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randombtsprincessa · 5 years

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Accendo

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: JHope x Reader

Words: 2.2k

Genre: Fluff, Angst if you squint, Cracky??

Summary: The Awkward Moment when the Sun God falls for you.

Warning: Mentions of battle and injury.

The flick of a cool breeze brushed into your small room, bringing with it a streak of dawn light. Your lips twitched in slight discomfort but your eyelids stayed shut adamantly whiled the sunlight strengthened, twisting into a masculine shape.

The shape stayed fixed on its spot for a moment, head tilted at you before with an almighty breath, it let out a call which would rival the best cock in the world – yes, that was literal.

“Rise and shine beautiful, it’s a gorgeous day outside!”

Your eyes flew open, mouth dropping as you gaped at the intruder in your room, equal parts of horror and anger blossoming in your chest.

“Hoseok, what the ever loving fuck do you think you’re doing?” You hissed, hastily gripping your blankets and pulling them right up to your chin, narrowly missing punching your face.

“I just wanted to see my little petal before going off.” He sighed happily and to your dismay began to actually take form in your room.

Fiery red hair came first, followed by a chiseled face and a slim, athletic body as Jung Hoseok; Apollo himself in all his glory walked to your bed and clambered in beside you. It took you all of two seconds to react.

“Hoseok, get out of my bed, now!”

“Now, don’t be like that.” He grumbled, placing two hands under his head, smiling serenely. “I maybe a god, but I get tired too. Five more minutes,” he said.

You stared at the brazen god in your bed with annoyance written clearly across your face before you gave up with a huff. It was still too early to deal with Hoseok’s shamelessness and you had to be up in an hour anyway.

“Oh, I was wondering if you would go with me to Zeus’s recent bash.” He murmured.

“Nope,” you snapped immediately but the God very conveniently let out a snore.

Making sure you were wrapped safely away from the lascivious gaze he might train on you, you quickly went back asleep, later waking up to find him gone but with a feeling you were going to see your patron God very soon again.

Greek Gods…

Yes, that’s right. Your Percy Jackson stories had turned out to be right, maybe with a few intricacies. Ancient Gods still resided in modern times, in reincarnated bodies, very much alive and in the flesh.

You had been a botany student being pressured to take pre-med by your forceful parents when you’d stumbled – all piss drunk and about to collapse – on to the God of Sun…in a very similar state.

In your inebriated state you had deemed him to be a good sort of lay, all shiny hair and fitted leather and you had invited him to join you but soon enough you were spilling your tragedy to the man, who listened lying eagle spead on your floor, half closed mouth mumbling before he gave you a blinding smile and a preposterous story with an even more so solution.

He was a Greek God – ok so he looked hot enough to be one – and he could take you away and dump you in a camp where ancient medical knowledge was provided under his tutelage and patronage, because he was also the patron god of healers. That did not seem very strange to you, until of course he mentioned that the camp was in Greece.

“Dude, I’m all for guys who can make me laugh in bed but can we wait till we’re naked?” you asked and he’d smirked before snapping his fingers.

In a blaze of flames and folded light, you and he were standing in the middle of a valley, full of beautiful flowers and fruit laden trees. Over the fences you could see small huts, hundreds of them, sprawling over miles and you gaped, your entire buzz gone as you spun to the smug God.

“All of this could be yours. I’ll even see you get one of the best huts and be your personal patron. Just say yes, gorgeous.”

If he thought you were going to be awed, the next minute he was frowning when you smacked his chest – hard.

“What the hell, you can’t just drag me over to Greece! Take me back, now!” you’d screeched and it had taken him a few second to snap his fingers correctly to get you back in your living room, this time alone.

Neither did you get laid nor did you have a good night’s sleep.

Your anger hadn’t lasted two days when another call from your parents, questioning your life had made you snap at them that you were taking a med course in Greece. That had silenced them and even though you knew it was a compromise; at least you’d still be near plants.

