#but there's very little evidence that the peoples living in those places even viewed the Rhine as a barrier between lands

[obscureenthusiast]

-Brutus and as many as 60 co-conspirators, circa March 14th, 44 BC

#ides of march #would you believe that I created this image all the way back in january STRICTLY BECAUSE I HAVE THAT MUCH BEEF WITH CAESAR? #this was created because he insisted that the Rhine was the border between Gaul and Germany #just so he could declare that he'd 'conquered' Gaul #but there's very little evidence that the peoples living in those places even viewed the Rhine as a barrier between lands #and their continued fighting against rome along that border line could indicate that they were in fact #attempting to reunite lands occupied by foreign invaders #anyway fuck you caesar i hope your triumph sucked ass #and that everyone who ever made bald jokes about you found idk a denarius in their pocket unexpectedly #yes i'm retroactively wishing dead people good and ill i'm complicated like that

[byeomtori]

the only exception | beomgyu x reader

pairing: beomgyu x female reader

content: love at first sight au, summer love thingy, lots of reference to paramore's the only exception and txt's our summer, pda

tw: mentions of fight and blood

words count: 12k

notes: reposting because of high demand (lol)

preview:

you were not the type to believe in the existence of love. to you, there was no such a thing as true love; no such a thing as unwavering, unbreakable, and unparalleled fondness and devotion for someone. to you, people love to get something they desire in return — money, power, status, pride. your parents were a living prove of that

the day you were old enough to understand the lack of love and affection between your parents to each other, and to you; you swore to never grow that feeling to anyone — family, friends, partner. anyone. because to you, love did not exist.

you were content living that way for years, not happy, but content.

the absence of love in your life protected you from attachment, heartbreak, sorrow — those negative emotions that you deemed unnecessary and unworthy to be sitting inside of you.

life was okay without love, you thought.

until you had to spend the rest of your summer with a distant relative whom you've never met in your entire life, in a small town with an ocean view, where fate had brought you a boy whose eyes shine brighter than any stars in the night sky.

and maybe, just maybe, love does exist.

a comforting smell of freshly brewed chamomile tea wafting in the air as you make your way inside the unfamiliar home — the one you will be spending three months in because your parents are way too busy flying around across the globe to be taking care of you.

"come on in, y/n." the woman in front of you speaks, her voice soft, the type of voice a kindergarten teacher would have.

maybe she was one, you have no idea. in fact, you know nothing about the woman standing in a yellow dress in front of you. she is pretty, even though it is evident her aging is slowly creeping up to her from the way her skin wrinkles on the corner of her eyes when she smiles. but to you, she is pretty- the mother-like kind of pretty. the kind of pretty that makes you feel warm inside.

but again, you know nothing about her. have never seen her in your entire life. never even heard her name from any of your parents until today.

aunty sue.

that was the name your mom had told you in the car this morning when she was dropping you off at the train station, she couldn't even make some time to drive you straight here, and telling you the woman is a distant cousin of hers whom she hasn't met in a long time. and that was also the name the said woman had introduced herself to you.

"do you want some tea, honey? or anything else?" she asks, making her way into the kitchen as you trail behind her like a little lost puppy.

"tea is fine," you reply.

leaning against the kitchen counter, you roam your eyes around the room. some parts of the walls are painted in pastel green while another part is decorated with a plaid wallpaper with the same color — just a shade darker. the counter tops are full of kitchen appliances, cookbooks, sunflower patterned dishes, and freshly washed vegetables along with some other things. there are random little trinkets on the windowsill — a wooden carved statue of a cat, a line of herbs in old tomato cans, and a sun catcher being hung at the corner of the window making tiny little rainbows refracting inside the kitchen.

the furniture of the dining area does not match with each other — one wooden chair with a striking blue cushion, a yellow wicker chair and another two plastic chairs in white. though everything is mismatch, it doesn't look weird. it feels right, even.

it feels like home.

very different from your house where nothing is ever out of place. the countertops made of slick white marble, picked personally by your mother, are always shiny as if no one has ever touched it. truthfully speaking, they kind of are. no one is ever cooking in that kitchen. you bet the only stains that has dirtied that counter was that one time you spilled your morning coffee on it. the stove, it looks brand new compared to the one in front of you right now which looks like it has been in service for more than a decade with how rusty it looks.

everything in your house is perfect to the tee. a façade that is what you like to think — to mask the family's imperfections.

a house that never felt like a home.

"i'm going to keep my stuff in my room first, i'll be right back," you say as you pull your luggage with you.

"sure, honey. your room is the second door on the right."

honey.

not even your own mother has ever called you that.

you haul your bag with much difficulty up the stairs, cursing yourself mentally for overpacking, before making your way to the said door. the room is spacious, not as big as your own room back in the city, but still enough to fit a queen-sized bed in the middle, a study desk by the window and a two doors wardrobe in the corner.

the glass sliding doors that lead to the balcony are being left slightly open, the warm summer breeze blowing the white sheer curtain. leaving your luggage by the bed, you make your way over to the balcony — pushing open the sliding door wider as you step out into the outdoor.

to say you are astonished is an understatement. the view in front of you is breath-taking — the house is located on top of the hill, overlooking the neighborhood and the ocean, the season's bright sunlight is making the scenery even more spectacular.

you breath in the air, inhaling the smell of the blue sea with your eyes closed.

there is someone, other than aunty sue, downstairs — you can clearly hear the sound of a male voice which is a little bit too loud to be ignored, talking to the woman in the kitchen about how his mom had forced him to deliver cake to all the houses up the hill in the middle of the day.

"y/n, honey! are you done? come downstairs, please." opening your eyes, you let out a soft sigh as you walk back inside, keeping your eyes on the ocean outside as you close the glass doors.

it's okay, you have the whole three months here. you tell yourself as you make your way back into the kitchen, the guest is still going on about how his little rant.

"i mean, don't get me wrong. i love summer, but to deliver all of them under the sun? god i felt like-.." and as he turns to face you who is standing at the entrance of the kitchen, your breath hitch in your throat.

you're not sure is it the iridescent illumination from the sun catcher beaming on him, or the glow of his skin that is glistening with sweats from biking under the summer rays, or the sparks in his eyes as he stares at you;

but oh god, he is beautiful.

not pretty, but beautiful. the angel-like kind of beautiful. the kind of beautiful that would make people turn their heads. the kind of beautiful that would make you steal glances at him if you were to sit in front of him in a train. the kind of beautiful that makes the ocean view you saw earlier lose its' price.

the once in a lifetime kind of beautiful.

"y/n, this is beomgyu, his mom owns a bakery down the hill."

"oh, this is the girl that you've been telling me about!" he says excitedly as he makes his way over to you, "she's pretty."

and you almost choked on your saliva. how can he be saying things like that so casually?!

"hi, i'm choi beomgyu," he says, extending out his hand for a handshake. "aunty sue told me a lot about you so i'm kind of excited to be your friend, that is if you want, of course."

you look down to his hand, lifting your own as you slowly put it in his. "im y/n,"

though it feels rough, his hand still holds a certain kind of warmth that makes you feel secured. you can feel calluses on his fingertips, too. does he play the guitar?

you're not even sure why you feel bashful under his gaze. you don't understand the warm fuzzy feeling you're getting when he keeps his hand in yours. you don't get why your heart is beating so fast when he says your name, the syllabus rolling perfectly on his tongue like it was made for him and only him to say.

"well then, i look forward to hanging out with you, y/n."

the conscious side of your brain is already blaring an alarm, telling you to turn him down, telling you that no, you don't want to hang out with him. that no, you don't look forward to spending your summer with him.

but despite that, you find yourself nodding to his words. "me too, choi beomgyu."

it has been three days since you have first arrived, and you have concluded that choi beomgyu is a man of his words.

you didn't think much when he told you that he looks forward to hanging out with you, thinking that he was just being nice to a newcomer and to act friendly to you.

because that's all you have ever known — people acting nicely to you.

you remember when you used to associate in a group of girls back in middle school; it was one of the worst times of your life. eleven years old you were so naïve (read: stupid) to realize that those girls were just using you for your unlimited amount of cash — always inviting you to go shopping, forcing you to throw fancy sleepovers — until one day one of them literally had to scream in your face that they were only hanging out with you for your daddy's money.

and since then, you have never tried to befriend anyone and those around you never approached or asked you to hang out, either.

so, it is a surprise to you that choi beomgyu stays true to his words.

yesterday, he had come over early in the morning looking as beautiful as you had remembered the first time you saw him; asking you if you want a little tour of the small town. you had declined, telling him you still had a few things left to unpack, leaving the boy pouting. you had felt slightly bad, just slightly.

you are in the backyard with aunty sue, picking up some ripe tomatoes from the small garden. she told you she has been tending this small part of her backyard for almost seven years now, planting

various kinds of vegetables, using the excuse of she doesn’t like the ones sold in the market, when in reality she just really loves gardening and watching her plants come to live day by day.

“is the tomato that interesting to you?”

you jump in surprise as you hear a low voice speaking next to your ear. turning around, you find a grinning beomgyu looking down at you. he peeks under your straw hat, trying to have a better look at

your face. “you look like a tomato yourself.”

you frown, “what do you mean by that?!”

he bends, hands resting on his knees, now being eye to eye level with you. humming, he continues to study your face.

there is always something about him that never fails to make blood rush to your face. yesterday it was the way he dressed — white sleeveless top tucked messily inside his black jeans. it was simple, nothing outstanding about it but to you, he was breath-taking. and today; it’s the way he’s looking deep into your eyes, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks with every blink.

the rational part of you is telling you to push him aside or to move away, to break the eye contact. but the other part that you have no idea existed inside of you until you met him few days ago, is telling you to keep staring into his sparkling eyes, to play along to whatever little game he has put on.

the rational part of you won as you take a step back, creating a safe distance between your figure and his. you can feel your cheeks flushed, fully blaming it on the warm temperature as you had been

standing under the sun for quite a while now.

“your cheeks are so red, like a tomato.” he giggles, “are you hot?”

you look away from him, hiding your face under your hat as you whisper, “k-kinda…”

he was about to move closer to you again, hand reaching over to your hat, but it stops mid-air when aunty sue is calling over for the both of you. thanking the lord and savior, you quickly make an escape

from him as you walk over to where your aunty is standing with a plate full of freshly cut watermelon in hand.

you sit beside her on the porch, while beomgyu is standing right in front of you. “tell your mom i say thank you for the watermelon,” aunty sue says and the boy just hums, hand reaching down to pick up two pieces of the sliced fruit, handing one over to you.

you thank him quietly and he smiles down at you, “you will never find a watermelon as sweet and juicy as the ones that my grandfather planted.” he boasts, and aunty sue make a sound as what sounds

like she is agreeing with him. “that’s right, mr.choi planted the best watermelon in the country.”

the scorching heat of the sun calls for you to take a bite of the fruit – it is sweet, just like what beomgyu had said. “it’s so good,” you speak under your breath. you’re not sure how he manages to hear what

you said but he did, as the smile on his face grow wider. “right? i told you!”

he waits for you to finish the slice in your hand before handing you another one, all the while still towering in front of you.

“sit down, beomgyu.” your aunty says to him to which the boy just shakes his head. “i’m protecting y/n from the sun,” he replies casually, taking a bite of the watermelon “she looks like a real tomato

right now.”

both you and aunty sue look up to him in sync. he is, indeed, covering you away from the sun — being tall makes it easier for him to shield you away from the direct sunlight of the summer rays but his back

is taking up all the consequences of his action as you can see droplets of sweat forming on of his neck, sliding down to his back.

you glance to aunty sue, a coy smile on her lips. “j-just sit down!” you scold him, pulling him down by his wrist to sit beside you on the wooden veranda.

aunty sue giggles, “talking about tomato, do you want to bring some home, beomgyu?”

he shakes his head, “thanks, aunty sue but no one in that house enjoys eating tomato.”

“but i do want to ask for your permission to steal this cute tomato away from you for the night,” he says as he pokes your cheek with his index finger to which you move slightly away. “my friends are doing a bonfire by the cliff later, i was thinking to bring y/n along.”

you hesitate, gaze moving from his face to your aunty’s. “you can go, y/n. it’s much more fun to hang out with people your age rather than spending time with me,” she ensures you.

you look back to beomgyu, his eyes hopeful as he waits for your answer.

“okay, then.” you finally give in, a wide smile making its’ way across his face.

he stands up, one hand in the pocket of his pants as he bends down to look at your face, again.

“see you tonight then, tomato.”

one conclusion you can come up after spending a good half an hour with choi beomgyu is that he does not have a sense of personal space — not that you mind, at least for now when you are surrounded by unfamiliar teenagers laughing and chattering around the bonfire.

you’ve been stuck to his side since the moment you reached the cliff. it’s not like you are that comfortable with him but out of everyone here, he is the only person you know. despite that, choi beomgyu looks like he is that comfortable with you — hand on the small of your back while walking, wrapping his flannel around your waist so that you won’t get your shorts dirty (when in reality he just doesn’t like the way the other boys are looking at the exposed skin of your legs), sitting too close you can feel his shoulder brushing against yours as he moves.

truthfully, you would have been so annoyed. but this is choi beomgyu. he is choi beomgyu and you have no idea what’s about him that makes you feel so protected. even now when he has his hand on top of your right knee while he’s talking to his friends, you don’t feel irritated.

it feels right. he feels right.

