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abigail-nicole · 2 years

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tgcf liveread 7

continuing porting my liveread of Pure Light And Joy In Novel Form, Heaven Official's Blessing, Tian Guan Ci Fu, from the dying twitter to the optimistically-not-dead tumblr. please support official translations of TGCF, the best novel, and maybe someday we'll get to see the COMPLETED, FILMED, EDITED LIVE ACTION if the chinese government ever quits being ragingly homophobic. enjoy season one of the donghua in the meantime and do read the original text!

originally tweeted on 3/31/2020:

I unabashedly love Xie Lian’s thrifty grandma personality & also the casual “wanna come to my ghost palace instead of always staying at your one-room apartment with three other people also living here which I never complain about even though I own a fjking palace”

I have Great Fondness for the ghosts in Ghost City being overly protective of Hua Cheng & Xie Lian (even if it is just to try to curry favor)

hahahaha oh my god this scene of sexytimes on an altar on top of poetry about Longing....

I’m. VERY PUMPED ABOUT SEEING MOUNT TONG’LU

tomorrow. i guess ill be responsible & start CHAPTER 128 TOMORROW THANKS EVERYBODY THIS IS THE ONLY THING BRINGING ME JOY AS I WORK THRU THIS PANDEMIC

yall Lang Ying THOUGHT HUA CHENG LIVED WITH THEM im dying....

He didnt think he could hide his feelings HE DIDNT THINK HE COULD HIDE HIS FEELINGS HEAAAAAAAAA

He’s really going straight WE USED TO SLEEP IN THIS BED TOGETHER level melancholy oh my god

This is a little nightmare story, the kind at which MXTX excels

Oh my god hes the crown prince of PINING AWAY TO NOTHING

okay mxtx it is Not At All Obvious that Hua Cheng is this Lang Ying & this gratituitious bathing scene is.... amazing omg

more like dianxia babysitter of errant dieties

-shi qingxuan

-quan yizhen

-qi rong

Heavenly Babysitter Dianxia confirmed with DONT PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH and DONT SET THAT ON FIRE

Think of the donghua playing with this scene of attacking empty clothes

his whole “this is the robe! no THIS is the robe! just kidding it was never here! now ive trapped you!” feels a little Princess Bride iocane powder reasoning

the boyfriends being Soft sustains me

hahahahahahaha god xie lian’s cooking is so amazingly terrible how is this book so great in its most domestic scenes

OUR BOY SNAPPED

bitches destroy Puqi Shrine gotta contend with the Flower Crown Martial Prince

hahahaha hua cheng really had to turn into a child for Flimsy Plot Reasons didn’t he

this Ghost Inn scene is pure chaos and slapstick & detail & action, and this is the cherry on top of the elaborately-crafted layers of this cake of a scene

Im sad about ling wen???? I love her???? She’s the most competent character in this book sorry hua cheng

“He might spit in the water of someone he doesn’t like....or put laxatives....but not poison...” Lolololol

Let’s pause mid-investigation so we can appreciate hualian holding hands

fetuses don’t have teeth......LIES EXPOSED

fetus eyes also don’t yoke together in utero this is a real medical fact unrelated to the fetus ghost in tgcf

ah yes, sitting in the window in the glowing, luminious moonlight, with your weapon-pet-scarf, an excellent time for a heart to heart confessional with your beloved

this is on level with Single Plank Bridge as a life philosophy / love confessional

so many important scenes happen over a table here. Jun Wu + Xie Lian + Hua Cheng taking tea without dissembling is A Mood

“Sometimes three with a single move” Lololol I Love Him

This adorable little exchange where they just talk about how much they belong to each other

Let’s stop here a second, pause the film on Puppet Master boyfriends, and do a bit of Plot Dissection:

-Jun Wu has sent Xie Lian to Mt TongLu to...become the next Ghost King

-Hua Cheng, the most recent Ghost King, is with him

-don’t you have to kill all the other ghosts to win

Let’s also stop & think about our Magical Girl Dianxia becoming A Ghost King:

I have no idea how this plot is gonna turn out but it’s always fun & fruitful to examine your thoughts & expectations the first time through something & wonder why you want or fear a certain outcome

Hua Cheng would be devastated if Xie Lian became a fierce ghost king capable of murdering millions. In fact it’s so antithetical to everything he is that, at that point, Xie Lian wouldn’t be the same person anymore.

(contrast this to wwx & lwj, both of whom have proven themselves capable of Big War Murder when pushed hard enough)

he contrast of soft sideplot of boyfriends being The Most Obviously In Love But Afraid To Say It and the extremely harsh main plot of What The Fuck, Did God Just Send Xie Lian Into A Literal Torture Volcano With Like, Real High Stakes

... but also does anyone else wanna see ghost king boyfriends

these gays obviously

but this plot, lighthearted flirting aside, is going to a real dark place??? & i see the end of book 3 coming with xie lian in a real bad cliffhanger of a situation for me to sit through while reading another painful flashback

Lolololol more fuckin on the altar i guess

The General Who Broke His Sword !!!!

let’s take a roll call:

(check) the general who broke his sword

(check) the prince who pleased the gods

[ ] the princess who slit her own throat

(check) the young lord who poured wine

OKAY BRING OUT THE REST IM READY!

continue Mt Tong'lu next time on TGCF Liveread livetweets part 8 or whatever part is next!

#tgcf #tgcf liveread

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cryptidpiss · 2 years

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hhgvgvff hfff waiting on the toilet to burst is torture my bladder is so full but im not even leaking

i spread my legsb so that i would lose it faster but im sstill waiting it’s taking so long

fuck fukxxk fuck i feel like im gong to leak any second before i was hoping i wouldnt leak now im prayi my that ill start leaking soon

but its like my bladder is torturing me now for toturing ot so much

im sitting up straight to see if that helps im omthe very verge of leaking iwant to let go but i know i’m not purposefully allowed to o let go i have to wait until i lose it ahs i’m so close to losing it but apparently my body did not get the memo that it doesn’t have to fight anymore

i jusr leaked the toniest bit ph god ahh oh god why did it only have to be a little dribble i just want to pee

ohh ohhgod okayvtge leaks were slighty bigger that time

im leaking so slowly it’s the same

ohhm

og fuck

oh fuckn hile i was typing that i finally burst i coudlnt hold back any longwr the stream was so forceful i had to go ao bad it was gushing out lf me so loudly and splatterinf everywhere and i had mt legs spread too wide and it slattered on me a bit but it feels so good oh fuck ot feels so goodi cant stop panting and shaking it feels so good phh ohh fuck it feels so good

#moth needs to pee

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blahkugo · 4 years

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Omakase

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+, smut, slight overstim, all characters are aged up, ofc.

A/N: Happy birthday to the woman that literally birthed my blog, the writer of the best fics I’ve ever read-- *cough Notice, Seven Minutes, Of Love and Lemons, etc.*-- @lookslikeleese. It’s 5 am right now and my brain cannot come up with the proper words, but just know I love you so much. Thank you for creating our entire friend group. I LOVE YOU.

omakase (noun):

(in a Japanese restaurant) a meal consisting of dishes selected by the chef; chef’s choice.

Thirty minutes into supper with the Todorokis, you think your heart may actually stop beating. It’s not the awkward silence, nor the snowstorm of icy glares traveling across the table. You’ve long since made your peace with the scents of charred leather couches and melted silverware that linger in your hair whenever one of the men gets riled up.

No, it’s an issue far more pressing than the typical family drama, a matter that needs to be resolved with stealth— immediately.

It’s Shouto’s fingers, darting into his pocket and pressing a single button. It’s your heels digging into the cool tile beneath you. It’s every nerve standing on end, every passing second sending a wave of heat to your core. Your knuckles blanche, gripping the oak table with such ferocity that it may just snap, and your thighs shake, overwhelmed.

The issue is that there’s a little pink vibrator pressing against your clit and the bi-colored bastard chews his food as though this night is no different than any other.

It doesn’t matter that the toy’s been placed at the lowest setting all night, doesn’t matter that your fingernails relieve a bit of the pressure every time you dig them into your exposed thighs. The only thought crossing your mind is your impending orgasm. How are you supposed to stifle euphoric pleasure when you’re barely able to hold it together now?

“So, how’s that new job going?” Enji asks more out of courtesy than interest. While you typically humor his attempts at placid conversation, you’re too troubled to speak to the stoic man in front of you. What if your juices seep through your soaked panties right onto the chair?

“It’s— ah- it’s really good.”

And this has been your entire night thus far. Feeble efforts to remain coherent, whines and gasps hidden behind awkward coughs— anything and everything you can possibly do to maintain your dignity in the presence of your boyfriend’s father.

“What was that funny story you were telling me earlier today?” Shouto doesn’t miss a beat, sending a quick slant your way before stuffing another bite of rice into his mouth. He knows precisely what he’s doing, can feel the pointed daggers you dig into the side of his head, but his relaxed smile reveals nothing to the three pairs of eyes gazing intently at you, awaiting your response.

“Oh, Mt. Lady, she— oh my god,” As soon as you begin speaking, he cranks the toy up to a new level. Though it’s only for a second, the sound that leaves your body is inhuman, a mortifying cross between a sob and a choke that has your palm slamming onto the table fiercely.

All at once, the table is bustling with concern for your safety. To their naive eyes, it seems you choked on a bite of food, and Fuyumi hurries to grab you a glass of water. Shouto simply remains seated, a slick grin plastered across his face at the sight of your heated cheeks and teary eyes. What the fuck could have possessed you to agree to this in the first place?

“I-I’m okay,” you mumble out, embarrassment shaking you far worse than any sex toy ever could. And that fact— the way your eyebrows knead together in discomfort as you squirm in your seat— is precisely what Shouto wants. You’re no stranger to humiliation, no stranger to the tugging deep in your gut or the heated flush that darts onto your mattress and makes its home on your cheeks.

But this? This type of shame is foreign; it makes your head spin and refuses to waver no matter how much you silently gripe and plead. “Honestly, I feel a bit—” another pulse, another pained gasp from you, “ill.” The words barely make their way out before you’re gritting your teeth, thighs pressing together so tightly they may leave pretty purple marks.

“Maybe I should take her upstairs,” Shouto sighs, faux apology slipping through his mouth with ease. When did the fucker get so good at lying?

And then he’s helping you up from your seat, rubbing tender circles into your back, like any good boyfriend would. But every graze is unbearable, sends a tidal wave of warmth rushing through your core. The most innocent of touches has become obscene, twisted in a way only you and the cool man next to you are able to acknowledge.

As you climb the stairs with shaky legs, you can only pray that the rest of the family doesn’t notice the slick juices trailing down your thighs.

—

“Who knew dinner and a show could be so entertaining?” He teases, just barely dodging the fist you throw half-heartedly at his shoulder. His supple lips are glued into a smirk, one that probably won’t drop until the night is long over.

“Please– I-” you attempt to stifle your moans, but in the comfort of his childhood bedroom you find yourself slipping into a high-pitched whine. “Turn it off.” He seems to debate the plea internally, slender fingers brushing over the buttons until you grip harshly at his bicep. You’ve endured enough misery to last you months.

When he finally switches it off, you feel your entire body slacken and relief wash over you; however, it does nothing for the throbbing in your clit or the pool of desire still brimming in your core. What you crave is his touch, the warmth that pokes and prods at your every muscle, loosening each nerve until you’re a babbling mess— wholly at the mercy of his lithe fingers.