Conjuring up Hoseok again had been another night of drinking and taking home a very, very annoying and touchy God.

Of course, having a god as a personal patron came with more jobs than one; you basically had gained a small eager Labrador who wanted to parade you everywhere. You soon learned that Hoseok hadn’t personally provided patronage to anyone since eons and while you were flattered, it didn’t escape your notice that it was due to your incomplete conquest of sleeping with him and that he was probably only doing it to get into your pants.

Not to mention, this made many of the girls at the camp hate your very guts. The only person who was willing to hang out with you was a tall, spectacled boy named Taehyung. He always made it a point to let you know he was your only friend and to be grateful for his strength at keeping your haters at bay.

Hoseok was a generous teacher though. He gave you a tour of Olympus and all the special ingredients only found there, introduced you to his family even.

Zeus or his reincarnation Jin was as beautiful as legend told, the throne next to him occupied by a regal woman named Jisoo who could only be his wife Hera.

Athena you met in a college protest, a tall man named Namjoon who yelled about government conspiracies so loudly that even Hoseok, probably the loudest God alive winced.

Next was meeting his twin, Artemis, or Yoongi in this generation, his skin pale as moonlight and hair woven silver as he took one look at you in Hoseok’s golden chariot, hanging on for dear life and face palming himself; probably already knowing his brother’s playboy ways.

Meeting Ares and Aphrodite, or Jungkook and Jimin had nearly gotten you killed.

Hoseok had sent you to retrieve a shield and while you had rolled your eyes as being made to clean up after a man, the sword at your throat from the red eyed man was enough to make you cry, before Hoseok had appeared laughing and cajoling the man.

It was Jimin who had saved you, eyeing you and Hoseok before smiling, a little giddily and murmuring to Jungkook who had smirked but not before glaring a warning at Hoseok. You had refused to accompany Hoseok on any more excursions, making him pout for a good time.

Safe to say, it was only Yoongi who you liked in his entire barrage.

“Wow, you look like shit.” Taehyung muttered first thing as you joined him in pruning the rose bushes.

“Yes, thank you,” you grumbled before he slinked closer.

“God happened to visit you that we won’t name?” he whispered, making you groan.

“He woke me up at five…can you imagine and then passed out in my bed!” You hissed back, before going off on a rant about how annoyed his presence left you.

“Um, Y/N,” Taehyung suddenly gulped and you whirled around, your pruning shears up in case someone thought you needed another bath in dung manure.

Only, it was just sparkled and shimmers as Hoseok materialized in the middle of the rose bushes.

The sharp gasp of people around him prompted him to raise his hands in a calming manner but the shit eating grin on his face told you he enjoyed it as he looked at the head of your batch.

“How are we my beautiful healers? All well, I hope,” he said.

The head woman nodded desperately in the face of his allure and Hoseok smiled widely.

“Fantastic, I have come to ask my dear Y/N to accompany me to Zeus’s bash. Isn’t that exciting?” he said.

There was a heavy pause in which your grip on the shears tightened, Taehyung took a visible step back and the girls all turned to give you unsavory looks.

“Yes, it is indeed.” The Head said and the God turned to you.

“Well, you’ll go, won’t you?” he pressed.

“I…”

You wanted to throw something at his perfect face for this new low reached but with the people eyeing your every move it was impossible so you forced a tight grin.

“Of course, my lord,”

“You’re absolutely horrible.” You said first thing as Hoseok started to open his mouth, his hands already pointing toward some glowing flowers. He wanted to show you a new batch he needed picked over the valley and while it was a good fifteen minute hike, he’d snapped his fingers and voila.

“I’m sorry?” he turned to you in confusion.

“You think you’re so cool and then pull that dick move.” You hissed.

“You mean asking you at the pruning chores? How is that low? I’d think you’d be more than glad to leave pruning and a God asking you to Zeus’s party is considered an honor.” He frowned.

