#how much injustice we let the world get away with | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foxymoxynoona · 4 months

Note

So...did we ever actually get a drabble with Jungkook getting to hold Kai for the first time after he's born? 🥺 the lil' boy who's made up of him and the woman he's loved for decades 🥺

I got carried away 😅

Story: Amended Characters: Isabella & Jungkook Length: 7,322 CW: Birthing scene with references to cutting cords and placentas and stitches, health complications at birth, stress, fluffy fluff

“There’s evidence of meconium in the amniotic fluid,” were not the first words Jungkook had expected to hear the seconds before his son’s head began to emerge from between the legs of his wife. It was surreal, what he witnessed, it had seemed like an impossible thing –like a cartoon, not something women actually went through. But Isabella was real, really going through this, really clenching her fists against her chest as she curled forward and pushed with everything in her, his tough strong girl who had agreed to go through all of this again so they could do it together. She had known what this was like. He kinda did but, he was learning in the moment, not really.

Watching Isabella go through this pain and being unable to fix it was a guilt second only to knowing the pain he had caused for her when they were younger. Well, he had sort of caused this too… but she had asked him to! Very sexily! How was he supposed to have resisted sex and getting to have a baby with her! No mortal man could resist that.

“Head is out,” the doctor called and Jungkook realized he was both present and not. They had suggested he watch. He would never be able to unsee what he was seeing now, but it was trippy –not just the baby’s head, covered in gooey gunk and some kind of white… cheese looking stuff??-- but this whole image, this whole experience.

“What does that mean, meconium?” he belatedly asked as the nurses encouraged Isabella to wait, not to push, as they quickly wiped off the baby’s face and sucked snarfy sounding stuff out of the nose and mouth. A head of hair he hadn’t expected stuck out at odd angles as the baby’s mouth opened and closed in protest, eyes firmly shut in what looked more like anger as the injustice of this introduction to the world.

Do they look like me? he wondered, feeling like the room had gone still despite the rapid actions of the doctor and nurses.

Isabella yanked him out of it, demanding, “Do you see the baby? How’s it look? Is everything ok?”

“The meconium,” he repeated, not sure someone had answered.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” one of the nurses said. “It may mean nothing, we just want to get Baby really clean to keep it out of their airway.”

“What if it’s–”

Jungkook was interrupted by the doctor calling, “Ok let’s get this baby clear–” The baby’s cry interrupted him, like it was say yeah get a fucking move on here, I’m a head sticking out of a vagina!

Jungkook grabbed Isabella’s hand, wanting to be helpful and involved somehow but feeling absolutely unnecessarily. For most of labor Isabella had not wanted to be touched. It had all moved so much faster than he’d expected. It wasn’t like he could contribute much of anything as Isabella curled forward, face sweaty and red and everything in her clenched as she expelled a tiny human from her body.

“Fuck you’re so hot,” he rushed –not quite what he’d meant to say, but absolute admiration for her loosened the words.

“The fuck?” she laughed. “Doctor this man is harassing me.” Her breath was panted, her words a cheat as she stole a break

Maybe those were the first words their child heard from their mother, if the baby could hear anything over the crying.

“One more push, one more push, you’re almost done!” the nurses chanted and Jungkook saw with amazement that a baby from the hips up had now emerged. He couldn’t process that it was real, that this was really happening, that Isabella had not just grown a big belly and that there really had been a tiny person in there all along. Their tiny person.

“I love you,” he said to her, to the baby, to both of them. “You’re so cool, Isabella.” He had the sudden need to rush out as many good things as he could, so the baby would be born surrounded by words of love and kindness. He assumed Isabella had showered Ezra and Lily with love at their births but he knew their “fathers” had not, not the way he did now for them, not the way he would for this baby.

He had wanted so badly for everything with this baby to be different and now he had contributed basically nothing to Isabella’s labor. She hadn’t wanted the massages or the kisses, she hadn’t found it amusing that he’d driven her to the hospital in his cop car with the siren on, and it had all moved too quickly for him to walk her up or down the hall with their arms linked and his words of devotion carrying her through her contractions.

They’d arrived at the hospital approximately eighteen minutes ago and here she was pushing out the baby.

This wasn’t what he’d planned. He wanted to be better than Landon and Stig.

“I love you, baby, you’re amazing,” he said. Isabella grabbed his hand and squeezed it this time with her push –a short one, replaced with a stunned, open face and a gasp. OUt of the corner of his eye, Jungkook saw the baby suddenly slide down, followed by a rush of fluid and the cheers of the medical staff.

“It’s out!” Isabella cried.

“He’s been screaming, didn’t you hear him Mama?” one of the nurses joked.

“Dad, are you going to cut the cord?”

“A boy,” Jungkook cried over his son’s cries, hands itching to grab him and comfort him. He glanced at Isabella to see if that was ok, that they’d had a boy. She had insisted so many times she didn’t care either way but… but a son, a boy might be like him… would Ezra be ok with a brother…?

Isabella was reaching forward, eyes glassy as she called, “Give him here.”

“One second mama, we want to make sure we got his mouth cleared–”

“Does it look like he aspirated–”

“I see some in the mouth but–”

“Dad, you cutting this cord?” the doctor called, stretching an intestinal-looking thing as a nurse held out a pair of scissors. Jungkook took them in a stupor. He didn’t really want to do this thing, it felt wrong to cut a body party, a piece of Isabella and their baby, but in the moment he was too overwhelmed to remember he’d meant to say no. He’d never forget the way the cutting felt in his hand and quickly thrust the scissors back, attention turning towards the baby who was now being dried and looked over, a stethoscope pressed to his chest as his little legs kicked and his hands reaching for a parent who was already failing him.

Jungkook didn’t realize he’d put his hand on Isabella’s head until she grabbed his wrist, her other arm hanging in the air as she called, “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Jungkook, I can’t see–”

“They’re looking at him and listening to his chest,” Jungkook said. Isabella’s panic made his rise. Was something really wrong?

“Hey, what’s going on?” he demanded, leaving her side and striding over to the rotisserie-chicken-heating looking thing the baby was on now. He didn’t know the doctor who had suddenly appeared from nowhere in all the chaos.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Gardner,” she said, “I’m the pediatric specialist here.” She held her finger up and listened again to the baby’s chest, though he’d stopped screaming. It was more of a gentle, plaintive cry now, as if he was giving up on life–

Or comforted by Jungkook’s sudden near voice.

Jungkook shifted the active part of his brain away from the doctor and to the baby –his baby– who needed him.

“Hey, hey little guy,” he cooed, leaning down and reaching right out to stroke a little chubby cheek. He got goosebumps, saying that to his son, to a real baby that was his. The baby’s head turned, wobbly, as if trying to press against his finger. “It’s ok. It’s ok you’re just born now, and your mama is waiting to hold you close.”

The pediatric doctor was rattling things off –a weight, a height, an APGAR score.

“I hear a slight crackle,” she told the nurse writing things down. “Breathing is slightly elevated but hard to say whether that’ll linger. Let’s check his vocal cords…”

“Excuse me, Dad. You can hold his hand but I need his head,” a nurse said, nudging him out of the way to first slide on a tiny yellow hat and then hold the infant’s head steady. Jungkook felt a jolt of alarm as the doctor suddenly slid a massive camera light clamp tool thing into the tiny little mouth. The baby didn’t seem more upset by this than he already was, didn’t even flail about it, though a nurse held his legs still anyway.

“Wait, what’s going on? Is this really necessary?” Jungkook demanded, worried he was already failing his son. He needed to understand what they were doing before they just did things!

“Koo?” Isabella called. “Someone tell me what’s happening!”

“Hands and feet are still bluish but may be pinking up,” the nurse holding the legs said.

The doctor nodded and removed the tool –which Jungkook saw now was just a light, not even as big as his panic had made him think. The baby screamed louder and he felt a surge of anger that no one was answering their questions.

“Excuse me,” he said, not as politely as he intended, and promptly scooped his baby up right from beneath the doctors. There was so little weight to the body as Jungkook’s hands lifted, his skin warm and oddly dry-feeling but with a softness to it he couldn’t describe. Jungkook didn’t know what he had expected, but not for the this newborn to feel like such a baby. He was only minutes old, how did he feel so real?

Unphased, the doctor touched Jungkook’s arm and cooed at the baby, “Good good. I’m sorry, little sunshine, we just have to make sure you’re ok.”

The baby continued to cry. He was so small! And yet, not quite as small as Jungkook had expected. Sorah had been miniscule, and Amelia just about. This baby felt bigger than Sian and Parker and Sam had been, but maybe he just didn’t remember? Jungkook tucked the baby down into the crook of his arm, nestled against his chest, and took it all back; suddenly the baby felt tiny! Impossibly small! He felt like his arms were too big and awkward despite ample experience holding even very fresh babies. Many times! Not quite as fresh as this one.

He was moving on fumes now as he bounced and hummed and tried to believe this was real.

“It’s ok, you’re ok, shhhh, I’ve got you.”

“Jungkook? What’s going on?”

“We can go to mom,” the doctor said, touching Jungkook’s arm. She had a smile on her face which soothed Jungkook because it had to mean nothing was badly wrong, though he couldn’t quite fight off the resentment that this doctor had already upset his baby and delayed his comfort and not even answered his questions.

He turned away from the chicken-roaster and saw Isabella watching with absolute terror that seemed totally disconnected from the doctor and nurses still working between her legs. She looked completely ignorant of that, her whole attention trained on Jungkook and the baby. Everything right now was so weird.

The baby gave a full body shudder and a nurse suggested, “I’ll get a diaper.”

“Who cares about a diaper,” Jungkook snapped, offended she’d think he was afraid of whatever the baby might produce. He was just born! Jungkook was his dad, he didn’t care, let babies be naked! “A blanket? Please.” It was tacked on. Politeness wasn’t at the front of his mind right now; his baby needed things and what, they were worried about some pee or poop? If that would make him feel better, he could poop all he wanted!

Jungkook’s throat felt thick as he tucked the baby higher, pressing his jaw gently to the hatted top of head as he carried him over to his anxious eomma. It was crazy. It was unbelievable. He was holding the baby and he couldn’t even make sense of that yet because it actually didn’t feel that weird at all, of course he was holding his son, hadn’t he always been holding his son since the dawn of time? Wasn’t this all just a really nice dream?

A nurse held out a blanket but first Jungkook lowered the baby into Isabella’s waiting arms, then took the blanket himself and tucked it around the baby. Isabella’s gasped and immediately pushed the hat off and stoked the hair and chubby little face and papery-thin ears as tears spilled over.

“Oh my god, our baby. Look at him.”

Only then did Jungkook more fully appreciate that he had held his son for the first time. His real living breathing in-the-world son. The baby’s cries quieted to a single final chirp of complaint and then nothing, just peace on his mom’s chest. Jungkook decided the baby had been real a moment ago, there was this haze of unreal around everything until Isabella and the baby were together. Now it was real. Impossible, but real.

