#okay . begone from my drafts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hiraya-rawr · 3 years ago

Text

"you and me against the world but the world won" (Xiao)

about: It's the archon war and Xiao loves you too much. My take on his tragic backstory before he meets Morax.

genre: fluff, angst, comfort? it do be a roller coaster

note: THIS IS SO LATE BUT THIS HAD TO LEAVE MY DRAFTS NOW. BEGONE. btw ooc alatus in the start (I like to believe his harsh and cold demeanor was slowly developed after all). not my proudest work but it is quite the fic!

༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺ ༻✧༺

"Back in a younger, more naive time, a god had gotten a hold of Xiao's weakness and forced him to serve as their bloodhound, in which capacity he was forced to perform cruel and violent acts." (Genshin Impact Wiki, Xiao's Character Story 2)

— Act 1 : You and Me —

"And what's this extra room for?"

"Well..." A blush rushes up to his cheeks, turning his head to the side, "We would need a nursery someday, wouldn't we?" The dumbfounded look on your face at his reply slowly breaks into a wide grin. You laugh at him before tackling him into an embrace. You were touring your new home. Just a young couple starting out in life in a quaint and secluded adobe, not too far from a Shilin village in Liyue.

"Okay then. What do you think about having five little adepti?"

"What?" He turns to you, wide-eyed, "F-five?"

"Pfft. I'm kidding, Alatus." You snuggle into his chest, your horns — physical proof of your identity as an adeptus — poke at him. "Maybe just two."

"Hmm... Actually," He starts, suddenly scooping you up into a bridal carry causing you to yelp. There's a mischievous glint in his golden eyes and you screech as he carries you down the hall, saying "Five sounds just fine."

— Act 2 : Beginnings & Ends —

The waves of the archon war were fast approaching. It was a miracle that your little village lasted this long in peace, not when the surrounding towns were already burnt to the ground. Many of your fellow villagers had already left to seek refuge; it was only a matter of time for you to leave as well.

"Y/n? What are you doing?" Alatus asks, turning the corner to see you standing in the middle of your supposed nursery, "Have you finished packing?"

You stayed silent and closed your eyes. As if time would stop if you don't respond. You hear the shuffling of feet as Alatus wraps his arms around you from behind. He was always such a clingy person, embracing you in every opportunity.

"I can build another nursery. One that's even better." He whispers softly and you sigh, turning to face him with a sad smile.

"It needs to fit five, okay?"

"Alright."

— Act 3 : To Love and Protect —

"Perhaps we should head to the ocean. There are talks of Morax and the goddess of dust accepting refugees." You suggested, pointing at the map, "I'm sure he has formed contracts with the adepti as well."

"That brutal god?" Alatus scoffs, folding his arms, "Not a chance. Besides, the lord of the vortex is sure to make Guyun Stone Forest his battlefield."

"Y/n may be right," Bosacius — one of the five great yakshas — folds back the map. "Morax, though known as a menace, is loyal to his contracts. We can condition the safety of the villagers in a contract."

Alatus sighs, too tired to argue.

Like nomads, you've been traveling for months. Many of the villagers who left with you had succumbed to the natural hazards of war: from getting caught in the crossfire to lack of resources, only a few were left to wander. Despite being one of the younger yakshas, Alatus had earned himself a rather high position among the illuminated beasts in your group. He was undeniably strong with a righteous personality and he did his best to ensure everyone's safety, particularly yours.

"So we'll be heading south," Indarias, another reliable yaksha, concludes, "Tomorrow, Bosacius and Alatus will scout ahead. The rest of you form a temporary shelter in the cover of Wuwang hill."

You glare at Indarias, him knowing fully well that you were uncomfortable with the idea of your lover scouting ahead. Indarias merely avoids your gaze and walks away with the dispersing crowd. You sigh and follow Alatus to your shared tent.

"Alatus," You start but he stops you.

"I know you don't like the idea, Y/n, but it's just a reconnoiter mission. We'll avoid any fights."

"You know it's not just that, Alatus," You approach him, holding both his hands in yours, "There have been talks of a malicious god capturing yakshas. We don't know what he does with them but it's obvious that Qiongji Estuary is his territory." You mumble softly. "I just... I don't know what I'd do without y-"

"I'll be fine." Even if I have to crawl away from battle, pride be damned, I'll come back to you. He thinks to himself.

You trust him enough to believe him.

— Act 4 : Strength & Weakness —

It was a trap.

After days of risky scouting, saving as many civilians as he can, battling evil demons and lesser gods, Alatus was exhausted.

"I must say, though you are young, you are by far the strongest yaksha to face me," Came the intimidating voice of a god. The same god who's enslaved dozens of illuminated beasts to do their dirty work. Alatus holds back a reply, gritted his teeth to avoid groaning from his injuries. Right now, his priority was escaping back to you and saving you from the degenerate god's plans.

"Though I praise thy strength, you are quite weak in mind, young yaksha!"

"What do you want?" Alatus clenches his fists, eye contact unwavering.

"Your complete obedience, is it not obvious?" He states, presenting a glowing contract to the yaksha, "In exchange, I leave your people alone." He knows this is a trap, he knows that the god is merciless towards his servants, yet as he thinks of you in the Shilin village, running up to him with a smile, he also knows that he would do anything for your sake.

"I.. am at your disposal." He grits his teeth, falling on one knee to a bow as the contract glows. It is complete. The god smiles wickedly at the display.

— Act 5 : Against the World —

Alatus followed orders like a puppet, unable to resist no matter how gruesome the act. The first time he consumed a dream, he sobbed on the body of a young girl who lay cold and dead. Disgust flooded his veins as he puked everything from his stomach; yet, no matter how hard he tries, the energy will always remain inside him.

His hands trembled from the weight of his bloodied polearm.

Hands that you once caressed so lovingly. How could he ever touch you again? 'It's fine,' he tells himself, 'murder is to be expected of war.'

He closes his eyes and thinks of you. Blurs out the screams and bloodshed around him. His body moves of its own accord but his mind is only littered with you.

Beautiful and energetic as you bake him a batch of mooncakes. Were you safe?

You're lighting up lanterns in the sky, telling him that it would guide the hunters back home. The twinkling of stars reflected in your eyes.

Alatus thinks of the nursery. Fine cedar wood making three little cribs. He's planning on making two more.

Where are you now? By the ocean, enjoying the breeze? Have you offered a contract to Morax yet?

He chokes a little boy. The boy splutters and grips at his wrists, but Alatus is just so so tired. He snaps the neck quickly. If this were the first time he's done it, he would have cried, but it's not the first nor is it the second-

Alatus stares at the burning village around him, a display of his sins.

Please be safe. He goes back to his master in silence.

— Act 6 : But the World Won —

When his fellow yakshas were captured as well, he grappled on their clothes, screaming at how could they leave the village alone; how could they leave you alone. The pressure of this damned contract choking him.

The end of his "master" was anticlimactic. The warrior god, Morax, arrived and the battle was quickly ended amidst stone mountains and cliffs.

Morax told them they were free — but the years of being a puppet were something not so easily forgotten. Before Alatus could leave in search of you, the geo god called him back.

"A young adepti asked for my aid through Guizhong," He started, "She drove a promising bargain. Your fellow villagers have safely integrated with our assembly, but..."

Time froze for Alatus the day Morax slowly explained what happened.

You were gone,

He left your side and while he was blinded with his sins, you died.

— Final Act : You —

The Wangshu Inn is a place full of mysteries! Or, at least, that's what they say. If you walk too far from the public lounges, amidst tree branches over staircases, you'd find a little secluded room.

A nursery with five little cribs made of fine cedarwood.

Don't ask how you got there. It haunted you— called out to you like a spell. You, who's been searching all your life for something someone you don't fully understand. You who's always felt half lost, half unfinished, like a puzzle without an image. You who woke up in the mountains of nowhere, wandering aimlessly.

Your fingers brush over one crib, noticing the intricate carvings on the wood.

"You're not supposed to be here."

You jolt, head snapping up at the sudden sound only to see a yaksha perched on the window.

"I'm sorry I just- this place.."

"Is off-limits. I suggest you leave."

You stare at him, eyes lingering on his golden cat-like ones. Something fills the missing pieces in your heart. Like puzzle pieces settling in the depths of the board, clicking into place. A slow realization that you've found yourself once again.

"I thought you only wanted three cribs, my love?" You smile at him and you see the way his jaw laxes, face falling apart as he slowly walks closer until he was right in front of you. His hand reaching out, almost afraid to touch the plush of your cheek.

"I told you... five sounds just fine."

navigation

BEGONE FROM MY DRAFTS FOUL BEAST

#genshin #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin angst #xiao #alatus #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #xiao x y/n #genshin impact fanfic #genshin alatus #this fic kind of broke my heart #genshin hcs #zhongli #genshin x reader

1K notes · View notes

here2bbtstrash · 3 years ago

Text

bts giving you aftercare - explicit

HAPPY COMEBACK EVE!!!! thought i'd share some OT7 aftercare headcanons since we're all about to get destroyed tonight 🥵🥵

these somehow got long af so.... enjoy? also i half-drafted this in my DMs to @rapline-heaux, and then @kiestrokes basically beta'd this bc i can't keep anything to myself 💀 love both of you beebs!!