“beomgyu!” someone calls him over from behind. he sighs, “i’m gonna go talk to him for a while, you’ll be alright here, right?” he asks to which you just nod your head.

what is he expecting you to say answer? no, don’t leave me, beomgyu. as if you would ever say that out loud.

the warmth of his palm leaves your skin as he gets up, making his way over to the blue-haired boy that was calling for him. your let your eyes linger on him, watching as he gives the guy a fist bump before

both of their gaze move to you and you quickly look away.

“you’re y/n, right?” a guy who is sitting in front of you speaks.

you nod, “hueningkai, right?” you ask, remembering his name after beomgyu had introduced you to him earlier. and you glad you did from the way his eyes lit up when you get his name right. years of

attending charity events and parties where you were forced to talk to random people by your parents has thought you to imprint people’s names on your mind easily.

“heard you’re from the city. how is the life there? i really want to live there someday, it’s really boring here,” he pouts. “the nearest mall is like, miles away.”

“i think it’s fun here,”

“yeah? and why is that?”

you go quiet for a moment. why is that? — there are various reasons why you think the town is not as boring as hueningkai believes. for an example, the ocean. there is no beach in the city, the nearest one being a whole hour drive away. the air here is cleaner too, not as polluted with vehicles smokes as the city. the weather here is nice too; though it’s summer, the heat here isn’t as bad as it is back

home.

and as your mind try to come up with another reason why you think the town is fun, your eyes move over to the brown-haired boy laughing along to whatever joke the blue-haired one has said to him.

even in the darkness of the night — the only source of light coming from the fire in front of you, he is still beautiful. the way he throws his head back as he laughs, the way his eyes are sparkling under the

night sky, the dimple that appears on his cheek as he smiles.

“it’s fun because there’s beomgyu, right?”

you turn your attention to the boy sitting across from you, his eyes on the same person you were staring few seconds ago.

“do you like him?” hueningkai asks, out of sudden.

“w-what?” you look at him, bewildered. “i don’t know what context of like you are talking about, but he is a good fr-…”

friend.

you so badly wanted to call beomgyu your friend, but you don’t even have the slightest idea of what a friend is — you never had one, at least not a real one. all through your school years, you have never

really had someone you can call as friend. sure, you talked to your classmates, but they felt more like acquaintances than friends. and you never bothered to get close to anyone because you know there

are always something they want in return — money, gifts, invitations to fancy parties, rich kids from your family’s circle to date, the list goes on.

so, you stop yourself from labelling beomgyu in that way. he is not your friend, not after only three days of knowing each other.

“he is a good guy, of course i like him. what kind of person doesn’t like good people?” you say, shifting in your seat to which hueningkai just shrugs his shoulders, “i think he likes yo-…” he stops talking midsentence when someone throws their arm around his neck, holding him in a chokehold.

“taehyun is calling for you,” beomgyu says as he smiles down wickedly at the younger. hueningkai knows his friend is lying but he just rolls his eyes and walks away to where taehyun is sitting.

“let’s go somewhere,” he extends his hand over to you.

“where?”

beomgyu grumbles, “just come.” taking your hand, he pulls you up to your feet.

following him from behind, you have no idea where he is taking you as you both walk further and further away from the group, until you’re climbing down the cliff.

he offers his hand to you, and you gladly accept, “be careful.”

holding your hand in his, he wraps his arm around your waist as he pulls you down to the ground with an ease. the night is pretty chilly compared to the sunlit afternoon earlier, but beomgyu’s hand still

hold a certain kind of warmth. and even though the temperature is low, you still can feel heat rushing up to your face when he keeps his arm around your waist even after you’ve set your feet safely on the

sandy beach — you’re glad it is dark, you don’t think you want him coming up with another vegetable related nickname for you.

“i wanted to bring you here yesterday, but you were busy unpacking. and i wanted to do it today too, but you looked so tired from helping aunty sue,” he says. “i know this is not the best time to be coming

here since it’s so dark but i just thought maybe you would want to see the ocean at night too.”

you move your gaze from his face to the moana in front of you. the water is calm, small waves crashing along the shores. no one else is around, only you and him.

you were about to walk over to the water’s edge when you feel beomgyu tugs on your hand gently. “take off your shoes first, pretty girl.” bending down, he wraps his hand around your ankle before

slowly pulling the white alexander mcqueen off of your foot. beomgyu is surprised, to be honest, to the fact that you casually wear a very expensive pair of sneakers to a lame bonfire party. then again,

these shoes probably didn’t cost that much for you.

“all done, you can go now.” he stands up straight again and he can’t help but notice the pink shade decorating your cheeks even in the inky night, “tomato.” he chuckles, pinching your left cheek.

you gently swat his hand away, blushing deeper, before walking to the water again. you smile as you feel the sand seeps through your toes as the waves crash on the shore. turning around to beomgyu, you see him with a soft smile in his face as he watches you from a distance.

“join me,”

and he can’t seem to decline your offer when you’re looking so ethereal underneath the moonlight, a gentle smile on your lips as you move your feet around to play with the wet sand.

abandoning his cheap pair of sneakers beside your expensive ones, he runs over to where you’re standing back facing him. he pretends to push you further to the ocean to which you react faster, shoving him — making him fall into the water with a big splash.

“hey!” he shrieks, quickly getting up on his feet. you take that as a sign for you to run — in which you didn’t manage to escape far enough when you feel his arms circling around your waist before he pulls you down along with him into the water.

“beomgyu!” you whine while splashing more of the salty water towards him while giggling.

and that night, while you both are walking home, soaked from head to toes with your wet clothes sticking disgustingly on your skin, laughing and giggling, you thought; maybe this is what friendship feels like.

“aunty sue, i’m going out for a while!” you call out your aunt in the kitchen as you’re running down the stairs toward the front door.

she peeks her head from the kitchen’s entrance, “where are you going, honey?”

“beomgyu’s mom’s bakery!” you reply, already stepping outside and you failed to catch the tender smile your aunt is throwing your way as you are busy putting on your shoes. “i’ll be back before dinner.”

when you push open the gate of the house, beomgyu is already waiting for you on his bicycle, a hat in his hand as he offers it over to you. “put it on, it’s too sunny.”

you accept with no question, putting the white hat on. it smells like him — like a mixture of frangipani blossoms, toasted coconut, and bergamot waters. it smells like summer.

he smells like summer.

beomgyu watches as you put his hat on, holding back his smile to how adorable you look trying to tighten the hat’s straps to fit your head’s size. his hand reaches over to your face, tucking a few strands

of your hair that have come loose from your braids behind your ear. “pretty,” he whispers under his breath.

you look away from his eyes, quickly moving to sit on the backseat of his bicycle, wincing as the exposed skin of your thighs come in contact with the burning metal of the seat.

“sorry, chieko has been out in the sun for a while,” he says, referring to his bike. “you good?”

“yeah,” you shift on the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “you name your bicycle with a dog’s name?”

he hums as he starts paddling, “my grandfather got this bicycle from a japanese owned shop. the owner used to have this really cute golden retriever by the name chieko, i loved him, hence the name.”

he explains, “is it weird?”

“kinda,” you reply to which he just laugh it off.

it has only been a week of summer break and beomgyu had come up with so many plans for the both of you. he has promised to make this, as quoted from the man himself, the best summer of your life

— to which you just responded with a raised eyebrow. you don’t mind spending the whole three months of break with him, you don’t mind at all. in fact, you would really like the idea — but he doesn’t

have to know that.

one of the plans he had come up with is; baking. and that is how you find yourself in the back of his mom’s bakery, with a baby pink apron tied around your waist and beomgyu going around in the

kitchen looking for the ingredients for the fruit strudels he had promise to make with you.

“oh, you must be y/n.”

you turn to the source of the voice, and you quickly bow your head, “ah, yeah. nice to meet you.” the woman in front of you have the same dimple as the one on beomgyu’s, and the way she smiles warmly remind you of her son too.

“you’re really pretty, just like what beomgyu had told me.”

“mom, where’s the peach?” he asks, stopping his mom from exposing him further, as he is rummaging inside the fruit basket on the counter.

the woman giggles, “is our beomgyu shy? is he embarrassed if his mom is going to tell the pretty girl all about the things he had talked about her?” she continues, emphasizing on the pretty girl.

you look over to him and notice how his ears has turned slightly red from his mom’s teasing. you’re not sure why he is acting that way when he has called you with that specific nickname so many times

already.

“mom~” he whines, all the while avoiding your eyes that are fixated on him.

his mom lets out a loud laugh — now you know where beomgyu got that from — as she walks over to the fridge behind you. “i keep them in the here, baby.”

“oh,” he says, taking the peaches from his mom’s hand. “thank you, my lady.” he leans down and kiss his mom’s temple to which his mom playfully pushes him away. the gesture tugs a string in your heart

— a feeling of longing. you can’t remember when was the last time you hugged your mom, or your dad. heck, you can’t even remember when was the last time they asked you about your day.

“have fun baking, y/n. i’m only a shout away if you need something, okay? in case beomgyu burns the kitchen down,” she jokes again before walking out to store again.

beomgyu sighs, “sorry about her. she can be a bit… overbearing sometimes.”

“no, she’s fun.” you says, stepping closer to help him with the fresh fruits.

and that’s how you spent your thursday morning; baking various fruits strudels — peach, strawberry, mango, blueberry. well, it was beomgyu who did most of the work but nevertheless, you had fun

cutting up the fresh fruits.

the oven digs, indicating the pastries have been baked. beomgyu pulls the tray out, before setting it on the flour-covered counter. “oh, it smells amazing!” you exclaim excitedly.

“wait until you taste them, they are,” he looks down at you, making a chef’s kiss gesture to which you just giggle. “well, we have to let them cool down first before putting the cream and the fruits. wanna

go up to my room while we wait?”

you hesitate, never ever in your life have you ever stepped a foot in a boy’s room. despite that, you find yourself nodding to him, “sure.”

he nods, taking off his apron and waits for you to take yours off before snatching it from your hands, hanging them on the hook by the fridge.

following him up to his room which is located at the second floor just right above the bakery, you notice the picture frames decorating the wall going up the stairs. family portraits, baby pictures of

whom you assume are beomgyu and his brother, wedding pictures of his parents, a picture of beomgyu’s kindergarten graduation. it’s like the family’s own little hall of fame.

imagining your house in your mind, you don’t think you have any other picture being hung on the wall aside from that one huge family portrait in the living room — the one where you were looking so rigid

sitting in between your parents. you hated that picture, and you still do. family portraits are supposed to be a symbol of happiness, a symbol of affection, a symbol of a healthy family relationship but your family does not have any of that. the picture that was taken in the fancy film studio in france was just another attempt to cover the family’s despair. it’s pathetic, really. how hard your parents are trying

to come off as a happy married couple with a perfect daughter. throwing the money away for material things that can cover up the lack of happiness in the household. it’s pitiful, the only thing they need to be raising a happy family is the one thing that they lack in life.

a loud chirping at your right as you step onto the landing of the second-floor surprises you. you turn your head to look at the green-colored parrot in the cage. it has its’ head tilted as it stares up at your

unfamiliar face.

“this is toto, my pet.”

“your pet?”

he nods.

“out of all the animals you can have as a pet, you chose a parrot?”

he shrugs, “toto is everyone’s best friend in this house.”

you blink, and he does too.

“oh, okay.” you say and he nods. “come, my room is this way.” he leads you over to the door that has a messy scribble of ‘choi beomgyu’ in colorful crayons, opening it for you and urging you to take step inside. “after you.”

his room is surprisingly neat. well, it’s not like you have seen a guy’s room before but you did assume beomgyu to be a little messy kind of person — the usual clothes on the floor, comic books scattered

on the bed, snacks wrappers on the desk. but his room is clean, no used clothes on the floor, only a round foldable table in the middle of the room.

“how long are we supposed to wait for the pastries to cool down?” you ask, taking a seat on the floor by the desk. “around half an hour,” he replies. “you know what other baked goods i’m really good at?”

you shake your head, “tell me.”

“pumpkin spice cupcake, but we don’t have any in the store now. it’s not autumn yet so finding for pumpkin is quite hard this time of the year.” he explains.

“how am i supposed to have a taste then?”

“that means you have to come here again during autumn,” he says. “i’ll bake every autumn desserts for you. beside, don’t you want to see my pretty face in a different season too?”

you grimace, “what difference does your face make in autumn?”

he laughs before reaching over to his guitar that was leaning against the wall beside the door.

so, he does play the guitar.

“do you want to hear a snippet of the song i wrote?” he asks while tuning his guitar.

“you wrote songs?”

“yeah, for fun though. i’ve never really let anyone listen to it, aside from the guys.”

“sure,” you say, holding in your excitement.

“i wrote this a few days ago, it’s not finished yet but i’ll try to give my best.” he gives you a smile before he starts strumming his guitar strings softly.

and when you thought choi beomgyu is already beautiful from the way he smiles, from the way his eyes twinkle under the summer sunshine, from the way his whisker dimples form on his cheeks when

he laughs — here he is giving you another reason to think that he is the most heavenly person you have ever came across when he opens his mouth to sing.

your fresh fragrance, your sparkling eyes

makes me feel better

reality loses its power, even the earth dies

the moment is eternal

you’re not sure is it the way the sunlight shining through the open window or the way his eyes are fixated on you while he sings, but you can feel the blood rushing to your face, leaving your cheeks feeling so warm.

no matter where you are, no matter what season

if we’re together, feel like summer

“this is getting boring.” says hueningkai as he throws the uno cards on to the floor before plopping on his back on the ground.