“Shou,” you mewl, voice dripping with desperation. His eyes widen for a quick second, brows raised and shocked by your blatant come-on with his family only a level down. “I need you.”

Those three simple words have him springing into action, shoving you against the mattress. Pinning you beneath him with ease, he hikes your skirt up to your hips before running a slender digit against your clothed slit.

“You made a mess,” his words carry no weight, only amazement at the juices flowing freely through the thin panties and down your thighs. “Probably made a mess all over your chair too.”

With that comment, your shame is back with a vengeance, tinging the tips of your ears and causing you to cry out. Before Shouto, you’d have never thought this sort of depraved commentary could have you shaking. Hell, you’re not sure he even knew what he was doing to you at first; ever oblivious, Shouto simply speaks his mind.

Only when he noticed the effect of his words, did he begin using those passing observations against you. Now, he lives for your reactions, spurs you on if only to see how far a gruff remark can push you— and typically, your limit is reached in wanton sobs and bright red scratch marks down his back.

He doesn’t bother with removing the lace panties, only tugs them to the side so he can brush his fingers against your naked slit. When he pushes a thumb against your clit, you can’t help the loud cry that escapes you. “Bite,” he offers up his wrist so that your moans don’t carry through the thin walls.

Your teeth sink into his flesh, eliciting a sharp breath at the sudden pain. And he enjoys that part too— the lengths you’ll go to achieve pleasure, the stinging reminders of your desire. “Stay quiet for me, yeah?” He tests a finger, then two, knuckles deep in your doughy walls as you writhe on the bed. “Good girl.”

“Mmph,” you feel your eyes roll back at the soft praise, thighs tensing as he begins to pump his digits in and out. “Faster, ah– please.” Your moans are muffled against his arm, but he complies nonetheless, fingers curling and hitting the spot that drums against your heartbeat, that rattles through your brain.

The second he brings his lips to your clit, you feel the coil in your stomach about to snap. Hair slick with sweat, your hands roam through his own wet strands, gripping and tugging him closer, closer, closer. He suckles hungrily, his last meal long forgotten as he pushes you further over the edge.

All at once, you see stars. You’re unsure whether you’re keeping quiet like he asked or sobbing loudly, the tidal wave of pleasure consumes you whole, stomach going taut and twisting as he allows you to ride out your orgasm. With the toy slowly edging you all night, this bliss feels fully merited— is exactly what you deserve after being subjected to his teasing for so long.

Shouto only lets up when your entire body has gone slack and you push his head away. Bringing his fingers up to your supple lips, he watches hungrily as you slurp at your own slick.

His eyes are the darkest you’ve ever seen them, pooling with eagerness and a longing for more; he brings a thumb to his chin to wipe at your juices— licks a long stripe up the digit to fully savor you. The image is immodest at the least, animalistic at most.

It reignites your own thirst immediately.

Though you’re exhausted, core spasming from overuse, you find yourself tugging at his waistband, pulling him close so he can sheath himself inside you in one fell thrust.

“Fuck,” his voice is husky, groan stifled in the nook of your shoulder. “Still so fucking tight for me.” The only sounds that fill the air are your joint moans, the squeaky springs of the mattress, and the headboard clanging against the wall— sweat soaked skin as his hips snap against you.

“Ah— please, please, please,” it seems to be the only phrase that falls from your loose lips. Every jerk sends shocks across your damp flesh, vision going foggy as he sends your brain spinning. Once again, you teeter at the edge, so close. Your legs wrap across his back, digging into the globes of his ass to pull him impossibly closer.

“What do you want?” He grunts into your jaw, peppering wet kisses down your neck and across your chest. It may leave a mark or two, but it’s something to worry about later.

“I–”At this point, you’re just a teary, blubbering mess, “please, Shou– need your cum.” You manage the words, knowing exactly what effect they have. His movements quicken, pace faltering as he chases his own high.

And then, you’re both seeing stars. With one final shudder, his cock twitches, and then he’s spilling into you. Your groans intertwine, his a loud sigh of your name, you sobbing helplessly.

Once he finally stills, he collapses on top of you, both of your chests heaving. His fingers smooth at your matted hair, whispers of ‘so good for me’ and ‘fuck, baby’ into the shell of your ear as he allows your body— still trembling uncontrollably— time to regain composure.

Now you remember why you agreed to this little game of his.

–

“I hope you feel better,” Fuyumi hugs you goodbye, though your eyes are glazed over in post-coital bliss. Her gaze doesn’t quite meet your own, anyways. But they couldn’t have heard; you were quiet. Weren’t you?

As you stumble into the passenger side of Shouto’s pristine Model S, you catch the gruff comment Enji murmurs to Shouto,

“You two could stand to be a bit less obvious next time.”

#weese's birthday bash #shouto todoroki x reader #bnha smut #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki #mha smut #shouto #shoto todoroki x reader #smut #tw: overstimulation

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 3 years

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Okay, so the brain’s a bit caught up in one of my other writing projects, but I refuse to abandon this entirely. So I’m gonna just power through this and then get back to Vibing™.

Actually, it’s kinda cute that the hero Thirteen is introduced in chapter thirteen. I wonder if Hori did that on purpose or just managed it as a fun coincidence.

[No. 13 - Rescue Training]

So we start off on Wednesday morning (which would be April 12th/11th) at 7:35 AM. There’s a hostage situation by a villain who looks like a goddamned pokemon (my brain has made the ‘buff ditto’ comparison and now I am Shook) who is, according to Mt. Lady, a serial robber and murderer by the name of Habit Headgear. Kamui Woods, whose wood bindings have apparently been broken trying and failing to contain the guy, is tossed back on the ground as he notes the villain is strong and a quick strategist.

Seems like she and Kamui Woods have teamed up together! Or at least responded to the same villain attack again. Also, who’s this dude?

Random Mii Blaster escaped from Smash Ultimate and is now in BNHA, when will the madness end.

Naturally, the hostages are not handling this situation super well, though the crowds watching don’t seem as worried? IDK hard to tell from far away. The buff ditto villain uses double team, no wait I mean agility, actually his high speed to show how outclasses the heroes on the scene are.

As he announces his plans to escape, we see All Might rushing in loud enough for the stomps to be heard. He announces his arrival mere moments before he fucking snaps the villain’s neck with a handchop - or, well, not really, but damn that had to be a hard hit. All Might also managed to grab the family out of harm’s way in the process, announcing that he’s on his morning commute.

The crowds cheer for All Might, while Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods are somewhat put out - they appreciate the help, but also worry All Might will put them out of business.

(I guess this is where all those fics that do bring up how All Might cuts down the hero job market on his own pull from? Or just coincidence, who knows.)

The police thank All Might with salutes for the help, and All Might give his own quick responding salute before he declares he needs to head off so he won’t be late. Of course, that’s when he hears about a hit-and-run (that super hearing lol) and takes off, just so coincidentally in the direction of said trouble. Despite that fact that he needs to get to work. This man.

While he’s in the air, he considers how his speed has dropped, and that he’s been weakening since he passed on his power. Not to mention that after his rescue of Izuku and Katsuki from the sludge villain, his maximum time went down. Which is not at all referencing him about to overdo it again and lose more time, no siree.

We descend into a flashback to right where we left off after the battle trial, with All Might confronting Izuku about telling Katsuki about (some of) One For All. All Might is surprised and a bit nervous? Worried? Or that bead of sweat in the flashback might be from the strain of holding the form when he’s about to run out of time.

In any case, Izuku in the past apologizes and says he hasn’t even told his mom, but that he had to tell Katsuki something… All Might determines this might be a consequence of not being explicit enough about keeping the secret, since Izuku isn’t the type to brag or boast. Also calls Izuku too sincere, hah, isn’t that the truth. All Might says it’s lucky Katsuki thought he was joking, so All Might can forgive the slip this time, but that Izuku cannot tell another soul.

(Stares at this.) (Looks at recent manga events.) Whelp.

Anyways, All Might catches the car of the hit and run guy (and man, that face the dude is making) while thinking about how, suitable successor or not, Izuku’s still just fifteen, so All Might had to make things clear. Of course, then All Might overhears about a hostage crisis the next town over, and, well.

We transition to right after lunch (12:50) with Aizawa announcing that that day’s hero training plans - something supervised by himself, All Might, and one other teacher. Izuku realizes it has to be a special class, while Sero raises his hand to ask what they’re doing. Aziawa’s reply?

I swear this is exactly the same shit All Might did before the battle trial, gimme a second-

Bahahahaha incredible. Though then again, I wonder if those are security cards keys to certain locations. It would make sense, though then I wonder how Katsuki and Izuku were able to get into Training Ground Beta without one… hrm…

Anyways! Kaminari, Ashido, and Kirishima end up talking about it; Kaminari says it’ll be a rough day, with Ashido pumped as she agrees, and Kirishima also pumped as he says that it’s what being a hero is all about. Asui notes that she’ll be right as home in a flood. Aizawa silences them with a glare, saying he’s not done. He presses the button to unveil the costume lockers, telling the class that it’s their choice whether or not to wear their costumes, since some of them are ill-suited for this kind of activity.

Oh boy, will this put you on the path to the hero you’ll be come… but not for the reasons you think, buddy. The joke here is trauma.

It seems like most of the class does still choose to go in costume, barring Izuku - whose costume is still being repaired after the damage done to it in battle training. However, he still has his belt, gloves, knee pads, and mouth guard (with the mouth guard being new) on him.

Golly, I wonder why your costume needed to be replaced, Izuku.

(thonk.)

Also Tenya jkfdkjdgfkj Oh My God You Dramatic Egg. He’s got a whistle and he’s directing the class to line up by ID number so they can fill the seats in an orderly fashion.

I’m love this boy so much. And it’s even funnier because the bus has an open layout, meaning it was pointless. Poor Tenya is in Despair, with Ashido teasing him for his efforts being wasted.

Savage. But yeah, looks like it’s Sato, Izuku, Asui, Kirishima, Tenya, Ashido, Aoyama, and Kaminari in the front seats. And Asui - sorry, Tsuyu - just outright says she says what’s on her mind, which startles Izuku since he didn’t expect her to talk to him I guess? She tells Izuku to call her Tsuyu, then turns to him and just says his quirk resembles All Might’s.

Izuku, being the sincere boy he is, stutters and stumbles out something that almost looks like a denial, before Kirishima, bless his himbo soul, points out that All Might doesn’t get hurt by his own quirk, so they’re already different in that way. He then goes on to state that that kind of simple, strength enhancing quirk is awesome and that a lot of cool stuff can be done with it.

Kirishima then goes on to show off his hardening, saying that it’s good for a fight, but otherwise boring. Midoriya ‘holy fuck I love quirks’ Izuku thinks otherwise, actually sparkling as he proclaims the quirk to be neat and more than enough for going pro. Kaminari notes that heroes also have to worry about popular appeal. Aoyama says his navel laser quirk is both strong and cool, and thus perfect for heroics. Ashido then kneecaps him by adding in that that’s as long as he doesn’t blow up his own stomach.

Ashido’s Savagery: The Sequel.