🔞 explicit sexual content ahead, minors begone 🔞

knj: prepare for an entire therapy session is all i'm saying. he noticed exactly what parts of his degradation made your pussy throb and you are going to UNPACK that shit together. we all know this man is a freak tho so once the emotions are processed, he's immediately telling you what things he wants to try next time bc his list is never-ending. he wants to hear all about your fantasies too, and once you mention something one time he will remember it forever, and do whatever he can to make it happen for you

ksj: hope you're ready to be treated like ROYALTY. he definitely absolutely just wrecked your shit so, y'know, gotta restore the balance. the first step is to run you a hot bath with epsom salts to soak your sore muscles and already-blossoming bruises in. he leaves you to it, poking his head back in to let you know he made dinner. if he catches so much as a glimpse of unsteadiness in your legs when you step out of the tub and slip your robe on, he's carrying you downstairs bridal-style, ignoring any attempts you make to protest

myg: if there's one thing our otherwise tsundere boy is gonna do minutes after an orgasm, it's praise the SHIT out of you. as soon as he gets his breath back, his low voice is in your ear, telling you that you took his cock so well, and how fucking hot it is to watch your tits bounce while he rails you, and how much he loves having a perfect little slut like you. he knows how crazy his praise makes you (largely in part because it's so rare from him) and honestly 50% of the time this ends in you getting so turned on that you beg him to go down on you one more time #tonguetechnology

jhs: let's be real, this man won't even be able to sit down until he puts the bedroom back together. he'll probably even vacuum while he's already up and tidying, and you really don't mind watching him do it all since he is still fully naked. once he's satisfied with the state of things (and gets you a glass of water and a snack from the kitchen bc he's an acts of service KING) he's crawling into bed next to you where you'll stay for the rest of the night, cuddling and talking and laughing until your stomach hurts

pjm: clingy clingy clingyyyyyy cuddles. his mouth and hands are everywhere at once, to the point where it could nearly count as overstimulation, in the best way possible. he loves to trace over the marks he left behind on your skin, and when he's feeling particularly bratty, loves pressing down just a little on the largest ones until he coaxes a hiss and a whine out of you. then he finally relents and reaches for the lotion, massaging you until everything smells of lavender and nothing else in the world exists to you except his hands working into your body

kth: immediately goes to sleep sldkjflksdjf I'M SORRY. he puts on music or a movie or something but yeah that man is knocked tf OUT, hope ur good bb. but you can have a little next-morning shower sex, nice and slow because he knows you're sore and swollen, as a treat

jjk: pivots so fast you can't even believe it's the same guy who was just pulling your hair and fucking you like a whore. he literally becomes this emoji: 🥺🥺 and wants to rehash everything to make sure it was all okay for you. super nervous that he went too hard even though you always tell him you can take more. once you manage to convince him that you're fine, he grins from ear to ear as he recounts how many times he made you come

#bts imagine #bts headcanon #bts scenario #bts smut #bts x reader #MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES TO THE TAE STANS #i told B he would fall the fuck asleep as a joke and nothing else felt right hahahaha

842 notes · View notes

therainbowwillow · 4 years ago

Text

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/639917088173113344/alright-its-been-a-hot-second-since-ive-written -Part 1

Okay, Hadestown Fanfic With Crossovers Where Orpheus’s Terms are Different and Also ✨Olympus Drama✨Part 2/???

I think my greatest struggle in writing is... posting it. And deciding on a consistent plot. That too. Expect changes. Edit: Well, well, well, there’s a draft feature on this website? I might just migrate to Tumblr.

I may make an overview post at some point so you don’t actually have to read this. A long TL;DR probably, because it is written by Miss What-Is-Concise. My TL;DRs need TL;DRs of their own. Anyway, I’m rambling, so let me actually get started.

Preemptive:

-Orpheus is Apollo’s kid in this version, as he is in many retellings. He is raised by Hermes.

-Hermes works for Hades, bringing souls to the underworld. He resides away from Olympus to fulfill said duties.

-Dionysus’ parentage is by Persephone and Hades. (Because there’s no way Persephone’s screwing Zeus in the other room. Also this is his more underworld-connected family ties.)

-You drink from the River Lethe, according to some ancient authors, to forget your past life. And if Virgil can blatantly rip off Homer, I’m stealing ideas too.

-Would you look at that? This “short” AU fic is expanding by the minute. Hades and Persephone’s are true to the musical and that’s about it at this point.

Eurydice drags Orpheus to his feet. He leans against her. “Eurydice...” he mumbles. “I... I’m so sorry.”

“I signed my life away. That wasn’t up to you. We need to get going.”

Orpheus nods. “Why’s he letting us go? I don’t remember... anything really. I sang. Then I...” he turns away. “It felt like I was sitting in a fire. I couldn’t sing, I couldn’t think. It was unbearable.”

“I’ll never let them lay a finger on you again.”

“You didn’t answer me. Why’s he letting us go?” he asks, softly.

“He’s not,” Persephone mutters. “He wants you to fail. Then he’ll have a canary for his mines.”

Orpheus shudders at the thought. “My song... I thought... Persephone, I think I rewrote every note a hundred times. I lost the love of my life for that melody. And... it failed.”

“Just walk, okay? Please. Once we’re out of here, none of it matters,” Eurydice pleads.

“H-how far?” He’s almost afraid to ask. The original walk had been a grueling task. This one, he thinks, might be a hundred times harder. Whatever Hades had done to him... the effects hadn’t faded. Eurydice must already think he’s a selfish, naive, worthless idiot, he’s certain, so he plans to stay quiet. Unless it gets bad. Only if he needs to tell her, he decides.

“A mile, maybe a little more,” Persephone replies. “We’ll rest in my old greenhouse. It’ll be a roof over our heads at least. Don’t look back,” she warns. “Hades’ servants will follow us. Don’t give them a reason to think we’re afraid.”

Eurydice wraps and arm around Orpheus’s waist. “Tell me if you need a break.” He nods.

———————————

Hades sinks into his office chair. A painting of his wife hangs on the wall. He’s posing at her side. They’re smiling. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers. He rises and storms over to the portrait. He rips it of the wall and it crumples to the ground, torn in two.

He glances out the window. He’s viewing his realm from the highest point in Hadestown. The landscape is as flat as a sheet of paper. No hills, no mountains, only rivers, flowing by some force that is not the gravity of the overworld. His tower is the only peak. And the smokestacks of his factories.

This is his realm. All of it is his. Every inch of dirt, every scrap of metal and gemstone beneath the ground. Every sullen face of every tortured worker who’d sold his soul away. The wall is his too. And the Styx, which wraps it 7 times over. He’s a king and his castle is protected by the highest of palisades and yet... that boy... that son of Apollo had taken it all from him. What is a king without his iron fists? Now he had shown softness, now he’d shown weakness. A crack in the wall will bring the whole structure down, he thinks to himself. But what else can he do? Persephone is his wife. She is *his*. To imagine a thousand winters and springs and summers without her...

The underworld is lonely. He cannot lose her. But he cannot let the boy escape. Nor his lover, nor his traitorous workers. If he shows them an inch, they’ll take a mile. Worse, the traitors were right. Orpheus is alive. Orpheus is not his. That poet is all that stands in the way of his kingdom. And like any barrier, he will fall. How? Hades wonders. How can he kill the boy, break his spirit and punish him without losing Persephone? What blinds his wife? he asks himself. That silly little song had manipulated him, taken hold of his heart like alcohol. And Persephone loves it. She believes, truly believes, that Orpheus deserves to live for the very reason he must die.

Hades slams his fists against the window. Perhaps she was right. He ought to follow in his brothers’ footsteps. Forget his wife. That simple action would be enough to fix everything. If he let her go, she’d have nothing to hold over him. He wouldn’t be her puppet. He’d kill Orpheus, chain up the boy’s foolish lover and send Achilles and Patroclus to the darkest mines, and force them to work day and night apart from each other. Sure, the bunch of them would whine like kenneled puppies, but he could take their cries. They’d forget everything if he could get them to drink from the Lethe. Orpheus would be easy. Threaten his pretty little muse and he’d be scrambling to his knees. Eurydice would be nothing without her poet. Achilles would resist. He’d fight a millennia before he or his lover bowed before their king. But they too would fall.

Only Persephone stands in the way, he knows. He likes to imagine he has her under his control. But he knows it’s a lie. The food of the underworld she’d eaten, it didn’t confine her as well as he’d hoped. Sure, her time above ground would be made unbearable, but she would still be out of his grasp. She could leave. She would leave. He knows her threats aren’t empty. So he’ll find a way around her. He needs her to come back. Without Persephone’s warmth, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He watches the crowd of shades begin to disperse and it dawns on him. Orpheus gives them hope, but he makes them afraid. How many deceased reside in Hadestown? It’d take a hundred thousand mortal lifetimes to count. And how many had stepped forward to help the poet boy? Two. Among that crowd, he knew, were great heroes. Heroes who once resided in Elysium. And still, only two shades had betrayed him. Two out of a trillion. Hades smiles. He won’t need to kill Orpheus. One of his workers can take the fall. Even Achilles won’t succeed in standing against an army the size of his. And Hades will win. His wife will see that some dead man has killed the singer to appease his king. She’ll suspect, but without proof, what does she have on him? Eurydice will see she has no choice. Once the boy belongs to him, Orpheus is his to manipulate. She’ll be trapped. Achilles, for all of his strength, is nothing alone. Without his dear Patroclus, he’ll give in. And so Hades plots.