“Oh my god,” Isabella said again. “He’s got so much hair!” Jungkook laughed and reached out to stroke the baby’s face again too, leaning close on the bed beside Isabella, ignorant to the bustle around the room. That was just background noise now. All that mattered was that suddenly they had a baby and Isabella was holding their baby.

He felt complete in a way he had not known was missing. Him, Isabella, Ezra, Lily, Gidget, and now this baby to tie them all together, he felt whole. He suddenly desperately wanted everyone here so he could hold everyone at once. His heart would burst.

“Was that you?!” Isabella gasped, looking up at him. The whining noise had come from him, not the baby at all, though it sounded like a baby noise. He tried to explain himself but only a cracked non-word came out and he blinked rapidly against the tears. “Oh my god you’re going to cry,” Isabella giggled. Her face glowed with sweat and effort and joy and Jungkook wasn’t surprised at all the way their son stared adoringly up at it. What a beautiful first view.

“I’m trying not to,” Jungkook admitted and laughed as his eyes threatened to run over. He pressed his face to Isabella’s shoulder and drew a deep shaky breath. The blanket moved against his chin, a little foot cycling. “Hey, are you trying to kick me already?!” The baby was a solid warm lump under the blanket, so warm Jungkook couldn’t believe it as he patted the little butt he’d been shown so many times on the ultrasounds.

“Ok, I’m sorry to interrupt again, we want to draw some blood,” the pediatric doctor said.

“You have to take him?” Isabella asked, shifting as though trying to sit up. The doctor down south told her not to move, so Jungkook slid his arm across her, trying not to notice that there were stitches happening in a place stitches shouldn’t be. How was Isabella not pay any attention at all to that?!

“In a moment, but you keep holding him now. Often that helps a baby improve and wake up, which is what we want to see, he’s still a little sleepy. Right now we’re just going to stick his foot. I will explain while the nurse does that. We noticed meconium in the amniotic fluid right before he was born. Meconium is the baby’s first stool, it’s this blank inky stuff–”

“We have two other children, I remember it,” Isabella interrupted. The joy was gone from her face, she looked so serious at the doctor. Jungkook could read her mind. Spit it out already.

“The concern is whether the baby aspirates the meconium into his lungs. If so, it can make it difficult for him to get the oxygen he needs. The good news is, he looks really good, his color is good, he is responsive and strong. There were no signs of fetal distress during labor and you delivered quickly, but a quick delivery can be hard on a baby too. I do hear a slight crackle in his lungs,” the doctor continued. Jungkook watched the nurse grab their baby’s tiny foot with a needle and resisted the urge to push her away. The baby didn’t seem to notice or care anyway. He was just… existing against Isabella, breathing quickly like he couldn’t quite trust the air of this new world.

“That’s bad,” Isabella said. “Is that why he’s kind of breathing fast? Does he need oxygen or something?”

“It’s not good but we don’t know if it’s bad yet. We’ll run a blood gas to look for low blood acidity, low oxygen or increased carbon dioxide. The most accurate way we can look to see if he’s aspirated is with a laryngoscope, which we’re setting up now.”

“Right now?” Isabella asked with alarm. “He was just born!”

“The last thing we want is your baby not getting the oxygen he needs to do well,” the doctor explained. “If he needs to go on oxygen therapy, better we do that quickly.”

“But…” Isabella trailed off, face distressed, but she was already shifting to hand it over. “You can check quickly?”

“I don’t understand, he’s in danger?” Jungkook tried to catch up.

“We hope not but we want to make sure so we can react quickly. Your baby’s APGAR score was a 5, which means–”

“He needs help,” Isabella said. “Take him, do what he needs! But tell me what’s going on!”

Jungkook felt like he’d done the wrong thing bringing the baby over now. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t what he’d planned. He and Isabella were just supposed to snuggle their new baby now; he wasn’t supposed to trail after the doctor carrying his son back to the chicken oven where medical staff had set up several tools next to an incubation bed. Just the sight of that was terrifying and known. It meant something was really wrong.

Jungkook barely held himself together as the baby was braced again and the doctor slid an actual camera this time down the tiny throat. Jungkook wanted to push them all away but was frozen with the terror of it. What did it mean if the baby didn’t have enough oxygen? He didn’t understand in a real way, only that it was bad. What was happening to their baby?

“Faint staining,” the doctor said, looking at a grainy image on the small monitor that meant nothing to Jungkook. He wanted to scream at the awful image of his newborn child with a camera in its mouth. This was wrong, this was a nightmare.

“Very faint though,” she said as she withdrew the tools and set them on a tray for a nurse to carry off. “Let’s recheck APGAR.” Jungkook could only stand there as they ran through a series of questions again –about baby’s skin tone, response to thwacking on the heels, a pulse check, temperature. Jungkook felt like he’d shit himself, he was so anxious, but mindlessly called things over to Isabella before realizing she’d just delivered the placenta. Did he want to see it? No, he told the nurse; how could he care about that when they were listening to his baby’s lungs again? Also, kinda gross…

Suddenly the baby jolted and cried out.

“Ah! Sorry, little one, was that cold?” the doctor grinned and shared a smile with the nurses. She concentrated on listening and nodded, then glanced over her notes as the baby began squirming.

“What’s happening?” Isabella called again. “Someone tell me!”

“Your baby’s APGAR score is improving,” the doctor called back. “That’s good. That’s very good.” She slid her finger along his arm and palm and smiled when little fingers curled around it. “That’s better. That’s better, little one, you’re waking up.”

“Oxygen?” the nurse asked.

“Set up for the chest x ray, let’s do that since I saw the staining but… but these signs are good… come, let’s get baby back to mom for now.”

Jungkook wasn’t thrilled the doctor picked the baby up this time, after the nurses had added a diaper. Something about the diaper seemed wrong, like they were already trying to clean the baby up when he and Isabella just wanted to be with the baby, no diaper needed, just them. He trailed along as the doctor whose name he’d already forgotten returned the baby to Isabella’s chest, offering her a reassuring smile. Isabella looked terrified and Jungkook didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t sure his touch would be comforting since it hadn’t been for labor, so he just hovered beside her and watched.

“Good news, mom and dad, baby’s looking a little better. I do see signs of meconium staining on his cords but it’s very, very faint which hopefully means he aspirated very little. The crackle is still in his lungs. This is all very slight but something we want to monitor closely. His heart rate is picking up and his breathing is slowing down, all very good signs. We’ll redo the blood gas in a few hours as well but there’s a balance to strike between making sure he’s supported and not being too aggressive with anything that will tax his little lungs.”

“So what does that mean?” Isabella asked, bless her, because Jungkook didn’t understand a fucking thing.

“It means he is looking better by the minute despite aspirating the meconium so right now I want you to take the time you want to do skin to skin like you are, try to nurse him, just love on him. But we will want to watch him closely for the next few hours and if anything changes, put him on oxygen, so you’re going to see a lot of us until we’re sure he’s all right.”

“Should we do that right now?” Isabella asked. “I don’t want to hold off just for my sake–”

“No no, I promise I would not risk anything. Right now the best thing is for him to be surrounded by you and watched. When you sleep though, we will want to take him to the nursery for close watch, ok?”

“I’m here,” Jungkook reminded. “I can watch him while she sleeps.”

The doctor smiled and agreed, “Yes, absolutely. I will explain the things to watch. But both of you should rely on medical staff while you are here to get the rest you need to take care of him at home. We may have him stay here a couple extra days.”

“In the NICU?” Isabella asked.

“I don’t think he needs NICU as of now, we’ll just keep watching. He is seeming stronger by the minute, we just want to make sure we’re quick to react if that changes. See, he’s rooting, that’s a good sign too.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but feel like she’d tossed a bucket of stress over them. He watched the baby with more anxiety than fascination as Isabella went through the motions of stroking his face and pressing her nipple into his mouth –something that seemed old hand to her after two kids but Jungkook thought was pretty fascinating. The pediatric doctor remained to watch too, a whole party of nurses as well, but Isabella didn’t seem to mind the audience.

“Is it bad?” he asked her quietly, hoping she would know more and could give him an answer.

“I don’t know… he looks so perfect… I think if it was really bad they’d have him on oxygen so they’re just watching…” She looked nervous. Conflicted. He resented that the doctor had interfered with their joy. He felt like worry was making him miss everything.

“Ready to move her to a room?” a nurse at the door called.

Jungkook trailed after them, not sure how he was supposed to fix any of this and angry that they hadn’t had more than a minute to bask in each others presence after birth and terrified that a big hand was going to suddenly reach down and steal his son away before he even got to know him.

The baby had been born shortly after seven o’clock in the morning. It was weird to get messages from family members about delivering the kids to school, about work, wanting to know when they could visit and asking for pictures. Jungkook hadn’t even taken pictures during labor or immediately after the baby was born. Another failure. He tried to make up for it in the room, snapping photos of Isabella exhausted but mooning over the baby, the baby snuggled against her chest, the baby trying to nurse because Isabella said that was fine to photograph.

Eomma and Appa came by right away and couldn’t believe a whole baby had been born in such a short period of time. Soona came too, and Gina. They all fluttered around Isabella and the baby and Jungkook was glad to have something to do, taking pictures, fetching Isabella water and food, reciting the things the doctors had said even though they didn’t make sense to him. He wished he could believe everyone’s assurances that the baby would be fine, but they didn’t know.

Soona went with him for the baby’s x-ray because he insisted, needing to feel like he was doing something for his baby. His sister was a doctor, no one would refuse to answer her questions, and Soona would tell him what they were really saying. It was all so scary. It didn’t matter that the doctors were saying things were improving, there was still that crackle in his lungs, and they decided to start him on antibiotics because he was running a fever, and Jungkook worried worried worried. A newborn baby shouldn’t run even a small fever! He was glad to have his big sister there to ask the right questions.

It was several hours before family left to let Isabella rest before more family would come by later. Jungkook nodded seriously when Eomma told him to be firm if they wanted fewer visitors –that was another thing he could do. But he knew Isabella would want the kids to come by and meet their brother as soon as they were out of school. He hoped the baby would be healthy and strong enough; it wasn’t risky, right? And–

“Jungkook.” He went at her call in an instant, leaning down on the side of the bed. “You’re worried,” she so wisely detected.

“Yeah.”

“But he’s doing ok,” she said.

“Shouldn’t they put him on oxygen just to be sure?” Jungkook asked. He’d made the mistake of looking up on his phone what it meant to aspirate meconium in a quiet moment. Low oxygen at birth could cause all sorts of brain trauma. They might not even see it for months or years. He might seem fine now but then get worse later.

“Koo.”

“Hm?”

“Snuggle down with me.” She shuffled over as best she could in the bed, and he kicked his shoes off before balancing on it with her, not trusting it would hold them both until it did. The baby had fallen asleep on her chest, sound asleep, mouth open, perfectly at peace.