In the next panel, we see Katsuki’s been paying attention to this convo, which has me wondering if this is when he was first starting to piece together OFA from Izuku’s mention of ‘getting the quirk from someone else’ and ‘like All Might’s’. However, when he is brought up in the conversation (alongside Shouto) as examples of ‘strong and cool quirks’, he feigns disinterest and looks away, trying to play cool.

(Also, he doesn’t seem to have his gauntlets on him here, though I know he’s brought one with him as seen a bit later. I wonder whether he chose to leave one of them behind or if he might have been restricted from bringing more than one by Aizawa… interesting either way.)

Tsuyu then brings up how Katsuki being so unhinged means he’ll never be popular. Katsuki, naturally, takes offence and slams his hands on the rail in front of him, demanding to know what she just said. Tsuyu sticks out her tongue as she points at him making her point. Poor Jirou, having to be seated next to someone so loud.

And the moment literally the whole discord was waiting for, Kaminari’s brutal vocabulary takedown of Katsuki, something cut entirely from the anime. Friendly reminder that Kaminari is, in fact, a major lit nerd! He’s Not Dumb! Stop Making Him Dumb In Fics! He not only has the most verbose vocabulary in the class that isn’t from the rich kids (and in some ways is even more so), he also has Katsuki absolutely pegged despite only knowing him for a few days. He Earned His UA Spot.

While Katsuki snaps back at Kaminari, Izuku is hunched over in disbelief that Katsuki’s the one getting bullied for once, but he supposes that that’s UA for you…

To the side, Yaomomo declares the conversation vulgar, while Ochako is laughing and saying it’s fun. Offscreen, I’m assuming that it’s Kaminari mock-marvelling at how he didn’t think Katsuki’s mouth could get any fouler.

The last panel on the page is Aizawa interrupting them to announce that they’ve arrived at the training grounds, and to look sharp. The whole class (I guess?) snaps to attention.

And that’s the halfway point, so I will leave the USJ proper for next time! This has been a Savage Mina and Smart Denki appreciation post, so appreciate them, or else.

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hhsjjsjwjejdns · 3 years

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OH MY GOD THEY RUCKINF T WORDED MY TUMBLR ARE TOU fucking KIDDING

IM LITERALLY 175 POUNDS I AM OVERWEIGHT CAN U BAN PEOPLE WHO ARE LIKE fucking PROMOTING ANOREXIA ALSO IDK WHY MT PHONE IS TURNINF fucking INTO LOWECASE

I’m so fucking upset I’ve had my blog since LAST fucking SUMMER I WAS 14 AND IT WAS THE ONLY WAY FOR ME TO CONNECT TO MY OLD SELF BC I COULD LITERALLY JUST READ WHAT I WAS THINKING. I made friends on that fucking blog and had memories and I had drafts from last summer. This is so FUCKED. I’m not even starting over I’m just here to fucking bitch about it because that’s so goddamn annoying SO DONT FUCKINF WORRY ABOUT TRYINF TO GET RID OF THIS ACCOUNT BECAUSE ITS JUST A BURNER TO POST THIS SHIR WND SAY FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU WHOEVER IS T WORDINF EVERYTHING. FUCK. YOU. I AM NOT EVEN CLOSE TO BEING SICK ANYWAY IM 175 POUNDS YOU fucking IMBECILE. FUCK. YOU!!!!!

Rip “need2starve” rip my ability to understand my very mentally ill self from last year.

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zenalios · 3 years

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Untamed Seas; 4 - Enalios, β

Index (R18+)

Summary

Amphitrite, sea goddess, and daughter of Nereus, is less than willing to marry an Olympian, let alone Poseidon, the very god who overthrew her father. She does so nevertheless, in a desperate move to protect her sisters following Nereus’ absence.

The marriage is beneficial to them both: Poseidon gains legitimacy through a union with her, effectively solidifying his control over the seas, and Amphitrite guarantees her sisters' safety, along with all prestige due her status as queen.

The catch? She finds his domineering personality utterly insufferable, and he, the most fearsome god, resents being stuffed into an unwelcome marriage.

They have all eternity to make it work.

TW // Abuse - Verbal and Physical ; Abusive Relationship ; Forced Marriage

A sharp slap echoed through the kitchen.

“What were you thinking?!”

The Nereid held a hand to her smarting cheek as her mother continued to lecture her. Escaping Zeus had seemed like a great idea until her sisters had returned in hysterics, crying about how the new king of the gods took Erato away before everyone’s eyes. Amphitrite could not bring herself to look at them now since it actually was her fault for walking right into Zeus’s trap. But she hadn’t told them exactly why she had run from the Olympian.

She had only confessed to offending Zeus, and to being the reason Erato was missing —at which Doris grew even more agitated since she had been led to understand that Zeus would not attend.

“His attendance may have been pure coincidence altogether, how you even managed to offend him is beyond me,” Doris ranted at her and to her family and nobody else in particular, throwing up her hands as she spoke. “Gaia above, Nereus, just look at the sort of degenerate your daughter has become!”

A tongue clicked at that.

“Doris,” Tethys, their grandmother, chided. “I’m sure there must be some reason behind it.”

The titaness turned to Amphitrite, her algae veil gently floating along in the sea nymph’s direction. “Isn’t there, Phi?”

Amphitrite bowed her head to stare at the smooth pebbles lining the floor under her feet, “I��”

She truly did not know what to say. Perhaps if it had been her grandmother alone who had asked, she might have told her the truth already: that Zeus asked her to marry Poseidon, her response being to run away. Her vision blurred. It was no use, her mother would not listen anyways.

As if evidencing that fact, a sharp pain suddenly pulled at the back of her skull. Amphitrite yelped, clawing at the hands that had once nurtured her, this time begging for nothing but reprieve. “Give me back my daughter!” Doris seethed.

“Enough!” Tethys roared, rising to her feet, the force of her voice causing Doris to let go. Amphitrite landed on her hands and knees. At once, she scrambled out of her mother’s reach.

Tethys snapped, “She is your daughter too.”

The Oceanid scoffed, “She’s not. She’s his daughter, not mine.”

Amphitrite pressed the edge of her palm to her scalp in an attempt to ease the throbbing. Her first time hearing those words had been painful; after that she had simply learnt to accept the fact that her mother coped with grief through denial and anger, all of which she took out on her eldest daughter. It was futile to argue with Doris, anyways —there was no point trying to convince a lunatic who didn’t want to believe who was and who wasn’t her child.

At that moment, someone burst into the cave.

It was one of Tethys’s sons, Amnisos, who lived on Crete where Mt. Zas had been. “Yes, brother?” Doris snapped at the river god, ignoring the stare her own mother gave her. “Have you come to bring more ill-tidings to us now?”

Amnisos was bent over at the hips, gasping for breath.

“No,” He wheezed, “No, I brought Zeus himself.”

At once a mass of grey hair arose from its place in the corner. The progenitor of all rivers had been sitting quietly, listening and watching all as he always did. “Zeus has come for an apology?”

“I’m not sure.” Amnisos straightened himself. “But he did ask to speak with her before he returns Erato.”

Doris practically jumped for joy upon hearing the name. Now Amphitrite found herself being yanked from her place on the floor, and towards the entrance, the older nymph’s nails biting into her arm.

“Then go already, you wretched thing!” Doris cried, throwing Amphitrite forward into her uncle’s arms, who then steadied her.

Amphitrite nodded gratefully at him. As if I am not also your daughter, Amphitrite thought bitterly. Then again, it would be hypocritical to say that only Doris favoured Erato above all —so did Amphitrite herself, though she doubted Doris would ever let her near the child again.

“Amphitrite.” Her uncle nudged his head at the entrance he had come from. Amphitrite swallowed visibly. “Alright.”

Zeus was seated in a nearby glade she and her sisters had used to conjure up stories for their uncles and aunts. Her heart sank. “Oh, hello, Phi.” Amphitrite cringed at the strange look her uncle gave her —now that was valid cause for concern, she thought sardonically. Outside of family, only lovers used that name, of which Zeus was as of yet neither, and would never be the latter.

“Now, where was I…?” The god trailed off, then slapped his thigh as if he had only just remembered what he’d come here for. “Ah, yes!”

Such a sinister smile. Amphitrite turned away, wishing to see no more of it than she already had at last night’s party. “You. Marry. Poseidon. When?” Zeus dropped each word carefully, as though she were but a child incapable of understanding concepts beyond her years. She tightened her jaw, feeling the shame burn through her cheeks. Behind her, Amnisos sputtered.

Amphitrite grit her teeth. “If my father were here—" She began, only to find herself cut off by the king of the gods. “Yes, yes,” One hand waved dismissively at her; the other prodded at his ear, wriggling his pinky around the hole, and sniffing at the appendage after. Amphitrite wrinkled her nose in disgust. “If your father were here, he would give you a choice.”

“But!” Zeus exclaimed suddenly, leaning towards her as one would when speaking to a child, “Nereus isn’t here anymore, is he?” And whose fault is that?! The young goddess’ fingers curled and uncurled with sheer agony at the way Zeus so casually spoke of her father, his flippant expression causing even Amnisos to look indignant.

“Listen up, Am-phi-tri-te.”

Against her better judgement and folded arms, a heavy shudder tore through her body at the croaking voice that placed emphasis on each syllable of her name, so ominous it seemed to violate her very spirit and leave a crawling sensation behind on her skin. “There are fifty of you Nereids.” He pointed at her.

“You are the oldest, but you’re not the prettiest.”

Her breath halted. Subconsciously, her gaze flickered towards her uncle, where it was met with an equally dumbfounded countenance, if not more so. The Nereid twitched ever so slightly. After everything he’d spouted from his filthy mouth, she did not want to guess what he would say next. Zeus chortled. “Your sister Erato, on the other hand.”

A hand stroked at his short white beard. “She’s very lovely —and so young too.”

“You bastard!” Amphitrite snarled, aggravated enough to lunge at Zeus the same way she had done the night before. Only this time, she was filled with murderous intent. She had moved no further than a step before a pair of arms wound themselves about her, “Amphitrite!”

She faintly registered her uncle’s voice —it was him who held her back, but before she knew it, she had brought her foot down upon his.

“Your Majesty!” His pained voice betrayed a cry of reproach.

Zeus waved his hand at the river god. “Shut up before I remove you from my council."

“Maybe I should make it a point to attend her consummation.” Zeus added, a vicious smile growing again on his features. “Maybe my brother will even let me participate.”

To add insult to injury, he slowly began to form a little circle with his left thumb and index finger, drawing a finger through—

“I’ll do it.”

Amphitrite choked out then. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hot tears spill down her cheeks, blazing a trail of molten gold over her cheeks, her sobs hidden only because she had bit down on her lip to keep them in. Her uncle’s arms around her did nothing for the situation; in fact, it made things worse, now that there was one more person to witness her suffering. She flinched at the large hand that clamped down on her shoulder.

“Good.” Zeus said all too cheerfully. “It will be in a weeks’ time then. My wife and sisters will make preparations on your behalf.” The hand tightened briefly. “And I will be coming personally to fetch you, Phi.”

She collapsed to the ground after he left.

Not even the great river father could help her this time. Amphitrite was born of the sea, and now she would belong to the sea, only its depths were no longer on her side.