————————————

Hermes, god of roads and messages, receives word of his adoptive son’s predicament with astounding speed. And he fears for Orpheus. But Hermes guides souls to the underworld, to Hades. To betray the king of Hadestown by helping the boy would be to lose his work and by extension, his freedom to live on the railroad. Without an excuse, he’d be back on Olympus, listening to Zeus and Hera’s endless bickering, watching Ares and Aphrodite humiliate themselves, and helping Dionysus comfort Apollo over the death of the mortal pretty boy of the week. And they wonder why Artemis avoids the damn place at all costs. In fact, he’s stuck on Olympus right now, called to the counsel by Zeus? Athena? He can’t remember. Some mortal breaking some rule.

Orpheus is more important than the meeting. His messenger had interrupted the counsel meeting to bring him word of the poor boy’s situation. He’s not sure how to cover this one up. No one was meant to interrupt important matters as this. Plus, he’d given the kid directions straight into Hadestown, which was the opposite of what his contract with Hades had said. He wasn’t allowed to barter for the return of mortal souls and he wasn’t allowed to assist mortals in doing the same.

“Hermes!” Zeus booms. “What is the meaning of this?”

He rolls his eyes. “Begone, messenger.” He slips a note into the man’s hands: ‘Tell Orpheus I’m coming.’ “Nothing, father. Just... matters of work. You know how Hades is. And don’t get me started on Thanatos! I’m late by half a second and-“

“Enough! I’ve half a mind to banish you from this counsel.” Hermes smiles. His excuses have succeeded.

Dionysus laughs, considerably beyond tipsy on his own wine. “You mind if I go too? I’m sick of this awful alcohol and I’ve got something far better back home.”

“Dionysus, wasn’t there an agreement we made?” Athena inquires, icily. “You cannot come to our meetings drunk.”

He smiles. “Well, you see,” he snaps his fingers and shakes his head, washing away his intoxication. “I didn’t come drunk. I *got* drunk while here.” He raises a flask and shakes it, refilling the canteen instantly. “There’s a difference.”

Athena grits her teeth. “Father, one more of these counsels and I swear...”

“And husband,” Hera pipes up, “We were going to address that nymph girl you’re always hanging around?”

Zeus flushes a deep shade of red. “Out. All of you. We’re done here.”

Hermes rises, forcing himself to keep his composure, at least until he’s out of sight. He steps into the sunlight that dazzles Olympus, treks the road to the edge of the mortal realm and... “Hermes?”

“Gods have mercy,” he mutters. He turns. “Apollo.” The god is puffy-eyed, probably from crying. Even Hermes had to agree, his latest lover had been gorgeous. Hyacinthus, was his name, if he remembered correctly. Apollo himself had called the counsel to beg for mortality when the boy had died and he hadn’t found another for what? Seventeen years? Spare for Orpheus’s muse mother, of course. Still, this was unusual, even for Apollo’s mellow dramatic self.

“You’re afraid.”

“Don’t... don’t do that, would you?” Hermes snaps, recoiling. “Yeah, yeah, medicine and all, but I don’t want you telling me what I’m thinking.”

Apollo dips his head in acknowledgment. “It’s my son, isn’t it?”

Hermes shakes his head. One word to Zeus and... all Prometheus did was hand over a spark. This was treason. “No, just work.”

Apollo tilts his head. “You’re lying.”

“What cause would I have for lies? I cannot keep Hades waiting, now.” He whirls away from Apollo’s gaze.

“Perhaps... treason?” Apollo inquires. Hermes’s eyes widen.

“Strong accusations.” He forces his voice not to shake.

“I won’t turn you in.” Liar, Hermes thinks. He wants to get on Zeus’s good side. A chance at getting his lover boy back.

“Correct. You wouldn’t have anything to turn me in for,” he tells the son of Leto.

“Orpheus’s wife... no, fiancée. No... I don’t know! The girl. She’s dead. Orpheus’s song is a failure. I heard it from Olympus. Lovely, really. But not nearly enough to convince Hades to let her go. Nothing is.”

Hermes turns again to face his half-brother. “Keep your voice down, would you? If Zeus hears a word of this-“

Apollo cuts him off. “And you helped him. You broke your contract and you know Hades better than anyone, other than Persephone, if they still talk these days. He’s crueler than he once was. They say Elysium itself is no more, that there’s only Tartarus now. You’re afraid of his wrath. And you’re afraid of Zeus. He’ll punish you too. You saw what he did to Asclepius. Struck by lightning for treason against Hades. And that was before this... winter,” he says, softer now.

“I don’t want a lecture, Apollo. What do you want?” Hermes glares at the god.

“I want a deal.”

Hermes narrows his eyes. “What kind of deal?”

“You break me in to the underworld-“

“No. I’m in enough danger as is.”

“Hear me out.”

“I said no!” Hermes steps back onto the road. Apollo grabs his wrist.

“I can get you out of trouble. Dionysus!” The wine god steps out of the woods.

“I’m due to visit my mother. Hades won’t prevent me from entering his realm, I’m his son,” Dionysus explains. “You and Apollo are there on Demeter’s ask to learn why Persephone is late. You, because you’re the god of messages and Apollo because he was available, on leave from his duties to mourn.”

Hermes groans. “The walk is far. Even if you’re me. Days on end of moping and drunken ramblings for a plan almost certain to backfire? I said no.”

Apollo smiles. “Then I’ll turn you in,” he says simply.

“You won’t. Orpheus is your blood. You’d put him in more danger. He knew of my contract and he let me break it. You’d add a charge against him. And it’s me. You cared once, didn’t you?”

“You know I would. You said so yourself. I visited the poet boy twice, maybe. And you? Ask yourself: when was the last time you optionally visited Olympus? But Hyacinthus, I loved for years. If I turn you in, I’m one step closer to him. On Zeus’s good side again.” Hermes shifts on his feet. “It’ll be good to have a doctor at the boy’s side too, seeing as your instructions just about starved him to death.”

Hermes glares at him. “Don’t.”

“You know it’s true. So? Let’s go or you trade places with Prometheus.”

“Fine,” he mutters, through a clenched jaw.

“Good. Now, this is on our terms, Hermes. I will aid your son because you’ve always been good to me and because he is my blood. If he gets in my way, he belongs to Hades.”

#hadestown au #orphydice #hadestown #hadestown fanfic #therainbowwrites

7 notes · View notes

redfoxwritesstuff · 7 years ago

Text

Typical writing day

So, spurred on by dear Nonny- I’m going to go over my typical day. But also, I figured if Nonny was interested, surely other people would be too and a simple breakdown would almost be inaccurate. So, in addition I’m going to keep a log, you could say. Here, publicly of what I write, when and how long without giving spoilers away. Sharing with the world the days where I am productive and the days where... I close the word doc without even bothering to save. Because that happens.

So, Welcome to “Kit’s Diary”, this first post is just.... rambling what my day looks like in the most general terms. It’s....Look, I’m a mess okay? The following posts will probably be more helpful and I’ll post the development of a fic once I know what fic I’ll use for it.

My typical day begins at 6:30am with a healthy dose of self loathing while I wait for coffee. After? Open the blinds, Shower, more coffee, make up- shit did I walk passed the balcony door again without pants? Opps.

Have I fed the fish yet? Shit. I think so. Why are they following me? I’ll give them a little more food. Gosh they are excited. Guess I didn’t feed them. Give them more food. Pet Loachie, the Golden Dojo Loach who likes to cuddle. yes, I have a fish that likes to cuddle.

Poke the child. Wake, creature of my making. You must go to school. Poke her again. Brush teeth, brush hair. No, I’m not making you potatoes, school gives you breakfast put on your shoes. Get in the car.

We are not listening to the Moana soundtrack again. Fine, I’ll put the stupid music on. Get out of the car. Stop dancing. Whatever, dance to the gate. Go. Begone, demon child.

Oh thank god, my own music. Get home, make a 3rd cup of coffee, debate throwing a splash of whiskey in. May or may not spike my coffee. Go upstairs. It’s about 9:30 by the time I power up the laptop, have the TV on and something to watch picked out. What I watch depends on what I’m planning to write.

It depends on the day of the week what I start on first. Mondays and Thursdays I start first by re-reading and editing the chapter to be posted the following day. I get the draft saved, tags done and it should just take a few clicks the next morning to post. Normally, I’ve not even looked at the chapters that I’m editing in at least a week, it’s better to have fresh eyes.

Next up is writing. First I open both Clueless and Song right now and typically hope between them as motivation and words come. I like to keep at least a week of chapters written ahead of what has been posted. Once I’m happy or if the words won’t come, I move onto another side project. Right now, Mermaid’s Christmas is my next priority so that’s what I open. I cringe at the lack of progress and swear, It’s almost December.

If no words will happen for that? Well I’ve got a Steve side project, a Clint side project, a Tom one shot, a Tom series and a Tony...thing that may or may not become a real thing.