“What if he’s got brain damage?” Jungkook whispered, afraid the baby would hear.

“Then we do whatever he needs,” she said. “But it wasn’t much meconium. It’s light staining. His blood gas wasn’t bad.”

“But–”

“I know,” she murmured. “Everything is so scary. Everything can go wrong and they’re so little and you feel so helpless to do anything. I feel that terror too. But look at him. He’s here, and he’s strong, I can tell.”

Jungkook had to admit the baby did look healthy and peaceful. He looked less blue and more like a little plump puffy baby. He didn’t even seem to be having a hard time breathing right now; his whole chest didn’t convulse like it had off and on all morning.

“Is he breathing?” Jungkook suddenly gasped.

“He’s breathing. I can feel it. He’s just content right now,” Isabella said. “He’s good.”

“He’s good,” Jungkook repeated.

“We have a baby.”

“We have a baby,” Jungkook repeated, then added, “And I only cried a little. There wasn’t time to cry.”

“I know. That was scary but… but it’s quiet now.”

It was. It was so quiet and peaceful. Isabella was a beast and seemed to have come through labor as if it was nothing, which he did not understand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her, realizing he hadn’t in a few minutes.

“I’m still fine, Koo,” she laughed. “Puffy and sore. They’re going to come tell me to try and pee soon and I’ll probably cry about that. I don’t want to get out of bed.”

“You should rest. You… did a lot.”

“You think?” she giggled.

He stroked her face to get her to look up so he could kiss her and finally his touch seemed welcome. He hadn’t had time to entertain the fear it would be permanent, that space she wanted, but it was gone now anyway, just a figment of labor. He could feel she was sleepy by the low energy of her kiss, warm and soft and lazy.

“It’s so different,” she murmured.

“What is?” he asked. He kissed her forehead, his hand dropping down to rest against the lump of the baby because he needed to be part of this joyful love too. Whatever happened, the baby was loved and wanted and Isabella was right, they would figure out whatever he needed if something did go wrong later on.

“This part,” she answered. “It’s so weird. When Ezra was born, I almost felt bad for Landon because I just had this instant connection with the baby, he was mine and… and I think Landon felt very left out. He didn’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re amazing, Koo. When he was first born and the doctor had him over there and I didn’t know what was happening but you were there.”

“Doing nothing.”

“Being there. When Lily was born, you know it was just the two of us, me and her, and that felt right too. I would have liked to have a partner there but not Stig. He didn’t belong in that moment with me, meeting my daughter. She was never his. And this time… honestly, I was kind of afraid I would resent you being here.”

“Resent me like… being present at all?”

“I’ve never been someone’s wife. I’ve never had a partner the way you are. Just… people who interfere, Landon, Stig… failures as parents… I was a little afraid the baby would be born and I would just want him in my arms and everyone to go away, even you.”

Jungkook swallowed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had similar fears but it was terrifying to hear Isabella admit them. She’d fought so hard to protect and raise her children, and he’d never done this before, he fully expected his bumbling might make her defensive.

“But seeing you hold him, it feels the same as if I’m holding him,” she said. “There’s nowhere in the world our kids are safer than with you.”

Relief flooded Jungkook’s body.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Koo. Labor sucks and I couldn’t have done this again without you.”

“You seemed to do just fine,” he mumbled, abashed by her affection.

“I know I didn’t want much touching but… but you were here. And you listened when I said something and you nearly shoved that elderly couple out of the elevator so I could get in–”

“I thought you were going to have the baby in the hall,” he chuckled. “They thought so too, everyone was jumping out of the way.”

“I almost did!”

“It went faster than I thought it would.”

“Me too. My perineum isn’t happy about it.”

“Ah, the tearing…”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“I’ll still eat there all the same but–”

“Jungkook!”

“We’ll wait until you’re all healed up and then I’ll take care of things,” he assured her, overjoyed by her scandalized glare.

“You just watched a child emerge from my vagina. I would think that’d cool your engines for a while–”

“No way. You’re so cool, Bella.”

“Here, take him.”

“Oh do you need–”

“No, just you hold him now. I bet he won’t even wake up, he’s so out. Maybe he’s going to be a heavy sleeper like you.”

“Is that bad?” he asked.

“Having a baby who sleeps well would be the greatest blessing.” He was barely listening to her because she’d started to drag the baby towards him, the whole little burrito. At the last second Jungkook recalled all the conversation about skin to skin and yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it away.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh… they said that uh, skin to skin with dad is–”

“You’re so cute,” she grinned, and dumped the baby burrito onto his chest. He was so warm Jungkook thought he must still have a fever though the nurse’s said the fever was gone. His hands and feet were now a healthy pink that Jungkook hadn’t even known to hope for.

He adjusted the little one against his chest –who, as Isabella suspected, barely stirred. His face rubbed against Jungkook’s pec and for a second he thought the baby was rooting and would wake up, but he just relaxed and slumbered on.

“What a lucky baby to have two parents with big tits,” Isabella mused.

“I’ll scream if he goes for my nipple.”

“Count on it.”

Jungkook’s laugh trailed off. He was too mesmerized. Dark hair peeked out from beneath the cap, feathery soft over little skin rolls at the back of his neck. He wasn’t swaddled, just draped with a blanket, his little body curled up like he’d probably been inside Isabella. He was so, so new, so fresh. Jungkook knew within weeks, months, years this baby was going to turn into a little person but it was hard to believe right now. Jungkook slid his thumb into the little fist, long papery fingernails barely a scratch against his skin. He had that feeling again he’d had earlier: I am complete, my family is complete. I’ve been waiting for you and now everything is good.

“Maybe we should have let Ezra and Lily skip school so they could come sooner,” Jungkook said. “It feels wrong they haven’t met him yet.”

“They’ll meet him soon and have every day with him. Enjoy the quiet now.”

“That’s true… I just miss them…”

“What are we going to introduce him by?”

“What do you mean?”

“What should we name him, Jungkook,” she snickered, and kissed his shoulder. He kissed the side of her head, briefly again distracted by how amazing she was to have delivered a fucking baby and now just be hanging out talking to him like it was no big deal. She hadn’t even cried. He’d cried from constipated shits before and now she was asking him what they should name this baby she had made?

“We had that list of names.”

“You choose.”

“What?!”

“You pick his name,” she said again. “As long as it’s not something I hate. No Wolf.”

“But you gave birth…”

“And you’re his dad. I got to name our first two.”

Jungkook studied the little face pressed to his chest. He tried to fit a name to this person, but how? Nothing fit. He was a brand new baby, a blank slate. There was no personality yet to tag a name onto, only a little potato with a head of dark hair and a history of scaring the shit out of his parents from the first minute.

But there actually was a name on the list that had seemed familiar to him from the moment he’d written it down. Isabella had not seemed to react any particular way to it, but she hadn’t struck it out, and he’d been almost afraid to point it again in case she didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure where he’d even heard it, it had just lodged in his brain.

“Kai,” he said.

“Kai?” she repeated. “Kai Jeon?”

“It sounds cool, right?” he asked hopefully.

“It sounds like a manga character,” she said, then grinned. “The protagonist. I like it.”

“Really?”

“Ezra, Lily, and Kai. It sounds good together.”

“Yeah, I thought so too!”

“So you’ve thought about this.”

“I just liked the name… OK, and what about Ronin for the middle name? The ronin were samurais who no longer served a master or family, only themselves… kind of like wandering knights… That’s cool, right? Ah, too geeky?”

“Kai Ronin Jeon sounds cool.”

“And it’s kind of like Ezra Ryan and Lily Eleanor… and Kai Ronin… it sounds good, like you said.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Hi, Kai. You are going to have a way easier time learning to spell your name than I did so you’re welcome,” Jungkook murmured, patting the little cushy diapered butt. “Kai.” He felt a joy course through him. Yes, the name was right, he felt it in his heart. The baby was right. The family was right. The woman was definitely right.

He wanted to say that, to tell her how much this meant to him, to tell her that he recognized the miracle it had taken for them to be together like this and married and having a baby, and that she had done most of the work. He wanted to tell her he would never take this for granted, that she’d been willing to do it all one more time with him even though the last times had been so hard for her.

What came out was, “Hey I look pretty good for a dad of three, huh?”

“If you weren’t holding him, I would push you off the bed.”

“You look banging as a mom of three–”

“Jungkook–”

“Your tits are…” He trailed off, realizing they were definitely getting bigger. He’d know. He studied them carefully.

“Yeah, I think my milk is coming in faster this time, so he better have an appetite. I can’t believe he’s over nine pounds…”

“Yeah, is that good?”

“It’s big.”

“Is it? I don’t know baby sizes. He seems bigger than my nieces and nephews were.”

“It’s big.”

“He’s strong,” Jungkook decided.

“I think it’s mostly his head. He got your head.”

“Wha? I have a normal sized head.”

“Tell that to my fourteen stitches.”

“Is it really fourteen?!”

“I don’t know, I made that up, I wasn’t listening –he’s awake.”

Jungkook’s gaze snapped immediately down to the little face, to the little dark eyes cracking open. His brow and mouth were scrunched, making him look very grumpy to get woken up.

“Oh hey look at that scowl, he’s definitely yours, Bella–”

“I swear to god, Jungkook.”

“Ah, I think he’s doing that breathing thing again,” Jungkook frowned as the baby began to breathe with his whole chest again. “I’ll give him to you to nurse and get a nurse to check him again.”

“You think we should?” Isabella asked and Jungkook was floored by the question, by the way she looked up at him, by the trust he felt from her. She was the one who’d had babies before! But she was relying on him as the father to help make sure their baby was ok. That Kai was ok.

“Yeah. I’d rather check too much and annoy the nurses than wait too long if he needs oxygen, right? I’m sure he’s fine but I’ll get the nurse.” He felt puffed up with the responsibility of it as he gently eased Kai over to Isabella. Kai let out a cry of complaint, just a little single yowl, and Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat.

“You like me already, huh?”

“Your tits are better,” Isabella teased.

“Definitely not true, sugar butt. I’ll be back.” He said it just to get her huff of annoyance at the saccharine pet name. Good. He loved Isabella grumpy with affection. He loved her needing him and trusting him and pulling him close when it would be so easy for her to push him away in her exhaustion and fear over their baby.

He hadn’t felt like it wasn’t true, but he felt for sure now that they were in this together. Maybe that was partly where the sense of completeness came from, not just from holding Kai and feeling like his family was complete, but this bone-deep proof now that he was Isabella’s –to have, to hold, to rely on– in a way he thought he never could be.

He went off to bother the nurses again, gladly, because there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his wife and kids.

Isabella felt it too: that connection, that worry, that relief, that wholeness.