“agree, we should be doing something else.” taehyun, who has been scrolling on his phone since half an hour ago finally spoke.

beomgyu, with his four other friends along with a few others are sprawled out in choi yeonjun’s basement. they’ve been doing everything that they deem fun to do in the last four hours — the video games, board games, card games, truth or dare (in which beomgyu had successfully dodged every single question and dare related to you).

“let’s hit the diner, i’m kind of starving,” one of yeonjun’s friends, minho, suggest to which the other boys agree without any objections.

“nah man, i’ll pass for tonight.” beomgyu says, already standing up from his seat, “think i’m going to go home and sleep.”

“really, sleep?” minho asks, smirking up to beomgyu. “or are you going to see that girl, what’s her name again? y/n?”

beomgyu raises his eyebrow, “what does y/n got to do with this?”

sensing the shift in the air, soobin quickly nudges minho in the rib. “hey, shut your mouth.” says the older.

“i don’t know, beomgyu?” the blondie continues, “i barely see you hang out with your friends lately. every time i ask them where’s beomgyu, their answers were always the same; hanging out with y/n.” he pushes his tongue against his cheeks, clearly enjoying how extremely annoyed beomgyu looks.

“you don’t even have time for your friends anymore now? why? too busy fucking that little rich bit-…” and the next thing beomgyu knows is he is on top of the guy, throwing punches across the blondie’s

face as both soobin and yeonjun try to pull him away.

“don’t you fucking dare say that word.” he yells out loudly, throwing another blow on minho’s cheek.

minho forcefully pushes beomgyu, making the latter falls on his back as the blonde-haired boy climbs on top of him, punching him on the corner of his lips before yeonjun had to (literally) throw hands

towards minho to make him stop punching his younger friend.

there’s a loud ringing in beomgyu’s ears, his head spinning.

he was never one to resort to violence when it comes to anything. aside from that one time he accidentally kicked a girl in elementary school while trying to show off his hapkido skills, beomgyu has never hurt anyone physically. but there is something about the way your name rolls on minho’s tongue that make him sick to the core.

he gets on his feet after regaining his vision again, blood trickling down from his lips. he gives his friends one last glance before running up the stairs of the basement, slamming the door loudly as he walks out.

wiping his bloody lips with the sleeve of his hoodie, he curses under his breath, thinking he can’t go home with bruised lips and blood stains on his hoodie — his mom would make a big deal about it.

so, he continues walking — passes the front of the bakery, up the hill. feet moving according to where his heart wants him to go. to find comfort.

and it wasn’t a surprise to him as he stops in front of your aunty’s house, looking up to the second floor where your room is. the lights are out, total darkness surrounding your room. of course, it’s half

passed midnight, of course you will be sleeping by now.

beomgyu is not sure why did he came here. it’s not like he wants you to see him in this state — bruised lips, fresh blood still oozing from the cut, tousled hair, red stains on the sleeve of his yellow hoodie.

no, he doesn’t want you to see him looking this miserable. he was just trying to look for comfort, and to him, his comfort comes in the shape of a girl in an oversized blue t-shirt standing across from him.

“you scare me!” he says as he finds your figure standing in front of the gate of the house.

“what are you doing out here?” you ask.

“what are you doing out here?”

you cross your arms on your chest, “i saw you from the window.” though the only source of light shining on him comes from the dingy lamppost above him, you’re still able to make out his busted lips.

stepping over to him, you gently take his face in your hands. at that moment, beomgyu knows coming here to actually see you wasn’t a bad idea when he can feel the heat from your palms engulfing his cheeks.

he wanted solace and apparently you are his.

“what happened to you?” you ask softly, afraid that if you raise your voice any higher it might hurt him.'

“i fell…” he says, “for you.”

you take your hands off his cheek, slapping his arm to which he jokingly winces in pain. “how could you slap me when i’m already this wounded?” he pouts, “i did fell, okay? i tripped while coming up

here. the hill can be pretty steep sometimes.”

“you’ve been going up and down this hill your whole life, how can you suddenly fell today out of nowhere?”

“i don’t know? people make mistakes, y/n.”

you roll your eyes, “come on, i’ll clean it up for you.”

beomgyu didn’t hesitate to follow you into the house, up the stairs and into your bedroom. you lead him over to the bathroom, trying not to make too much noise and waking up your aunt in the room

right across from yours— you don’t think she would appreciate you bringing a boy into the house in the middle of the night, and the last thing you want is her thinking there’s something passionate going

around between you and the baker’s son.

taking his face in one hand gently, you blow onto his cut. “it’s going to sting a little, okay?” he hums, enjoying the cool breeze from you on his open wound.

he watches you tentatively as you dab the antiseptic on his skin. “does it hurt?” you ask to which he just shakes his head no. “okay. phew, this is kinda scary.” you giggle as you lean closer to his face again, your nose a few inches away from his.

beomgyu roams his eyes all over your face — your eyes, your nose, and your lips. he observes the way your long eyelashes flutters against your soft cheeks with every blink you make. the way your pupils dilate as you are so focused on attending his busted lips. the way your nose scrunches up occasionally when he lets out a low groan of pain. the way your lips are pull into a pout while you’re busy nagging to him.

even under the ugly fluorescent light of the bathroom, with you wearing the most basic clothes — no fancy summer dresses, or blouses, or expensive sneakers – with your hair messily being put up into a bun, face free from any kind of make-up, to choi beomgyu; you are the most beautiful.

and in the daze of post-punched and being in your presence, he lets the words slip out of his mouth.

“you are so fucking beautiful, y/n.”

the saying of time flies when you’re having fun is actually true. days have turned into weeks, and weeks have turned into months — it’s already been two months since you first arrived in this small

town with the ocean view.

the past months have been filled with many new things you’ve never experienced in your life — going hiking to see the sunrise with beomgyu, harvesting vegetables and herbs with aunty sue, helping

beomgyu’s mom in the bakery, binge eating snacks at the convenience store past midnight with beomgyu and his friends, barbecue party with the townspeople.

and the most precious thing you’ve encountered during this summer break is friendship — not only with beomgyu, but his friends too. you’ve come to get comfortable with yeonjun, soobin, taehyun and

hueningkai along the way after spending time with them. beomgyu had brought you along to hang out with them a few times, and you had grown to enjoy the boys’ company, too.

and beomgyu has stay true to his words about making this summer the best three months break of your life.

“you look pretty already,” aunty sue says behind you as you’re busy fixing the strands of your hair framing your face.

turning to look at her, you pout. “i’m not.”

“beomgyu thinks you are.”

you blush, looking into the mirror to avoid your aunt’s teasing eyes. “i’m done, let’s go.”

“you’re not going with beomgyu?” she asks as the both of you are walking down the hill, a rattan basket in your hand.

“he said he’ll meet me there,” you explain. “he has to help his mom with the bakery booth.”

“ah, right. i forgot about that.”

another new thing you get to experience in this small town is their annual summer festival. aunty sue had told you that the town’s mayor came up with the idea of making the festival around a decade ago

in an attempt to give some sort of entertainment for the kids and teenagers, and also the adults, in the town during the season. it was a great success the first year it was being held — with more than

thirty booths of various foods and games. hence, why the summer festival has become the town’s annual event now.

as you reach the festival’s venue which is being held by the beach, you see soobin and yeonjun chattering at a booth near the entrance. you hand aunty sue the basket before excusing yourself to talk to the boys.

“yeonjun! soobin!” you call out, running up towards them. “oooh, y/n! you look so cute!” soobin exclaims excitedly as you stop in front of him. “but not as cute as choi odi, though.”

“choi odi?” you question and the boy nods “my pet.”

“a cat?”

“no, a hedgehog.”

you grimace — what’s with this group of friends and their weird animals as pet?

“what? you don’t think hedgehogs are cute?” he asks.

no, they look like rat — is what you wanted to say but you don’t have the heart to voice those words out from the look soobin is giving you. “yeah, they are… not bad.” you say before moving your gaze

away from him.

yeonjun notices the way your eyes are scanning around for the familiar mob of brown hair in the sea of visitors, and he chuckles. “his booth is on the other side,” he says. “want us to show you the way?”

your cheeks flushed from being caught but you thank him, anyways. “it’s okay, i’ll go by myself. i’ll see you guys later, then!” you say, walking away from them while waving.

you were about to walk around, trying to find his mom’s bakery booth when you hear your phone’s notification inside your bag. pulling it out, you smile as you read the name of the sender.

beomgyu: where u at, pretty girl? i saw your aunt but not you.

you quickly type in your reply.

you: i’m at a cotton candy stall near the entrance, omw to find u

beomgyu: stay there. i’ll go to u.

after waiting for a while, you spot him walking over to you — dressed in a white button up shirt, tucked inside his black jeans. hair slightly dishevelled from the ocean breeze. he has a smile across his face as

he keeps coming closer to where you’re waiting for him.

even in the sea of people, choi beomgyu is the only one that caught your eyes. you could be in a big ballroom of a masquerade party and the only one that has your attention is still choi beomgyu — there’s

just something about him that you can’t seem to explain that make you only look at him and him only.

you look up to him when he stops in front of you, the smile from earlier getting wider. “hi, pretty.” he says before his hand reaches up to your face, tugging the strands of hair behind your ear neatly. this

has been a little habit of his that he really loves doing whenever he sees your hair getting on your face — never once have you told him that you purposely let those strands untied.

“the firework show will be at 8pm, so we will have around,” he checks his phone, “hour and half to walk around. what do you want to do?”

“you’re not helping your mom’s booth?”

“my brother is here, so he’ll be helping mom for today.” he says, peeking to the stall behind you. “wanna try the cotton candy?”

there is already a line of children waiting for their turns to get the sweet treats in various shapes —heart, bunny, flower, and even a unicorn. when it reaches your turn, beomgyu asks you what shape

you would like for your candy, and you eagerly point at the bear on the menu sheet.

“here’s your order, mr. lover boy.” the man says, handing the stick of the bear-shaped cotton candy to beomgyu. “enjoy your time here, lovebirds.”

“we’re not-…”

“thank you, we will.” taking the candy from the man, beomgyu put his hand on the small of your back, leading you away from the line.

you look up at him, blush evident on your cheeks. why didn’t he deny the man earlier? lovebirds? love, really? “beomgyu, why didn’t you-..” you pause mid-sentence when he hands you the cotton candy.

looking up at him, then down to the cotton candy that is still in his hand, then up to him again and down to the candy again, you let out a laugh.

he furrows his eyebrow questioningly, “what so funny?”

taking out your phone, you open the camera app. “stand still.”

he complies, standing still with the cotton candy in hand all the while you’re giggling and snapping multiple pictures of him. “are you done?” he whines.

you show him the photo on your phone screen, swiping right to let him see the rest of his pictures you’ve taken. “the bear looks just like you!”

“is it funny to you?” he asks, wrapping his arm around your waist as he tickles your side. you squirm in his hold, laughing harder. “it is, because it looks exactly like you- ah! beomgyu, stop tickling me!”

he holds onto the stick of the cotton candy tighter as his other arm is still wrapped around your waist. beomgyu has always known of how beautiful you look when you smile and laugh, but, oh god. right

now, where you’re laughing to your heart’s content, in his arm, dressed in the loveliest white summer dress he has ever seen, with the warm glow of the sun slowly setting, he swears nothing else is as

beautiful as you. not even close.

“beomgyu, please stop. i’m going to pee.” you beg, tears from laughing pooling in your eyes. he lets you go slowly before handing the cotton candy to you which you gladly take.

“let’s go,” he says as he takes your free hand in his, pulling you into the gleeful summer festival.

you spent a good hour touring around the festival — eating tanghulu and few other famous street foods. playing random games at the game booths even though you knew they were all rigged, it was

still fun — beomgyu did won you a small teddy bear keychain from the dart game.

you visited your aunt’s stall too, where she’s selling little handcrafted trinkets. you couldn’t ignore the cheeky smile she sent you when she saw the way beomgyu was holding onto your hand.

then, you went to his mom’s booth where you met his brother for the first time. you were kind of expecting the teasing from him, but you didn’t know it would be so bad to the point you had to ask beomgyu for a glass of water, afraid you might suddenly pass out from the excessive blood rush.

it was fun. you don’t think you have experienced this much fun in your life. the last time you felt happy was when you had visited disneyland back when you were ten. with your maid, not with your parents. you don’t think you would have enjoyed it as much if you did go with them.

“we have 10 more minutes before the fireworks show.” beomgyu says as he leans his side against the railing. he had suggested to go up the cliff to have a better view of the firework. you thought it’s going

to be a packed spot but surprisingly there are only three other people there, sitting distance away from where you and beomgyu are standing.

you can feel his stare from the corner of your eyes, making your cheeks flushed. god, is it possible to lose one’s life from immense blushing? if it is, then you’re in a terrible danger.

“have you ever been in love?” he asks suddenly.

at that moment, the only thing you can hear is the loud ringing in your ears. gone the sound of the festive happening down by the beach, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the sound

of the people behind you chattering. the sound of beomgyu’s voice.

have you ever been in love?

have you? you want to say no. you want to tell him that you don’t believe in love — that you would rather believe in the existence of a flying elephant rather than believing in love. you want to tell him

there is no such a thing as love in this world. there is no such a thing as sincere love. people love to get what they desire in return — money, power, status, pride. your parents are a living prove of that.

you want to tell him if there is one thing you are so fucking afraid of in this world, it is to love.

you want to tell him that you don’t think love is worth taking the risk, you don’t think it’s worth fighting for. love is not a real thing. you’ve seen so many people from school getting heartbroken over a

breakup with their lover, only to jump into a new relationship a week after that. if love is a real existing thing then, how could you move on so easily like that?

you so badly want to tell him, but no words come out from your mouth as you stare into his sparkling eyes.