Lunch time. More coffee. Have I eaten anything yet? Fuck if I know. I’ll photosynthesize. Dance between reading and writing....things. Maybe do some dishes. God, time to pick up the kid already?

Home again, Homework! Why the hell do 5 year old’s get homework? Dinner...dinner... Shit, have I eaten? Opps. Dinner. Food. Feed the masses. Coloring, cartoons, “Can we watch spiderman?” Bed time! YAY!

Sweet silence. What do you mean you’re thirsty? Go to bed. You’ve brushed your teeth three times already tonight, go away. The fish do not want music. Go to sleep. ffs.

She’s asleep. Sneak in, turn off the moonlight on her fish tank. Grab the frozen food for the carnivores. Feed the Black Ghost Knife, AKA Ribbon. Feed Loachie and cuddle again. Feed the Bicher. Yes, all my carnivore fish are trained to eat from my hands. Grab the live feed for Bicher- aka Miz Fat Fuck and dump them into her tank. Turn off the lights.

Read a bit. Back to writing. Damnit, did the Fat Fuck jump out of the tank again. She did. Hunt around for Fat Fuck on the floor (she and Lochie can live hours outside of water and Fatfuck is actually able to crawl on land). Drop her back in her tank, “Listen bitch, don’t throw yourself out of the tank when hunting.” Back to writing.

Oh dear god. I’m going to do it. I’m going to kill (a character who I’ll not name). I need a drink for this. One whiskey on ice. Two whiskey on ice. What the hell even is on my TV anymore. Ohhh I like that actor. Wait, No. No. He smiled. He looks like my exhusband. He needs to die. Well not him, the character.

Another whiskey. Words. Words are pouring out. 3Am. Imma do the sleep sleep thing.

Morning comes- what the fuck was I thinking? I hate everything and I hate myself. I need coffee. (repeat the general day)

#Kit's diary

5 notes · View notes

what-even-is-thiss · 8 years ago

Text

Original work, Mythos

Okay, I’ve gotten a few requests to post some original content on here. If you’re on my tag list and just wanted to be added for the fanfics feel free to ignore this. Today I just finished an assignment for my creative writing course so I thought I’d post them here. There are two short stories that take place in the same universe and all the stories are meant to be able to be read on their own but all still connect into part of a bigger story. The first one is a second draft, the second one is a rough first draft and still needs a lot of revising and polishing.

To read these you need just a little background info of the universe. It takes place in a version of our world where multiple pantheons of gods exist at the same time. There are some beings called cross pantheon deities that happen when two gods or goddesses from different pantheons accidentally meet and shenanigans happen. The main character of the first story is a daughter of Freja, Norse goddess of beauty, and Ra, Egyptian god of the sun. Her half brother/twin’s dad is Zeus. I think you all probably know who that jerk face is.

And yes, twins can have different fathers. It’s called Superfecundation. Look it up. Also, I used some German in the second story and I’m still learning. I say this because I know some German speakers follow me and I would like to apologize ahead of time for the mistakes I probably made. Es tur mir leid.

Warnings: Cussing. Dead people. Like... rotting flesh is described in the first story. And there are a few slurs said by the same character in the second story.

First story: 2,733 words.

Second story: 3,951 words

Mythos: What the Hel Were You Thinking?

Talyn took careful steps down the icy slope. She couldn’t really see anything down here. Her sharp eyes had adjusted somewhat, but they were made for seeing a long way in full daylight, not the full darkness of a world with no sun or summer. All that was really visible to her was the vague outline of her own dark hand in front of her and even that was becoming harder to pinpoint.

How long had she been walking now? Hours or days? She was starting to feel a bit of anxiety about the whole situation, but not enough to turn back. She had to do this. She had to know. Nobody else had to, but she did. This was personal. Something Talyn had been meaning to do for decades. She was done waiting.

The air grew colder and the downward slope of the tunnel became even steeper and more slippery, forcing her to dig her spiked shoes deep into the ice, so she suspected that she was getting close. Either that or literally every account she’d ever heard of this place over roughly 50 years of living with other immortals was fake. The thought of the possibility of lies being circulated for so long added with the growing cold made her antsy. She pulled her long braids to the side of her neck and then pulled up her hood for both comfort and warmth. She had taken more after her dad in most physical respects so the cold was difficult, to say the least. If Deon were here…

No, this isn’t about Deon. This is about Talyn and what she wants. Not Deon and his worries. If he can’t understand why she wants to do this then he might as well be...

Crunch.

She almost fell over as she was startled by the sound of another pair of footsteps digging their sharp shoes into the ice. She smelled the air. It was rancid. Oh, gods. It was a dead person.

Sure enough the rotting shape came closer to her. It smelled, even in the freezing cold of Helheim. It had breath worse than some dragons she had met. It stood uncomfortably close and leaned in, going far past the boundaries of her comfort zone.

“Begone!” she ordered. “I don’t give you permission to speak!”

The dead person didn’t talk but they didn’t move either. They probably sensed that she wasn’t a goddess of the underworld and had no real control over them, but they also couldn’t speak unless they were spoken to, and if that speaking to specified they couldn’t talk then that was that. Such is the burden of the dishonorable dead.

“Why don’t you leave?” she barked. “And that wasn’t an invitation to speak!”

They still didn’t leave. Eventually she groaned.

“I don’t have time for this. Don’t talk! I’m not in the mood to deal with tortured souls I don’t know. I’m going on. And I still didn’t invite you to speak!”

She started shuffling forward, her own spiked shoes crunching as she pushed them into the ice. Predictably and disappointingly, the dead, rotting soul kept time with her, following her through the passages.

As they moved along, the slope of the tunnel got steeper, but thankfully some light also appeared. A depressing light that Talyn couldn’t do anything with because it wasn’t from a sun, but at least it made it easier to see. The downside to the light was, she could see her companion now.

They appeared to be a man, but she reminded herself not to assume gender. Talyn Decided though that referring to the old dead person as “he” probably wouldn’t offend anyone that could tell her off for it. She figured the way his pale grey face was falling apart slowly and the smell accompanying it was probably more offensive anyways.

Suddenly, there was a rumbling and a booming deep female voice came from down the tunnel.

“WHO DARES?” it screamed hysterically. ��ONE OF THE VANIR? WHO DARES?”

“Um… Hi, Hel.” Talyn said as charmingly and confidently as she could under the circumstances. “Long time no see.”

She felt like a magnet was pulling her forward and suddenly her body was moving so fast that all her senses became a sickening blur. When she finally fell over and regained her senses she found herself fallen at the feet of a woman much shorter than her but with a much more terrifying appearance. The right side of her face was pretty, maybe even hot. Nice cheekbones, pale skin, sleek black hair, green eye that kind of looked similar to her own. But the left side? It made the rotting old man that had been following her look like a candidate for the nine world’s sexiest man. Not that the nine worlds as a whole had an award like that but… oh right. Death goddess. Angry death goddess. Stay on track. Even if she is kind of hot in a weird zombie way and… no, no. Don’t think about that.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hel asked angrily, her rotten arm crossed over her live one.

“I wanted to ask…” Talyn began,

“Oh, you want your mommy back?” Hel asked in a mocking tone. “I know who you want to see. What I don’t know is what you think gives you the right to come barging in like this. I’ve told you before, you’re not a messenger, you’re not family, you’re not dead, you’re not welcome here. The dead stay dead, sun goddess. Now give me one good reason why I shouldn’t send you running.”

“Well, for one I don’t want her back. I just want to see if she’s here.” Talyn said, standing up and showing how tall she was. “I don’t know if there’s a version of her in any of the afterlives and I want to see. And another thing, oh miss high and mighty, you don’t treat the dead too well. I saw an old man walking this way on my way down and I think he’s been wandering for a while because it sure smelled like it. At least in Egypt we have a guide book.”

“The souls will find their own way.” Hel spat. “You don’t need to know about anything. And will someone get that man with the rest of them?”

Talyn had been so overwhelmed by the sheer number of rotting souls around that she hadn’t smelled that the dead old man from before had caught up and was standing behind her.

“What? When did you get here?” She asked.

“Just now.” Said a strained voice in English. “Thank you for letting me speak, young woman. I think it will help you. Tell your brother that Jake says hi.”

She tried not to cringe as his rotting hand lovingly patted her hooded head before he turned around and was led away by another rotting corpse-like soul.

Oh crap. She had let him speak. And he knew what that meant. Obviously Hel knew what that meant too, and seemed to take that as her cue to become even more of an asshole than usual.

“You know what? You know what? I think that you should stay for a visit. Detain her!”

“Ah, nice. You really know how to show a girl a good time.” Talyn said, pulling a silver and gold sword out of her belt that had been hidden by her long coat. “Well, might as well have some fun before the cavalry gets here.”

Dead souls wearing various military uniforms started appearing from behind ice columns and Hel’s ugly stone throne and began closing in. Obviously warriors that had died dishonorably or of sickness rather than combat and didn’t get into one of the more interesting Norse afterlives. This should be fun. Talyn lifted her sword in the air and the Norse runes etched onto it glowed blue while the Egyptian hieroglyphs burned red. She screamed out a war cry like a true shield maiden and began to charge the rotting souls when a pair of hands grabbed her waist.