Kai would be all right, she believed it because she had to, and because he had his daddy to take over when Isabella couldn’t. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t come into this with the parenting history she did. He was Kai’s dad, and he wouldn’t quit until he got it right, until Kai had whatever he needed –just like he had with Ezra, and Lily, and Isabella.

Kai was perfect, just as both her other children had been. She had the most wonderful children in the world, and any of her fears that blending a family would be hard vanished when she held Kai. He belonged here, and Ezra and Lily would feel it too, just like they had with Jungkook even before she did.

Jungkook came back, chatting animatedly with the nurse. He’d been up all night with her once the labor pains started, trailing her like a duckling as she paced the house, timing them because she was impatient and couldn’t remember to do it, bringing her ice water, keeping his distance when she said she needed space, jumping to her side when she needed someone to lean on.

“I think Kai needs a new diaper,” she shared as Jungkook and the nurse reached her. She peeked in the back of the diaper to confirm because these early meconium poops were odorless and easy, but she’d sensed it in the way he had just curled and relaxed. She was right. Maybe some of this baby stuff would come back to her, more easily than she had feared.

Jungkook stretched his arms out, cracking his knuckles, then beamed, “All right, let’s get diaper duty started, huh? We’re going to ease into this, right, Kai? Start me off with some non-threatening stuff, yeah?”

Jungkook’s gasps of horror at the tarry stools a moment later had Isabella suppressing the laughter, her body too sore for this kind of thing.

God, every time she didn’t think she could possibly love Jungkook anymore than she already did, she found she could.

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There are more Amended drabbles on my masterlist or read the main story here

#dad jungkook #stepdad jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fluff #jungkook fanart #jeon jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #jk x oc #jk fanfic #amended #bts dad au

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curoopeez · 3 months

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I just saw episodes 5 and 6 of Hazbin Hotel

First off, Lucifer is such a meme. He's literally a short king, he says shit like "take that, depression" and "you like girls? Me too" and he's trying so hard to be the least dissapointing father he can

I think it was really interesting that Alastor got possessive over Charlie specifically as a father figure. It was a nice spin on the "two guys fighting over a girl" trope, but also it reinforces that he has some sort of connection to Lilith, which was already implied by the fact they both dissappeared around the same time.

The scene with Alastor threatening Husk was really good, it highlights that Angel Dust's problem with Valentino is not a bad boss problem, it's a system of injustice where all overlords are free to abuse their subordinates at will problem

I apreciate that they took the time to explain Alastor's backstory as well, having some of it in the official series instead of letting important information in the pilot

As for episode 6, , the first thing I want to say is that St.Peter is disturbingly humanoid. It's probably for the best, since he's the first angel human souls would see, but still it kinda freaks me out

They really pulled a bait and switch with the character design, because (unless you count the cherubs in Helluva Boss) the only angels we'd seen so far were Adam, Lucifer and exorcists wearing helmets, and Vaggie looked nothing like any of them, but when we do get to see other angels we notice there are angelic elements in her design

We learned here that Adam was not just the one who enforces exterminations, he was the one who proposed them and most angels aren't even aware of them. This feels much more like he has personal beef with the sinners, as if he's mad that they lived a life that only Lilith could've let them live

I loved the reprise of hell is forever with Charlie and the younger Seraph, how they highlighted that, by heaven's own rules, Angel Dust should be in heaven and there was no real criteria for who goes where.

In fact, this episode deconstructs a lot of how imperialism works. The mortal souls in heaven would probably be opposed to genocide, but they didn't know about it. They did know that "bad" people were in the other place and their "government" protected them from evil forasters, and they trusted their judgement. The head Seraph was "stopping rebellions" (which she portrayed as something that had happened in the past, while Charlie portrayed as a purely preemptive measure against a hipothetical war). Also the fact that the younger seraph was strongly against genocide, while the older one told her not to worry about it and leave it to the people in charge (herself, who was already enforcing it)

Also, when Charlie defended Angel Dust drinking with friends after a bad day, Adam's reply "we don't have bad days in heaven" really shows that the main difference between them wasn't morals but privilege. It's easier to avoid alcoholism if you never have anything you need to get away from, and as flawed as he was, Angel Dust managed to fullfill every criteria to go to heaven out of his own impulse, while the angels had all they could ever need in the world and still enforced a genocide

Lastly, it was hilarious Sir Pentious trying to flirt with Cherri Bomb and ending up flirting with the entire bar instead

#hazbin hotel #vivziepop

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dwindlinghaze · 10 months

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Hello, how are you?

I would like to make a request where one day there is a list of the most uninteresting girls/girls that boys would never ask for a date and the reader's name is one of the first most voted just because she is shy and introverted. Remus has a crush on her and even the reader disguising it he can see that she is sad and pulling away from her friends (it's ok if you don't want to write my request, I understand <3)

hi angel, im doing good! tysm for requesting!! here is it, hope you enjoy 🤍🌸🫧💕

when raindrops fell

contents : angst, insecurity, lovely remus, we don't support people who tear women down for no reason!!

warnings : okay so just a heads up, the upper part of the fic is just me ranting about how much i hate the patriarchy and how harmful this kind of behaviour is especially towards young girls,,,, but i hope you like it!!! <333333

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

murmurs about a list of girls that are unlovable has been spreading around. you couldn't help but worry deep down.

you hated that idea. whoever created that has a special place on hell rsvp-ed for them. it was crucial.

you are shy and introverted but that doesn't mean you have zero thoughts on this. your stomach twisted because this whole thing is coming from such a misogynistic place.

and the fact that it said 'girls that boys would never ask' grew some resentment you never knew was there. living in such a patriarchal world is hard for a woman, especially young girls. they would grow up thinking it's their fault that people dislike them, but in reality it's the injustice social system that is harmful for both men and women. (and in between!)

"y/n did you hear? your name is one of the top on the lists!" a guy snorted.

you waved him off, thinking that he is just playing with you. well- that was until you saw the list. you were there.

you couldn't help but feel insecure. you sort of knew that nobody really glanced over their shoulders just to see you but by creating this, you were sure of it now.

you were embarrassed. you wouldn't dare getting out of your room. even your friends noticed the change in you. you weren't your usual confident and self-loving self anymore. if anything, you think it actually took a toll on you.

remus saw the way your eyes don't lit up anymore, the way you look sadder every passing day. he's feeling so melancholic by the way your usual self that he has grown fond of is fading away.

it hurts him actually. how can someone be so evil? how can anyone voted for you? it is a privilege to get to know you. they're missing out.

how can anyone see you that way. you are the prettiest person in the world! it's unfair how terribly kind people are treated by society.

"y/n?" remus called out to the dark.

"what," you croaked, voice hoarse. you haven't been speaking for a while.

"just wanna check if you're okay," he smiled.

"i'm fine," you said, though your expression tells otherwise.

"you wanna talk about it?" he asked.

you shook your head.

"hey, listen. you're pretty. the prettiest actually. don't mind about that stupid list. whoever created that- they think they rule the school, but they don't. so don't let them get to you yeah? you're prefect just how you are. please don't change a thing. don't satisfy them. they're doing this because they have no job," he grinned. "look at you! minding your own business, that's why you're the best person in school- in the world!"

"but that's not enough," you sniffed.

"what's not enough? you're more than enough," he assured you. then he realised, the latter part. "say, do you want to go to hogsmeade with me? next weekend."

"don't pity me like that," you said, shaking your head at him.

it breaks his heart how you thought someone would ask you out for a date just because of pity. it's the opposite actually. it came from true feelings and generosity.

"i'm not pitying you, i do like you since- forever," he said. "i write poems about you, about your face, your personality, your heart, yourself. you're dreamy."

"guess.... i'll go on a date with you."

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #x reader #character x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin x reader fluff

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nonasemporium · 5 days

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character meme 2 electric boogaloo: awake remembrance of these valiant dead!!!

send me a character [Commander Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity] and i’ll list:

favorite thing about them: I love her rage, I love her justice, I love her determination, I love that she forces John to say her full name, that she rejects everyone's attempts to twist her. I love her passion, her meanass laugh, her fucking commitment. If something's gonna get done, she's gonna do it.

least favorite thing about them: I get why she was doing what she was doing, but smashing a baby into the wall is very battle of Troy of her lmao. Same with teaching Pash to be a child soldier. I get it though, she's living in a horror where the alternative is worse.

favorite line: When she demands John say her name, when she says G1deon deserves that at least, the line about her nose, the line about her meanass laugh, the fact she called Gideon "Bomb", crying about all of it.

brOTP: Love her proud auntie vibes at Pash, but actual brOTP is probably with We Suffer, lmao. Idk it just seems like the kind of history that fits both of them.

OTP: G1deon/Wake/Pyrrha <33333 Literally OT3 of TLT for me, I love it so much. Pyrrha being bold enough to kiss her but apologizing, Wake not letting that go, not taking the bait to just kill her, nah, she's going to let her live with that, they're going to be something so explosive.... Then her realizing the ways G1deon and Pyrrha are separate, loving them both, perhaps even learning to love G1deon through conversations with Pyrrha over him as well, the way it must ache for Pyrrha so so deeply, punishment and relief. The way Wake talked about them till the end. The trust but also the knowledge that it only goes so far. The way she knew what G1deon was and she knew what Pyrrha was and ugh.

nOTP: Keep John the fuck away from her unless she's killing him, thanks. Love she got the last laugh, may she get more.

random headcanon: That she has a toothgap, that she has freckles, that she has two laughs--one where her teeth are bared like a threat and one where instead her cheeks fold up her eyes cutely. I also think that despite everything, she did have a fondness for Gideon in her own way, for "Bomb." There's something in naming a thing, there's something in the fact Gideon was initially a sacrifice for her but also meant to be a sacrifice for everyone. That she carried her under her heart for all those months ready to sacrifice her for the literal world, putting her body on the line but also like. She's actually a very loving person. Her rage is the rage of someone who despises injustice, her rage is the rage of someone who has plenty to lose, her rage is the rage of someone who has a people that need her. And this horrible little thing she grew in her despite not having the plans for it--she had to think about what made it worth it and you know what made it worth it? That this baby was meant to end the suffering of THEIR people, that this baby would be the key to kill the father, that this baby was where all their hope was placed, that this baby had to carry all the "sins" of both sides of this war, do you think she ever had a moment wondering if the baby, if this little Bomb, this little flesh of her flesh and blood of his blood, would forgive any of them for it? I think also of her trapped body and trapped soul, of her in that sword, how that sword in Harrow's hands was furious, was rejecting, but how in Gideon's was a weird comfort. How Gideon went to her bones, forced to labor under these people she fucking despised, do you think she heard Gideon? Do you think she heard Gideon speak to her bones, do you think she felt Gideon's prayers for a mother, do you think that fury she had was also the fury that this weird thing that she had never intended to have was being twisted to serve the empire she was going to be sacrificed to destroy? He deserved that at least, she said about G1deon. He deserved that at least, so what does Gideon deserve? The language was dehumanizing but not without fondness. Wake just seems so much the type of person, the kind of resolute and almost-humorous who might accidentally get a spot, soft and tender deep in--she said she carried Gideon under her heart. Under her heart. She didn't say in her gut, she said under her heart. And under her heart, I really think there's a tiny part of her still there for Gideon, for Bomb, for the thing that maybe in another life could've just been her and G1deon's weird little explosive tyke. In another life, that could've been the shitty love child of her goofy ass situationship and that little thing could've held Pash's machete and learned to build bombs to take down the Houses, or in another life outside of that, in a life without Jod at all, maybe that thing could've just been a gap-toothed kid with a meanass laugh and no need to carry the fate of humanity. I think of how Wake is Mary. How Gideon is the Jesus she has to give up for humanity, that she was fully prepared to give up, but I also think of how Wake gave herself up as well. Pregnancy is incredibly difficult, and in the end she was killed--not necessarily by her actual pregnancy, but. I just have a lot of emotions. When she was preparing herself to sacrifice Gideon, to sacrifice "Bomb," do you think a fondness grew specifically to how this baby was meant to save them? Do you think she thought "at least if this kid is going to have my dna, it's going to use that to take this fucker down finally," do you think coming so close made that little bit of potential pride slip in? And then she's her sword and her bones are on those fields and not only is her body made slave, her soul made bound, but all that fucking hope is chained down alongside her, stripped from any knowledge, any fucking purpose, molded instead for the very thing she carried it to destroy. Emotions.