3 - Enalios, α ; 5 - Shadowed

#untamed seas #ari writes #snv #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok #snv poseidon #snv zeus #poseidon record of ragnarok #zeus record of ragnarok #poseidon x oc #poseidon x amphitrite #tw abuse #tw abusive parent #tw innuendo mention

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zippocreed501 · 2 years

Text

'The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real … for a moment at least … that long magic moment before we wake.'

'The most important thing for any aspiring writer, I think, is to read! And not just the sort of thing you’re trying to write, be that fantasy, SF, comic books, whatever. You need to read everything. Read fiction, non-fiction, magazines, newspapers. Read history, historical fiction, biography. Read mystery novels, fantasy, SF, horror, mainstream, literary classics, erotica, adventure, satire. Every writer has something to teach you, for good or ill. (And yes, you can learn from bad books as well as good ones — what not to do).'

'And write. Write every day, even if it is only a page or two. The more you write, the better you’ll get. But don’t write in my universe, or Tolkien’s, or the Marvel universe, or the Star Trek universe, or any other borrowed background. Every writer needs to learn to create his own characters, worlds, and settings. Using someone else’s world is the lazy way out. If you don’t exercise those “literary muscles,” you’ll never develop them.'

'Given the realities of today’s market in science fiction and fantasy, I would also suggest that any aspiring writer begin with short stories. These days, I meet far too many young writers who try to start off with a novel right off, or a trilogy, or even a nine-book series. That’s like starting in at rock climbing by tackling Mt. Everest.'

'I hate outlines. I have a broad sense of where the story is going; I know the end, I know the end of the principal characters, and I know the major turning points and events from the books, the climaxes for each book, but I don’t necessarily know each twist and turn along the way. That’s something I discover in the course of writing and that’s what makes writing enjoyable. I think if I outlined comprehensively and stuck to the outline the actual writing would be boring.'

'I get up every day and work in the morning. I have my coffee and get to work. On good days I look up and it’s dark outside and the whole day has gone by and I don’t know where it’s gone. But there’s bad days, too. Where I struggle and sweat and a half hour creeps by and I’ve written three words. And half a day creeps by and I’ve written a sentence and a half and then I quit for the day and play computer games. You know, sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes the bear eats you.'

'I don’t write the chapters in the order that you read them. I do switch. I’ll get in a Tyrion groove, where I’ll write four or five Tyrion chapters, and I hit a stopping point or something like that. Or I’ll realize that I’m way ahead on Tyrion, and I gotta catch up with the other characters. And I’ll go back and switch to Arya or Sansa or something like that. It’s always difficult switching gears, because the characters have very different voices and very different ways of thinking about the world. I’ll be writing up a storm and doing pages every day, and the minute I switch to a different character, that first day it’s like, “Oh, God, I have to read all these characters again. I have Sansa sounding like Tyrion, and that’s not good.” I have to read more of her chapters and immerse myself in Sansa.'

'In creative writing classes in college, the professors will say, ‘Write what you know.’ And that’s often misinterpreted to mean you should write a thinly veiled autobiography. [Like] a graduate student in English Literature at University, writing a story in which the hero is a graduate student in English Literature at University. It would seem to, on the surface, disallow science fiction and fantasy and so forth, since none of us are actually barbarians or knights or lords or even peasants. But I think you have to interpret ‘Write what you know’ much more broadly than that. We’re talking about emotional truth here. We’re talking about reaching inside here to make your characters real. If you’re going to write about a character witnessing a loved one die, you have to dig into yourself, and say, “Did you ever remember losing a loved one?” Even if it’s only a dog that you loved as a child or something. Tap that vein of emotional energy. In some ways, it’s not terribly different from what method actors do…. We observe other people from the outside. The only person we ever really know inside and out is ourselves, and we have to reach into ourselves to find the power that makes great fiction real.'

''I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they’re going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there’s going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don’t know how many branches it’s going to have, they find out as it grows. And I’m much more a gardener than an architect.'

'I don’t like the strictly objective viewpoint [in which all of the characters’ actions are described in the third person, but we never hear what any of them are thinking.] Which is much more of a cinematic technique. Something written in third person objective is what the camera sees. Because unless you’re doing a voiceover, which is tremendously clumsy, you can’t hear the ideas of characters. For that, we depend on subtle clues that the directors put in and that the actors supply. I can actually write, “‘Yes you can trust me,’ he lied.” [But it’s better to get inside the characters’ heads.]'

'In order to get inside their skin, I have to identify with them. That includes even the ones who are complete bastards, nasty, twisted, deeply flawed human beings with serious psychological problems. Even them. When I get inside their skin and look out through their eyes, I have to feel a certain – if not sympathy, certainly empathy for them. I have to try to perceive the world as they do, and that creates a certain amount of affection.'

'All fiction, if it’s successful, is going to appeal to the emotions. Emotion is really what fiction is all about. That’s not to say fiction can’t be thoughtful, or present some interesting or provocative ideas to make us think. But if you want to present an intellectual argument, nonfiction is a better tool. You can drive a nail with a shoe but a hammer is a better tool for that. But fiction is about emotional resonance, about making us feel things on a primal and visceral level.'

'I’m a strong believer in telling stories through a limited but very tight third person point of view. I have used other techniques during my career, like the first person or the omniscient view point, but I actually hate the omniscient viewpoint. None of us have an omniscient viewpoint; we are alone in the universe. We hear what we can hear… we are very limited. If a plane crashes behind you I would see it but you wouldn’t. That’s the way we perceive the world and I want to put my readers in the head of my characters.'

'I did my sweat. That’s a technique I learned in Hollywood, where my scripts were always too long. “This is too long,” the studio would say. “Trim it by eight pages.” But I hated to lose any good stuff — scenes, dialogue exchanges, bits of action — so instead I would go through the script trimming and tightening line by line and word by word, cutting out the fat and leaving the muscle. I found the process so valuable that I’ve done the same with all my books since leaving LA. It’s the last stage of the process. Finish the book, then go through it, cutting, cutting, cutting. It produces a tighter, stronger text, I feel. In the case of A DANCE WITH DRAGONS, my sweat — most of it performed after we announced the book’s publication date but before I delivered the final chapters — brought the page count down almost eighty pages all by itself.'

'As for ‘too much description,’ well, opinions differ. We write the books we want to read. And I want to read books that are richly textured and full of sensory detail, books that make me feel as if I am experiencing a story, not just reading it. Plot is only one aspect of telling a tale, and not the most important one. It is the journey that matters, not how fast you arrrive at the destination.'

'That’s my view, anyway. Others writers differ, of course. There are hundreds of books where everything is subordinate to advancing the plot, some of them quite fine, but my work has never been about that, and never will be.'

'Writing is like sausage making in my view; you’ll all be happier in the end if you just eat the final product without knowing what’s gone into it.'

'Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?'

'We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.'

Author Extraordinaire George R R Martin

source: azevedosreviews.wordpress

(Usually I'm searching for hours for writing advice/inspiration from authors old and new, but there is a whole goldmine of advice from George RR Martin out there. And all kudos to him for that).

#author extraordinaire #george r r martin #writers on tumblr #writing advice #writing inspiration #fantasy #game of thrones #song of ice and fire #writeblr

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sophiexwrites · 4 years

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The Greek goddess Hera, but she divorced Zeus and she's lesbian?

Hera’s Mirth

(Thank you for the prompt... I love it so, so much.)

Setting: Mt. Olympus and wider Cyprus; time/period is unspecified

Trigger Warnings: Mention of illness and toxic relationship

Euphrosyne is pronounced you-fross-in-ee; yes-goose-find-right-body-zoom-kit-night-free

Mirth (noun): gaiety or jollity, especially when accompanied by laughter; amusement or laughter

Hera was done. Done with her husband,, done with his infidelity and recklessness, done with pretending she liked him at all. She was the Goddess of Marriage and the Family, but that did not mean she stood by bad or toxic relationships.

“I want a divorce.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure babe, go wild.” Zeus said, not listening as always. Instead he was peering down from Olympus, probably with his eye on another poor mortal or nymph. Hera would usually feel obliged to curse the girl and show all actions had consequences, even if she couldn’t curse the King of the Gods himself.

“You don’t understand.” Her hand slammed onto the table in front of him, eyes shining with rage. “I am the Goddess of Marriage. And I’m getting a divorce. As of...” She glanced to the marble sundial behind him, watching the shadow move to the hour. “...Now, I am a free woman, and you will rule alone.”

With the first genuine smile she’d made in millennia, she turned on her heel and stalked from the throne room, peacock gown trailing in her wake. She could already hear her throne crumbling behind her, but felt no grief in loosing her position. It’s not like she was allowed to do much ruling, anyways.

Bitterness clogged her laugh as she materialised in the mortal world, wandering through the streets of Cyprus in pauper’s dress. It was her birthplace, and she was glad the people seemed to be thriving, couples wandering the streets and buying goods with faces stretched into grins. Only one of these pairs, she knew, would have a rocky relationship, and for that small number she was glad.

“Miss!” A cry came from her right, as a small girl tugged one her arm. “Do you have any spare change? My mama’s ill and we can’t afford the doctor.”

“What about your papi?” Hera lent down to the girl - she had always had a soft spot for fully mortal children. “Is he at work to care for her?”

“No, Miss.” The child shook her head and bit her lip. “Papi is sick too.”

Hera felt a pang in her chest, and wondered if this compassion would last. “Then I will pray for them.” She cast a few golden coins into the child’s hands, who ran off a great deal happier than before, and made a mental note to shout at one particular step-son later. Apollo ought to do all of his job, not just the fun parts.

Hera continued down the street, in search of a particular soul. She hummed quietly under her breath as she made her way up the hill, godly speed and strength carrying her up without much effort. It left her mind free to wander, returning to the subject she’d repressed for years. It had been far too long, even for her immortal mind, since she’d felt so powerful and free. Maybe it would be enough this time.

Before her, the hill flattened out and revealed the sunset. It was beautiful, a million shades glowing and pulsing in the warm dusk air. Bright and brilliant, it would have blinded anyone less than a god. Perhaps there was no need to shout at Apollo after all. But it wasn’t the most beautiful sight Hera saw, as she wandered toward the cliff edge, eyes fixed upon a lithe figure bathed in shadow.

The ex-queen’s voice became gentle as she gazed upon the mortal with her watery oxen eyes. Gentle and quiet, to hide its fearful shake.

“Excuse me,” She was glad she didn’t have to breath to survive, because the view of soft brown hair framed in gold stole it all from her. “Is this spot taken?”

“Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.” The whispery voice was music to her ears, so much so she considered falling to her knees there and then.

“What if they’re the one asking, Euphrosyne?” A gasp left her lips as the mortal turned, standing within seconds. Her round jawline trembled, green eyes full of tears that were never meant to be hers.

“You... you came.” Was all she whispered before the dam broke and tears carved their tracks into her dark cheeks, brow furrowing in relief. For the first time in years she laughed, full of her usual joy and mirth.

“Of course, darling.” Hera’s arms were open wide, and the woman threw herself into them. Tears filled the Goddess’s eyes, hidden from her lover’s view, and almost fell into the curls as Hera carded her fingers through them. Soft, gentle and joyous, Hera knew she should outlive lifetimes more.

Like their hearts had.

“I missed you.” Hera admitted, quiet enough so no hidden deity would hear, but clear enough for her favourite person to smile again. That person pulled away to show her smile, white teeth sparkling in the fading light, like the moon reflects the sun. “I swear on the River Styx, Euphrosyne, I’ll never let myself miss you for so long ever again.” The wind howled at her oath, Euphrosyne’s eyes widening because she knew better than most what it meant to break that oath.