In the span of a few milliseconds she felt her body break into billions of different things and everything went black. Suddenly she was everywhere at once, spinning through the air and yet somehow contained. She could see nothing and yet everything at the same time and was pretty sure that if she still had a heart it would have exploded out of shock. Nothing could describe her anger and confusion as she spiraled through the air, part of it and having no control over where she went.

When she landed and her body became whole again, it felt like she was made out of lead and so, she did the obvious thing and fell forward. The same pair of hands that had grabbed her before grabbed her again and helped her stand up. She struggled against them and pushed them off but then fell over and found herself face first in sand.

Talyn spat and started trying to rub the sand off her face and avoid getting it in her eyes as she turned around to face the one that had taken her from the world of the dead.

“I had things under control! Why did you come after me? I know Heimdall sees everything but you don’t always have to come running when he thinks I need help!” She said, surprised at the hurt in her own voice.

The young looking man in front of her gave off a vibe like he was a parent that had just caught his kid trying to sneak out at night. His eyes were just the right shade of blue to make it feel like he was trying to drill a hole through your skull if you looked at them for too long. He was exactly the same height as her but from the way he carried himself if you saw them side by side and tried to remember who was taller later you’d think it was him.

He said nothing.

Talyn stared him down, used to his eyes and parent-like gaze. Neither of them said anything for a minute that seemed to last for years as the sound of the ocean failed to calm anything down.

Eventually that parental gaze fell and Talyn started to actually think about what he must be feeling. The smallest amount of guilt moved into the other mix of emotions swirling around in her head and so she guessed she should say something.

“I… I’m sorry, Deon.” She said. “But next time could you give me a little warning before you turn me into wind? It’s so horrifying when you’re not expecting it.”

“No.” Deon said tightly, obviously fighting back tears. “You don’t deserve warning. I… ugh. I just… Why?”

He crossed his arms and closed his eyes as a shiny yellow liquid started leaking out of his eyes.

“Why?” He said. “Why?”

Talyn shrugged off her snow jacket and walked to him. He looked almost like a ghost in the dim lighting of the dark beach. She gripped his shoulder, trying to seem reassuring and not think about how much he looked like their mom in that moment.

“I really, really needed to see her.” Talyn said. “You weren’t supposed to know until I found her. It’s just… Freja doesn’t…”

“Feel like a real mom?” he asked pointedly. “Do you think I’ve never thought about going down there? I was raised by mortal parents too! I miss them, sis. It’s… Hel is crazy, Talyn. And she has millions of dead souls that have to listen to her. What did you think would happen? Going to a place where you have no power? With no sun? Where you could be killed if she tries hard enough? I don’t know. I really don’t. What were you thinking?”

“I thought I would see my mom.” She said, not backing down. “I’ve seen the underworld in Egypt. She’s not there and this is the only other place I could look. Happy? This is why I don’t tell you things. You try to get to the bottom of it. And I’m pretty hard to kill anyways.”

“But not impossible to kill.” he said.

She let go of her twin’s shoulder and not for the first time thought about how different they were. Not just their appearance. It was something that went beyond skin color and having completely different but equally horrible dads.

“And you would sure care.” She snapped. “You can’t die. It’s literally impossible. Aren’t you the lucky one?”

“Oh yeah.” Deon said, angrily picking off some of the gold that had solidified on his face from crying. “Probably someday gonna end up maimed and chopped into tiny pieces in a hole somewhere with nothing to look forward to but the end of time. It makes so much sense for me to be reckless!”

His voice had been raised. Talyn could see that he had realized it too late and froze there. Despite the cold sea air around them, everything felt stale and without movement.

After a tense minute they took in a deep breath and sighed together, understanding. Understanding too much. They had gone through this conversation before. So many times. Now it just felt real. Like they couldn’t just end it here like they usually did. But they would. It would end here and they would go back to pretending that it was okay.

“By the way,” she said, avoiding looking at those terrifyingly blue eyes, “Some dead guy named Jake says hi. He was the one that talked to me, giving away my position.”

Deon cracked a small smile and wiped his eyes, spreading what looked like dark yellow glitter all over his hands.

“Jake, huh? So he finally kicked the bucket. Good to know.”

“Who is he?” Talyn asked.

Deon smiled, looking like he was starting to see whoever Jake was through nostalgia goggles. He sure had that tone of voice as he said “Just an old family friend. Nobody important anymore. But he got you to talk to him. So, yeah.”

“I guess I’m going to have to be punished for going down to Helheim now.” Talyn grumbled.

“Are you ready?” Deon asked. “We should probably get going soon. This is a public beach and we’re both carrying weapons and like.. I’m kind of in my pajamas. And you’re…”

“Snow gear. Yeah.”

A soft glow began to shine over the trees. So they were on the west coast of somewhere. Probably Oregon, judging by the landscape.

They didn’t leave immediately. They stood in silence for a while while Deon stared out at the waves and Talyn worked on getting as much sand out of her clothing as she could.

“There’s no Egyptian god of the sea, right?” Deon asked eventually.

“No, genius. There isn’t. I’ve told you before. River gods, not sea gods.”

“Greece has several sea gods.” He remarked.

“Are you seriously trying to make small talk right now?” Talyn asked as she used him to lean on while she took off one of her spiked boots to shake wet sand out of it.

“Maybe. You’re taking long enough for me to. Are you ready to go yet? I’m surprised we haven’t been caught by a morning jogger.”

She put on her boot and picked up her snow jacket. “One second and then we can go and see what horrifying project mom has for me now.”

Talyn faced east and held a middle finger to the sky and then walked back over to her brother.

“Okay. Said good morning to dad. This time I’m driving.”

“I still hate you for this.” Deon said as she took his arm.

“Sure you do. I hate you too, little brother.”

“You’re five minutes older than me! See, that… that only makes me hate you more.”

Not able to keep a straight face anymore they smiled and laughed at each other and then in a thought seemed to melt away. The twins of summer together became one with the sunlight, moving along its rays, becoming the opposite of that icy slope down to Hel. One with the warmth of the Earth and independant of the air and ground, the summer sun took took the wind with her and for a second, only a second, it felt like there was nothing bad ahead.

Mythos: Wind and Rage

Deon instinctively went for the baseball with his right hand instead of his left and immediately regretted it.

“Son of a…” He started, before catching himself.

The half Japanese boy in front of him was clearly stifling a laugh.

“Did you almost just say bitch?” he asked, clearly amused. “You? Deon Eriksson? Swearing? What will I tell your mother?”

“Jake I swear to Vanaheim…” Deon said through the pain.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Are you alright?” He asked, still looking amused as he walked towards his friend.

“I’ll live, obviously. I don’t think anything is broken.”

Jake took his friend’s hand, which was much larger than his, in his own, inspected it, and seemed to think for a minute before he nodded thoughtfully in agreement.

“Maybe we should buy another glove.” He said, smiling. “One that works for left handed players.”

“I think I’m done for the day.” Deon said.

He released his left hand from the glove and removed his baseball hat, revealing that his head was so covered in sweat that it was making his blonde hair look brunette. A few tears of pain had escaped his eyes and had solidified into metal. He picked them off of his face with a wince of pain.

Jake picked up the baseball off the ground from where Deon had dropped it and tossed it in the air and caught it again. He took the glove from his friend and started catching the ball in that as they walked down the road.

“I’m always surprised at how much pain you can stand.” He said, almost missing the ball.

“Immortal and all that.” Deon said, rubbing his wrist.

Deon put the cap on backwards, messing up his hair even more. His face was red from the summer heat and throwing hardballs for Jake to catch all morning. They only had one glove and so when Jake could convince the young god to play catch it usually just consisted of Deon pitching and Jake catching it and then throwing it back gently. This time he had somehow convinced Deon to try to catch it, but both of them had forgotten for a moment that Deon was left-handed and so had been conditioned to catch with his right hand and throw with his left.

“So where are we going? I’m not going home.” Jake said, after a long silence.

“What’re you itching so hard to ask me about?” Deon said.

“How do you always know that?” Jake asked.

“I’m the son of a love goddess. It’s all just feelings. You’ve been itching to ask me something all week since I got back. I’ve already told you your dad isn’t worth visiting. Frey is a lot more full of himself than the stories would make you believe.”

“Okay okay okay,” Jake said. “I’ve been thinking about something since you left.”

“Yeah? I know. Just tell me what it is.” Deon said, the smallest bit of frustration leaking into his voice.

“So, all the time we were growing up you never told me there were Greek gods. You didn’t tell me you were immortal neither.” He said.

“Haven’t I apologized for that like a gazillion times by now?” Deon asked.

“Yeah yeah yeah, it’s just… why didn’t you tell me? And what are they like? I mean, son of Zeus? How does that even happen?”

Deon stayed silent for a moment. He stopped walking and Jake looked back. He was heading towards the park. Jake followed him behind a clump of trees in the park next to the Hohenbrink’s house.

As soon as he went behind the trees he found himself pulled downward and onto the ground. Deon looked around and then started whispering very carefully.

“Look, you’re a demigod. Demigods only belong to one thing. That’s it. You’re not even supposed to know about other pantheons of gods. Do you know what would happen if either one of my immortal parents found out I told you?”

“They’d freak out?” Jake guessed.