“you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he says after sensing the discomfort on your face.

“have you?”

“yeah,” he says, now facing the sea. “i’m in love with a lot of things — my family, my friends, toto, my bicycle.” he says, shifting on his feet, “i love helping my mom in the bakery, i love writing songs even

when no one listens to it. i love this town, no matter how boring it gets sometimes, i still love it.”

“i love summer,” he says as he turns to face you again. “i love summer because it brought you to me.”

you were about to say something to him when you hear the announcement from the speakers that the fireworks will be going off in the count of three.

ignoring the proclamation, you keep your eyes fixated on his. he is staring at you endearingly, a soft smile on his lips as he takes a step closer towards you.

three

he takes another step forward, until the tips of his shoes are meeting yours.

two

he tugs the strands of your hair behind your ear like he usually does, only this time he didn’t put his hand down, keeping it on the soft skin of your cheek. he rests his other hand on your waist, pulling you slightly closer to him.

one

he tilts his head, leaning down towards your face before stopping, leaving a small gap as he waits for you to make the next move, an unspoken sign of asking for your permission.

and as the fireworks start shooting in the sky, you stand on your tiptoes. hands resting against his chest as you lean forward, closing the gap in between your lips and his soft ones.

it started off with you gently resting your lips on his, until he starts to pull you closer by your waist — where he deepens the kiss.

it feels magical.

the way his lips are massaging softly against your own, the way his thumb is caressing your cheek in the gentlest manner, the way he tightens his hold on your waist — not hard enough to hurt you but

strong enough to keep you in place, the way his heart is beating so fast under your palm. the way the sky is glowing and shimmering brightly with the non-stop fireworks.

he is magical.

it’s not like you have ever kissed a boy before but the way beomgyu is kissing you with so much care, with so much affection, so endearingly, with so much love — you know the kiss is perfect. you just know it is.

because you don’t need a flawless kiss for it to feel complete, all you need is choi beomgyu to be the one kissing you.

to you, choi beomgyu is the epitome of perfection.

the ringing of your phone wakes you up from your deep sleep. reaching over to the vibrating device on the nightstand, you pick up the call without checking the caller id.

“hello?” you say, voice hoarse.

“y/n?” shoot, it’s your mom. “are you still sleeping?”

“uh, yeah. i just… woke up.” you sit up on your bed, eyeing the clock on the wall – 12:04pm. if there is one thing your mom hates, it would be tardiness — in anything, including the time you wake up from

sleep.

“i slept really late last night,” in which you did. after the summer festival, and the whole kissing thing, beomgyu had walked you home. not forgetting to give you another kiss, which felt more like a peck,

before he left. and you had stayed up until almost four in the morning replaying that particular scene on the cliff over and over again in your head.

you hear your mom sighs from the other end, “how you been doing there?”

oh, that’s new.

“it’s been okay,” you twirl the end of your blanket. “aunty sue is a very war-…”

“listen, y/n. i’m kind of busy right now. i just called to remind you about your leave after the summer break.”

and that is when reality hits you.

“your dad thought it would be a good idea if you come home this weekend. to make early preparations.”

shit. how could you forget?

“i’ll send a driver to pick you up this sunday,” she says, and you can hear rustling from her end, “i gotta go.”

when the line goes off, you remain holding your phone against your ear.

how can you get forget? did you forget because you’re too busy having fun here? did you forget because you finally found something, or rather, someone to share your happiness with? did you forget

that you’re only here temporarily, to take a breather from the crowded city? did you forget that you’re not supposed to be attached to anyone?

you’re leaving. you’re leaving the country in september. you’re leaving for a university on the other side of the world. you’re leaving your home. you’re leaving this town.

you’re leaving beomgyu.

beomgyu.

these past months, you have been engulfing yourself too much into whatever temporary fantasy he had created for you. you were so into it that you started to brush away all of your beliefs that have

been your pillar your whole life. you were so blinded by the happiness he had brought you that you started making an exception for him.

and for the first time in two months, for the first time since you have arrived in this small town with an ocean view, for the first time since you met the boy whose eyes shine brighter than any stars in the night sky — you want to be anywhere but here.

you know you’re being a jerk to beomgyu — ignoring his calls and text messages, lying to him about coming down with a fever, forcing aunty sue to make up whatever excuses she could think of

whenever the boy stopped by to catch a glimpse of you, pretending to be sleeping whenever you saw him standing under the lamppost outside of the house at night.

you’re being irrelevant and you know that better than anyone else. but you can’t find any other way to explain to him about everything — you’re not ready and you don’t know how to. you know he’s in

love with you, and maybe, just maybe, you do harbour the same feeling for him as well — but you're in denial.

love does not exist.

that’s what you’ve been telling yourself every day.

you’re going back home tomorrow, and you have successfully avoided beomgyu up until this point. until aunty sue had to (almost) beg on her knees asking you to deliver an official government letter to

the choi’s place. she had come down with a summer fever herself, making you feel bad if you refuse to help.

and that’s how you find yourself inside the the bakery’s kitchen that saturday afternoon, a brown envelope in hand. you are glad it is saturday — meaning beomgyu is not around as he always spends

the day at taehyun’s place.

you peek around the kitchen, no one in sight. there’s no one behind the register in the bakery too. is the shop closed?

you hear footsteps coming down the stairs, turning around with the envelope still in hand, “mrs. choi, aunty sue asked me to-…”

you blink, hands coming down to your sides.

leaving the brown paper on top of the counter, you were about to make an escape before you feel his hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back to him.

“y/n,”

“let me go,” you say under your breath.

he pushes you against the wall, trapping your body. “are you okay?”

out of all the things he could be saying to you right now, he’s asking you if you’re okay? out of all the mean things he could be spitting to you right now for ignoring him without explanation, the words

that came out from his mouth are those of endearment.

you avoid his eyes, afraid that you might break if you catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. “i’m fine.”

“then why have you been ignoring me?”

“i wasn’t feeling well.”

“then, that means you’re not okay.” he says softly, “look at me, y/n.”

you look up at him, tears pooling your eyes. “why are you being so difficult?!” you didn’t mean to scream in his face, but at this point, your brain has lose control — your body moving according to your

heart.

beomgyu is taken aback by your sudden outburst, “what?”

“why are you making it a big deal that i’m not talking or hanging out with you anymore?”

“how am i supposed to not make it a big deal when the person i’m in love with is pushing me away?” there, he said it.

“love?” you say, while trying your hardest to keep your tears from falling. “there is no such a thing as love in this world, beomgyu.”

“are you saying my feelings for you are invalid? of course, there is. there’s love everywhere in this world.”

“no, there’s none!” you scream again, “how can you fall in love with someone within, what? two months? that’s unrealistic, beomgyu.”

“you don’t need years to fall in love with someone, y/n. you can be by someone’s side for decades, shares one roof, sits at the same dinner table and sleeps on the same bed for years and years onwards

but if there is no love then there will be no love until the end.” he raises his voice slightly.

you finally let your tears fall as images of your parents cross your mind — of how unhappy they are with each other, of how their eyes never hold any kind of affection for one another. they have been

married for almost two decades now — live under the same roof, eat at the same dinner table, sleep on the same bed, wear the same silver bands around their ring fingers – but the love was never there. it’s never going to be there.

if there is no love then there will be no love until the end.

they are the reason why you’re acting the way you are now.

"i don’t need years to fall in love with you, y/n.” he wipes the tears on your cheek gently, “the moment i saw you that one summer afternoon, i knew i was falling head over heels for you.” he pauses,

searching for your eyes. “i knew that i’m in love with you.”

“tell me, y/n… did i do anything wrong? is it the kiss?” he asks, “i’m sorry i stepped over my boundaries.”

“it’s not the kiss,” you whisper.

“then? what’s bothering you, baby?”

more tears come out of your eyes at the nickname, “this whole thing,” you gesture to him and you, “you know it’s not going to last, right?”

he shakes his head, “no, i know you’re going to back to the city after the break, but we’ll make it work. it’s not even that far. you know people do anything for their loved ones, right?”

you take a deep breath, before wailing loudly, not caring about anything anymore. “you’re not gonna love me anymore after i leave, beomgyu. and i’m not talking about going back to the city. i’m leaving the country soon, to the other side of the world, for four fucking years, choi beomgyu!”

“i’ll wait for you, i promise.”

“no one is that stupid enough to wait for someone for that long. why take the risk of waiting years for someone? what if i suddenly came back with a boyfriend, or a fiancé?”

“you worth all the risk in the world, y/n.”

“why are you making things difficult for me?” you push him off of you before you make a run for the door. you continue running up the hill, tears still spilling out your eyes.

you stop, looking back to where you came running from. he doesn’t come chasing after you.

and a part of you wish that he did.

“is this the last one?” your driver asks as he loads the last of your luggage into the car’s boot.

you nod, thanking him to which he replies with a nod of his head. turning to face your aunt, you take her hand in yours. “thank you for taking care of me in the past two months.”

she smiles, rubbing on the back of your hand with her thumb. “are you sure you don’t want to see him first?”

you shake your head and the woman just nods hers before pulling you into a hug. it’s warm. she has always been warm, ever since the first time she picked you up at the train station. she has treated you

like nothing less than a family member, though you and her are very distant relatives.

“i’ll miss you.”

“i’ll miss you too, honey.” she caresses your hair. “come back soon, hm?”

you nod, moving away from her warm hold. “bye, aunty sue.”

as the car drives past the familiar bakery, you look down to your lap, droplets of tears wetting the thin fabric of your skirt.

and just like that, your temporary happiness ends.

the leaves start to wilt, slowly turning brown as the season transition from summer to autumn. the temperature getting colder and colder as each day passed by. no more scorching sun, no more clear

blue sky, no more children running around by the beach.

he stands on the cliff, overlooking the ocean. nothing much has changed since three years ago — except some parts of the railing has awfully broken down. honestly, he prefers it that way — the town not

changing. the way the town looks boring to an outsider, but actually holds a lot of hidden wonders.

the town holds a lot of dear memories to him. this is the town he has grown up in, the town that taught him all the life lessons that made him the person he is today, the town that brought him a girl

that he could never forget, even in his next life.

he looks over to the sea. if he swims far enough, would he reach the other side of the world? to where you are right now?

three years.

it has been three years since he last heard anything from you. it’s not like he didn’t try reaching out to you, he did, multiple times. he tried calling your phone, only to be greeted with the same bot telling

him that the number is no longer in service. he tried looking up for your social media — facebook, instagram, anything. but nothing ever came up with your name aside from a profile website of your

family, a picture of fifteen years old you under the words ‘daughter of a successful businessman and the uprising fashion designer’. he thought you look adorable in the picture, despite the lack of life in

your eyes.

three years went by and you still haven’t come back.

three years and all he could think about every day is you.

you, you, you.

his friends have been telling him to just let it go, telling him it was just a summer fling, telling him it’s time for him to move on, to go meet new people in college.

but he didn’t. he knows what is worth it in his life — you are worth the wait, the risk, everything.

he tugs his hands inside the pocket of his coat, the air is getting so chilly despite it being only september.

“thought i would find you here,”

he turns his head so fast as he hears the familiar voice, he thought he might get a whiplash from it. but as he stares at the figure standing across from him, he thinks he is experiencing more than a whiplash right now.

there you are, standing five feet apart from him. he roams his eyes over your smiling face, and he wonders how is it possible for someone to be this beautiful. you look different from the last time he

saw you, in a good way.

your hair is slightly shorter compared to three years ago, you have lost the baby fats on your cheeks too, making your cheekbones stand out when you smile, and your eyes, they no longer look like the one he saw on the last day he saw you, or in the picture from the internet. your eyes are filled with life now, sparkling under the grey sky of the autumn morning.

“i went to your mom’s bakery but you weren’t around. figured you would be-…” you didn’t get to finish your sentence as the man takes a long stride towards you before pulling you into his arms.

he holds the back of your head with one hand, pressing your nose against the base of his neck while his other hand is wrapped around your waist.

he still smells the same — a mixture of frangipani blossoms, toasted coconut, and bergamot waters.

even in a different season, he still smells like summer.

you wrap your arms around him, “sorry i took too long.”

shaking his head, he wraps his arm tighter around you figure — afraid that you might suddenly evaporate into thin air, and this is just another night dream of his. “no, thank you for coming back.”

