with my confirming it?”

“Because sometimes the things we keep inside should be said aloud - often, it is the only way to truly hear them.”

I added pseudo-platitudes to my mental list of irritations as she went on.

“And because you still seem to want to convince yourself you have all the answers, and all you need is the proof. That’s not how the truth works, hunting only for the results that will fit your theories.”

“So what? I was wrong about the Sunder case, okay? I messed up, and I can’t fix it. What else do you want from me?”

“I want you to accept you’re wrong about more than just that - and formulate a new theory. Now that you have some truths under your belt.”

I glared. “I don’t know anything. I don’t even know where we are, who you and those kids are… what you and those kids are… if Burt and I are going to be allowed to leave here…”

Fen leaned back in her chair, the very picture of calm. “You and Burt may leave any time you wish. Although….” She trailed off, waited a beat. To pique my interest. Even bait me, I suppose.

It worked.

“Yes?”

She shrugged. “Thought you’d be more… curious.”

I let out a huff, leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. She was infuriating. Yet I was still void of any instinctual fear. And my thoughts suddenly drifted to Colleen.

Colleen was just beautiful, no two ways about it. One of those Hollywood-grade, glossy magazine beauties. Even if she wasn’t a man’s “type” - whatever that means - I’d heard more than enough times how stunning, how appealing she was to others.

Her family was borderline Upper East Side, she’d had a modest debut ball, and she had decently frequent interaction with the who’s-who socialite crowd of New York’s so-and-so’s. She was classy and witty and sparkled up any room. But she was no Deb. Debutante, that is.

We’d been together off-and-on since senior year in high school, and though she was titillated at my going to work for a covert section of the government - standard cover, per the Moles - we’d reached a stalemate around a year ago. She felt like an old maid and said we’d need to break up or get married.

So we got engaged. Her parents set a date, the never-ending bridal showers had garnered hefty turn-outs, and then a surprising amount of Debs had R.S.V.P.’d. A supposed Whitney cousin I’d never met had agreed to be maid of honor just before I’d left for Europe, ousting my bride-to-be’s only sister.

All said, Colleen hadn’t spoken of anything but the wedding for nigh on three months straight. Her ring’d been re-sized and ready for pick up at the jewelers since May. Which I should probably attend to, once we got back. I’d have to get in Burt’s habit, start making notes.

I would have never classified Fen’s appearance as stunning or Hollywood, nothing of the sort. What Fen did was stop me in my tracks and cause my breath to hitch, because she was striking. I found her features quite lovely, to be sure - but it was hard to pin down what exactly was causing that punch in my gut. Just her proximity, her presence, the way she studied me, how it made my body run over with chills. The good kind.

Her eyes weren’t large to begin with and when she’d narrow them in my direction, just a promise of a full-on glare, only a sliver left below the lids to reflect any light, on God I’d swear the whites of her eyes would be all that remained and a flash would run across them, quick as lightning. And then it would vanish. Her eyes would go back to normal, she would visibly relax… yet I somehow couldn’t, even when I’d force myself to look away, telling myself I was doing something wrong.

I didn’t know what, exactly, was wrong, what it was I should be doing… no. No, that wasn’t true at all, I did know - I should collect Burt. I should make her prove she wasn’t bluffing, force her hand, so we could leave this place, then forget we’d seen a thing.

“You’re distracted.”

“That I am.”

“Tell me what can I do for you.”

My mouth opened and closed a few times involuntarily, a series of ums and ahs making their way out. No one, and I mean no one, had ever said those words to me, not even Burt. Never just an open-ended opportunity to name what I needed.

But if anyone ever had, well… there was that pesky lack-of-belief of mine popping up again. I likely wouldn’t have trusted the sincerity of the offer. I had my reasons. Why I found myself believing Fen, I could not say.

She rescued me from my gaping. “Perhaps I should start with where you are. This is our home, mine and my charges.”

“Your charges,” I repeated slowly.

“It has been for quite some time. Many centuries now.”

“Centuries,” I mumbled, having apparently turned into a man-sized parrot.

“Which I’m pleased to explain, though the answers may be somewhat… time-consuming for me to relate, I’m afraid. This is new for me.”