“Yeah, they’d freak out.” Deon said. “And you know what happens when gods and goddesses freak out?”

“Tidal waves?” Jake guessed.

“Worse than that.” Deon said. “You know what happened last time my dad got majorly pissed? Hurricane Carla! He tried to wipe out Texas, Jake.”

“He didn’t do a very thorough job though.” Jake mumbled.

“Did you hear anything I just said? We shouldn’t be talking about this. There are eyes and ears everywhere. There could be things listening in these trees or in the rocks.”

“Yup!” came a cheery voice.

Both young men jumped out of their skin and fell over at the sudden noise. When they looked up they found themselves looking up at a woman that seemed to have bark for skin and long straight hair made out of the same branches and pine needles as the ponderosa pine tree they had been hiding under. Her clothes seemed to be woven out of pine leaves and were clearly inspired by the hippies and new age spiritual people that tended to wander around this part of Oregon.

“Ah great. A nymph.” Deon said.

“Do you uh… know this lady?” Jake asked. “She doesn’t look…”

“Norse? Because she’s not.” Deon said, getting up. “She’s greek. A tree nymph. So, are you gonna rat me out to my dad now?”

“No, honey.” She said happily. “I hate him. He and I don’t have a very good history.”

“You and everyone else he’s ever come into contact with.” Deon said. “What do you want?”

“Well you’re rude, aren’t you?” She asked, tossing her pine scented hair behind her.

“I’m a god of the air. Plants never bother me unless they want something. Now let’s get it over with.”

Suddenly an angry voice came from the window in the house by where the small grove of trees was.

“Hey Jap! You and your retarded boyfriend get off our yard!”

“Oh, christ.” Jake mumbled. “This is a public park you ass! It just happens to be next to your house! And he’s not my boyfriend or retarded!”

“Fuck off!” came the voice, whose owner appeared outside in the form of an angry teenage boy in his pajamas.

“You fuck off!” Jake yelled at him.

He turned to the nymph. “Does he do that to everyone?”

“Yup.” she said, flipping her hair again. “Far too noisy.”

“Seems like something he’d do.” Jake replied.

“Who are you talking to you yellow skinned…”

“I can pound you into the ground and you know it, Michael. Now piss off!”

“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree here.” Deon said nervously.

“What are you afraid of him for?” Jake asked. “You could turn him into a grease spot. It’s not like he can see her anyways, right? He thinks we’re talking to a tree.”

“We are talking to a tree, and just because I can turn him into a smouldering pile of ashes doesn’t mean that I should.” Deon said through gritted teeth.

“What are you two homos talking about?” Came the angry voice of Michael.

Jake could feel his heart rate increasing as their neighborhood’s resident conservative maniac angrily crossed his own property line and began approaching them.

“Quickly, what do you want?” Deon said to the tree spirit.

“So needy.” she said. “Fine, I want to be moved. I want somebody to put in a word with Demeter for me.

“Okay, tell me your name and I’ll do it. We need to go.” Deon said.

“I’m a ponderosa pine.” She said.

That didn’t really answer his question but they started walking away when Michael grabbed Jake and pushed him up against the tree. The lady in the tree vanished from Jake’s perspective, but from Deon’s ten more appeared, coming out of all the trees in the park. Many women with bark for skin and hippie dresses coming out to watch the show.

Deon panicked. He could see the murder in his best friend’s eyes. Jake, as a demigod, easily had the strength and reflexes to kill Michael. As horrible as Michael was, Deon wasn’t really the type to kill mortals, even if they were horrible people. He saw the nymphs gathered around to watch and in a split second made his decision.

“Scare him and I’ll talk to Demeter about this whole park!” He exclaimed.

The women in the pine needle hippie dresses looked excited. Immediately several roots escaped from the ground and began weaving their way around the racist’s legs, making him drop the “Jap” in his shock. Jake looked surprisingly horrified by this new development, but before Deon could ponder this he had already followed his first instinct and grabbed Jake by the shoulder, turning both of them into wind and air and leaving Michael to the mercy of the hippie pine trees.

Deon knew his way through the air currents. He had first discovered he had been able to ride them when he was a little kid and had met his birth father for the first time. Now at nineteen he knew them like he knew interstate 5 or the shape of the capitol building in Salem from all the trips his parents took him on in grade school. He knew the feeling of carrying another person and being one with the wind like he knew just how to work a rosette iron in the hot oil just right to get the fried dough perfectly crisp or how he knew how to work his fingers at lightning speed to comb out and style his twin sister’s hair when they were visiting each other.

So, when he suddenly felt a knot in his stomach and felt Jake and himself twisting in a direction he hadn’t planned for, he knew he had lost control. He mentally held onto Jake tighter, hoping to whatever mercy and grace there might be in the universe that whoever had ahold of him wouldn’t suddenly force the son of Frey to materialize over California and go splat next to some suburban neighborhood potluck while Deon was dragged through the wind currents towards Greenland or something. Deon did a mental shudder at that. He had seen too much of Greenland already.

They passed south and west, hundreds of miles out of their way. Over the endless miles of green forests and lumber farms of Oregon, across the border over the golden state, bypassing the checkpoints that would search your car for any suspicious looking fruits, going as far south as Sonoma county before flying over the cold gravely beaches and out into open water.

He had just wanted to get to the other side of town. He would curse the gods, but seeing as he was one and this could also be considered rude, he settled for staying quietly irritated.

Finally, he felt the familiar sensation of his body returning to normal, but this time it was against his will and it made him feel sick to his stomach. He was feeling so distracted by this that he almost forgot to catch his passenger.

As he caught Jake, he noted that the expression on his face reminded him of the time he had seen one of his thousands of half siblings on his dad’s side get impaled through the skull with an ice pick during a family dispute over the results of the 1963 world series the previous fall. That is, the expression of a confused and angry LA Dodgers fan that had temporarily lost control of some of his essential motor functions.

Deon steered the angry Dodgers fan over to a nearby trashcan so he wouldn’t vomit all over the tile floor. The summer heat was almost nonexistent here. They were too high up for that. A familiar face smiled condescendingly, as Greek gods tended to do when confronted with misbehaving youngins. His giant wings went nicely with the backless t-shirt he had presumably screenprinted himself that had a poorly drawn version of the beatles’ logo on it. It seemed that beatlemania had grasped the west wind since Deon had last seen him. As had slightly too tight bell bottom jeans.

Deon walked across the spanish tile towards his superior and left Jake dry heaving over the trash bin in between exclamations of “what the fuck!?” and “I hate you I hate you I hate you so much.”

“Hey little man. Taking your cousin out for a ride?” Zephyr asked, his too perfect teeth seeming to mock Deon with every square millimeter exposed.

Deon knew Zephyr liked nothing more than to rile people up. He liked to try to push Deon to his limits because although the young god was quite emotional, he was slow to anger. And common knowledge dictates that people that are slow to anger are monumentally dangerous when they finally snap. To the west wind, however, this wasn’t a terrifying prospect. Just Wednesday night entertainment.

Deon put on his neutral face and calmly said “I’m six feet tall. You are not. I’d hardly call myself little.”

“Okay, little man.” Zephyr said, winking. “Why’d you bring a Norse demigod into my air?”

Jake couldn’t quite make out what Deon was saying. It felt like his head had been put through a blender. Once he felt like he had sort of regained his balance he tried to asses his body. It was, in fact, there. The way Deon had described air travel was nothing like Jake had imagined it. He hadn’t imagined getting vomit on his oversized white button up shirt either. Where was Michael? Where were he and Deon right now?

He leaned on the trash can for support and took in the scenery. It seemed like they were in the dining room of an enormous Spanish style villa with large open windows. He could see through the large windows that they were not, in fact, on the ground. They were in the air. Not even resting on a cloud. No back patio. Just a floating mansion.

The house wasn’t the only thing floating either. Tables and tablecloths seemed to move around of their own accord. A vinyl record labeled “England’s Newest Hitmakers-The Rolling Stones” came out of a basket and placed itself on a nearby record player.

As “Route 66” began playing through this surreal space and Deon, his blonde hair even more windswept than his now wrinkly striped t-shirt, continued to ask an invisible figure not to tell anyone and explain something about an impulsive mistake Jack began seriously considering the possibility that he had landed in some bizarro version of the Christian hell. He had seen quite a few things in his short 20 years. Viking zombies, the moon himself complaining about Neil Armstrong, the tree that kept reality itself from crumbling, a dwarf wrestling a small dragon the size of a cat, and his mother’s infamous attempt at making noodles, to name a few. But none of that weirded him out as much as this.

“What the Hell?” He managed.

Deon turned around and a man with wings seemed to materialize next to him. A man that couldn’t seem to decide if he was going for a British look or a counter culture look and had just found a horrible in between.

“Hey, Viking boy.” The guy said.

“Who are you?” Jack asked, now more disgusted than confused.

“Zephyr. West wind. And you don’t belong here.”

Deon started “It was an accident, sir. If you would just let me…”

“Ah ah ah. Nope. You brought a Norseman through my airspace and my little birdies tell me you weren’t on Norse business. Now how am I supposed to react to that? Hmmm?”

“I was just trying to get to the other side of town. If you hadn’t forced me off course he wouldn’t even be in your territory. You were just looking for any reason to get at me.” Deon said.