unpopular opinion: Apparently that I see her as Black, lmao, it was from the description of her hair and nose, which doesn't have to mean Black, but it's how I see her.

song i associate with them: Okay well obviously fucking 'Lose Yourself' by Eminem, boo, tomato tomato, but another one that maybe isn't as often tied to her is 'Wygd' by Empara Mi. For funsies, I also do literally always associate her with 'Are You That Somebody' by Aaliyah. Darlin, I know you wanna light me up~

favorite picture of them: I'll post my sketch here because I do like showing part of how I see her, even if I may never clean up or do more with the sketch, but also I love this and this (sobbing about baby Bomb).

#Commander Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity #Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity #Commander Wake #tlt wake #awake remembrance of these valiant dead #love her lol

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myguidingmoon-light · 4 months

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“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.” (Luke 2:7)

No room. That’s something I’ve heard too much lately. Palestinians have been hearing that for 75 years. Since they were driven out of their homes—more than 700 000 of them—in 1948 to make room for the colony of Israel, there has been less and less room every day. Less land, literally, as even though lines and walls have been drawn over the years, Israel continues to illegally settle in Palestinian land. Less room to breathe, as the population of Gaza grew within the illegal blockade walling them into a tiny strip of land. Less room to live now, as Gaza has been under constant attack by Israeli bombs and guns and while the civilians of Gaza are pushed by this violence into even smaller and smaller “safe zones” (though there is nowhere safe in Gaza right now).

But also no room our conversations. No room in our imagination. No room in our understanding of our world of “human rights” and “developed nations.” You’d think “Palestinian” is a slur for how quickly it shuts up (or heats up) dialogue. These are our neighbours, and it feels like pulling teeth to get people to engage with their humanity—let alone ask their MP to ask our government to ask Israel’s government to please stop bombing civilians for the third month straight.

Today we recognize when a Jewish Palestinian family was forced by the state to leave their home, shelter in unfit terrain, give birth without proper medical care, survive a massacre, and become refugees. We Christians call the baby born in that family Emmanuel, which means God with us. God was born in Bethlehem, behind the border wall, in an occupation. What does that tell us about who God is?

Our Christian siblings in Palestine have asked us not to let this Christmas pass as usual. To that, I ask, what is Christmas as usual? If we don’t see our neighbours in the story of Jesus, what is the point? If we need to put the real, genuine injustices of the world out of our mind so that we can be comforted by Christmas, we are frankly doing it wrong. The point—the whole point—is that love and justice are possible for the unloved and the oppressed, even when it doesn’t feel that way. It is our responsibility to make that happen, and we can’t do that with our eyes closed.

You should feel uncomfortable about celebrating Christmas while a genocide is going on. We need to have room for that. We also need to have room for the hope that Christmas represents. We need to have room in our hearts for justice, lasting peace, and a free Palestine, because we are all needed to make it a reality.

And for God’s sake, CEASEFIRE NOW!

“He has brought down the mighty from their thrones/ and exalted those of humble estate;/ he has filled the hungry with good things,/ and the rich he has sent away empty.” (Luke 1:52-53)

I am indebted to Rev. Munther Isaac for his wisdom in helping so many of us walk through this time. Personally, I just finished his book “The Other Side of the Wall”—if you are a Christian, you have to read this book. I’ll buy you a copy if you want.

I also want to note that this post isn’t really supposed to be an explainer or an argument. I didn’t cite anything here, but if you’re curious about anything I referenced (e.g. why did I bring up medical care?), send me a message and I’d be happy to give you more details about what’s happening in Palestine. I’m no expert, but I know some people just genuinely don’t know the extent of the injustice and don’t know where to learn more; if you have questions I’m happy to help, but I’m not here to fight with you.

Same deal if you want to help but don’t know how. I’m happy to give you some ideas and even help you out with them (distance permitting). One important action you can always take is contacting your Member of Parliament. You don’t have to write anything fancy—just tell them honestly how you’re feeling and ask them to support an urgent ceasefire. This is literally your right as a Canadian, so you don’t have to worry about doing something wrong.

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nanowrimo · 1 year

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Three Ways to Pull from Within to be Authentic and Real in Your Writing

Writers are often told to write what they know, but what does that actually mean? NaNo participant Najla gives tips on how to to be authentic in your writing. I used pull in the title of this post because that’s what it felt like for me as a new writer to reach inside, yank out my pulsating heart, trudge up deep memories and conversations that I packed away, and be real in my writing.

What is being “real” in writing?

It can mean a lot of things to different people but for me, it means finding those raw, honest moments in my life that only I know and immersing those hidden things in my writing.

For many writers, we invite readers into our world to tell untold and interesting stories. We explore themes like hardships, struggle,inequality, conflict, misunderstandings, heartache, injustice, despair, growth, success, failure, and much more.

To add more depth to your stories and characters, consider leaning into your own experiences and past.

So, how can you use your personal life to be more real in your writing?

Start by asking yourself the following questions:

1. Have you ever felt or experienced hardship, struggle, misunderstanding, or failure? Of course, you have. Pick a life experience and reflect on what led up to that event. What did you feel during it? How did you or someone else change because of it? Write that down.

2. What conversations were a part of these experiences? Were they calm discussions, heated arguments, sobbing ugly cries, uncomfortable admissions, inconsiderate digs, or relentless back and forth comments? Write those down.

3. What were other people’s responses? Did they face the challenge, endure, run away, make excuses, lie, betray themselves or others, move to another place, do something drastic, or go silent? Write all that down.

If you’re having trouble coming up with something, pause and reflect on the some of following relationships and people that may have come into your life:

A classmate in school who had it out for you or competed with you

A teacher, coach, or mentor or adult who offered tough love

A friend or coworker or boss you parted ways with

A distant or close sibling or cousin you disagreed with

A disapproving family member

A person or relationship you grieved

Someone you relied on or who relied on you

A couple things to keep in mind:

1. Your characters don’t have to be anything like you to use this approach. The goal is to make your writing more real, honest, and authentic. Most people, no matter what they believe or think, have had an unfulfilled relationship, a disappointing experience, or a major disagreement with someone in their lives.

2. You don’t have to apply the experience or conversation you had to the same situation for your character. For example, your character may need to have a terrible argument with a sibling but you may draw from one that you had with a partner or spouse. But maybe a similar impetus can be used to start the argument. Perhaps the dialogue can draw from real words or phrases used. Or the resolution or lack of resolution may look and feel similar to what you experienced.

3. Your characters don’t have to have similar personalities or responses to you, but can be bothered by the things that get under your skin or bug you. As an example, think about how you handle it when someone cuts you off in traffic or steps in front of you in a line. Do you sneer or curse or let the person glide in?

Literary agent, Kat Kerr, once said that common vernacular is not so common.

Vernacular is a reflection of your own background and experiences, use your life as a way to draw out some real intense and emotional moments in your writing.

Oh and don’t forget to share what you write with me!

Manager of projects by day: Lyrical bandit by night;

Mom of Two Cool Kids and a Corgi named Cookie.

Najla writes historical fiction about fascinating people in history because real life makes for the best fiction! Her current search history is filled with questions like “When was Chanel No. 5 invented?” and “When did the newsboys stop?” Follow Najla on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok Header Photo by Tran Le Tuan from Pexels

#nanowrimo #writing #writing tips #authenticity #authentic writing #by nano guest #najla

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thegreymoon · 3 months

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The Story of Minglan

I've had a horrible three days but now that Shakespeare is temporarily done with ruining my life, I can finally go watch the aftermath of Molan and Lin Qinshuang digging their own graves. This is the most satisfying part of the show so far but IRL bullshit just won't let me seeeeeee 😭

***

The two of you have ruined your lives so thoroughly but you just don't realise it yet 😕

***

You stupid child.

You have accumulated so much grudge and resentment here. You don't know your limits but you fucked around and I suspect you will be finding out soon.

***

Delusional.

***

Ah, yes, but it was Concubine Wei that died. It did not affect him personally because he cares about nothing except his own dick and ego so it was easy to sweep it under the rug.

This time, the damage was to him. You are done for.

***

Oh, you stupid woman. Nobody will fall for that now.

You have sorely overestimated yourself.

***

Oh, Jesus.

She still doesn't understand what she's done.

First of all, Lin Qinshuang is a servant in this house. She has no rights or freedoms and Wang Ruofu will be out for blood. There is no chance she would just let her get out and go live happily ever after somewhere else. Second, Molan doesn't seem to understand that she will have no standing in her new home. None whatsoever. Zero. She personally has no money, no connections and her in-laws resent her already. They will not move a finger for Lin Qinshuang after her shameless scheming forced their hand like this.

They are both screwed.

***

This wedding has all the cheer of a funeral.

But then again, it may as well be one.

***

Oh, shut up with "Darling Hong" already 🙄

I know I should be feeling sorry for Lin Qinshuang but she has been so vile and so obnoxious and has done all this to herself, so empathy is super hard to come by.

***

Cold 😬

All of Molan's and Lin Qinshuang's wrongs not withstanding, I still believe that he is still primarily to blame for all this.

***

Well. She is now firmly in the Finding Out stage of Fucking Around.

The thing that strikes me about Lin Qinshuang is that she was definitely very capable of scheming and manipulating within the back courtyard, but she thought that the same rules applied to the outside world and that she could get away with her bullshit on a larger scale too. She is about to find out just how wrong she was.

***

Wait, is he actually going to kill her?