“Does this mean you... you know...”

“Am no longer married? No longer Queen? As free as I want to be? Yes.” Hands fitting into each others perfectly, they sank to the grassy floor.

“And how free is that?” Euphrosyne’s voice was wrecked with controlled emotion, but the trademark smile still graced her. She grinned with her eyes, a true smile that Hera could not have longed for more, as the mortal studied their entwined hands. In particular, her thumb rubbed against the Goddess of Marriage’s ring finger, shadow of a ring still visible despite the accessory's disappearance.

“Not free at all, if you would have me.” Their hands were lose once more, suddenly they ached to hold one another again. Yet only Euphrosyne’s palms were empty, because Hera held in her hands a ring more gold than the sunken sunk, topped with a gem shining and sparkling in a peacock’s hue. “Please, love. If I can make you immortal again, we can be together for eternity.” All caution was to the wind as Hera confessed to the one she needed most. “I love you.”

The words barely left before Euphrosyne’s lips were on hers, arms around her neck as Hera’s own made their way to her waist, pulling each other closer, begging to be inseparable. The kiss (oh, how Hera had longed for that kiss!) was short but powerful; the two of them felt more heavenly than any other blessing could have made them.

“Yes.” Euphrosyne rushed, glowing with more than just joy as the ring slipped onto her finger: a perfect fit. “I love you Hera, yes!” Golden light erupted from her chest and she burst into flames, consuming every inch of her mortal prison, hitting Hera full force with fire and ice, leeching into her veins and tugging at her heart. The light soon faded and Hera changed into her immortal figure - a mortal form would do no good as the returned goddess before her laughed.

“Hera! Hera, love, I’m back! You fixed me!” The sound was of birds chirping and choir children singing, waves against the shore and ice cubes on a warm day, melting with Hera’s last resolve.

“You were never broken.” She gushed, tears of joy dripping down her chin. “Darling, you were never anything but perfect.”

“Just cursed into this body for a millennia, right?” The Goddess of Mirth was laughing again, joking and letting her joy reign over anyone allowed near her. And to Hera, it made her the most beautiful being in the universe.

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imaginethistime · 4 years

Text

Electric Charge

You push through the crowd looking for the boy, you'd longed to tell your secret to. You had been in the same friend group for well over a year now. You would normally never be this straight forward with your feelings. Tonight was different. You wore a mask to the costume dance. It was an end of year tradition to dress up as your favorite hero.

While Mt. Lady wasn't your favorite hero, her costume did provide for an easy disguise.

The costume was rather simple to find, the wig and color contacts, however, were not.

Suddenly you spot the boy you had so desperately wanted to see. You had to giggle at his outfit. Somehow you managed to look like you planned it out.

Denki's Edgeshot costume was a little ill-fitting as if he'd had it for a while.

"Hey, Kaminari. Looks like we just need Kamui Woods" You joke, wanting to see if he would recognize you. You hadn't called him Kaminari since the beginning of your time at UA.

"Hey... Mt. Lady?" Thank God, he doesn't recognize you.

"Yup, so hey I wanted to tell you something..." Better to get it over with now than to stress all night. "So, I really like this boy. He's kind and caring. He never wants anyone to get hurt by his quirk, and he's always there when you need him, even for his friend Bakugo. Sometimes he's a little perverted, but he respects my boundaries. And I feel and electric charge whenever I’m around him. Know anyone like that?"

"Kirishima?" Your boy was an idiot.

You sigh, "I meant you Kaminari."

He takes time to process your words. Realization spreads across his face. Then a frown takes its place.

Oh no, this was a bad idea. There's no way he could ever like me.

"I'm sorry Mt. Lady, but there's this girl I've had my eyes on for a while. In fact, I was going to tell her tonight." You follow his gaze, he's staring at Kyoka.

While you felt some confusion for this sudden revelation, it did make some sense. While your friend Kyoka picked on Denki to no end, she was never really mean or anything and she was your best friend so even though you feel like your heart's one step away from shattering you would let her have him if she wanted. She knew about your crush on him, so you would have to tell her this.

"O-oh." Your somber voice chokes out. "Okay, I hope it works out for you." You chirp, a fake optimism in your voice.

All you wanted to do now was go back to your dorm and watch movies with happy endings. And that's what you did, staying awake long past your usual bedtime. You never got why they cried and ate ice cream in movies but now that's all you wanted to do. Boy, was I dumb.

You remained there all weekend a few people had come to see if you were okay, Kyoka being one of them. You just told them you had a bad cold and waved them away. Denki had come by twice. And you didn't even answer him. You were sure that if you did your voice would let on how sad you were.

Monday rolled around and you pulled yourself out of bed. Normally you would never attend class without showering. But you didn't care, who were you going to impress? If Denki didn't like you who would? Besides, it's not like you smelled or anything.

Your hair was in a tight bun, that you barely had the energy to put up. Your movie marathoning had drained you.

You sat down at your desk, finding a note from Kyoka on its surface.

It read: Y/N I need to talk to you it's important...

You assumed it was about Denki, you weren't really ready to talk about it. But for their happiness, you would do it. You sigh, you had only arrived as class was beginning you would have to sit through a few agonizing hours, trying to figure out what to say.

Upon looking to Kyoka you see her glance uneasily between you and Denki. Just what you needed her to feel apprehensive with you about Denki. You just wished none of it had ever happened. I should have just stayed home.

Your class comes to a close and you begin to pack your notebook into your bag. “Hey Y/N, did you get my letter?”

“Yeah,” You take a deep breath preparing yourself, you wanted to sound happy. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

You knew where this was going. “It’s about Kaminari.”

“Oh, that yup it’s okay I’m over it.” Not exactly how you planned but this worked too right? The two of you begin walking towards the locker rooms.

“Wait-- Y/N I’m not sure you understand.”

“What? That Denki likes you? He told me at the dance, well, of course, he didn’t know it was me I came as Mt. Lady. In the end, I put too much effort into my outfit just to go back to my dorm early--” You ramble.

“Y/N-” She cuts you off, “That’s not it at all, things are making a little more sense now.” What did she mean? Not it at all? You saw the glances between Denki and her, she must be trying to spare your feelings.

“Kyoka, it’s okay. Like I said, I’m over it- well I will be. Don’t worry about me.” You reach the locker rooms.

“Y/N just stop and listen to me.”

“Why? There’s nothing more to be said. ” You begin crying you had been holding back and staying reserved, now the floodgates had opened. She pulls you into an embrace.

“Y/N, calm down it’s okay. But I need you to stop just for a second and listen to me.”

You heave, as heavy sobs rack your body. You had really liked him, why did it have to hurt so bad?

“Y/N, Y/N are you listening?” You can only nod, no words form as you breathe deeply. “You can stop crying. Kami-- Denki, does not like me. It was never me he wanted to confess to that night.”

You suck in as you try to control your sobs, but what does that mean? Why would he have looked at Kyoka that night?

“Are you still listening?” You can only nod. “Denki came to me looking for you. He wanted to tell you that he liked you-- you should have seen it Y/N the boy was love struck. He never danced once he spent the whole night like a lost sheep looking for you.” You had been able to stop crying but at this point, you began crying again. This time tears of joy.

I really am an idiot, I just assumed things.

It’s then that you spot Denki walking out of the locker rooms in his hero attire. You let go of Kyoka and run towards Denki. You throw your arms around him.

“Woah Y/N, you okay?”

“Yep, just happy to see you that’s all, Kyoka said you had something to tell me?” You wanted to hear it from Denki himself. He takes a look around, a few of your classmates were mulling around.

He takes a deep breath, for a moment you think he won’t say anything around his peers. “Well, for starters... I had hoped this would happen in a more romantic setting. But, now is as good as any, Y/N I reaaaallly like you.”

You smile, your heart racing this was all you had hoped for. You put your arms around him once again pulling him close into a hug. “I really like you too Denki... for the record... I was Mt. Lady the other night.”

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agirlinjapan · 4 years

Text

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes (Story 2- Week 1)

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes By Noriko Ogiwara A Translation

The Red Data Girl translation is back with another short story from Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes! This story takes place between RDG 1 and RDG 2 and gives us some information about Miyuki’s first days at Houjou Academy.

It’s nice to be working on RDG again! The past few months have been wild for me, as I’m sure they’ve been for everyone. Now that it’s summer vacation though, things are just a bit calmer than they were during the school year.

I hope everyone’s staying safe! Don’t forget to wear your masks!

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes By Noriko Ogiwara Story Two: September Transfer Student- Miyuki Sagara- Third Year of Middle School- Fall Part 1

Miyuki Sagara didn’t feel well that morning as he sped west down the expressway in his father’s car.

It was September fourth.

Many elementary and middle schools in Tokyo had summer vacation until August thirty-first and Houjou Academy, the school he would be going to now, was the same. The fall semester had begun on September first. His late transfer date was being explained by a leave of absence due to an illness, the same excuse given to Awatani Middle School for his sudden removal from the school.

The truth was completely different, however. This time around, Miyuki was not sick or injured. Until the beginning of September, he had been on Mt. Haguro, undergoing “fall” ascetic training.

Yukimasa hadn’t objected to this decision, but he had made plenty of snide remarks about it to his son to let him know how he really felt.

Yukimasa Sagara was an ascetic monk, but he did not train on Mt. Haguro. Miyuki’s teacher was a member of his divorced mother’s side of the family, Harunobu Sengoku.

Yukimasa even calculated how he could bring up training to his advantage while we talked…

Even watching the scenery go by outside the window was making Miyuki feel sick, but he didn’t want to bring that up either. Yukimasa didn’t need to know that.—Afterall, the reason why Miyuki felt sick was due to the fact that he was hungover.

If this had been September first, I would have been able to go on my own…

He had gotten used to the idea of transferring schools and he would have much preferred to arrive at his new school without his father driving him there in the car while he, Miyuki, was hungover.

…Ugh. My head is pounding…

Regardless of that though, he wasn’t too upset that the day he would transfer schools had arrived. He was also completely fine with the fact that the classroom experience he was about to begin would be entirely different from the training he had just left. Besides himself, the ascetic monks he had been working with had all been adults. As a result, Miyuki had been rather on his own during his time in the mountains.

Mr. Sengoku helped me out a lot…

As far as Miyuki was concerned, the real father figure in his life was Mr. Sengoku. It was true that the man holding the steering wheel next to him right now was his father in the way that he had come before him in the gene pool, but in the end, that was really just a source of anger to Miyuki.

From Miyuki’s perspective, Yukimasa, who was driving the car with a pleasant expression on his face, didn’t look anything like a father. He had the physique of a young person and his hair was dyed a stylish brown. What was more, he was so used to being admired by other people, he tended to strike poses without even realizing what he was doing.

It was clear to anyone who saw him that he was the sort of man who had made plenty of women cry.

Miyuki had been born when his father had been barely legal himself. Then, seven years later, he had gotten divorced. Miyuki could vividly remember the day it had happened. He had been in fifth grade at the time. Yukimasa had conducted himself in a completely shameless manner even on the day it had taken place.