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t. In any case you’re here now and it’s my word against yours. You’re what? Nineteen? Who will believe you? I’m five thousand.”

“So wait a minute.” Jake said, stumbling away from the trash can. “You want to get him in trouble? And you dragged me into it?”

“Terrible for inter pantheon relationships, isn’t it?” Zephyr Said, a hideously perfect smile on his face. “It’ll be the biggest setback since since the twins!”

“You mean…” Jake said.

“Yeah, he means me and Talyn.” Deon sighed.

“Wait, are you telling me this hippie or whatever he is, with his moving furniture and gods know what else is looking to start conflict?” Jake asked.

Zephyr roughed up Jake’s already messy, windswept black hair and laughed at him. Normally this sort of patronizing gesture would have caused the perpetrator to find themselves judo flipped onto the floor, but seeing as this was an old god…

“Oh, you stupid boy.”

Don’t fight him don’t fight him don’t fight him don’t…

“You stupid little Viking man.” Zephyr continued. “You can’t see the wind spirits because they don’t want you to see them. Your buddy here can see them, can’t you boy?”

Deon didn’t say anything, either because he was being defiant or was so anxious he couldn’t talk. It was always hard to tell with him.

When Deon didn’t answer the other deity flipped his Detroit Tigers baseball hat off and laughed at him when one of the semi-transparent women floating around the room snatched it away. Deon watched her tease him about it. He felt ready to fight her, but internalized it. He didn’t particularly like baseball or the Detroit Tigers but his sister had given him that hat, dammit.

His anxiety increased. Jake looked like he always did right before he started a fight. It was that same look he had earlier that day when Michael had pinned him to a tree. He had panicked before when that had happened, now Jake was staring down someone that could easily turn him into the late Jacob Haruto Nakamura with a snap of his fingers. Well, Deon could do that too but it wasn’t like he wanted to.

Miraculously, Jake restrained himself. Zephyr put his arm around both of the young men’s shoulders, pulling Deon down and forcing Jake to stand up on his toes.

“I was just messing with you. Calm down!” He said, laughing a laugh that made Deon want to cry.

As soon as he let go Jake started smacking Zephyr repeatedly with his baseball glove out of frustration and yelled in a combination of Japanese, German, and old Norse. Deon couldn’t understand Japanese but he figured from the Norse and German words that Jake was saying some extremely offensive things about Zephyr’s mother, that, if he could understand it, probably would’ve gotten Jake killed right then and there.

After getting bitch slapped and having a copy of “Introducing: The Beatles” thrust into his hands, Jake seemed to calm down. He didn’t seem any less furious, but he did calm down.

Deon quickly reclaimed his hat, took ahold of his friend, and flew them off as quick as he could.

“Ich bin genervt. What was the point of all that?” Jake asked Deon in German as they started breaking tree roots off of the now sleeping Michael Hohenbrink in the dark.

“The point of what?” Deon asked in response.

“What was the point of him grabbing us? He was breaking the rules and you weren’t.”

Deon sighed as he casually broke off another root with one hand. “The bigger gods don’t always have reasons why they do things.”

He paused and suddenly seemed to be a lot older than nineteen. His steely blue eyes and pale skin almost made him look like some kind of ghost in this lighting.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be like that in a thousand years. Probably not though. I’m even further down the drinking table than you. In some circles mortals are more important than me. But then again…”

“Then again, what?” Jake asked when it was apparent the sentence had stopped.

Deon smiled as he lowered the mumbling Michael down to the dirt. “Then again, mortals are more important than us.”

He paused again in his speaking and his smile faded as they began to walk out into the street, leaving Michael and the sleeping tree nymphs where they were. Jake had known Deon long enough to be able to read his silences.

“Was denkst du nach? You want to tell me something.” Jake said, handing the baseball over.

Deon’s sad smile returned as he tossed it in the air and caught it. “Bist du psychisch? How did you know?”

“Well dad didn’t give me any funny emotion powers and mom is only human, but I know my best friend. Now spill. Um den heißen Brei herumreden nicht. You always become no fun to be around when you bottle things up.”

“How considerate of you.” Deon said, switching back to English. “Well, first of all, I never liked baseball.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Come on. Tell me.” Jake said, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Alright. Alright. I’ll confess.” Deon said. “I’m not going to Portland state next semester.”

Jake swallowed. “Are you… taking a semester off?”

Deon’s eyes started sparkling gold at the edges before a few small tears came out of his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and they spread all over it, making it look like he had touched a pile of yellow glitter.

“I’m… I’m quitting for good. Over the summer I switched between Vaneheim and Olympus and both places think it’s time I get a job.”

“But…. wait.” Jake said. “What…”

He was about to say “What about me? I just got you back.” But instead stopped himself and said “But what about your parents? You’re still living with them. Right?”

“Mutti and dad know already. Dad took it better than I thought. Mutti didn’t. Maybe it’s the recovering Mennonite Brethren mindset but she seems to think I’ve betrayed the family. Dad’s calmed her down for now but I don’t know if she’ll forgive me.”

“Will I see you anymore?” Jake asked as they got to his house.

Deon sighed. “Not much. I’d really rather you didn’t get involved with what I have to do. I want you to live a long time. And if you’re gonna do that you should stay away from gods as much as possible I think. And I’ve changed my mind about you meeting Talyn.”

“What? Why?”

“Dummkopf. You’d be fighting her in less than ten minutes. I know both of you.”

“Don’t call me a stupid head Eriksson.” Jake said, punching him in the arm.

Deon smiled and handed the baseball back to his friend.

“Goodnight, dummkopf. Don’t get yourself killed while I’m gone.”

He disappeared like smoke and Jake started walking towards the house. Judging by the burning smell, it seemed his mom was trying to cook again.

As he opened the door he heard yelling.

“Haru! Where were you?”

He dodged the wooden spoon his mother swung at him with and then pulled it from her hand.

“Have you been getting into fights again?” She asked.

“No, mom. I promise.” Jake said, cautiously handing the spoon back to her. “I got caught by some demigod stuff. A wind god.”

“Was it Deon?” She asked, going back to the clearly over cooked soup.

“It wasn’t his fault, mom.”

“He’s good, Haru. A good friend, but you should stop talking to gods. I worry sometimes. You keep me awake at night.”

Jake sat down at the dining table. As he put his glove and ball on the table next to him he realized just how exhausted and hungry he really was.

“Alright, mom. I’ll keep that in mind.”

#roman wrote a thing #original story

49 notes · View notes

scriptstructure · 8 years ago

Note

You've probably answered this before, but it's been really bothering me. What if you reading a story and then you are inspired to write something similar-ish?

In fact, I haven’t – this is the first time I’ve gotten this question, and I think it’s a good one. A lot of people get very caught up in worrying about if their idea might have been ‘done before’, if it could have been done better, if someone else might have written it differently, etc. All these are very natural concerns, I think, and so is yours.

You read a story, or watch a movie, and there’s something in the premise or the characters, or the plot that takes root in your imagination and starts sprouting off new ideas. On the one hand, it feels great to have a flourish of creation in the brain pan, on the other hand what if it’s less a flourishing, and more a regurgitation?

youtube

No one wants to be Mr. Skinner.

But really, we can quote the literal, actual Bible on this one: The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun*. One of the most valuable lessons you can take on as a writer, there are no new ideas!

At their hearts, stories are often very simple, and take a few very basic shapes. The journey, the coming-of-age, the cycle of renewal …

But what does that mean when you’ve just come out of the cinema with a story idea burning in your mind and the queasy certainty that it’s going to be just too similar to the blockbuster you’ve just devoured?

The key is that everyone thinks a little differently, conceptualises differently, the things that you’ve picked out of that blockbuster are going to carry a slightly different weight and nuance of meaning to you, than they did to the other people in the cinema. If you focus on nurturing those personal, interpretive elements of the concept, then the thing that sprouts up is going to be as new as any idea can be.

There are two big components to approaching this kind of situation that I think help with sorting out what makes your story something other than fan fiction of the thing that inspired you.

First off, give yourself space to think. Take a week or two to let the idea roll around in your head before you dedicate yourself to writing it. You might find that it evaporates, that it really was just your brain wanting to replicate the really good bits of the thing that inspired you, without much working beyond that. That’s okay. But sometimes a bit of space will let the parts of this idea that are yours sink in and solidify.

Then you move on to step two, figuring out what in this idea is important to you. Think about the key elements that make you want to write this thing, and jot them down, see how far you can work along the lines of your own interests, your favourite details, the emotions and images that you want to capture in this piece.

When you’ve worked on it long enough and stuck to the things that are deeply important and pleasing to you, you’re going to come out with something that probably bears little more than a passing resemblance to the thing that inspired you. Maybe they would sit happily together in the same genre, or maybe there are some tonal qualities that both share, but in bringing your personal preferences and thought processes to the piece, you turn it into your own.

It’s a little bit funny to get this question, actually. The manuscript I’m currently working on (and nearly finished the first draft!) was spawned when I had read through a publisher’s entire catalogue of a certain type of story. I got to the end of the list and thought ‘but I want to read more of those!’ and after a couple of days moping, I realised that the only way I was guaranteed to get more would be to write it.