“thank you, too. for waiting for me.”

he pulls you away from his neck, staring deep into your eyes. “i promised i would wait for you, didn’t i?”

you nod, smiling up at him happily. you notice how he had grown few inches since the last time you saw him that one afternoon in the back of his mom’s bakery, from the way your neck is straining so

much looking up at him. his hair is no longer the deep shade of brown anymore, it's ash grey now.

he leans down, tilting his head as he nudges your nose with his — waiting for you to close the distance between his lips and yours, just like what he did that one summer night, in this exact same spot.

and as you finally rest your lips upon his — you think about how choi beomgyu is worth all the risk that you’ve took. the arguments with your parents because they kept opposing the idea of you dating a

nameless boy from a small town, the cramped semesters because you wanted to cut one semester off so you can come back to him a year sooner, the longing and aching feeling for him you got whenever

your friends in university talk about their partners. at the end, there were all worth it.

choi beomgyu is worth it.

you are still a firm believer of love does not exist. it’s hard to get rid of that idea when you’ve been sticking to it almost all of your life. and given that your parents’ eyes still lack of love and affection for

each other even after being married for a whole two decades now, it’s impossible to accept that there is love out there for everyone.

but to you; love exists in a form of a boy whose eyes shine brighter than any stars in the night sky, and that is all that matters to you.

and to choi beomgyu; even under the cloudy and gloomy autumn morning sky, with wilted leaves dancing around in the air with the wind, with the temperature getting colder and colder as day passed

by, it feels like summer to him — because it doesn’t matter where he is, or what season it is, whenever he’s with you, it feels like summer.

#beomgyu imagines #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fic #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu romance #beomgyu angst #beomgyu fanfic #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt fluff #txt romance #txt angst #txt x you #txt x reader #txt x y/n #txt #tomorrow x together #yeonjun #soobin #taehyun #hueningkai #byeomtori

[eccentricgamercl]

So...

Do people actually believe that the relationship between Ezra and Sabine in Ahsoka will still be that same platonic sibling-type dynamic that it was in Rebels? Or does Dave Filoni seriously think that the viewers, especially casual viewers (who in all likelihood have seen little or none of Rebels), will see it that way?

I'm not going to repeat what several of my fellow shippers on this site have already said about Ezra's body language when he says the line, they've already done a better job covering it than I ever could. Not to mention it's been ten years since Ezra made this recording for Sabine and disappeared, and we won't have any way of knowing his current feelings on the matter until after we see him again.

Sabine, on the other hand...hoo, boy, there's a lot to unpack.

Being the celebrated hero she is to those on Lothal, Sabine should have absolutely no problem finding a very comfortable place to reside in the city, which has clearly boomed since the Empire left. Yet she consciously decides to live in Ezra's old place: a grungy old communications tower that was clearly never designed for someone to call it a permanent residence.

She continues to wear his old clothes. And I mean old. I'm not sure what they use to make clothes in the Star Wars universe or if it's more durable than what we use IRL, but you need to be taking good care of your clothes if you expect them to last a long time. Clothes tend to last up to five years or so before they need to be thrown out; Sabine has evidently been taking good care of Ezra's clothes for ten.

She has kept and continues to take care of his old stuff. She's got her own collection of Ezra memorabilia that is, again, at least ten years old with various amounts of wear and tear.

She continues to have dreams/nightmares about him, meaning that he and his actions seen in the finale of Rebels continue to weigh heavily on her mind, even after all this time.

All this is pretty over the top for someone who, at least according to skeptics of this ship, only views Ezra as a brother and nothing more. I understand mourning the loss of a close family member, but if Sabine truly loves Ezra in a strictly platonic manner, she is taking the "platonic" factor to its absolute outermost fringe limits. She is unquestionably obsessed with him.

So, yeah. Biased as I might be, I fail to understand how anyone could view Sabine's behavior regarding Ezra in these first two episodes of Ahsoka and come to the conclusion that these two are just like siblings and that's it. It just straight up baffles me.

#the sabezra shipper that has lived rent-free in my head for the past nine years thanks you for listening to his ramblings #ahsoka show #ahsoka series #star wars #ezra x sabine #sabine x ezra #sabezra #ezrabine

[bradshawsbaby]

Si Vis Amari Ama

VIII. Let the Games Begin

SERIES MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

Pairings: Rooster (Roman Name: Gallus) x Female Reader (Roman Name: Sabina), featuring Hangman (Roman Name: Carnifex) x Phoenix

Summary: A girl whose freedom was stolen to pay her father’s debts. A gladiator enslaved for the entertainment of Rome. A love they never thought possible.

Author’s Note: I apologize that it's taken me so long to update! I've been having a hard time finding the motivation to write as of late, but this story remains very near and dear to my heart and I'm grateful that I've had the inspiration to work on it these past few days. Thank you for bearing with me! I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 13k+

Warnings: Slavery in the ancient world, angst, allusions to unwanted sexual advances, gladiatorial combat, violence, blood, death, slow burn romance, alternating point of view.

He could feel the thunderous roar of the crowd pounding in his skull, a searing pain that pulsed behind his closed eyelids, rivaled only by the throbbing ache in his shoulder. The stamping feet of tens of thousands of spectators shook his bones and thrummed in his bloodstream, the energy of his captive audience rising and growing like a living beast. He could sense it burrowing just beneath the surface of his skin, engulfing his body in flames—the same Roman flames that had stolen his mother away from him and destroyed the only true home he had ever known.

And yet, for all that his body felt as though it was wrapped in fire, he found himself unable to move. Unable to lift the arm that held the sword they’d so foolishly placed in his hand. Unable to open his eyes and gaze upon the crazed, bloodthirsty faces of the people he hated so much. Unable to do anything except succumb to the pounding that vibrated through him, rattling him to his core and robbing him of any shred of peace. But when had he ever known peace?

Swallowing deeply, he realized just how dry his mouth was—drier than the sands of the arena itself. And on his tongue, he could taste nothing more than salt and ashes.

But that pounding. When would it cease? He couldn’t even raise his hands to his ears to block it out, not in his frozen state. When would he be free of it? When would he ever be free?

Just as he felt ready to open his mouth in a silent scream, he suddenly heard a faint sound in the distance, so small and gentle that he could scarcely make it out over the throbbing in his head. But then it came closer, so close that he almost felt it brushing against his cheek in a delicate caress. It was the flutter of dainty wings, like those of a dove.

His little dove.

The longing in his chest at that sweet sound was enough to propel him forward, to unlock him from the invisible chains that kept him bound and let loose the strong limbs that had been held captive in his mind.

“Sabina!” Gallus cried out, sitting up suddenly and reaching out—but grasping nothing.

Blinking painfully against the early morning light that filtered into his cell, he turned his head slowly and let out a grunt of pain at the stiffness in his shoulder.

As he blinked slowly a few more times and shook his head to clear the fog from his mind, Gallus took stock of his surroundings and remembered where he was. He wasn’t in the arena at all, but on the hard packed earthen floor of his cell, where he’d evidently fallen into an unhappy sleep after the overwhelming events of the previous night. Glancing downward, he realized that he was still clutching the carving you’d gifted him in one hand, the oak wood leaving a firm impression against his scarred palm.

And that’s when it all came flooding back—the banquet, the way those filthy men had dared to put their hands on you, Atticus’ threats, the tears you had shed for him. He closed his eyes against the memory of your confusion and pain when he’d thrown you out of this very cell, everything he’d ever wanted slipping through his fingers because it was the only way he knew how to keep you safe.

His own broken heart was a price he was willing to pay to ensure that no harm befell you. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Shuddering, Gallus swallowed deeply and realized he could still taste the salt from his dream. Had it been a dream at all? Or was it just the taste of the fruitless tears he’d shed until exhaustion had finally claimed him sometime before dawn?

Rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders, his ears perked up when he registered the fact that the taste of salt wasn’t the only thing he’d carried over from his dreams. The pounding that had haunted him persisted, though he quickly became aware that it wasn’t the wild stampeding of the crowd, but a fist pummeling his door with single-minded determination.

Groaning under his breath, he felt his bones creak and could hear his joints pop as he slowly rose from the floor, setting the carving down on his small table before gingerly stepping towards the door, apprehensive about who he would find on the other side.

He was only mildly surprised to see an irate Phoenix standing on the threshold of his cell.

“What did you do?” she hissed, shoving one hard finger into his chest as she forced her way into his room without invitation.

Gallus had seen Phoenix this angry before, but it had never been directed at him. It was usually their masters who garnered this much fury from his raven-haired friend. Sighing deeply, he closed the door behind her, quickly glancing from side to side to make sure no one had observed her arrival.

“Phoenix, listen—”

“Don’t you, ‘Phoenix, listen’ me!” she growled, crossing her arms over her chest and planting herself in the center of the room, glaring up at him. She looked immovable, a fierce force of nature the likes of which even a seasoned gladiator might hesitate to go up against. He would be proud of her if it weren’t for the fact that he was also mildly terrified.

“What did you do?” she demanded, repeating her question from when she’d first arrived. “Do you know Sabina came back to the villa in tears last night? I could barely get her to speak at first. I thought for sure something terrible had happened to her, that one of Atticus’ disgusting friends had—” She shook her head, clearly unable to even finish speaking the thought aloud.

Gallus was glad for that, for he suddenly felt bile rising in his throat at the mere thought of any man laying his hands on you against your will. He would kill anyone who tried.

“Phoenix,” he began again, the pitiful remains of his heart breaking at the vision her words conjured up, the idea of your tears too much for him to bear.

“How could you do that to her, Gallus? How?” Phoenix pressed, her cheeks growing red from her mounting frustration. “Do you have any idea how humiliated she is? How ashamed? She said she doesn’t even know how she can return to the ludus again, how she could ever face you after last night. She took a chance, opening herself up to you like that, and you just threw her away. How could you do that?!”

“Phoenix, there are things you don’t understand,” he replied, trying to hide the panic that stirred in his chest at the thought of you never returning to the ludus, of never getting to see you again.

“Then make me understand!” she exploded, lunging forward and shoving at him with both hands, causing him to lose his footing and stumble back a step or two. “Because I know that you care for Sabina, Gallus! I know you, and I know that you have never felt for anybody what you feel for her! So make me understand how you could reject her and break her heart when she offered it to you on a golden platter.” 

Her last words were spoken so quietly, yet seemed to steal all the air out of the room.

“Atticus knows,” Gallus told her flatly, his expression as stoic as ever in an attempt to mask the turmoil that was roiling inside him.

“What?” Phoenix gasped, taking a step back as her mouth fell open in shock, some of the rigidity melting away from her posture.

“He knows what Sabina means to me. You know him, Phoenix. You know what a wily bastard he is,” he went on, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “He figured it out even before the banquet. He tried to offer Sabina to me as a—a concubine,” he confessed, swallowing back the distaste that burned in the back of his throat.

Phoenix’s dark eyes widened, her fingers instinctively curling into fists at the thought of Atticus thinking he could turn you out like some kind of whore. What was worse was knowing that he could, and that he could do the same to her on a whim. Not only would neither of you ever be free, but you would never be safe either, not in the household of Atticus Cornelius Juventus.

“I knew he was testing me. After all this time, Atticus knows that I want nothing to do with the women he tries to force into my bed. But I still fell into his trap anyway. I couldn’t—I couldn’t let him talk about her like that. I couldn’t let him threaten to hurt her,” Gallus murmured, hanging his head in shame that he hadn’t been smart enough to protect you right from the start. “And then last night at the banquet—I couldn’t let those pigs get away with treating her like that. I would do it again, no matter what Atticus did to me.”

“What did Atticus do to you?” Phoenix asked, her voice softer this time as she stepped closer to her oldest friend, reaching up and brushing a gentle hand against the bruise forming just beneath his eye.

He turned his face away, his jaw ticking as Atticus’ words from last night flooded back into his mind. “It doesn’t matter what he did to me. I can take his abuse. He’s not as strong as he likes to think he is,” he muttered, trying not to think about the pain that had exploded beneath his eye when their master’s signet ring had collided with his cheek.

Phoenix was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she stared up at him and waited for him to turn back and meet her eye. “But that wasn’t all he did, was it?” she questioned, already knowing the answer.

Gallus shook his head miserably, taking a deep breath as he stepped away from her and lowered himself down on the edge of his bed, burying his head in his hands. He remained silent, even as the bed dipped beside him and he felt one of Phoenix’s cool, soothing hands come to rest on his back in a comforting fashion.

“Talk to me,” she whispered, feeling the torment that hovered above him like a storm cloud as keenly as a summer rain soaking her skin. “What did Atticus do?”

When he finally lifted his head to look at her, it was with an expression so broken that he didn’t know how he had managed to make it this far without crumbling to pieces on the floor. “He threatened to hurt her, Phoenix. He threatened to hurt Sabina.”

She knew what his response would be before he even uttered the words, but the reality of the situation still slapped her in the face anyway, more brutal than even Aurelia’s abuse. Phoenix bit back the sob she felt rising in her throat, giving Gallus the space he needed to continue speaking.

“He reminded me that she is his property,” he spat out bitterly, digging his fingernails into his thighs and not even registering the pain. “That Sabina is his to do with as he pleases, and that if I ever dare to step out of line again or go against him in any way, he’ll beat her within an inch of her life and make me watch,” he continued, his voice catching despite himself.

“Oh, Gallus!” Phoenix cried out, wrapping her arms around him and hiding her face against his shoulder to try to mask her own tears.

“You would think it couldn’t get any worse than that, but remember that this is Atticus we’re talking about,” he went on, his utter hatred for his master evident in the way he practically snarled his name. “He also threatened to sell Sabina to the nearest brothel he could find.” His voice grew cold as he repeated Atticus’ threat from last night. He would burn Rome herself to the ground before he allowed that to happen to you.

Phoenix let out a soft gasp, horrified at the mere thought of such a cruel fate befalling you. You were too gentle, too good, too pure. You would never survive a punishment such as that.

“So you see? She’s in danger, Phoenix, and it’s all because of me,” he said miserably, the wounds in his heart being torn open anew as he contemplated the truth that his love and affection for you were what had put a target on your back.