Interesting.

“As to what we are, as you put it - I am human, just as mortal, just as powerless as yourself and your friend. And my charges are the offspring of humans and angels - your sought-after Nephilim.”

A breeze could have knocked me from the chair.

“So if you’d consider extending your visit—”

“Yes!” I practically shouted, and she genuinely appeared to be startled. I’d startled myself. It was the fastest I’d ever agreed to anything in my entire life.

“On one condition,” she said, then polished off the rest of her tea.

“Anything,” I replied, and meant it.

One of her unnerving, cut-right-through-you gazes lit on my face as she answered. “You’re going to tell me a story. How you came to feel such contempt for the heavenly host. And I’ll know if you lie to me, Jack. Then our deal will be off. You and Burt will be taken safely to town, right to your rooms at the inn, with no memory of this place. Or any of us.”

I confess I barely heard her, too excited for my irritation at her ability to read me to return, responding immediately. “Whatever you want, sure.”

My mind was back to its normal routine, filling with ideas and plans faster than I could catalogue them. This was it. I’d be able to write my own ticket, straight to the upper rungs, top-tier agent status. I was more determined than ever to make it happen. Hell, I was going to make it happen.

Assuming Fen and her Nephilim didn’t have other plans.

Feedback makes my ❤️ go boom

See Nash Write : Master | See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Nash Writes

8 notes · View notes

mybpod · 7 years

Text

Welcome to BPOD!

Let's be honest with each other here. Your time is valuable and you need to know if this blog is right for you. Or, you need some material to lambaste me in order to feel better about yourself. So, let me start this blog off by cutting to the chase and letting you know how BPOD came to be, what it is, and why I think it is so helpful for my personal well-being.

Several years ago, I had completed my undergraduate degree as an English Major and Dramatic Arts Minor and was preparing to attend teacher's college because, honestly, what else was I going to do with that kind of education?? In this transition, I had to change cities and (EGAD!) move in with one of my parents -- father and stepmother to be specific.

At that time, they were dealing with the struggles of fixing up a new home that needed a lot of work and they believed that my presence would make things much easier for them to complete their demands. Unfortunately, I was still young(ish), employed at a video store (R.I.P. Blockbuster. I still think of you often.), and not very inspired to spend all of my free time doing manual labour when I was also paying rent. Needless to say, our differences in living perspectives led to some trying times.

The annoyances and agitations began to appear weekly, then daily, then hourly. I eventually felt like every breath I took was being scrutinized. That each bite of cereal was one wasted moment in which I was just being lazy and not "pulling my weight". A dark cloud started to follow me around, even when I wasn't in the house. Everything around me seemed irritating and every experience felt negative. Eventually that cloud stopped following me around. It became me.

But it was during one of these difficult days, when I managed to be home alone on a rare occasion, that I happened upon a little old movie simply titled Batman. (If you haven't seen it, this Adam West and Burt Ward classic from 1966 is most definitely "cheesy" in all the right ways. I won't digress into a movie review here, so just go and watch it immediately after you are done reading this. You can thank me later.) And as strange as it still sounds to me today, this movie is so important to my story because of one...simple...line....

To set the stage, Batman is in possession of a bomb (which despite having a very short fuse, it still manages to burn for quite a long time...remember the "cheese") and he needs to find a place to get rid of it so that innocent people are not harmed. Each direction he tries to go, he encounters a conflict. Whether it be a couple of nuns, or a mother pushing a stroller, or a ridiculous small but loud two person band, he always has to change direction and try to find a new place to dump the problem. Even when he tries to throw it in the water, he cannot because of a family of ducks! Finally, he turns, still holding the destructive device, and exclaims "Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb!"

And that was it. A bomb of positivity exploded in my brain and suddenly I felt a rush of optimism. Perhaps it was too many years of analyzing literature and trying to find meaning in the seemingly meaningless, but I sat in front of this ridiculously entertaining movie and became philosophical. What if THAT was how simple life could be? What if this dark cloud that I had become was not permanent, but it was actually only a temporary problem? If only SOME days a bomb can't be disposed of, that means that there MUST be other days that it can. Why should I let all my days be dismal when it is only some days that cause me grief? And hell, what if there is actually some good in every day that I'm just not noticing because of my problems? What if I'm seeing a band, or nuns, or ducks as problems when they aren't? What if it is actually just a perception because I AM the one that is holding the problem in my own hands, running around like a lunatic and getting frustrated in every direction??