After the divorce had been made official, Harunobu Sengoku had been the only member of his mother’s side of the family that he had continued to see. He had even more or less lost contact with his mother. He didn’t know what his other relatives’ situations were, but in Kaori’s case at least, she never reached out to get in contact with him.

Yukimasa didn’t seem to notice the silence in the car. Smiling at something he had thought of, he opened his mouth the slightest bit as if he was going to hum and then said, “That’s right. I need to tell you something. I’m coming with you today so that I can get a certificate of residency here in Tokyo. I’m changing my address from the house in Wakayama Prefecture to one here. That’ll take some time to process, though.”

“Oh.”

The house in Wakayama had been Miyuki’s address when he had been transferring middle schools last time. When Miyuki had taken the elite Keibun Academy’s entrance exam, he had been grateful for a chance to live without his father, but Yukimasa had quickly acquired a house nearby. Yukimasa’s ability to pick up and move wherever was a great nuisance to his only child.

“Are you going to be living near my school again?”

“Seeing as you’re going to be living in the student dorms this time, it doesn’t really matter where I live.”

“Thank God you’re not throwing me into some random woman’s house again and making me eat her bad cooking.”

Since Yukimasa’s divorce, this had happened more times than Miyuki cared to count. Of course, there had been women who had been good cooks as well, but he ignored that in this moment.

“That’s an ungrateful thing to say,” Yukimasa answered composedly. “They were all just doing their best.”

“If by doing their best, they had an ulterior motive,” Miyuki retorted testily. In reality, however, Miyuki had always gone along with those sorts of changes in his father’s life, quickly finding the good points of each of the women that moved in with them. There had been a limit to all of that though.

“I wish you would have let me move into a dorm earlier.”

The car had turned off of the highway at some point and was now driving down a city road. It didn’t look the way Miyuki imagined Tokyo. The rows of buildings they were passing were small and simple. A nearby mountain range with blue sky and clouds above it was visible beyond the buildings as well.

Seeing as Miyuki was always moving, he had never gotten used to one area over another, but not having lived in Tokyo before, he was thoroughly surprised by what he was seeing now.

“…This looks like the countryside.”

“The Tokyo area has little towns and even remote fishing communities on islands. Your perception of the city is limited.”

Miyuki decided to keep his mouth shut until he got out of the car. However, it turned out that they were only a few minutes away from their destination.

The place was greener than he would have thought with stylish school buildings. It reminded him a little of the updated area of Tokyo Station in the way that the buildings were older, but had clearly been remodeled. Miyuki wasn’t necessarily impressed with the school because of it, but assuming the buildings weren’t a deception, this was probably an expensive place to attend.

Yukimasa parked the car outside of the school’s front gate, but did not move to undo his seat belt.

“I guess you can go on alone from here,” he said to Miyuki, remaining where he was. “I’m not going to introduce myself at the school today. You can handle the apology for being three days late on your own, right?”

It was all a bit strange, but seeing as it was what Miyuki wanted as well, he hurried to get out of the car before Yukimasa could change his mind.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t let anyone know the real reason why you’re at this school and stick to the plan as much as possible. And don’t drink as much as you did on the mountain.”

Miyuki felt like snapping at Yukimasa. His father always needed to get the last jab in.

“Obviously.”

“This school takes school customs more seriously than Keibun Academy did. You need to figure that out quickly. And don’t forget that you’re the one who wanted to come here. There’s no point in resenting me for sending you.”

“You can leave now.”

As Miyuki scowled at him, Yukimasa turned his smiling face from his son and drove away. The rental car grew smaller until it turned a corner on the street and disappeared.

Miyuki continued to gaze down the road, not because he was reluctant to enter the school, but because the weather was so nice. The longer he stood there though, the harder it became to move.

…I think I’m carsick now on top of everything now. I feel terrible.

His mood no brighter than it had been before, Miyuki took an unenthusiastic step towards the entrance to the middle school.

Keep reading!

#isgs #rdg #red data girl #rdg ice shoes glass shoes #rdg isgs #isgs story 2 week 1 #translation

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kpopfanfictrash · 5 years

Text

Greek Life

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Taehyung / Reader

Word Count: 3,218

AU: Demigod / College Fraternity

Dialogue Prompt: "Are you suggesting an orgy?” (warning: this got a bit darker than intended but there’s light at the end!)

↳ part of my AU drabble game

“Alright.” Both arms crossed over his chest, Seokjin glared at Hoseok, son of Apollo. “I just want to be clear about one thing tonight.”

Without glancing up from his phone, Hoseok pushed dark Gucci sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yes, brother?”

“Not brothers,” Seokjin corrected. “Anyways, this is me reminding you that your set volume cannot be over 100 decibels tonight. If we get another noise complaint, this house is toast.”

If Hoseok did roll his eyes, Seokjin couldn’t see through the sunglasses. The generally dismissive slouch of his posture was answer enough.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Hoseok drawled.

Seokjin’s frown deepened. “Yeah, I’m afraid I’m gonna need more than that. The last time you said you’d keep it down, we hit 125 decibels and the house nearly collapsed.”

“A gross exaggeration,” said Yoongi, son of Hades, currently curled up on the sofa. “As the demi-god of earthquakes –”

“Actually, Poseidon is in charge of earthquakes.”

“– seeing as we have no son of Poseidon in this house, I am demi-god of earthquakes, and I can inform you that the house was not close to falling down.”

“Irregardless,” Seokjin said.

“Irregardless isn’t a word!”

Namjoon’s voice drifted from somewhere on the third floor. As son of Athena, goddess of wisdom and strategy, Namjoon took grave offense to grammatical errors.

Seokjin sighed. Rubbing his forehead, he contemplated whether his continued attempts at decency were worth it. At least if he tried, he could tell himself he did everything he could to stop chaos before it arrived. Decision made, Seokjin fixed Hoseok with his best no-nonsense glare. It was a good one, to be sure. As the son of Demeter, goddess of harvest and earth, Seokjin was the most grounded one in the fraternity.

“Hoseok,” he said. The younger demi-god looked up. “You will keep it down or I’ll personally call your father.”

The smirk disappeared from Jung Hoseok’s face. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would.”

Seokjin sounded so stern, Hoseok didn’t feel like calling him out. Despite his cooler-than-thou appearance, Hoseok had major daddy issues – as in, he hated his. Apollo was a difficult guy to be be cuddly with, to be fair. On the surface, he seemed everything a father figure should be: personable, warm and awe-inspiring. Apollo was the god of the sun, healing, prophecy, music and poetry. As one might expect from the god of the sun though, he had rather high expectations for his offspring.

Hoseok didn’t care about greatness, so long as he had a good tune and good times. One time, he semi-jokingly proposed to Apollo that he become the demi-god of DJ’s and sick beats. Apollo wasn’t amused by the suggestion.

“Fine.” Hoseok placed both feet on the floor. “Dearest Seokjin, I will try to keep it down but know this,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair. “You have ruined the soul of an artist.”

Seokjin tried not to laugh. “Yeah, cool. I’ll take my chances.”

Turning around, Seokjin exited the living room into the main hall. There, he found himself face to face with what could only be described as chaos. Taehyung, son of Dionysus, absently twined grape vines up the stairs while Jimin, son of Aphrodite and Jungkook, son of Zeus, argued in front of the door.

Taehyung cocked his head while he stared at the bannister, trying to make sense of it all. As the son of Dionysus – god of wine, fertility and ecstasy – he was not unaccustomed to parties. Even his origin story at the frat involved one. When the other men showed up this year for their first day of campus, they found Taehyung entrenched in their backyard, midway through the biggest beach rager the University had ever seen.

As to his method of arrival and when, even Taehyung was not sure on the details. General merriment seemed to follow him wherever he went. The moment he decided to attend University, obviously the party followed him to his new destination.

Regardless, Taehyung was welcomed into Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) with open arms, due to the similarities he had with its other members. Taehyung was descended from a god of the Greek Pantheon, as they all were. Most mortals were shocked to learn gods and demi-gods still walked amongst them. Most mortals were blind, though and rarely saw what was beyond their noses.

Taehyung looked up, surveying the chaos before him. Kim Seokjin, eldest of the house, usually adopted a parental role to the others. At that moment, he had both hands on his hips and was attempting to mediate a fight between Jimin and Jungkook.

Already, sparks leapt from Jungkook’s fingers while Jimin’s gaze burned ruby-red with his anger.

Jimin, son of Aphrodite.

Sweet and beautiful, with a temperament to match until you spoke ill of his loved ones. Then, all bets were off and as lovely as Jimin could be, his temper was far worse. Sweet words turned poisonous when spewed from his lips, since Jimin was also armed with the gift of persuasion. Jungkook attempted to avoid said power by not looking Jimin in the eyes.

“Look!” Jungkook said, one hand over his face. “I didn’t say your mother was easy! I just said she has a lot of demi-god children. That’s all!”

“She’s the goddess of love,” Jimin hissed, attempting to swat Jungkook’s hand down. His gaze burned scarlet in an otherwise calm expression. “Obviously she has children! You’re one to talk, anyways. How’s good ‘ol dad doing? Impregnated any mortals recently? Turned himself into a ray of light? A cow?”

“Hey! He turned Io into a cow, not himself!”

“How is that better?”

Shrugging, Jungkook nearly stumbled as he crashed into an a thousand-year-old lamp.

Appearing from nowhere, Yoongi deftly caught this and replaced it on the counter. “Welcome,” he mumbled, drifting into the kitchen.

For a minute, Jimin and Jungkook forgot their fight and stared.

“Dude needs to announce himself more,” Jungkook said, momentarily thrown.

Shoving both hands into the pockets of his hoodie, Jungkook revealed a small rip in the seams. Despite his grunge, Jungkook was still one of the most handsome guys around campus. It was hard not to be with his chiseled jawline, tousled hair and dark, piercing gaze. If there were a student vote on who was most likely to be a demi-god amongst them, Jeon Jungkook would be the unanimous favorite.

Still, he had problems of his own. Mainly that despite all his achievements, his father continued to insist he failed to meet expectations. A demigod of Zeus was powerful and as such, was expected to accomplish great feats. So far, Jungkook had only been the youngest person ever to climb Mt. Everest, written a collection of poems reviewed in Time Magazine, discovered a purpose for the appendix not previously thought of and contributed several designs to NASA’s most recent launch.

Zeus called it all child’s play.

Shortly following, Jungkook stopped trying to impress his father and enrolled in University. Still, it wasn’t unusual to run into Jungkook at odd hours of the night, muttering corrections of Machiavellian theory with a bottle of wine in one hand.

All of this went to say that Taehyung understood why Jungkook was sometimes an ass. Jimin was lucky amongst them, as far as demi-gods went. He had intense, emotional power but he also had a goddess who loved him. Taehyung, on the other hand, had rarely seen his father since he had discovered what he truly was. It was hard having a father in charge of general celebration. It meant Dionysus was often called elsewhere, usually interrupting any father-son bonding time.

“Listen.” Seokjin rubbed his forehead. “You two are giving me an Athena-sized headache. Stop bickering and help Taehyung – his vines are out of control.”

Glancing at his hands, Taehyung realized Seokjin was correct. While he had been watching them argue, his vines had taken on a life of their own. They twined around his legs, the banister and sprouted large clusters of pomegranates (which, frankly, didn’t make any sense). Absently, Taehyung plucked one of them and took a large bite. Lately, he’d been very interested in pomegranates.