“Hey,” Phoenix replied instantly, sliding off his bed and rising to stand in front of him, placing both hands firmly on his shoulders. “Hey, look at me,” she demanded, waiting until Gallus slowly lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. Setting her face like stone, she told him, “Sabina is not in danger because of you. Any danger she may be in is because of Atticus and his sick, twisted mind. Do you hear me?” She shook his shoulders slightly, as if to emphasize her question.

“Atticus would never have set his sights on her if it weren’t for me. He’s doing this to torment me, Phoenix. So it is my fault,” he argued, shrugging her hands off his shoulders irritably and rising as well, pacing around his cell like a caged lion—or a wolf, as you had so aptly described him. “That’s why I need to keep Sabina as far away from me as possible. If there’s nothing between us, then Atticus has no reason to harm her,” he rationalized, trying to convince himself as much as Phoenix.

To his surprise, Phoenix scoffed in response, crossing her arms once more. “Oh, how noble of you.”

He stared at her, taken aback. “Phoenix—”

“So you think that denying Sabina—denying yourself—any scrap of happiness you might possibly be able to cling to in this miserable place is the right thing to do? Breaking her heart and making her believe you care nothing for her is the best course of action?” Her voice started to rise slightly as her temper grew hotter. “You do realize that we’re all slaves, right? We will always be at the mercy of Atticus and Aurelia and their capricious moods! Who’s to say that Atticus wouldn’t find some other reason to torment Sabina that had nothing to do with you? We both know full well that Aurelia takes great pleasure in making her life a misery. What’s to stop her husband from doing the same? But where she might at least have been able to find a moment’s comfort in your arms, now she’s left feeling even more alone than ever before! Did you think of that when you were trying to play the martyr? Did you?”

Gallus turned away from Phoenix’s barrage of words, overcome by the sense in them and not wanting to face it. She was right, and he knew it. It was nothing but foolishness that would have made him believe he had any sort of power to protect you. That was what was so maddening about all of this. No matter what he did, he could never truly ensure your safety. The reality of it was enough to drive him to insanity.

“Why didn’t you tell Sabina the truth?” Phoenix further pressed him, not letting him off the hook and not allowing him a moment to breathe. “She’s not a child, Gallus. You could have explained to her what was really going on. Don’t you trust her?”

“Of course I do!” he exploded, dragging his hands down his face and trembling with the desire to smash his other stool against the wall, the way he had done to its twin last night. “Of course I trust her! But I wanted to protect her! I wanted to shield her from whatever savagery I could. She’s already experienced so much evil. Why cause her any more heartache if I could avoid it? Why make her live in fear every day?”

“But you didn’t let her make that choice for herself! You took it upon yourself to make it for her!” she snapped back. “So what makes you any different than Atticus or any other master she’s ever had?”

His blood ran cold at her words. It was true. What did make him any better than any other man who had claimed you as his property? For as long as you had been enslaved, your life had not been your own. There was no decision that you were free to make for yourself. Save one, perhaps—no one could truly tell you who to love. But Gallus had taken that freedom from you as well. He had denied you the chance to choose him, to decide that you were willing to pursue whatever this thing was between the two of you, no matter the risk. He had determined that he knew better, and he had broken your heart in the process.

How could he ever hope for you to forgive him?

“What have I done?” he groaned, stumbling towards the table pressed up against his wall and spreading his large hands out to catch himself. His head hung low and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if by doing so he could shut out the catastrophe he had created.

“There’s still time to fix it,” Phoenix reassured him, moving beside him and resting a hand on his arm. She paused a moment before saying, “The games begin today.” He didn’t fail to notice the fear in her eyes as she uttered those words. “You need to have a clear head when you’re fighting in the arena. You have to speak to Sabina and make things right with her before you go.”

“She won’t want to see me,” Gallus said quietly, staring at the carving that sat atop the table. Your gift seemed to silently taunt him, to remind him of all that could have been his, had he not so foolishly thrown it all away. He wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see him again. He had hurt you badly. He had never deserved you to begin with. “You said it yourself, she doesn’t ever want to step foot in the ludus again.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to Sabina,” Phoenix insisted, looking newly determined. “I’ll make sure she gets here before you all leave for the games. Just make sure you tell her the truth.”

As she spun around to leave, her dark braid nearly whipping him in the face, Gallus reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could go. “Phoenix?”

She turned to look up at him expectantly.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, squeezing her hand. He had never been very good at voicing his feelings aloud or expressing himself, but he hoped she knew how much he treasured her friendship, and all the ways he was grateful for her.

As if reading his thoughts, Phoenix beamed up at him. “Hey, what are friends for?”

Before he could stop her a second time, she was out the door in a flash, looking eager as ever to complete this new mission she’d assigned herself. He knew that if Phoenix had set her mind to bringing you here, she would find a way to make it happen. But the thought filled him with nerves greater than those that normally assailed him on the day of an appearance in the Colosseum.

What would he say to you? How could he make you understand? Would you even want to listen to him? Would you want anything to do with him after how he had treated you last night?

Knowing it was a poor idea to just pace in his cell for hours, awaiting your arrival, he dropped down to the ground and began a series of push-ups, trying to clear his mind of everything beyond his impending fight this afternoon. After all, it wouldn’t matter much if you forgave him if he was dead before sundown.

Gritting his teeth, sweat pouring off his face, Gallus pulsed his strong body up and down, up and down, up and down, your face the only thing he could conjure up in his mind’s eye.

You couldn’t believe Phoenix had convinced you to do this.

All of last night, and well into the early hours of the morning, your eyes had poured out an ocean of sorrow, your heart aching with the pain and humiliation of Gallus’ rejection. You’d hardly slept at all, and it showed in your puffy, red-rimmed gaze.

You hadn’t gone to Gallus’ cell last night with the intention of throwing yourself into his arms like some lovesick puppy. You truly had been afraid for him when Atticus dragged him out of the banquet after the scene he’d made, and you just wanted to check on him and make sure he was safe. But there was something about the way he held you, the roughness of his demeanor belying the gentleness of his fingers as he brushed away your tears. And when he ran that calloused thumb across your lips, you thought you might truly melt into a puddle at his feet. There was something in his eyes, something in his touch, something in the way the very air between the two of you crackled with the heat of a summer storm. You had been so sure that he felt it, too, that thing that existed between the two of you that you could not name. So you’d taken a chance and opened yourself up to him in a way you had never done before. Everything you had to offer—your mind, your body, your heart—they were all his for the taking.

But you were wrong. Gallus didn’t want you. That’s why he’d told you to leave. He was probably embarrassed for you, the mousy little slave girl who thought Rome’s champion would actually want her. He could have any woman he wanted—the most beautiful courtesans in Rome would fall at his feet. What would he want with you?

That’s why you hadn’t argued or tried to plead your case when he’d tossed you out of his cell last night. Attempting to piece together the shredded remains of your dignity, you’d simply turned and fled into the night, barely making it out of the ludus before the tears started to fall.

Phoenix had been out of her mind with worry when you finally returned to the female slave quarters, her dark eyes wild with fright when she caught sight of your disheveled, hysterical state. It took a few moments and several deep breaths before you were finally able to assure her that none of Atticus’ guests had accosted you. But when you eventually were able to explain to her the real cause of your tears, embarrassment and shame tingeing every word you whispered, her worry turned to shock, which was quickly replaced by anger.

“He’s an idiot!” she seethed, wrapping her arms around you and stroking your back as you continued to cry. “I’ll talk some sense into him.”

“Phoenix, no!” you gasped, practically choking on your tears as you tried to keep your voice down. “That will only be even more humiliating! He doesn’t want me, don’t you see? We’ll just leave it at that. Oh, but how am I ever supposed to return to the ludus after this?” you whimpered, covering your face with your hands. “I’m so ashamed!”

“You have nothing to be ashamed about,” Phoenix told you sternly, pulling your hands away from your face. “I’m the one who should be ashamed for calling such a fool my friend. There has to be an explanation for his behavior, Sabina. Trust me,” she said, brushing your tears away with her fingertips.

Not wanting to prolong the conversation, you just curled up on your sleeping mat and closed your eyes, although the tears just kept spilling down your cheeks until you could taste the salt at the corners of your mouth.

You must have slept a little bit, because when you awoke just as the first hints of dawn were beginning to break through the small window in your quarters, you rolled over and found that Phoenix was already up and gone. Your stomach sank sharply. You truly hoped she wasn’t off to talk to Gallus as she had threatened.

With the villa already a flurry of activity, you didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Rising and dressing quickly, you grabbed a piece of stale bread from the kitchen before you set about cleaning up the evidence of your masters’ disastrous banquet. Most guests hadn’t left until the early hours of the morning, and in the bright light of day, it became apparent just how much carousing and revelry had gone on the night before.

Atticus and Aurelia seemed to be sleeping off their hangovers, which at least meant that you and the other household slaves could go about your chores in peace, for a few hours anyway. You spent most of the early morning helping clean the gardens, which had apparently been the chosen destination for more than a few rendezvous last night. By the time Phoenix found you, you were on your hands and knees, scrubbing the mosaic tiles of the fountain Dominus had just installed a month ago. It was of the Roman hero Hercules, and you suddenly found yourself unable to look at it. Just a few weeks earlier, you had smiled to yourself, thinking how much it resembled Gallus.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” Phoenix exclaimed, dropping down to her knees beside you and grabbing a spare rag so that she could help you.

“It’s been a busy morning,” you murmured softly, turning your face slightly to try to hide your puffy eyes from your friend.

Phoenix, however, was no fool. Reaching out, she rested one hand on your shoulder and waited until you finally looked at her. “I spoke to Gallus.”

“Phoenix!”

“I had to! If nothing else, he deserved a good tongue lashing for the way he treated you last night,” she replied stubbornly, returning to her task and scrubbing at a particularly pesky stain.

When she said nothing else, your curiosity got the best of you and you bit your tongue before asking, “And? What happened?”

“Ah, so you do care,” Phoenix winked, her eyes twinkling as she nudged you teasingly.

“Phoenix!”

“Alright, alright,” she said, throwing up her hands in surrender. “As I suspected, he had his reasons for doing what he did last night. I don’t necessarily agree with them, and I told him so, but I promise you that his intentions were good.”

Your stomach fluttered at her words, but you tamped down foolish hope before it had a chance to grow wings.

“What were they?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though you both knew you were anything but.

Phoenix shook her head, which caused your pulse to quicken nervously. “He has to be the one to tell you that, Sabina. He assured me that he would.”

“But, Phoenix!” you argued, running a clammy hand down your face. “I—I can’t! I can’t go back there and face him, not after everything—”

“Sabina,” Phoenix interrupted, pulling your hand away from your face and squeezing it tightly. “He’s going to be leaving in a few hours for the Colosseum. This may very well be—well—you don’t know what the Fates have in store,” she said, her voice much more subdued and her expression suddenly downcast. “You don’t want to have any regrets that you didn’t set things right between the two of you before he goes. Trust me. Just go talk to him. Please.”

As terrified as you were about the prospect of facing Gallus again after all that had transpired, you were even more terrified at the prospect of letting him leave without saying goodbye, knowing that it was possible you would never set eyes on him again in the land of the living. The thought alone made you feel ill.

So that was how, once the gardens and the fountains were cleaned, you had somehow ended up trailing behind Phoenix on your way to the ludus once more.

Neither of you spoke as you walked behind your friend, nervously twisting your sweaty palms in the folds of your tunic. You hadn’t felt this afraid to enter the gladiator training grounds since that first day that Titus had asked you to assist him. The day you met Gallus for the first time.

As you came closer to the training arenas, you realized that the ludus was a hive of activity. With it being the first day of the summer games, everyone was in a frantic rush to get everything ready for the transport to the Colosseum. You and Phoenix were able to slip by most of the men without attracting any sort of attention.

That was, anyway, until you began to approach the Pugiones’ training grounds.

“Ladies! Come to wish us luck?” Caius called out, grinning broadly as he flexed his muscles just for show. “Apollo already beat you to it,” he added with a chuckle, indicating the little orange cat who was currently rubbing up against his ankle.

He was standing with Pollux and Felix, but the other Pugiones were nowhere in sight.

“Of course,” Phoenix grinned in return, taking your hand as she pulled you over to where your friends were standing. “We couldn’t let you leave without wishing you all the best.”

“Are you alright, Sabina?” Felix asked in concern, noting the wan expression on your face despite your best attempts to mask it.

Caius and Pollux both turned in your direction, looking equally concerned.

They were off to put their lives on the line in the Colosseum and they were worried about you? The thought alone was enough to make you want to curl up and weep. But you didn’t. Instead, you straightened your spine and forced what you hoped was a calm and reassuring smile onto your face.

“Of course,” you fibbed, nodding your head slowly. “Just a bit tired after last night. I’ve never served at a banquet quite like that before.” It wasn’t totally a lie.

“Don’t remind us,” Pollux sighed, rolling his eyes skyward. “Of course Atticus couldn’t let the evening pass without trying to put on a show. But it looks like Gallus bested him at his own game,” he added, the men sharing pointed looks with one another before turning back to you and Phoenix.

“I’ve never seen him lose control like that before. At least, not outside of the arena,” Felix said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry before either.” He shot you a sideways glance before continuing, “I heard him last night, in his room. It sounded like he was trying to turn every piece of furniture he owns into firewood.”

Caius and Pollux grimaced, but said nothing.