“It was considered an honor. It’s the twenty first century, Hoseok! Besides if I wanted a God, I’d go for one that acted like it.” You snapped.

Darkness brewed behind Hoseok’s eyes and for a second you reminded yourself that he was, after all, a god, capable of burning you where you stood.

“I don’t act like a god?” he asked.

“Admit it, you’re being nice to me only because you want to sleep with me.”

“That’s not true! I’m being nice because I actually like you!”

“Sure, and look where that got Cassandra.” You replied snidely.

Hoseok’s face paled.

“That was ages ago. I have changed.”

You snorted.

“Make me believe that.”

Hoseok stood still for a few second before he was disappearing, turning holographic and then melting away completely, leaving you alone with a bunch of glowing plants.

Your sleep was again disturbed by a God.

You groaned in annoyance wondering why Hoseok was back. He had disappeared for a whole of two days. The sun still rose but he never showed up in your room after that fight you had.

So when you opened your eyes, you were fully expecting the blaze of heat, not a sliver of moonlight in which stood Hoseok’s twin, Yoongi.

“Y/N, you need to come with me. Now,” he said, his eyes blown wide open.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, not missing the urgency in the god’s voice as you shuffled to sit up.

“It’s…it’s that wretched brother of mine. Took on a bunch of Pythos, but almost lost; He needs a Healer.” Yoongi gulped and that was when you saw the state in which he was in.

White robes muddied, pale hair tousled, he looked like he’d just survived a battle.

“I’ll go fetch the Head.”

“No, we don’t have time and he asked for you.” Yoongi snapped before he was waving a hand, twisting light into a bag of ingredients.

“All you’ll need is in here. Come with me.” He said.

Unlike Hoseok, Yoongi didn’t transport you anywhere, instead walking with you at a brisk pace till the lake, where you gasped when you spotted Hoseok’s chariot.

Apollo’s golden sigil was splashed with mud and what looked like slime, the wheels splintered and the flag post had snapped. The glow it usually exuded was dimmed.

“He’s inside.”

You didn’t wait for any other words from the God of the Hunt, quickly moving to scramble into the huge chariot and then you saw him.

His red hair was darkened, cuts on his hands and face glowing golden with clotted Ichor, the golden blood of Gods and you placed a hand at his forehead to feel him burning up more than usual. He had a fever.

“Hoseok…Apollo, hey, can you hear me?” you asked, slapping his cheeks lightly as you fetched some bandages and clear lake water to clean his wounds.

Hoseok’s eyes opened, glowing orange before setting back to brown.

“Y/N…you came,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I can hardly not come when my patron calls.” You mumbled, placing a cool cloth against his head.

“You…you said I wasn’t a God, so I…”

“Tried to be one? By taking on some goons you know you’re going to need help with?” You asked, hurriedly running ointment on his cuts.

“It was stupid but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t smite me, but you are stupid.” You sighed before settling back.

“You’re already healing, I think you’ll be fine.” You said.

“Yes,” Hoseok sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

You got to your feet before looking down at your God.

“Hoseok,” you called, making him look up. “Don’t be late when you pick me up.” You said before climbing down the steps and walking away.

The god blinked in surprise before smiling in victory.

#jhope fanfic #jhope smut #jhope angst #jhope fluff #jhope #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts #accendo

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kidsviral-blog · 6 years

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How “Black-ish” Reflects My Own Experience As A Black Person In America

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/how-black-ish-reflects-my-own-experience-as-a-black-person-in-america/

How “Black-ish” Reflects My Own Experience As A Black Person In America

ABC’s new family sitcom — the No. 1 new comedy of the season — isn’t just challenging the largely lily-white comedy lineup of the networks, it’s doing something more: reminding me of my own childhood.

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ABC, Carsey-Werner Productions, Courtesy of Kelley Carter

Grandma Louise’s voice comes in just as clear as day, when I overheard her talking to my parents, describing my childhood experience: fly in the churn of buttermilk.