I thought about what my favourite things in those stories were, and about the stuff that I didn’t like so much, and I imagined what the ideal story I would have wanted to read would have been like, and I sat down and wrote it. The story I’ve written definitely has a lot in common with those books I was reading, but at the same time, it’s a product of my own imagination and my own interests.

Essentially, I think, in this kind of situation it boils down to working hard to cultivate the story that you want to tell, and running with the elements that you personally find interesting and appealing.

Don’t fall into the trap of trying to replicate the thing that inspired you, but let it be just that: inspiration.

Think about the difference between Macbeth and The Lord of the Rings, the scope of the stories, the genre, the format, the pacing. But a significant part of The Lord of the Rings was inspired by Macbeth. Anecdotally, after seeing a performance of the play, Tolkien was annoyed at the way that Shakespeare handled the resolution of the prophesy about Macbeth.

Compare:

MACBETH Thou losest labor.As easy mayst thou the intrenchant airWith thy keen sword impress as make me bleed.Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;I bear a charmèd life, which must not yieldTo one of woman born.

MACDUFF Despair thy charm,And let the angel whom thou still hast servedTell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s wombUntimely ripped.

Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 8

and

A cold voice answered: ‘Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will notslay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond alldarkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked tothe Lidless Eye.'

A sword rang as it was drawn. 'Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may.'

'Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!'

Then Merry heard of all sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Dernhelmlaughed, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel.

'But no living man am I! Youlook upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund’s daughter. You stand between me andmy lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I willsmite you, if you touch him.’

The Return of the King: The Battle of the Pelennor Fields

The prophesy about the defeat of the Witch-King of Angmar, and the prophesy about Macbeth’s downfall are extremely similar in terms of phrasing, intent, and dramatic weight, but the execution is vastly different. It’s inspiration, not imitation, and if you have confidence in your ability to develop a story that reflects your own preferences and interests, then it will be able to stand beside its inspiration on equal footing.

I hope that helps!

*Ecclesiastes 1:9

–

Hi there, your friendly blogger Mason here!

At the moment I’m fundraising to cover the costs of my gender confirmation surgery, if you’re able to donate, please click [HERE] to give me a helping hand!

If you’re not able to donate, I would be really grateful if you would reblog [THIS POST] so that more people will be able to see the fundraiser.

Thank you for reading, and thank you all for being so kind!

#writing #inspiration vs imitation #long post #Anonymous

47 notes · View notes

beyondforks · 8 years ago

Text

Tour: A Review & Excerpt of Fat Girl Begone! by D.E. Haggerty

Fat Girl Begone! by D.E. Haggerty Genre: Adult (Contemporary Romance) Date Published: May 1, 2017 Publisher: Self

I’m a total mess. My boyfriend dumped me – get this – because I diet too much. Not because I’m fat, mind you. Of course, this spurs me into the diet-fitness-revenge-plan of the century, which leads me to the gym and a scorching hot personal trainer. I even manage to make some cool new friends, including a millionaire if you can believe it. Things are looking up! Naturally, that’s the moment my ex decides he wants me back, the personal trainer asks me out, and my millionaire male buddy decides to throw his hat in the ring. But that’s not enough drama. No, not for me. Because I’ve also lost my job and decided to start my own business. Just call me Ms. Drama.

Warning: Bad language, bumpy roads, and embarrassing moments ahead. But there’s also more than a bit of romance and even, if we’re lucky, love. Fingers crossed.

Not endorsed by or affiliated with any brand of tequila.

Fat Girl Begone by D.E. Haggerty was a cute and funny story about a woman who has so many things going for her, but doesn't have the self esteem to back it up. Everly has allowed her long time boyfriend to let her feel worthless for far too long, but she doesn't even realize it yet. So, when he dumps her, she feels like the world has ended. Fortunately, she has kept her sense of humor through it all. I thought Everly was from England at first, because there were a few British slang words thrown, but the story seemed to take place in America, so I'm not sure where it actually took place. No biggie though. I think the words are fun, so I didn't mind. I enjoyed Everly's adventures and misadventures as she found herself with the help of friends and working out. My biggest gripe was, the dialog didn't always feel natural. The characters all had these words that they'd continuously use, and it got distracting. For example, one of Everly's friends addressed people as "Bitches" all the time. I mean ALL the time. Another, addressed people as "Chica" every time she spoke as well. There were more. It was like each character had their own word they used to address others, and they used it pretty much every time they spoke. This felt awkward, because people don't naturally talk like that in every single conversation. But, back to the story. It was definitely entertaining, and I enjoyed watching Everly's confidence in herself grow. She's quirky and fun, and I love that. It was also empowering, as she is a character that most woman can relate to in many ways.

Fat Girl Begone! by D.E. Haggerty was kindly provided to me by Reading Addiction Book Tours for review. The opinions are my own.

“You should totally jump that, chica.” It’s Monday, and I’ve just survived another Zumba class. I only hit Tara once. Okay, twice, but who’s counting? I’m still trying to catch my breath and stop my heart from jumping out of my ribcage. None of which stops me from panting after my personal trainer. Before I get a chance to respond to her comment or tear my eyes away from Gabe’s epic ass, the rest of the gang joins Tara and me. “What are you bitches yapping about?” Oh great, Charise didn’t just say that at maximum volume or anything. “Everly taking her personal trainer for a ride.” Oh my god. Please tell me no one else heard Tara announce that I’m lusting after Gabe. I hear giggles and murmurs of agreement from the other exercisers exiting the group exercise room. Of course, everyone heard. Charise, Tara, Naomi, and Jessie have one volume – embarrassingly loud. I ignore them and head to the locker rooms with my head down. Of course, I can’t help but sneak another glance at Gabe. He’s doing squats for God’s sake! I defy any woman – or man for that matter – to not look. I keep my eyes glued to those glutes as I walk in the opposite direction. My foot hits something and before I know it I’m going down. I end up sprawled on the floor of the gym. I look down at my outfit and sigh in relief. Good. No rolls of fat are showing. Thankfully, I had put a long sweatshirt on over the loose tank I was wearing during class. A hand appears in front of my face. “Let me help you up, babe.” I look up to see yet another example of male perfection. Does this gym have a portal to Mount Olympus for the Greek Gods to come and go as they please? Because damn. This is one fine specimen of manhood in front of me. “Babe?” His voice startles me out of my perusal of his perfection. I reach out and he grabs my hand to pull me up. Only he doesn’t stop there. He pulls me flush to his body and then leans down to whisper in my ear. “It’s okay, babe. Happens all the time when girls look at me.” And crash. There goes my adulation of the man. I knew there was a reason no one believes in the Greek Gods anymore. Vanity is not attractive. I pull on my hand until he releases me. “Thanks.” “You okay, sweetheart?” As if I couldn’t be embarrassed enough, now Gabe’s here. “I’m fine. Just wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the former Greek God puff out his chest as if I had paid him a compliment. I can’t help it. My eyes narrow at him, and I attempt to engage my eye lasers. Just like the two gazillion other times I’ve tried to use those lasers, they malfunction. Gabe ignores the entire episode. “You here to do your exercise class?” “Nope.” I shake my head. “I just put on some workout clothes and then ducked my head under the faucet to get my face and hair wet.” My personal trainer laughs and grabs my shoulder to give it a squeeze. Why is he squeezing my shoulder? “You’re funny, sweetheart.” I wasn’t going for funny but whatever. Someone shouts ‘Gabe’ from the other side of the gym. I look over to see the blond bimbo he was training staring daggers at me. Gabe squeezes my shoulder again. “Sorry, sweetheart, I need to get back to work. I’ll see you Wednesday, right?” I nod, and he winks before walking off. “Looks like I’m not needed here.” I forgot Mr. Vanity was still standing here. I don’t bother responding to his obvious pout. I shake my head and walk to the locker rooms.

I grew-up reading everything I could get my grubby hands on, from my mom's Harlequin romances, to Nancy Drew, to Little Women. When I wasn't flipping pages in a library book, I was penning horrendous poems, writing songs no one should ever sing, or drafting stories which have thankfully been destroyed. College and a stint in the U.S. Army came along, robbing me of free time to write and read, although on the odd occasion I did manage to sneak a book into my rucksack between rolled up socks, MRIs, t-shirts, and cold weather gear. After surviving the army experience, I went back to school and got my law degree. I jumped ship and joined the hubby in the Netherlands before the graduation ceremony could even begin. A few years into my legal career, I was exhausted, fed up, and just plain done. I quit my job and sat down to write a manuscript, which I promptly hid in the attic after returning to the law. But being a lawyer really wasn’t my thing, so I quit (again!) and went off to Germany to start a B&B. Turns out being a B&B owner wasn’t my thing either. I polished off that manuscript languishing in the attic before deciding to follow the husband to Istanbul where I decided to give the whole writer-thing a go. But ten years was too many to stay away from my adopted home. I packed up again and moved to The Hague where I’m currently working on my next book. I hope I’ll always be working on my next book. Fat girl Begone! is my eleventh book. To learn more about D.E. Haggerty and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, Instagram, Google+, Pinterest, and Twitter.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

#Fat Girl Begone!#d.e. haggerty #adult fiction #romance #contemporary romance #book review #excerpt #Teaser #book tour #Blog Tour

0 notes