His words instantly caught your attention, however. All of Gallus’ furniture had been perfectly intact when you arrived at his cell last night. Had he started destroying things after you left? But if so, why?

Phoenix glanced at you knowingly before reaching down to scratch Apollo behind the ears. “See? He knew enough to come back to wish you boys luck before you leave. Not that you’ll need it. You’re the best of the best. You always come home.”

Her words hung in the air as the five of you looked at one another, no one wanting to admit out loud that it was a very real possibility that someone—maybe more than one someone—wouldn’t be coming home tonight.

“You’re all going to be great,” she went on, clearing her throat as if to dislodge the emotion that had suddenly wedged itself there. “The people love you. Give them a show, and then come back in one piece, will you?” Avoiding eye contact, she quickly wrapped each of them in a hug before stepping back.

“Good luck, boys,” you told them, not trusting yourself to say much more for fear that you would break down crying. Following Phoenix’s lead, you gave each of them a hug before stepping back and quickly wiping away a traitorous tear at the corner of your eye.

Caius, Pollux, and Felix all cleared their throats as well, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Well, we’d better finish getting ourselves prepared. We’ll see you both tonight,” Pollux told you, emphasizing his last statement to let you both know that none of them had any intentions of losing today.

As the trio walked away, Phoenix sighed softly and turned to look at you. She bit her lip, glancing over both shoulders before whispering, “I’m going to try to say goodbye to Carnifex. I’ll meet you back here, okay?”

You simply nodded in response, for your mouth suddenly felt as dry as sand. You glanced over your friend’s shoulder in the direction of Gallus’ cell, but your feet felt rooted to the ground.

“Hey,” Phoenix murmured gently, reaching out to take hold of both your hands. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.” She gave you one last squeeze of reassurance before nudging you in the direction of Gallus’ room, her own path diverging as she headed towards Carnifex’s.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to put one foot in front of the other, your body moving as if of its own accord until you were finally standing outside of the cell that you had run from not very many hours before. Your stomach flopped anxiously as you lifted a hand to knock, hurt and humiliation and fear and worry all roiling together inside you like the stew that Alba was always stirring over the hearth fire. Before you could think better of it, you rapped a couple times on the door, pulling your hand back as though it had burned you.

It seemed to take an eternity, and you were about ready to turn and flee once more when the door suddenly swung open and you were standing face to face with the man who had stolen your heart, much as he evidently would have preferred not to.

Just as it had the night before, the air between you seemed to crackle like Jupiter’s thunderbolts. Your breath got caught in your throat as you gazed up at this giant of a man who made it so difficult to think straight whenever he was near. He looked dressed for battle, and you realized you had never before seen him in his full regalia for a bout in the Colosseum. With his leg greaves, armguard, and protective belt, and his shoulder-length hair tied back from his face, he looked every inch the mighty Hercules, ready to slay the Nemean lion.

You were embarrassed to realize you were staring, mouth slightly agape, but that was when it dawned on you that he was staring, too. His dark eyes, which looked almost golden in the midmorning light, were wide as he gazed down at you, one of his large hands, which had cradled you so tenderly last night, gripping the door frame as if for dear life, his scarred knuckles turning white from the effort.

Your heart skipped a few beats when it struck you that you had no idea what to say to him. In all the time you had been growing closer to him, that had never been a problem, but now your brain couldn’t think of one logical or reasonable thing to say. The only thing that came out of your mouth was a small and hesitant, “Hi.”

It seemed as though he had been holding his breath, for he suddenly let out a long sigh, his chest heaving slightly as he continued to look at you. “Hi,” he rasped, lowering his hand to his side. That was when you noticed the bruises and cuts that you were fairly certain hadn’t been there the day before, and were once again reminded of Felix’s words.

Not knowing what else to do, you looked back up at his face and said, “Phoenix said that I should come talk to you.”

Was it your imagination or did he deflate slightly, his shoulders stooping somewhat as he nodded in response? Had he been hoping you would come see him of your own accord?

“Yes, of course. I know how persuasive she can be,” he replied, one corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smile as he attempted to lighten the mood. When he saw that your expression didn’t change, however, his smile fell. “Would you like to come in?”

You hesitated, not confident you had it in you to cross that threshold again.

“Please, Sabina,” he begged earnestly, leaning towards you, but then thinking better of it and stepping back again. “There’s no excuse for how I treated you last night. For what I did. But I’d like to try to explain it to you. I don’t want to lose—to lose you. Please?”

Something in his voice, in the genuineness of his expression, compelled you, and you nodded, stepping into his room and glancing around slowly as he closed the door behind you.

In the corner of the room was a mound of broken bits of wood that had been swept together in one neat pile. Your eyes flickered towards the table where you and Gallus had often passed a meal together, and your mind registered the fact that there was now only one stool residing beneath it. But there, at the center of the table, sat the small carving that you had bought him in the Forum—the wolf and the dove. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Turning, you found that Gallus’ tormented eyes were fixed on you, his gaze flicking quickly towards the carving before landing back on you once more.

“Sabina,” Gallus began slowly, his voice thick and heavy, draping around you like a blanket in the tight confines of his cell. It had never felt as small as it did at that moment.

“I’m sorry, Gallus,” you interjected, unable to bear the awkwardness any longer. “I’m sorry about last night. I presumed too much, and you were right to turn me away. We don’t need to speak about it again, and I promise that I will remember my place from now on.”

He let out a loud breath in the silence that followed, as if he had just been punched in the gut. “You’re—what? You’re sorry?” he repeated incredulously, his eyes going wide once again. It took him a moment to fully process your words, but then he was shaking his head and stepping closer to you. “Sabina, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. I’m the one who needs to be apologizing to you. I treated you abominably last night. I hurt you, even though that is truly the last thing on earth I ever wanted to do.” 

With each statement, he drew closer to you, but you could tell his movements were slow and intentional. He didn’t want you to feel caged. He made sure there was space for you to move away from him, if you so chose. But you made the choice to remain rooted in place as he approached. 

“I didn’t want to turn you away,” he confessed quietly, just a handbreadth away from you now. Your breath intermingled as he angled his face downward, capturing your gaze with his own. He lifted one hand, painfully slow, and ghosted it against your cheek as he whispered, his voice husky, “And you presumed nothing.”

Your heart began racing at his words, at his touch, at the nearness of him. It felt as though your body was physically aching with need for him, but you were frozen. This was almost the same situation you had been in last night, but it had ended so disastrously then.

“Why?” you breathed out, your hands tentatively reaching out to rest against his bare chest. You could feel his body go taut beneath your palms, his throat tightening as he stared at you. “Why did you make me leave if you didn’t want me to?”

You wanted so desperately to understand.

“Sabina,” he said your name again, so reverently it almost sounded like the prayers of the priests as they made their offerings to the gods. “There—there’s so much I want to tell you. There’s so much I need you to understand,” he told you, looking like a desperate man as he cradled your face in his hands, his forehead coming to rest against yours.

“I want to understand, Gallus,” you whispered in return, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of his skin. You wanted to commit it to memory forever. “Please, whatever it is, just tell me. Help me understand,” you pleaded.

“You have to know—”

His words were suddenly interrupted by the sharp blare of a horn blasting outside.

Startled, the both of you turned towards the door, Gallus still holding your face between his hands. His gaze darkened as he glared forward.

“It’s time for us to go,” he stated, a sense of defeat in his tone as he turned back to you. “Atticus can’t catch you in here,” he added, a strain of something else—fear?—marking his words.

“Gallus, please, talk to me. Tell me, whatever it is,” you begged, tears stinging your eyes at the thought of having to say goodbye to him now, with so much still left unsaid between you.

“There’s no time,” Gallus murmured regretfully, sounding near tears himself. He caressed your cheek lightly as he leaned in, your foreheads touching as they had before. “We’ll talk…when I get back. I promise.”

“Come back,” you begged, taking one of his large hands between both of your own and squeezing tightly. “Please come back to me.”

“I will always come back for you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Go, now, before anyone sees. I’ll see you tonight. I promise.”

“Goodbye, Gallus,” you breathed out, wrapping him in a tight embrace before tearing yourself away and making for the door.

You were nearly out of hearing range when the words, “Goodbye, little dove,” floated past your ears.

Fighting hard not to break down weeping, you ran to find Phoenix.

Phoenix was finding it shockingly difficult to keep from weeping herself as she stood in the center of Carnifex’s cell, wrapped in her lover’s embrace as the two of them silently held one another.

She hadn’t intended to stay long. She had only wanted to wish him luck and say a quick farewell before the men were trundled off to the Colosseum, but Carnifex had other plans.

“There you are,” he’d murmured when she slipped into his cell, rising from the edge of his bed and wasting no time in taking her into his arms, his kiss as hungry as it always was—even more so, perhaps.

“There isn’t time,” she had scolded him, slapping his hands away as he began fumbling with the ties of her tunic. “And besides, that isn’t how you should be spending your energy right now.”

“Ah, and are you my lanista now?” he teased, honoring her wishes and opting for running his fingers through her hair instead. She’d worn it loose to come see him, knowing how much he loved to play with her long, dark locks.

“I should be, considering I seem to know just the way to tame you, stubborn beast that you are,” she smirked, wrapping her arms around his muscular shoulders and kissing him again. “I can’t stay long,” she added a moment later, lowering her feet to the floor and releasing him from her hold. “I just came to say—”

“Don’t leave yet,” Carnifex interrupted, his tone urgent, desperate even. “Please. Stay. Just for a few moments longer.”

“Carnifex,” Phoenix murmured, biting her lower lip as she glanced over her shoulder. “If anyone catches me in here…”

“Let them catch you!” His words burst forth as impetuously as a child’s.

This man. He would be the death of her.

“How could you say something like that?” she demanded hotly, her frustration matched only by her infuriating affection for this impossible gladiator. Forcing a calming breath out of her lungs, she moved closer to him and took his face between her hands, looking deeply into eyes so green, they reminded her of the seafoam back home. “You know what would happen if we were found out. What Aurelia and Atticus are capable of. Do not tempt them, or the gods, with your arrogance.”

“I would defy all the gods for just a few more moments with you,” he insisted, his hands coming to rest on her hips as he drew her in closer and pressed hot kisses to her neck.

“Then you are a fool!” she snapped, angrily pushing him away and turning her back on him. “I knew this was a mistake!”

He was silent behind her, and regret filled her veins at the harshness of her tone.

“Carnifex,” she murmured, spinning back to face him once more. Her heart was pierced by the look of hurt on his face, the look that he did nothing to try to mask.

Stepping closer to her, until they were no more than a breath apart, Carnifex stared down at her, his expression inscrutable as his light eyes bore into her dark ones.

“Would you miss me?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.

“What?” she asked, shaking her head and trying to back away from him. “Stop it.”

“Answer the question, Phoenix,” he demanded, matching her step for step. “Would you miss me? Do you care what happens to me in the arena?”

“What kind of question is that?” she huffed, growing more frazzled by the second. She had just come to wish him luck and to see him off. What was all this?

“A question you still haven’t answered,” he shot back pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing to stare her down. “Well?”

“Of course I do!” Phoenix exploded, running her fingers through her hair like a madwoman. “How could you even ask me that? Why do you think I’m here?!”

“Why are you here, Phoenix?” Carnifex pressed, arching a brow coolly.

“Because I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye! Is that what you want to hear?” she practically shouted, for once not caring who heard them. “Because my heart is breaking at the thought of you walking through those gates and never returning, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I let you go without seeing you one last time!” Her chest was heaving as she battled the force of her own emotions, wanting to both claw and kiss him at the same time.

Carnifex made that decision for her, easily closing the gap between them as he lifted her into his arms and engulfed her in a kiss so hungry, so forceful, so tender that for a moment, she lost all sense of time and space.

Burying her fingers in his hair and wrapping her legs around his waist, she kissed him back with equal fervor, the two of them devouring one another as if it was their last meal on earth.

“Phoenix,” he groaned against her lips, gripping her body tightly and molding it to his. “Oh, Phoenix.” He never wanted to forget the feeling of her pressed against him.

There were no more words left to say as she silently slid back to the floor, her arms still wrapped tightly around him while he buried his face in her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, that hair that forever reminded him of ravens and the darkness of night.

They held each other like that for what could have been minutes or hours. Neither of them were quite sure. But when the blast of the horn signaling the men’s departure broke through the shield of their private haven, they slowly broke apart, their eyes trained on each other’s faces.

“Just come back, you hear me?” she told him, forcing herself to maintain a stiff upper lip. “Preferably in one piece so that Titus and I don’t have to spend all night stitching you back together.”

Carnifex couldn’t help but chuckle at that. No one could accuse his Phoenix of being a soft woman.

His Phoenix. When exactly had she become his Phoenix? Was she really his?

“I’ll come back. I always do,” he assured her with a wink, giving her one last kiss before walking towards the door. He told himself that he could leave without looking back, but his head turned of its own accord when he reached the threshold.

He would carry the image of her, standing with that raven hair loose and wild about her shoulders, with him into battle today and all the days of his life.

Once he was gone, Phoenix waited a few moments before slipping out of his cell, each step she took feeling more painful than the last as she fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

She didn’t have to go far before she found you hidden behind a lavender bush near the break between the ludus and the villa, wiping tears off your cheeks and making a brave effort to compose yourself.

“Oh, my sweet friend,” she murmured in understanding, sitting down on the ground beside you and wrapping you in her arms. “They’re going to come back,” she promised. “They will.”