***

You fucking piece of shit. When do we get to kill you?

Yeah, she was evil and yeah, she did what she did, BUT YOU ARE JUST AS RESPONSIBLE, IF NOT EVEN MORE, FOR ENABLING HER TO DO IT. He did not care until it came back to personally bite him in the ass. Who cares about some dead woman and her baby? Who cares about a neglected and mistreated daughter? All the injustice and unfairness? As long as he is comfortable and getting his dick wet, he is just fine with turning a blind eye!

This is exactly my problem with Song Qiutong in 2ha. Yeah, she's a vile person and yeah, she has blood on her hands. But Mo Ran is the one who let her, who gave her the power to murder and abuse. Plus, yes, she may have been the one to betray the Rufeng Sect, but he's still the one who razed it to the ground. Who is he to pass judgment upon her?

***

Oh, so he didn't kill her?

But, yeah, her life of luxury is over. She is in for a very miserable existence. Molan will not be able to get her out despite her best intentions because she doesn't even realise yet how she herself is also screwed. And Changfeng is also incompetent. She is done for.

***

Yeah, I knew that the servants who aided and abetted Molan were not getting out of this alive.

I still don't understand how they even agreed to do something so stupid, they must have known it would not end well for them once this was discovered. Such a huge risk and I'd be surprised if all servants didn't already know just how disposable they are to their masters. But maybe they didn't have a choice? Would going behind Lin Qinshuang's back and reporting her have saved their lives? Or would they still have been caned to death just to shut them up?

***

Good job, Minglan!

I'm not sure your mother would be proud, but I certainly am!

***

Ah. Just like she didn't get a doctor for Madam Wei.

#the story of minglan #tsoml spoilers #tsoml ep33

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furiousgoldfish · 1 year

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Starting to see that it's actually very normal for the abused kids to get themselves in sort of, bad situations in real life, and then just slowly progress to less-bad, and less-bad, until it gets to a place where we feel comfortable, or at least we're able to hold on without having a crisis.

This doesn't happen because as an abused kid, you're now doomed or attract toxic people, those are just myths. It is true that we will easily tie several bad things that have happened to us together, and decide that it's a proof that things will always be bad for us, and that isn't true either, bad things actually do happen to everyone. With us, it just hits worse, feels worse, triggers us and forces us to re-live everything else bad that has happened, and creates more ominous symbolism. We're also unlikely to receive comfort, so we're always in our bad situations alone and feel abandoned. That is enough to make anyone despair.

But there is a timeline with a fairly slow progression from 'abuse' to 'less abuse' to 'healthier environment'. I don't think I know any cases where a person went from abuse to 'safe and loved for eternity', and it has to do with how we view the world, and how everything we learn is relative to each other.

For instance, after running away from abusive parents, I spent a long time being just extremely grateful that I'm not in physical danger anymore, and that nobody is yelling at me. There were several injustices happening to me, I was financially exploited despite being in severe poverty, I accidentally associated myself with people who exploited my labour and did some extremely sick things to me, but how would I notice? I was busy feeling grateful for not being assaulted. You can't tell someone who just got out of hell 'hey, this is bad too, actually', because what they're seeing is 'this is so much better than hell, this is the best situation I've ever been in, I'm so grateful this isn't worse, this level of injustice is nothing.'

But, to a person who hasn't experienced severe abuse or injustice, it wouldn't be 'nothing', it would be stuff worth calling the police over.

We just can't see it because, relatively to our life, this is the best we ever experienced, and whatever bad things are happening, are usually detected as 'minor' and ignorable'. This is likely to get us into several bad situations, but it's also inevitable, we can't quickly jump from abuse to healthy. It takes some layers of bad for us to notice that we could actually, do better. Sometimes the bad situations turn into worse, and then we realize it's actually bad and triggering, and we get out. Sometimes, bad people go away all on their own, and we realize then, that we're happier.

The good news is, that after getting away from the worst of the abuse, we often will feel like 'this is the most freedom I ever had, this is the best I was ever treated, this is the most love I've ever gotten, I'm so grateful this is better than before', and that is a good thing to experience. Bad thing about it is that often sometimes later, we will go 'oh. that actually was bad and I couldn't tell.' but the point is, you're smarter now, and you'll realize it next time, and slowly you'll always keep going toward better and better life situations.

I'm writing this to let you know it happens to everyone else too. We all go thru some level of additional messes and we don't see them as messes, we only realize it in retrospect. So don't blame yourself if you don't know how exactly to put yourself in a good situation after you've experienced so few of them! It might be a rocky road, but it won't feel like one, not until you look back. You're always moving forward, and every single thing you didn't realize at the time, that it was bad, is generally how we all move forward and learn about these things. You can't know it all at once.

#escaping abuse #abuse aftermath #child abuse #abusive parents #trauma recovery #abuse recovery #recovering from abuse #going from worst to bad to better to good

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kazoolapow · 1 year

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Dark they were, Golden Eyes. part 1

pairing : vampire! Azula x f! reader word count : 2.7k warning(s) : azula being a vampire should be a red alert on it's own. and oh my god, she's gæ. summary : you are a journalist that's struggling to keep your self-employed job running. you specialized in vampire research. Sokka, your partner in crime, forced you to tag along with him for the richest family's party, The Azulon Family (just pretend their last name is Azulon). your mission is to befriended a rich person to support your business. But everything you planned changed when she approached you... A/N : it's my first fic that i humbly share to the world. because it has taken over every waking moment of my life. there will be a few parts to this. i hope y'all enjoy it!

Have you ever feel trapped? No idea which way to go. Whichever paths you choose, you lose? Within your mind, you could have sworn that you had tried every way, anything—no matter how small it is, yet the results countered back your hard work? If yes, then hi, I feel you, I see you. Life is a funny thing. No one said life is fair. But no one warned it hurts like a bitch.

Yes, life sucks. It can go to hell, for all I care, in which I'm unaware of how that concept works. Life going to hell. But that's not enough to convinced me ending mine and actually go enter the place. Hell is a friendly concept I've accustomed with, even befriended with. I spent my whole spirit of being to research this creature from hell. A creature from it lurked around my innocent city.

From what I believed, it tore down and melt the innocence as slowly it replaced by gruesome, wicked, egoistical philosophy that pathetically most people worship. A creature so acute, people started to be indifferent by the sight of it's true evilness. To them, it brighten their minds with new ways of thinking, just enough light to blind them with much ignorance to the nature of this mass of a scam. An intellectual vampire laid out their plans with the outmost care that the facade is as good as it is true. As most people followed the philosophy from an unknown author, a follower with no clue to who.

And so, my pathetic life is on the line to, at least, try to wake people up. I wanted to help. Eradicate this unnecessary pile of evil that no one asked for. The world's already disarray as it already is, it always were. But a place has it's limited space, this newfound philosophy is just none other like an ugly Christmas sweater, you wore it once and for the rest of your time it should be ignored and unbothered.

Of course, what's life without it's injustice. My research is on the brink of collapse. A Jenga wobbly piece, tempted to be pulled by gravity in any moment. If that vampire played their game right, they might just won and left my Jenga to take a dive.

"Hey, Long Face." My thoughts halt, adjusting my blurred vision to his waving hand. "There's no turning back now." Sokka eyed my face, as if he just heard my thoughts narrating.

"I know." I say flatly. My head feels heavier from waking up to reality, I'd rather to be drowned by my flowing thoughts until the time of a big event is five minutes away. The intrusion from Sokka, sadly, set the train of thoughts into the distance, a distance I could not reach. Irritated, I turned to him with his compulsive to take off his suit that he said was torturous. "Ugh," I sighed. "Why do we have to do this again? Just the both of us?"

"Shush. You complained like an annoying walkie talkie."

"But we could get some help! From your sister, Katara would—"

"Listen," He points a finger, uncaring to let me finish my sentence. "Katara is growing a family with Aang. Children, my friend, children. We cannot bother them with this anymore." I frowned. Slumping my tensed shoulders down with a defeat. "You talk big about growing a family. What about Suki?" I probed. He stopped his movements to process what I said. "Aren't you supposed to plan something for her?"

He lets out a dramatic sigh. "You doubt me? Even the slightest bit, teeny tiny bit, as thin as a paper? You wound me, Y/N." His expressions animated with over-exaggerated pout, big doed eyes, and hands covered his face. I narrowed, not taking his hints to break a smile to his magnificent acting. It's quite pitying. He dropped the act to convert to a new emotion. "Of course I do! I'll have that ring slipped to her finger in no time. But just—let her focus on her study, okay?"

I hummed. Everyone is taken to a commitment for the love of their life. A ceremony where exchanging vows and complicated administration work that will lead to their new chapter. Then what's the empty promises that friends made, the ‘I'll always be there for you’. Is that just empty words? Because legally, people are devoted to tie their ropes of responsibility and loyalty to their chosen partner. Love is a funny thing. Like a cake divided up, but one slice have a slight bigger size compared to the others.

"Hey." He called. "It's for your cause, too. If I leave you as a married man, then who's gonna help you do all the dirty work without all the money?"

He spat. He spat the fact that shuddered every living nerves inside of me. I had no fear of working alone. I fear of losing support from like-minded people like him, I fear their trust in what I do will evaporate to thin air. Hope would be all gone within me. I keep digging up the seeds that I sow yet nothing I plant will ever truly grow. I sighed, massaging my tensed temple due to overheating use of brain power. "You're right." I say in defeat.

"Alright then, Frowny Face. We're going to nail this." He took a hold of my shoulders. "I got your back." An instant smile turned my frowned lips upside down.

"Now, listen up. Here's the plan. A bunch of aristocrats will be cramped together for three hours in this party. The main goal is to win a heart of a loaded aristocrat enough to support your work with their innumerable amount of cash. If you're fortunate, then two or more would be nice. But if you're lucky—The Big Jackpot would be to get close to The Azulon Family. At least, one member of the family. Since individually, they have huge, gigantic, loading to erupt of a volcano of a money," He gestured explosion, arms stretched open wide to reveal his "boom" voice more audible.

"But," he added, composing himself again. "Never ever, ever be a kilometer close with the daughter." His lips thinned.

"Azula?" I tried, remembering the family's name one by one.

He nodded slowly. "That woman is impossible to win over. She's ruthless. A great liar and just an absolute sinister. God knows what will happen if we ever partnered with her, we'd be good as a stray cat."

"Why's that?"

"In what mad Jasmine Dragon Tea you've been into? Have you not hear the news?"

I shrugged. "I don't follow politics." Politics is where the philosophy was planted it's root deep. While it may be a main cause on my research to the vampire, it's too much havoc for me to handle. I cut to the chase to the planter instead.

He groaned. "It's a long story. This one thing you should keep in mind. Do not go near her. Understand?" He stare deep to me, waiting for my reply. "Yes, sir."