I was the fly. The buttermilk was the all-white world I was growing up in. I would never know the struggle that my parents did — Dad grew up in the South and was a college freshman in Montgomery, Alabama, by the time the civil rights movement hit its height, and Mom grew up on Detroit’s lower west side, where they were busing kids all over the city in order to force segregation.

My life was vastly different, and it came with its own set of problems. In your formative years, you often see yourself through the prism of your friends. In third grade, we had a project where we all had to write about ourselves as if we were entries in a dictionary. In my description, I wrote I had blonde hair and blue eyes. In sixth grade at a school dance — one of the first times I wasn’t one of the only black kids in class — a group of my friends and I all were dancing, trying to imitate what we saw the black kids doing. I was surprised when one of the girls strolled up to me and whispered, knowingly, “Look at them trying to dance like us.” She looked at me like I was crazy when I gave her my reply. “I’m trying to dance like y’all too. Teach me.”

I was the fly.

My parents unknowingly signed up for this battle when they decided that having a decent salary and good academic pedigree meant taking your family out to the suburbs. With few exceptions in this country, when you’re black, that typically means being sans people who look like you.

That’s why I laughed. I laughed loud and hard last weekend when I finally gave ABC’s new show Black-ish a second chance. I’d seen the pilot months ago, and while I was intrigued and, well, publicly championing a show that featured an affluent black family with a prime spot on network TV to anyone who asked me, I wasn’t quite sold on it. The pilot was loaded, and featured lesson on top of lesson on top of lesson. Dre (Anthony Anderson) is from the â€˜hood. Dre promised his mom and dad (Laurence Fishburne) he’d get a good education and get out of the â€˜hood. Dre is married to Rainbow (Tracee Ellis Ross), who is a doctor. Ooh, look: Black people can earn college degrees! See?!

Then there was the teen son who wanted a bar mitzvah, and the African rites of passage ceremony, and the lesson on keeping it real.

I thought it was doing too much. The couple’s oldest son prefers field hockey to hoops. Then there was the honorary brother handshake. The wannabe honorary brother who whispers when he wants to know the mundane: “How would a black guy say â€˜good morning’?” All in the first episode.

It was funny. But, yawn. Most of us live this without a laugh track. And to me, there wasn’t much else to say. I wasn’t keen on the idea of a weekly show that essentially could end with “…and that’s your lesson of the day on black people, America…” because quite frankly, I get tired of tutorials.

Still, I made a commitment to watch the show. I want it to do well. As a black journalist who covers the entertainment industry, I need it to do well — it gives me a chance to write and report on stories that are important to me, and to the readership I hope to serve. Plus, at the end of the day, I do like seeing reflections of myself, my family, and my social circle play out on screen.

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Justine Zwiebel for BuzzFeed

The early success of Black-ish is undeniable. It’s ABC’s No. 1 new comedy and has attracted an audience as diverse as, well, America.

So I watched. And I fell out (and tweeted it out) when Anderson’s Andre Johnson uttered my grandmother’s buttermilk phrase almost verbatim, in reference to his children’s academic experience. And I chuckled when I watched Andre and his wife Rainbow bumble their way through executing disciplinary action on their kids, because they were whipped as kids, but didn’t know if that was the right course for them. It was hilarious when Dre wasn’t quite so sure that his kid’s teacher could teach a lesson on Harriet Tubman (in spite of her impressive academic background) because, well, she isn’t black. And I audibly LOL-ed when Dre tried to teach his son Andre Jr. (who would rather be called Andy because it sounds “more approachable”) the importance of the Negro head nod.

But the best part was in a recent episode where Dre is concerned his son doesn’t have any black friends and goes out to find some for him. (Hi, Mom.)

That so was my parents.