Clomping his way downstairs, Namjoon batted vines out of the way. “Are you going to clean this up before tonight?” he said to Taehyung, who nodded. To Seokjin, he added, “And watch what you say about my mother.”

“I was being literal!” Seokjin protested. “Your mom was literally born from Zeus’ mind, so obviously her birth was a headache. I don’t make the rules –”

“Thank the gods for that.”

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

This last statement was exclaimed by Jimin, Seokjin and Namjoon combined. Abruptly, Jungkook turned around on his heel and exited the lobby. Once he was gone, some of the red dissipated from Jimin’s gaze.

He looked sympathetically at Taehyung. “Need help cleaning?” Jimin offered, laying a hand on the bannister.

His touch instantly trimmed the vines, sending blossoming roses over the rest.

Taehyung wrinkled his nose. “This looks… somehow worse.”

“Sorry, man.” Jimin’s lips twitched. “My botanical powers only go so far.”

With a wave of his hand, Seokjin transformed the mess into neat, tidy rows of vines up the staircase. As the son of Demeter, he had the best grasp over all earthly elements.

“There.” Satisfied, Seokjin dusted both palms on his pants. He looked curiously at Taehyung. “You alright, man? Lately, your powers have been, uh…”

It was considered impolite to comment on another demi-god’s powers; hence why Seokjin trailed off at the end.

Taehyung tilted his head. “They’ve been what, exactly?”

Seokjin seemed distinctly uncomfortable. “Off?”

“On the fritz,” said Jimin helpfully.

“Borderline chaotic,” Namjoon added.

Taehyung considered their input. “Borderline chaotic is kind of my nature, no?”

“Yes, but…” Namjoon shook his head. “Not like this.”

Chewing on his lip, Taehyung was forced to admit they were right. His powers had always been intense, but they were usually controlled. Despite the influence he exerted over others, Taehyung could never party or grow drunk on his own power. In his opinion, this was his great curse. No matter what Taehyung did, he always found himself the eye of the hurricane, the center of the storm. He could never lose himself in the relief he provided to others; could only watch while they did.

Lately though, his powers had changed. They were darker, less controlled and had a frustrated edge. Glancing down at the pomegranate he held in one hand, Taehyung saw the seeds were an ominous shade of dark purple.

“It’s because of Y/N,” Jungkook said as he entered the room.

Taehyung’s head snapped up.

Leaning his shoulder to the wall, Jungkook stared lazily back. Power crackled restlessly about him like thunder.

“What?” He arched a brow. “You know I’m right.”

Though Taehyung’s lips parted, he had no response because Jungkook was correct. If Taehyung retraced his magic to the moment it changed, it was around the time he met you. Or, more accurately, it was around the time you rejected him.

Taehyung’s stomach twisted.

“Who’s Y/N?” Namjoon asked, glancing between them.

Taehyung tried and failed to look casual. “No one.”

He could barely push the words past his lips, which prompted Namjoon to arch a brow. “Doesn’t seem like no one.”

“She is,” Taehyung muttered. “She wants nothing to do with me – rightfully so. Which means that she’s no one.”

“That seems harsh, Tae,” Seokjin chastised. “How do you know?”

His gaze softened looking at Taehyung. Taehyung was the youngest amongst them aside from Jungkook, so the other demi-gods felt the need to protect him. No one else thought to, thanks to Taehyung’s abilities but in him, the others saw their younger selves. His powers drained him so often and left him feeling exhausted from their personal nature.

When Taehyung said nothing more, Jungkook sighed. “Just the usual,” he said, a bit gentler. “The same girl came to a few of our parties. Taehyung liked her. His powers got out of control. When she tried to kiss him, he pulled his powers away and she freaked. Ran out of the party before he could explain.”

“What would I explain?” Taehyung said, unable to help himself. The vines at his feet withered and turned an unnatural shade of black. “Hey, sorry about that! I’m just the demi-god of parties and wine. You got too buzzed on my power, so I tried to pull back and return your free will. Wanna hang?”

Even Namjoon had no response, rubbing the back of his neck. “Or,” he suggested. “You could just apologize about the party and offer to buy her a coffee.”

Taehyung looked up. “That’s just a temporary fix, right? Eventually, I’ll have to tell her and – let’s face it – who would stay? I’ve seen what these powers do to my dad. I’ve seen what they did to his other children. It’s pointless to become attached to a mortal.”

Out of all Dionysus’s children, Taehyung was the only one currently living. Most had been famous throughout history – musicians and actors known more for their parties than the talent they had. Many died young, unable to cope with the effects of their powers. Taehyung knew it was smart to push you away, since he couldn’t control himself and his powers often proved lethal.

Still, a pang entered his stomach whenever he thought of you. Whenever he remembered the shape of your lips, the way that you smiled and the uncertain way your fingers curled in your sundress. You laughed in two ways when you talked. One was a quiet, self-conscious giggle, but other was Taehyung’s favorite. It was more of a snort than a laugh, granted whenever Taehyung said something particularly funny.

The memory of this made Taehyung’s heart twist and he swallowed, looking away from the others.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jimin seemed distressed by his pain. He probably was; oftentimes, Jimin confused other people’s emotions for his own.

“I’m sorry, Tae,” he said softly.

“S’alright,” Taehyung muttered, even though it wasn’t.

“Can I do anything to help?” Jimin brightened. “Want me to use my powers, or something?”

Jungkook looked at him in amazement. “Are you suggesting an orgy? Dude, this hardly seems like the time.”

Jimin glared. “That’s not all my powers are good for, you jackass. I can make people forget their troubles, you know. At least for a little while.”

The tips of his fingers glowed faintly pink and Jungkook glanced at his hands, thoroughly unnerved. Jimin’s power of persuasion extended beyond simply telling others what to do. He could make someone else feel happy, sad, tired or angry – a hefty power, although it wore off after awhile and wasn’t quite as good as the real thing.

Taehyung shook his head. “No, thanks. Appreciate the offer, though.”

“Anytime.”

As he climbed the stairs, Seokjin clapped Taehyung on the shoulder. “Sorry, man,” he mumbled, understanding the fear. Truly, they all did. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m gonna bake later if you wanna stop by.”

Taehyung smiled despite himself. If there was one earthly power which could cure his longing, it was Seokjin’s cookies. “Thanks, man.”

Shooting him a sympathetic look, Jungkook nodded and Jimin poked him hard in the ribs. “C’mon,” Jimin said, jerking his chin. “Let’s go help Hobi with his playlist before Seokjin pops a vein worrying.”

A giant grin stretched over Jungkook’s face, which the rest of them should have found worrisome.

“Cool.” Head bobbing, he followed Jimin down the hall. “Yoongi showed me this great eastern European doom metal band. Gonna see if I can get Hobi to play it tonight.”

Jimin snorted, his voice growing softer the further away he got. “Get the demi-god of the sun to play doom metal? Good luck with that, man.”

“Maybe if I tell him Mariah Carey covered it.”

The sounds of their conversation faded to nothing, leaving Taehyung alone in the hall with Namjoon. Turning quickly, Taehyung attempted to leave but was halted in his descent by Namjoon clearing his throat.

Slowly, Taehyung looked up at his friend.

Namjoon looked back.

No one could stare quite like Namjoon. He had a piercing gaze, as though he saw every piece of your soul and was able to size you up to expectation. It made Taehyung wildly uncomfortable, as it did most people.

“You know you’re only a half god, right?” Namjoon tilted his head. “Part of you is also human.”

“I know.” Taehyung’s voice came out somewhat petulant, though he did not mean it to be.

Crossing both arms, Namjoon leaned a shoulder against the wall. His irises glowed the gentle gold of Athena. “It’s hard to control our powers,” he admitted. “It is, but there are difficulties in any relationship. Don’t give up on your own happiness.”

A wan smile crossed Taehyung’s lips. “Are the difficulties in most relationships that the guy semi-drugs his girlfriend whenever he loses control?”

Namjoon winced. “You don’t drug them.”

“Feels like it,” Taehyung muttered, glancing down.

“Their natural impulses are already there,” Namjoon pointed out. “Your presence at parties doesn’t make people drunk. People drinking makes people drunk. You only lower their inhibitions, call out their truth, give people the freedom inebriation gives without intoxication. You grant people their truest form – which is a gift, not a curse.”

Taehyung didn’t respond. He knew Namjoon was right, at least in part. Still, there existed within him a kernel of darkness he couldn’t control. His power was linked to such horror and melancholy; it was hard sometimes to see the light.

“Hey.” Namjoon took a step closer. His voice took on that maddening wisdom which came from the goddess. “We all have burdens. Humans do too, along with demi-gods. Our greatest strengths are often our greatest weaknesses. Someone who’s confident is prideful. Someone who’s humble? Inactive. Someone who rationalizes, often fails to empathize. It’s why relationships are necessary, Taehyung – they provide balance. You can’t simply close yourself off from the rest of the world.”

Taehyung’s gaze sharpened, looking up from the floor. The vines at his feet unfurled, reminding them that while Taehyung’s power was mostly parties and fun, there was a dark side of revelry which couldn’t be forgotten. Madness and misery emerged just as often as goodness when he called true selves forth.

“Okay.” Taehyung kept his voice level.

Seeing he wouldn’t budge on the matter, Namjoon sighed.

Truthfully, Taehyung heard his advice and longed to accept it, but found it too hard. It was difficult when his chest ached for you, when he couldn’t stop chastising himself for the moment you ran from his house.

Namjoon nodded and turned down the staircase. “Let me know if you need anything,” he called over his shoulder. “Gonna go and make sure Yoongi hasn’t turned the basement into another séance, or something.”

As he left, his footsteps growing quieter, Taehyung stared the sight of his retreating back. Uncertainty entered the pit of his stomach, wondering if perhaps Namjoon was right. The sanest to date Taehyung had felt was the past year in the house, living amongst others who understood what he was.

Maybe it was foolish of him to push you away.

As soon as he thought this, his phone chimed in his pocket. The sight of your name at the top of his screen sent his heart soaring, wondering if this coincidence was something he couldn’t ignore. Pushing blue-black hair from his eyes, he unlocked your text.

Y/N: hey. I just wanted to apologize for leaving so quickly. I think I drank too much, got carried away but… I really liked our conversation. Would you want to get coffee sometime? [4:15 PM]

Taehyung’s heart constricted, his hands trembled and before he could stop himself, he was responding.

Taehyung: yes, please. When?? [4:16 PM]

Author’s Note: hey, I just got service at the hotel so I’m posting but I haven’t proof-read as much as I usually do! Please forgive any errors, I promise to read over it again in the coming days :) thank you!