Yes, that really is how my brain works a lot of time. Overthinking requires very little effort but boy can it be exhausting!

Later that night, I was talking with a friend and I explained to her the epiphany that I had. I acknowledged that it clearly wasn't ground-breaking, but she assured me it was still very much significant. That's the thing about being in a rut. We usually already have the answers -- it's just a matter of finding the right door to open at the right time in order to find it. She and I talked for a while about how easy it is to get bogged down by negativity and dwell on the things that bother us instead of holding onto the things that make us happy.

That's when it happened. I said, "Well, why don't we just think about the best part of our day right before going to bed? That way, no matter how shitty our day may have been, at least we can fall asleep in a better mood than when we were awake."

Done. Simple. Concise. Just the way I like it. And then we started to do it.

Each day, we would text each other the best part of our day before going to bed. It started off by saying something like "Here's the best part of my day...." but we agreed that we needed something shorter. We thought out "Final Thought" or "Bed Goodness" but those sounded too much like death or masturbation respectively. Then "BPOD" was suggested. Acronyms are always fun and it sounded much better than "BPD" or "BPOMD". It was something easy to text or say, depending on the format in which we were keeping each other informed. A message of "BPOD: Putting the perfect amount of honey on my toast" seemed efficient.

That is how BPOD was born.

Sometimes my BPODs were very basic things, like having a good lunch, or having someone hold the door open for me at a store. Other times they were bigger, like setting a new low round in golf, or my store winning a sales competition and getting a $250 prize. And as the days went on, I started to notice that not only was I appreciating one good thing every day, but I was actually having to CHOOSE between great things. Picking the best was sometimes difficult because I was becoming more aware of all the good things in my day. I started to realize how often good things were actually happening, all while I had been too busy being consumed with my negative perceptions.

Don't get me wrong tho. This wasn't a light switch that just turned my life completely bright. There were still days that my cloud was thick. Some days, picking my BPOD was like choosing between a kick in the groin or a slap in the face. Neither option was very appealing but at least I could choose the lesser of two evils. And some days, that was just enough to keep me going.

So here we are now. Years (and numerous highs and lows) later, I still use this strategy. In fact, I am so grateful for the "bomb scene" in Batman that I even have the portrait tattooed on my leg to keep me inspired. I got it done two years ago when I visited my best friend in Newfoundland. He's a great artist and you should check him out (https://www.instagram.com/tattoos_by_es/?hl=en) if you live in the area and are thinking about getting inked. And no, he isn't paying me to say this.

I have decided to start up this blog to keep myself on track as I embark on another phase of transitioning. I have been teaching for 4 years but still working towards obtaining permanent work (it's just the grind of teaching these days). My girlfriend and I will soon be moving in with her parents for a year because our landlord is selling the rental property and our pre-construction condo is not yet built. I'm also struggling to stay consistent with a workout regime to get some of the cardio back that I lost over the last few years.

So, needless to say, there are going to be several days in the coming weeks and months that will be bombarded with annoyances. Keeping up with this blog will allow me to keep my mind focused. It will also give me a chance to look back and what might be the most significant year of growth in my life thus far. Heck, ultimately I hope that someone might even happen upon my musings and some words I say could help to overcome their own negativity. Or, better yet, maybe even by the key to open the door that reveals their own answers to their problems.

For now, I'll finally end this (which turned out to be longer than anticipated but I'm cool with it) opening blog in the same fashion that I plan on starting the rest of them.....

BPOD -- Feb. 2, 2017 -- Winning my Roll-Up-The-Rim for the second time in three cups! I won myself a free donut, which I exchanged for a chocolate chip muffin instead because that's just how I roll (no pun intended! Ha!) at 9 in the morning. And it was deeeeeelicious too!

P.S. Here's a clip of the amazing scene that changed my life! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIPZROBiNik

#wellness #mental health #BPOD

0 notes