Yes, Dad grew up in small-town Alabama and Mom in big-city Detroit, but her parents migrated from Alabama themselves, hoping to escape the carnage of the pre–civil rights south. My folks met in grad school, a few years after Dad — who pledged the same fraternity as Martin Luther King Jr. and Thurgood Marshall, both of whom came to fraternal meetings to inspire their young brothers to get involved in the movement — moved to Detroit.

They connected because they were both the second-born children in their large families, and my mom says that she fell for my dad’s strong sense of family. They were their parents’ dreams; the very idea that two kids from the sticks and the ghetto, respectively, could grow up to be well-educated black folks with letters behind their names, was feted in my family.

By the time I came along, they were living in a two-story house with a two-car garage and a pool in the back. It all felt so… American Dream-ish. We moved around a lot, mostly living in college towns, and our neighborhoods often had one thing in common: lack of diversity. That speaks more to the socioeconomic realities of our country, and less about my parents trying to escape black people. They weren’t. But what they were trying to do was allow their daughter to grow up in the best neighborhoods they could afford. The unexpected turn of that were the things I’m sure my parents hadn’t accounted for. My life was being a Brownie (and the only brownie in the bunch!), longing for blonde hair and blue eyes (like my BFFs!), and wanting to put suntan lotion on my chocolate brown skin (my friends all did it!).

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Guess which member of this Brownies troop I am? Kelley L. Carter

That brings me back to Black-ish. I get it and it speaks to me. Loudly. One of my favorite throwback sitcoms was Family Ties. Brilliant show, that was: Two former peacemaking hippies grow up to rear children under a Republican presidency in the 1980s. Masterful. And funny. And that built-in tension coupled with relatable storylines? Magic. And I’d be remiss if I failed to mention The Cosby Show, which premiered on my birthday. I can still remember watching in awe a family that actually was my family. That premiere came 30 years ago, and proved that American families may look different, but share innate commonalities. It also illustrated that nuclear families can also be brown. And… upper-middle class. More importantly, I’m guessing it made the pitch for a show like Black-ish, perhaps its spiritual descendant, all the easier. There was no need to explain that black people can carry a sitcom in spite of their blackness.

With Black-ish, you have two parents who were able to attend college and navigate fantastic careers — she’s an ER doctor, he’s an SVP for a marketing company — and because of that success, they’re able to live in the best neighborhood their salaries can afford. But here’s the rub: You’ve got four brown children who stand out. And who don’t share your struggles. And who sometimes look at you cockeyed because when you describe your struggles or the struggles of your parents, they don’t get it. The president is black. The President, man. “Obama’s the first black president?! He’s the only president I’ve ever known,” little Jack (Miles Brown) says over a dinner of baked fried chicken. The leader of the free world looks like them, has a family who looks like them, and by the way, so do a whole lot of other successful people we collectively celebrate.

But there’s still this idea of knowing where you come from. You have to be armed with it, no matter how flowery your childhood is. There’s almost nothing more jarring than to be the kid who grew up in Utopia, who never had a moment of friction, and then go off to a PWI — Predominantly White Institution — and discover at 18 that you’re black. You know… black. And what being black means.

Thankfully, that wasn’t my experience, because the second my mother saw me lathering suntan oil on my arms and spritzing my Jheri curl (it was the ’80s!) with Aqua Net, she rounded me up, took me to the bookstore, and bought up everything in the African-American collection. It was important to my parents that in spite of the world they were able to allow me to exist in — and become an adult in — that I carry the most important pieces of me, with me.

And of course, to be OK with my blackness. Not my “blackishness,” but my blackness. Because even though being black isn’t a monolith experience — there’s an important, shared cultural experience that we all should be equipped with, be mindful of, and celebrate.

Just like Blackish‘s Dre and Rainbow are trying to do.

ABC / yugottabesonice.tumblr.com

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/kelleylcarter/how-black-ish-reflects-my-own-experience-as-a-black-person-i

#abc #ABC comedy #anthony anderson #blackish #Tracee Ellis Ross

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