———

"Act natural." He lowered down to my ear. What's does natural even mean in this cramped up party with full of devious people? "What does it even mean? People like us may have different definition of natural from people like them." I scoffed, earning a glare under his party mask.

"Don't you dare being a partypooper now. If you observe anything from my acting, you would've been so wise." He offered his arm for me to take. Hesitating, I took it as we walk towards the big door that hid the party I dread for. "The Azulon will be dressed in red today." He informed before the doors were being opened by a footman.

As soon as the door was opened for us, my senses immediately struck in awe. Everybody was going out. What's with these doors being opened, and the descent and the start? It seemed as if the whole town were embarking in little boats come ashore to the bank, tossing on the waters, as if the whole place were floating off in carnival. And golden as it was the room shine so bright. The pillars even pronounced itself with detailed, complicated carvings. And there was a sense of midges round the arc lamps. It was so hot that people stood about talking, anonymously, veiling their identity under their elegant party mask. Even when you are the center of attention, you're still a nobody.

I let Sokka guide me to whatever group of people, he didn't care what kind, but only with money in mind. He sparks almost anyone with laughter. Some give him queer looks, mostly from the timid attached with their stuck up personality. From there, I work my way up to try talking to the timid. They are collected, cold in their reactions and firm on their judgement. If the topic is mainly about them though, they'll warm up to you. Treat them special, like interviewing the star of the show.

After a while, I grow sloppy in my choice of words. I slurred and basically parrot what the other person said without adding any spice that would trigger an interest. "Hey." Sokka called, a hint of excitement in his voice. "I spot the son of Azulon. I think I can convince him. Should we go?" He's not asking me, he insisting me as he dragged me to Zuko. "Sokka, please. I need to catch a breather, just a moment, please?" I begged, resisting his pull to the red suited tall man and the crowd surrounding him. He sighed, letting his arm slide from mine. "Alright, you stay here. I'll go get the boy's pocket money."

"But—" He shushed me before I could protest. "I'll do the dirty work, remember?" He patted my cheeks and send me a reassuring smile. I shooed his hands away. "Then what am I going to do?" He shrugged, taking a glass as the waiter was passing by. "You could charm Ursa Azulon. She's an easy one. She's a sweetheart, like you. You two will hit it off." I narrowed, is he being serious? "Then why didn't we start on her, for the last goddamn hour that was wasted?" He held his hands up. "Networking." He said innocently. "But now, I got a boy to catch, Y/N. See ya."

I huffed, letting my hands hang mid air as I watch Sokka dance his way to Zuko. I shook my head and walk ahead without any destination in mind. Would an unaccompanied woman, strolling along like a lost puppy catch any attention? I feel like a child that's hungry of attention in telling their craves with telltale signs and persuasive hints. I try to turn my attention to the room. To the people in their heavenly dresses. To the roar of chats and erupt of laughter here and there. To the chandelier that float with dignity.

Nothing was interesting anymore to hawk. The all the same visual impressions becoming dull after half an hour. My idleness has failed me now, as if the eye were a cup that overflowed and let the rest run down it's china walls unrecorded. It's now or never. It’s now or my work will drown forever. My brain must wake now. My body must contract now. My soul must brave itself to endure.

"Hey. There you are." A cool, feminine voice sighed. Her arm tangled mine without warning. She and her all-black-themed dress bounced as she pivoted back to a disheveled man, panting for air and pouring sweats. "I'm sorry, dear. I'm afraid I'm already taken by this girl right here." And that was the moment, when my prayers was heard. A roleplay to save a fellow woman from a persistent man.

"Dear," I turned to her. "Who was this man again?"

The lady in black blinked twice. Her head tilting up to match the mischievous quirk of her lips. "Oh, he's a friend from work. Quite drunk here, my dear." She leaned in closer, invading my personal space. I respond. "It's a pity," with cracks in my voice that fail to hide my trembling being. I took a moment to muster up courage and say, "You heard the lady, young man. Let go of her."

He lowered his head, gloom soon color his pale skin. "I hope you got demolished by the vampire." His spirit went away as he wandered off, dragging his dejected body. Whoa, he dropped the V-bomb. What did she do to make him burdened with such agony?

I heard her exhale heavily. She took away her arm and keep it to her side, she turned to me with a beaming smile. "Not bad."

I returned the same smile. "Thank you."

Her dark hair spilled over both of her shoulders fairly, straight and voluminous. Her skin is fair and warm to my freezing body. Her eyes were glittering golden rays of the sun, that—I just noticed—it dragged slowly down my body in a leisurely appraisal, lingering in ways that left me light-headed.

"Anything—any explosion or any horror is better than a pretty lady like you wandering aimlessly." She said, her perfect white teeth sank into the plush swell of her bottom lip. I blinked dumbly, red rising up to my face. Her eyes flitting upward, in which I could guess crinkling softly at the corners.

"Uhm, yeah." I stuttered, unsure what to respond to that. "I was on the mood to just observe." I played the top button of my dress and try not to squirm under the mysterious woman's hot, heavy-lidded stare. "Oh," I started. "I didn't catch your name."

One of her arched brows rose. "I didn't throw it." The corner of her mouth rising, devilishly. A hot rush of blood raced to fill my face, leaving the blood on my brain completely dry. A laugh from her made my heart rise into my throat. "Well, what's the name of my hero, tonight?" Her lips quirked, deriving perverse pleasure in my growing flustered manner.

"Y/N."

"Y/N. My hero." My name runs through her mouth, rolled by her tongue, it scattered butterflies everywhere down there. She started to look around, circled a little with her swaying hips, satin skimming the skin of her thigh with each languid step in a direction towards a waiter. She took two glasses of champagne and stopped ahead from me, handing me a glass. "To you, Y/N."

"I don't drink." I send her an apologetic smile, waving off the glass to deny. "Come on, now. Let loose a little." She pressed, forcing my hand to accept the glass. "Please. For me?" She stared up at me with pleading eyes.

I sighed, who would say no to that eyes? "Alright," I hold the glass, brushing against her delicate fingers. "I'm warning you. If I'm drunk, It'll be all your fault. And who knows what will I do." I raised my glass to the air as she clinked it with hers. She gulped down the liquid like it was water while I'm wincing as I took a sip. "I'd take the blame as far to take you home," she smothered a sly smile. "If you're willing."

My breath hitched, almost chocking on my drink. "You don't have to go that far," I cleared my throat. "Yet."

She cocked a brow, satisfied with my reply as she rasped out a laugh. I continued and change that topic for future me to worry about. "What's your name, really?"

"Lady." She said almost immediately.

I arched a brow, "Lady...?" I trailed off, hoping for her to fill in the blanks. "Just call me Lady."

"That's not your real name, is it?"

She shook her head, a smirk lingers on her lips. "At a party like this?" She chuckled as if laughing at my own stupidity. "You're kidding." I said. My fingers twitched, anxiety crept gradually to my sickening stomach.

"A crying shame I didn't pursue a career as a stand-up comedian." She sighed. And I'd like to excuse myself from her, for a moment, the urge to smack my head off against a wall for slipping my real name without more careful consideration is highly tempting to do. "A party like this hardly ever contain originality, dear Y/N."

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hyenahunt · 2 months

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Obbligato: The Devotion to Tatsumi Kazehaya - 13

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring, three years ago

Characters: Kaname, Tatsumi, Jun

Proofreading: Remi + 310mc (JP) & honeyspades (ENG)

Translation: Peace & hyenahunt

Tatsumi: The root of all misfortune lies in inequality and injustice. They are the root of all unhappiness. That is why they must be corrected.

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Kaname: ... I feel the same as Sazanami. If the fame and shine doesn't belong to my own name, then there's no point to it.

But... Still, it seems as if "Tatsumi Kazehaya" is doing well for itself.

Maybe I should learn from it. Throw away this pride of mine and ensure success through that.

All so I can become the sparkling idol I've always dreamed of being.

Tatsumi: Haha. If you so wish, then we are able to help you in a number of ways. We offer idol practices, studies, and can even help you find work — all free of charge.

In fact, I pay everyone who comes to one of my gatherings an equal part of my own wages.

Kaname: What do you mean...?

Tatsumi: You see, I have no interest in money. All of the money that "Tatsumi Kazehaya" accumulates is thus given out in equal shares to those gathered here.

No matter how much you've done, or what you've helped with, you're given the same amount of pay as the person next to you.

Hence, I've asked them to help me with the work I've received as much as possible.

Kaname: Are you for real? You're the one paying them?

It isn't the other way around? They're only managing to catch rays of the limelight because of you, aren't they? And yet... you're paying them?

Tatsumi: That's right. I likened it to a company, didn't I? Anyone who becomes a part of "Tatsumi Kazehaya" is offered the same regular pay as everyone else within it.

It's only natural to reward those who work a reasonable sum, isn't it? I would never ask someone to do my work for free.

Such a thing would be against our doctrine— nay, against human decency itself.

Jun: Ohhh, I get it now... I see just why these guys don't care for working on their own and are perfectly content just being "Tatsumi Kazehaya's assistants.”

They can just kick back and let their earnings pour in that way. Why wouldn't they? The cash they earn through this kinda fixed income is definitely gonna be way more than whatever an idol with no accomplishments could get through independent work.

And on top of that, Kazehaya-senpai's so brilliant at what he does that his work's a huge success every single time. Thanks to that, these guys get the chance to shine while avoiding any risk of failure or injury, or of being thought of as useless.

Sure is a dream job — one fit for morons.

Kaname: And on top of that, if I'm understanding correctly, you pay those a fair wage even if they haven't worked at all?

Tatsumi: I do. We don't discriminate here, you see. All are equal.

Jun: Mmm, well, I’m not that educated so I might be wrong, but this whole arrangement'spretty much that thing, isn't it? Starts with a c and ends with ism....

Our country's a capitalist nation, so y'know, the opposite of that —

Tatsumi: There's truly no need to go that far. I only wish to treat everyone as equally and fairly as possible.

Such a world would be ideal, wouldn't you agree? I want to make it a reality.

Tatsumi: Everyone is treated equally, given the same opportunities, and is paid fairly for their work. That way, everyone is able to live a happy, fulfilling life.

The root of all misfortune lies in inequality and injustice. They are the root of all unhappiness.

That is why they must be corrected.

There is a distinct disparity between the Special and Non-Special Students here at Reimei Academy. I'm doing what I can to close it.

It doesn't matter who you are, what you are, or even where you came from: you will be treated equally. Everyone will carry the same weight, walk the same amount of steps, and reach the same destination.

Everyone finishes at the same time. Everyone will be granted the same first place result, fairly and ideally.

And that is how we'll stop needless fighting over who's won and lost, we'll cease begrudging others for what they have, and we'll share the same happiness with one another.

That is the ideal world I dream of.

To bring it even slightly closer to reality, I'm doing what I can— though at the moment, this small sphere is all I'm able to influence in such a way.