↳ part of my AU drabble game

Greek Life!All + brainstorming fundraiser ideas for the frat

#taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #taehyung au #bts au #taehyung writing #bts writing #bts frat au #bts demigod au

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sydmarch · 3 years

Note

what’s the weirdest thing that’s happened to you?

ok SO i’ve definitely told this story before on here it’s a long one so i’ll do my best to trim it down

like 5ish years ago i was walking to the train afetr doing some shopping and this guy around my age stops me to say something about my outfit idr. it’s mid summer so very hot & this dude is wearing teal eye makeup, platform sneakers. no shirt, and shorts made out of a hospital gown. we start talking abt fashion & stuff and he asks if i’ve ever been to this trendy thrift store that’s nearby & i say i haven’t so hes like wanna go shop? sicne i was lowkey goign through a crisis in my life at the time being a recent graduate w no job & no idea what i was doing w my lfie i was like fuck it so we went

in the thrift store we both picked out some stuff & while i was trying thigns on he was like lemme see so he came into the dressing room (i was like ok sure bcus he was extremely gay) but the employees were like hey you can’t do that. also you’re not wearing a shirt so you need to leave & i was like ugh just borrow mine (since i was wearing a shirt i had tried on) so he puts it on & they kick him out anyway so im like COOL and had to buy a shirt in my bra so they could ring it up and the cashier was this absolutely beautiful girl so i was like ok. great.

anyway i go outside & find him and im like gmme my shirt back you can wear this dress i bought so he puts it on & we wander around a bit more then randomly pick up these two other girls we meet on the street who need to go to the garment district to buy some stuff so we all get in a cab and go.

once we get there we go into this wig store and are like looking around but when they won’t sell this dude (idk why i havent said his name eyt its matteo) a wig for a discount he FLIPS OUT like throwing thigns around so we all leave. shortly after that the two girls manage to dip & im thinking yeah i should try and dip too this dude’s unhinged... but there wasn’t really an opportunity to leave bcus it was just us & i didnt want him to turn on me

so he suggests let’s go to (other thrift store that’s like 5 blocks from where we were at that point) and im thinking perfect i’ll get him to go in a fitting room then run for my life. on the ay there he’s like saying crazy shit to random people, steals someones cigarette that they were smoking, steals water bottles, etc. at one point he goes to cross the street when we didn’t have the right of way nd this taxi starts honking at him so he tosses his purse to me and JUMPS ONTO THE HOOD of the taxi and is like you wanna go so bad bitch go and the cab driver takes off. with him on the hood.

since im holding his purse im like fuck i guess i have to follow this cab and give it back??? so im chasing this taxi like oh my god. and these andom teens are like yo omg is that your friend he’s awesome! im like what’s happening. he gets down off the taxi and is all huffy and im like oh my gooood ok just get to the store.....

but on our way he starts talking to some lady outside an office building and follows her inside i’m just standing near the revolving doors watching as he tried to egt in the elevator w her and shes like i need to go teach a class you cant come wtf... and hes tugging on her umbrella and she’s yelling “stop this was a gift from my dead mother” and security escorts him out and looking back i couldve ran then but i was too invested. what could possibly be next.

we start walking towards the thrift store & when walking apst this outdoor seating area he steals a glass off someones table so a waiter comes over & like throws him onto the ground and they fight a bit and matteo is like i want the police. im like you absolutely do not youre going to get arrested. of course there’s a cop just like hanging around on a nearby corner so he goes over to him and is telling him abt the waiter and the cop is like ill call a patrol car over go wit by the restaurant.

the restaurant is right by the office building umbrella lady was in so of course as we’re walking back in tatdirection she’s elaving the building and sees us and runs over to matteo freaking out, the waiter omes over and starts yelling too, and then i swear to god a car pulls up and its the CAB HE JUMPED ON and the driver gets out and starts yelling at him. finally the cops show up and everyone’s yelling and matteo is going on this rant like you’re all evil!!! and they cuff him and the cab driver’s like how can you be friends w someone like that im like im not he’s like i saw you with 4him im like we just met!!! im in over my head!!!

the cops were asking me a few questions like did you see him take anything im like no. heyre like you can tell us you won’t get in trouble im like FOR REAL NO lmao like he could’ve been on something but i didnt see him do anything. anyway can i get my dress back. theyre like didnt you say you mt him today im like yeah. theyre like why is he wearing your dress im like i loaned it to him at the thrift store can i get it back. they took my number down but never called me about the dress it was only $5 but still

#fullmetalfisting #texticles #the moral of the story is you can egt away w ALMOST anythig in this city

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elrondsscribe · 3 years

Text

Labors and Dangers

William Lee is willing to do whatever it takes to get Maggie back.

(Aka I was sleep deprived. Enjoy??)

~oo00oo~

Billy wakes on a warm summer morning, and Maggie is cold and still beside him.

He screams, calls her name, begs her to come back to him. He cradles her in his arms and rocks her. He kisses her cheeks and wets them with his tears. But her eyes never blink, and her heart remains silent under his hands.

It’s only when he picks up her hand that he sees the black tree stamped on her palm: the mark of the underworld. In a moment, his grief changes to determination.

He can bring her back.

Hell had better watch out.

~oo00oo~

Billy is equally resolute. “Freedom without my Maggie ain’t no kind of freedom, sir.”

“Very well,” Washington stands, goes to one of his bookshelves, rummages a bit, and pulls down an old book of chants. He pauses in the act of handing it over.

“Sir?” Billy labors not to look or sound impatient.

Washington purses his lips. “You know you are not guaranteed success in this endeavor.”

“I know that, sir.”

Washington hands him the book. “Good luck then, I suppose.”

~oo00oo~

The ritual passes in a blur; Billy is barely aware of his own voice as he chants. The sky turns dark, and dark clouds gather seemingly from nowhere. The wind picks up, and lightning flashes overhead.

Unmoved, Billy finishes the incantation, and the air before him rips like a curtain. Nothing is visible through the gap but darkness.

He ignores the deep dread that curls in his gut, and turns to Polly, who is holding his infant son. He kisses the baby’s cheeks and whispers, “I’m coming back with your mama, sweetheart.”

And he straightens, and walks into the rip.

~oo00oo~

It feels wrong. He has a body, and yet he doesn’t. He can see with eyes he somehow knows are not real. He breathes with false lungs.

‘It’s an illusion to help you adjust to a world that isn’t really alive enough for you,’ says a gruff voice. Billy turns, finds himself on the bank of a jet black river. A boat sits on the bank, and a tired looking man stands beside it.

‘Charon?’ he asks uncertainly. The boatman looks like he could be one of the working men from the docks back home.

The boatman nods. ‘Get in.’

~oo00oo~

‘I’m sure you’re aware that releasing someone who died unnaturally is … complicated,’ says Hades.

Billy’s phantom jaw clenches. Hades looks like Washington — another illusion, Charon has told him; in this liminal space the gods appear to human visitors in the guise of people they know. It seems fitting, somehow, that Hades should wear Washington’s face.

(It’s more puzzling that the deity at Hades’ side, presumably Persephone, wears the face of the Marquis de Lafayette.)

“You wouldn’t release her at all if she’d died naturally,” he says, keeping himself from adding sir with an effort.

Hades’ lip curls. “Very astute.”

~oo00oo~

Billy has nothing to offer Hades. He possesses nothing now that he’s used up his favor from Washington.

“Your child,” says Hades.

Billy’s phantom fists tighten in anger. “You’re not touching my child a day before it’s his time.”

Hades wears Washington’s most unimpressed look. “What do you have to barter, then?”

“Myself,” Billy says without hesitation.

Hades snorts. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

But Persephone looks at him sharply. “You, who gave up an offer of manumission from one master, would sell yourself to another?” she (he?) asks, without a trace of Lafayette’s French accent.

Billy nods.

~oo00oo~

Seven earthly years Billy labors for Hades: he drives the souls of the dead that Charon doesn’t have time to get to. Turns out there’s a multitude of unlucky humans pressed into similar indentures, often for similar reasons.

The work is grueling: another benefit of being human in a liminal space, his phantom body can tire.

Hades seems to revel in the knowledge that Billy understands the significance of the seven years; he seems to want Billy to suspect a trick.

But when Persephone returns that last winter, she makes Hades honor the deal. ‘You’ve had your laugh,’ she says.

~oo00oo~

Hades sets Billy on the shadowed path back to the living world. “Don’t look back, or try to talk,” he says. “If she wants to follow you, she’ll follow you.

Billy doesn’t trust Hades, but he has little choice, so he sets off. The road is rough, plunging into valleys and climbing mountains — can Maggie make it? He doesn’t know if she can climb. Or does she even care to try?

He wonders this as the valleys get wider and the mountains steeper. He can’t hear her behind him … should he? Or is silence that part of the trick?

~oo00oo~

After what feels like an eternity of dark silence, the light at the end of the road almost hurts his phantom eyes. Hope fills his phantom chest, and he climbs the last mountain so fast that his overstrained phantom knees give out on him. He has to crawl almost on his stomach for the last few yards.

He crawls into the light, his arms aching with exhaustion, and doesn’t stop until he’s sure he’s put the underworld behind him. Even then he doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak. He will sit with his back to the gateway forever, but he dares not —

~oo00oo~

Her arms are around him and she’s kissing him. “Oh my Will, you came for me!”

Billy twists around and pulls her into his arms. “‘Course I came for you, Maggie,” he says, staring up into her face, drinking in her beauty for the first time in seven years.

“Billy?” a voice calls, and Billy looks up. He and Maggie are half lying on the grass by the house at Mt. Vernon, and it’s Frank calling.

A small boy comes running out to greet them, and as one Billy and Maggie stretch out their arms for their son.

They are home.

~oo00oo~ ~oo00oo~ ~oo00oo~

Omg I wrote a 10x100! In one night too! If it reads like a fever dream, that’s because it is one.

I haven’t seen Hadestown and I don’t know the soundtrack, but I have been listening to the song ‘Way Down Hadestown.’ I love it so much! I was also kinda inspired by it: lines like ‘Mr. Hades is a mean ol’ boss / With a silver whistle and a golden scale’ especially made me think of Washington. (There isn’t any such thing as a good slave owner, but Washington wasn’t really even one of the nicer ones, the bastard.)

Wouldn’t you know, Lafayette apparently either had or bought a plantation house in France at some point, set all the slaves free, gave them education and options, and then proceeded to pay wages to the people who remained? That’s primarily what made me think of him as connected to Persephone. Plus, you know, Washette.

Oh yeah, in case you didn’t know, the seven years thing is in reference to Jacob’s agreement with Laban to marry Rachel. It’s a story Hades knows Billy’s likely familiar with, hence why Billy’s tense about it (Laban ended up cheating Jacob into working another seven years for him). He thinks it’s quite funny to make Billy work for seven earth years to get his wife back too. Har see har, Hades.

Uhhh, I dunno, Polly’s Frank’s wife/Billy’s sister-in-law. I made her up, I have no idea if the real Frank Lee was married. Also! Apparently there’s an indication that Billy Lee had a child at some point (name and gender unknown).

Billy’s wife Margaret (whom I’m anachronistically calling Maggie again) did apparently get the grudging OK from Washington to join Billy at Mt Vernon, but there aren’t any records there of her ever living there. They keep pretty good records at Mt Vernon, so if Margaret had ever lived there, I think we’d know. Also Margaret was reportedly ill at some unspecified point. All of which to say, I think it’s historically possible she died either before or very soon after ever arriving at Mt Vernon.

Also a very clumsy reference to Billy’s knee problems later in life!

It’s not like everything’s gonna be okay, obviously. Seven years have passed by on earth; Billy at least is returning to slavery; his son doesn’t actually know him or Maggie yet. What becomes of them all? I don’t know.

#elvella scribbles #william lee #william ‘billy’ lee #billy lee #margaret thomas #maggie thomas #hades as washington #some vague reference to Hadestown probably #oneshot #10x100 #billy x maggie #elvella’s fanfic #shippy content

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