Tatsumi: One day, I will take all those who inhabit Reimei Academy, the teachers and Special Students alike, as well as those in the idol industry, in this country, in this world...

And change their ways so we may live in such an Eden.

No, it's more than that. That is my mission in life as the Voice of God, as someone born within a family who teaches His words.

I truly believe that, and so I will live by that faith.

Tatsumi: May all of God's creations be blessed. Amen.

[ ☆ ]

✦✦✦✦✦

← prev ✦ all ✦ next →

#ensemble stars #enstars #enstars translation #hyenahunttl #tatsumi kazehaya #kaname tojo #jun sazanami #s: obbligato

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shootingstarwritings · 7 months

Text

FEStival Fiasco

Part 7

The Puppet that Played at being a Star

A lie.

That was all Centaurus could think when Professor Polaris said that.

“Y-You’re lying to me,” he said, wincing and chiding himself as he heard how shaky his own voice was. Why was he so nervous? His heart was pounding. Every pump was like a hammer to his temple. “You can’t be telling the truth… the whole war, being a lie?!”

It was far too ridiculous to be true.

No, it wasn’t just that.

If there truly was no war, then why was Centaurus born, nameless and abandoned, in those mines? Why did so many others before and after him? Why did so many of his fellow brethren die cold, hungry, alone, and in pain?

‘Did my suffering not matter? Did theirs? Did they all have no meaning?’

To believe the professor would be to accept those thoughts. And if Centaurus did accept them…

Why was he even here? Why was he even alive?

“Liar…! You piece of shit, I oughta kill you right here!”

Polaris’ expression remained unchanged; unwavering even as Centaurus charged him and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt.

“Where the hell do you get off mocking me?!” Centaurus demanded, spit flying. “Huh?! You bastard, you better tell me the truth right now or—!”

“You already know a way to see if I’m lying or not.” Polaris quirked an eyebrow, licking his lips. “You’ve seen your hosts’ memories, haven’t you? Well, it works for each other as well.” He smirked. “It really makes you wonder what was the real purpose behind our species’ ability to interact and share with each other’s neural networks. Maybe we were meant to communicate better with each other this whole time, huh…? Centaurus, what do you think?”

Centaurus’ grip slowly loosened as he took in Polaris’ words. “You want me to bite you, as though I was possessing someone,” he said, arms fell to the side, hanging limply as though they were lead weights. “I’ve… I’ve never done something like this.” When had his host begun sweating so much? When did he start trembling? What was Centaurus so afraid of?

‘Why am I even here?’ Once more, that question came to him, but he quickly shook it away.”

“Curious?”

“… Of course I am.”

“Well? Are you going to do it or not?” Polaris, still smirking, tilted his head forward so as to touch Centaurus’ borrowed forehead with his own. “I have high hopes for you, Centaurus. Search my mind, and don’t hide away from the truth.”

“… Are you taunting me…? Centaurus asked, drained enough that he couldn’t even remain angry at Polaris.

Professor Polaris let out a chuckle, pulling Centaurus in for a tight embrace. “I saw your potential, y’know? That’s why I fought hard to allow the board of our academy to allow you to attend. And more specifically, to allow me to become your teacher. Haven’t you ever wondered why a former military commander became a professor? It’s because I insisted.”

Certain details made more sense, but there was still someone odd about all of this. “But, why? Why did you want me to join the academy? Y’know I was a worm, so then…?”

“Because whether they like it or not, it’s only by meeting another with widely different circumstances that these students’ worlds actually expand. Without you, there’s no way that any of them will ever grow. But the reverse also applies to you. There’s no way you will the true injustices of the world without witnessing those who inhabit it. This is how the seeds of revolution can be planted. It’s the only way that society will ever change.”

Centaurus, frowning, scoffed and pointedly looked away. “This is such bullshit,” he muttered. “So I was just a puppet for you to manipulate? A tool for your little play at a revolution?”

It always felt as though he was being pushed and pulled by forces beyond his understanding. Whether it was the Elites who looked down on him from their ivory world or the coach who stood before him, Centaurus was just dancing to a tune that only he couldn’t hear. “What am I, Polaris? Am I just something to be used, or am I someone who can choose his own fate? Am I… simply a worm…?”

Coach Polaris’ expression grew grim. A heavy silence spread throughout the dark room. To Centaurus, it felt like “Judgment Day,” an event that held considerable importance in his host’s mind. Yes, Centaurus’ world felt like it was about to crumble before him. His purpose seemed scattered in the wind, as though it was about to vanish when it was so close in his grasp. He thought that he was building his own fate, a path that he crafted with his own hands.

Yet… that was never the case.

“Who am I?” Centaurus asked again.

“You’re… you. That’s all. That’s what you decided for yourself, right? ‘Centaurus,’ named after the sun that everything in our world revolves around. That was the point, wasn’t it?”

Centaurus hesitated, just for a moment. “Yeah, but not quite. I… I loved that sunrise that I saw, the first time I ever left those tunnels. And, I wanted to be that for others. Other worms that had spent their lives underground. I wanted to be like that beautiful sight that inspired me to finally live—finally retake myself. If just another one of my brothers and sisters was inspired, then I’d make it all worth it.”

That settled it. The truth was right before him, and Centaurus would sooner die than allow it to escape his grasp. He carried not just his own life, but all of those that came and died before him in those damn tunnels. Centaurus nodded and stepped forward.

It began.

“Allow me to show you,” said Coach Polaris, walking in a circle as Centaurus slowly spun, eyes glaring down at Polaris’ host. They moved as though following a rhythm only they could hear. Somehow, it felt right. The two moved and swayed as they approached, their fingers intertwining as they waltzed in the dark. “Is this instinct? Fate?” asked Polaris.

Centaurus shut his eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just doing what I’m supposed to.” He was leading for whatever reason. Was it his host’s idea? Muscle memories that were flowing out in this moment? “I’m doing what feels right.”

“It’s a forgotten dance in our people,” said Polaris. “We were meant to share our minds, our souls, with each other. But this hierarchy prevented that. This is the dawn of a new age, Centaurus. This is—”

“I don’t know if this is true or not yet,” growled Centaurus. “Let’s… Let’s just do this.” Deep down, he was trembling, but he threw himself towards the fire anyway. Centaurus leaned in and kissed Polaris’ host. He slithered through their intimate kiss into Polaris’ borrowed body.

The host choked and struggled as yet another creature slithered into his body. It was difficult for his body to withstand it as Centaurus crawled into his brain. The two snake-like creatures danced and chased the other's tail, following their instinct like always. An ouroboros. A dragon that would wrap around the world.

Centaurus' vision grew dark as foreign sensations flooded his body. It was a trade. Their minds, memories, souls, and hearts were all shared. It was an electric experience, somehow more intimate than sex yet somehow more universal at the same time. It was like he was ascending to the heavens or reaching Nirvana.

When Centaurus’ vision returned, he was staring up at a starry sky on unfamiliar soil. This wasn’t his memory, he had never seen this sight before. Yes, this was from Polaris. It was a hazy sight and he couldn’t move. It was like he was watching an old film that had been rescued from the clutches of being lost forever.

The stars looked more like streamers zooming by as fireworks lit up the night sky.

“You promised you would come home soon.”

Those weren’t Centaurus’ thoughts, but he heard them all the same.

“You promised you’d come back to them; and promised to come back to me. I waited for you on the ground, wishing on the stars that flew next to you to bring you back safe.”

A shooting star came barreling down the sky, a trail of smoke and flames right behind it. Centaurus’ heart raced as terror and despair flooded his mind.

“Why did you have to die…? I loved you. I loved you so much…”

His heart broke. Not Centaurus’, but Polaris. These were Polaris' thoughts. And the ship he Centaurus focused on carried the one whom he had longed for ever since he could remember. “I didn’t mind you finding another mate and building a family as long as I could remain by your side. How was I supposed to tell them you were gone? How could you take my love and leave me behind…?”

Zathina’s father, Altair, died on that day. His son, Vega, perished soon after in the same dogfight. There was little of each body to bury, a right both of them had.

Polaris mourned and suffered, and Centaurus felt each heartache as though they were his own.

‘So that’s why he wants to watch over her,’ thought Centaurus.

“All that remained of you was that child—Zathina. So I tried to help her, tried to keep her safe. She became hardened and strong, but I could still see the scars in her heart. She stood on her own, but it had crushed her completely to do so. It was like a vase that had been shattered and put back together. Though it still stood, it was far more fragile than ever before.

“And, I wanted to find out the truth. I wanted to know why you had to die, why this war that took you away continued to drag on despite victory after victory.

What was found… was schematics of the enemy’s ship, military plans based on their battle tactics, and receipts for expenses that had been kept secret. When Polaris found them, only one conclusion made sense.

“The ships you had fought that day… were built by our very own military. Not just on that day, but every combat you had ever flown on, and even before that. None of them were piloted by our enemy, the Carinos. In fact, they were more than likely extinct. Wiped out by us.”

When had the conflict ended…? For how long had the war been fabricated. How many of their own did the Emperor sacrifice for the status quo to continue? Those were the questions that raced through Polaris’ mind all those years ago. He had discovered the truth; he understood that there was no reason behind Altair’s death. He died for nothing. And a part of Polaris died along with him.

“I couldn’t stand being in that department for much longer. I left. I had to leave. If I didn’t, I was certain I would kill someone. Most of us there didn’t know the truth, but some of them did. Yes, the higher-ups must’ve known. I needed to leave and go elsewhere before I tried to make them pay. If I got myself killed before exposing the truth to everyone, I wouldn’t be able to avenge you, my love. So I left and joined the educational department. If I could make a difference with our youth, if I worked to change everything…”

It wasn’t long before Polaris discovered and joined an underground revolution. His eyes were open, and his mind would follow soon after. So much of life, even among the Elites, was hidden and censored by the Emperor and his council.

“Did you know, my dear Altair, that they no longer wish to be called ‘Worms?’ That’s right, they want to be Cosmopolitans; those who are found everywhere, those who are ubiquitous. Elites and Worms are to become useless terms. We all want to become Cosmopolitans. That’s what freedom is, right?”

Time passed, and eventually Polaris came to find someone named ‘Centaurus’ trying to apply to the academy. It had taken urging for the school board to accept him, but Polaris’ reputation was a major help. Perhaps his young one would join the revolution. Perhaps he would be a good influence on those Elites that had little knowledge of the people that were forced below them.

‘It was him… Polaris had been… guiding me along…

‘And… it was really a lie…

‘A lie… the war… the society that had been shaped by it… it was all falsehoods.

‘They died…

‘For nothing…’

“I’ll kill him. The Emperor. I swear I’ll kill him. I won’t rest until my hands are around his thorax.”

The last sight The Emperor would see was a shining star sending him to hell. Centaurus swore on that.

#male possession #alien possession #festival fiasco #no picture and sex sorry #but the plot moves forward

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