Even as she said the words, she knew they rang hollow. What did she know? How could she make such promises?

She couldn’t.

Like you, all Phoenix could do was sit and watch as the men were loaded up and carted away, being shipped off to an uncertain fate in which the odds were most certainly not stacked in their favor.

Swallowing back the bitterness and the fear that threatened to consume her, she clung to you and whispered over and over again, “They’re coming back.”

The insatiable roar of the crowd pounded in his head, rattling his bones and beating like a drum in his bloodstream.

This time, however, it wasn’t a dream.

They roared his name, those bloodthirsty Romans who hadn’t been satiated by the hours upon hours of beast hunts, public executions, and brutal gladiator matches they’d already witnessed.

Nothing would ever satisfy them, Gallus realized. No matter how this match ended today, they’d still come back tomorrow, braying for more blood to be spilled across the sands of the arena. They were the most soulless people he had ever encountered. There was nothing honorable about death in the Colosseum, about men who were stripped of all means of protection and devoured by feral lions and tigers, about prisoners of war shrieking for mercy as they were hacked to pieces or torn limb from limb, about slaves who were pitted against one another and forced to kill just for the chance to see another day, when they’d be forced to do it all over again. And all for the entertainment of the thousands of people who surrounded him now, their ugly faces red and puckered as they screamed for violence and bloodshed.

The Romans called his people the barbarians, but he had never known a more barbaric people in his life.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, making it even harder to see beneath the bronze helmet that hindered his peripheral vision. As the pounding in his head intensified, Gallus gripped his sword all the tighter, holding it out before him in a defensive gesture as he subtly adjusted his hold on the shield he carried.

His was the very last match of the day, the grand finale to wrap up the inaugural day of the summer games. He had spent all afternoon in agony, thinking of you and worrying about the fate of his friends. As the day wore on and he watched Caius, Pollux, Felix, and Carnifex each walk through the Door of Victory one by one, he was able to breathe a little easier. But it didn’t change the anxiety he felt about his own bout. Magnus had informed him upon their arrival that he had been paired to fight against Aengus, a Gallic gladiator who was thus far undefeated and growing in popularity.

There was once a time in his life when it didn’t matter to him who he was paired against. He cared very little whether he lived or died, so it mattered very little to him what his odds were of defeating his opponent. But now, for the first time, Gallus wanted very much to live. He wanted to leave the arena through the Door of Victory. If he didn’t, he would never get to see you again. And that was not an option.

Aengus had proven to be an admirable opponent indeed. The two of them had been battling for close to thirty minutes, with neither side making much headway. Domitian and all his sniveling cronies didn’t seem to mind, not so long as the gladiators they had paid for put on a good show. For it was only when the people grew bored that the emperor’s good will evaporated.

And there was nothing more dangerous for a gladiator than a foul-tempered emperor.

But Gallus and Aengus had been living up to their reputations as undefeated champions, prowling about one another in a dangerous dance as they lunged and parried, nicking flesh and targeting weak points, but never quite succeeding in bringing the other to his knees.

The deafening screams of the crowd smothered the heavy breathing of the two men fighting for their lives upon sand that had already devoured the blood and mangled flesh of countless beasts and men alike that day. The thought struck Gallus as he circled his enemy—no, not his enemy, just the man they would force him to kill if he ever had any hope of seeing you again—that this stadium had seen more brutality and death than many a battlefield.

And many of the men who had fallen here had fallen at his hands.

He could hear people shrieking his name, goading him on to victory and demanding that he finish his opponent off. His opponent—a man who, like him, had no say in becoming a murderer for sport. A man whose only crime was trying to stay alive.

He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t. Not now. He couldn’t look at Aengus and see the humanity in him. For if he did that, it would all be over. He might as well fold now and offer his throat up to the other man’s blade. He needed to be ruthless, to cut this enemy down with single-minded focus and determination. It was the only way.

He needed to do whatever it took to get back to you. He had promised he would always come back for you, and he wouldn’t break that vow.

Fueled by the need to get home to you—to explain everything to you as he had promised and make you understand—Gallus’ strength was suddenly renewed and he pounced at Aengus, bringing his sword down against the other man’s shield so roughly that he felt the force of it vibrating up his arm.

The people went wild, but he ignored them all. This wasn’t for them.

Aengus had taken a fair number of shots at him during the match, and his body was hurting, but as he observed his opponent carefully through slitted eyes, he realized that the Gallic gladiator was suffering more than he had initially thought. Though he masked it well, Aengus was favoring his left side and his chest was heaving erratically, indicating that his breathing was growing more labored as the match went on.

“Come on, barbarian!” Aengus called out tauntingly, waving his sword in the air, almost a bit impatiently. “Let’s finish this!”

Crouching down into an attack position, Gallus took his time, circling the other man slowly, his eyes never leaving his face. Perhaps this was what he needed. He could wait the other man out, draw on his impatience and force him to react impulsively. For in the arena, impulsivity often meant fatal mistakes.

The spectators were growing restless, buzzing with the need to see more blood spilled before they packed up and went home for the day. Their cries were growing manic, their feet and fists pounding as they howled for death.

Gallus thought only of you, and he waited.

His patience was finally rewarded as, growing frustrated by the lack of action, Aengus rushed at him, sword raised high even as his shield arm hung dangerously low. He let out a loud cry—what must have been the battle cry of his people—as he leapt at Gallus.

This was Gallus’ chance and he had to take it. He had spotted the chink in Aengus’ armor as they’d been circling one another, but he needed just the right moment to take advantage of it. And now, with the other man’s shield arm weakened, that moment had arrived. As Aengus ran at him, Gallus waited until the final second to lift his sword and plunge it into his opponent’s shoulder, severing bone and muscle as he did so.

Aengus roared in pain as he collapsed to his knees, somehow managing to remain upright even as Gallus pulled his sword out of his shoulder, soaked in the Gallic gladiator’s blood.

The crowd’s reaction reached a fever pitch, the people screaming for Gallus to finish him off, this undefeated champion who they had once cheered for.

He had never known a people so fickle as the Romans.

Gallus didn’t even look up at the emperor’s box, though at this point he knew Domitian must have been giving the people what they wanted and indicating the sign for death with his thumb.

It was time to finish this.

As he raised his sword, Aengus raised his head and met his eyes from behind his own helmet. “Do it,” he said stoically, staring death in the face without a hint of fear.

Swallowing, Gallus raised his sword and pointed it at Aengus’ exposed throat. The Romans loved a drawn out, torturous demise, but he knew he could end this man’s suffering in one fell swoop.

“You would be doing me a favor,” Aengus chuckled, tossing his own sword down onto the sand at Gallus’ feet. Pain flashed in his eyes as he told him, “I can be with my Clodagh again.”

Respect for this man flooded every fiber of Gallus’ being. He had fought well. He had fought nobly. And he was willing to face death like a true warrior. He had made his people proud.

“May your Clodagh be there to greet you,” Gallus murmured, thrusting his sword forward and turning away as the light went out of Aengus’ eyes.

Jaw tightening, he threw his helmet down to the ground and stormed towards the Door of Victory, refusing to meet the eye of the emperor or any of the tens of thousands who cheered his name and showered flowers and gifts down upon him.

He had lived to see another day, but as always, it was at the cost of another man’s life. This time, it was a man who had willingly succumbed to death so that he could be with his love again.

Your face, your beautiful, precious face, was the only thing on Gallus’ mind as he stalked down the tunnel towards where Magnus and the other Pugiones were waiting for him, clapping him on the back and welcoming his return.

They didn’t cheer him. They knew, as he did, that there was nothing to cheer for, much as the Romans may have disagreed. There was nothing but silent acknowledgement among all of them that they had lived once more, that the gods had not yet seen fit to cut their chords of life, and that they would be returning home together.

Home.

Gallus had never considered the household of Atticus Cornelius Juventus to be home. He had never considered anywhere to be home after he was dragged away from the rolling hills of Britannia.

But as he climbed into the cart that would carry him in chains back to the villa of his master, he thought of you and for the first time since he’d stepped foot in Rome, he knew that he was going home.

All afternoon, you and Phoenix had been working side by side in silence, sick with worry and fruitlessly trying to avoid thinking of all that could be happening at the Colosseum.

Apollo, sweet creature that he was, seemed to sense your anxiety and kept curling up in your laps or against your sides as the two of you scrubbed the training weapons and washed and hung the laundry in the ludus.

At least Aurelia had gone to the games with Atticus, so you were left to work in relative peace.

You couldn’t eat, couldn’t speak, couldn’t concentrate or think straight. All you could do was wonder what it was that Gallus had wanted to tell you, and pray to every god you could think of that he would return safe and unharmed. The gods had never seemed to hear or care about your prayers, but you begged them all the same. It was the only thing you could think to do. You were powerless to do anything else.

The sun was well past its zenith and beginning to sink lower in the sky when Titus suddenly appeared, as if out of nowhere. He was panting slightly and running a hand through his thinning hair.

“They’re coming,” he told you and Phoenix, the both of you freezing in place. “I’ll need your help.”

He said nothing more as he turned on his heel and rushed back to the main gate of the ludus, which was opening now to welcome back the gladiators who had returned victorious.

You and Phoenix turned to look at each other, reaching out and squeezing each other’s hands, exchanging silent words of comfort and assurance before you hurried after the medicus.

Holding your breath, you stood silently and watched as the men filed back into the ludus one by one, appearing varying levels of exhausted and traumatized. Some were worse off than others, and you knew that Titus was already performing triage in his mind, determining who needed care more urgently, and who could wait a while longer. Your eyes flickered across each man’s face, taking in the newer gladiators your master had purchased, the ones who fought in the early afternoon as a sort of warm-up for the main events.

With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you realized that two men you had tended to recently, men who really couldn’t have been more than boys, were not among those who had returned. You blinked back tears and felt your throat constrict.

For the first time, you truly understood why Titus had warned you not to bother learning their names.

Phoenix reached out and grabbed onto your arm, her short fingernails digging into your skin as the newer recruits finished filing into the ludus, making way for the champions.

Felix was the first to emerge from the cart, followed quickly by Pollux and Caius. Your heart leapt with relief at the sight of your friend’s faces, but sank again when you did not immediately catch sight of Carnifex or Gallus.

You could tell that, like you, Phoenix was no longer breathing as the two of you stood waiting for what felt like an eternity, your eyes growing wide.

Just when you were certain your friend was going to unintentionally break your arm, Carnifex suddenly appeared, looking a bit tired, but altogether well. Phoenix let out a strangled breath beside you, easing her grip on your arm, but not letting go.

Your heart was hammering painfully inside your chest as you waited for him to appear. He had to be there. He had to be with them. The rest of the Pugiones had survived, and he was the very best of them. You felt hysteria bubbling up inside you, threatening to consume you, when all at once, there he was.

There he was.

He looked bone-tired, his strong body littered with superficial cuts and bruises, but he was alive. He was alive! He had come back, just as he promised.

It took everything in you to resist the urge to run to him and fling yourself into his arms. You wanted nothing more than to hold him, to see for yourself that he was truly whole and well. 

You could tell that Phoenix was resisting that same urge as she bounced restlessly beside you, her eyes never leaving Carnifex’s face. He looked across the training grounds at her, and you swore you could have started a fire with the look that smoldered between them.

Cheeks growing warm, you turned away from the shockingly intimate moment and sought out the man who had captured your own heart. As your gaze roamed across the grounds, you were drawn instantly to him, like a moth to a flame. Your eyes landed on his handsome face, and you were somehow unsurprised to find that he was already looking at you.

Your heart grew wings, fluttering inside you as if it wanted to escape your chest.

The moment between you was broken, however, when Titus called out, “Girls, come! I need you!”

You had never considered yourself an impatient person, but the next few hours were torment for you as Titus put you and Phoenix to work, helping him tend to the worst of the men’s injuries. Unsurprisingly, the Pugiones had suffered minimal injuries which had mostly been dealt with at the Colosseum. They were sent to their cells with express orders to rest almost as soon as the medicus laid eyes on them. But you and Phoenix had to spend the majority of the evening cleaning and stitching deep wounds, setting broken fingers, and assessing the amount of internal injuries potentially impacting the greenest of Atticus’ gladiators.

By the time all was said and done, and Titus had dismissed you, you still had to return to the villa to avoid raising suspicion. Thankfully, Atticus and Aurelia were dining at the home of a wealthy acquaintance, which meant that you and Phoenix could quickly scarf down some dinner in the kitchen before slowly making your way back to the ludus.

It was startlingly quiet as you returned to the gladiator school. You didn’t think you had ever seen the grounds so abandoned, or heard such silence.

As you and Phoenix approached the men’s cells, she reached out to take your hand, smiling a bit impishly. “I’ll probably be a while tonight,” she admitted, not a hint of shame in her expression. “And I hope you will, too,” she added with a wink.

“Phoenix,” you mumbled in embarrassment, lowering your head as you felt your skin grow warm.

She laughed softly, wrapping you in a tight hug before turning towards Carnifex’s cell. “Good luck,” she whispered, disappearing in the blink of an eye. You had never known anyone as stealthy as your friend.

Taking a deep, calming breath, you ignored the fact that your hands and knees were trembling as you walked towards Gallus’ cell, seeing the tiny flicker of a flame glowing through his small window.

You had barely finished knocking, the sound so soft you weren’t even certain he would hear it, when his door suddenly swung open, his dark eyes looking wild as he gazed down at you.

“You came back,” you whispered, your eyes welling up with tears as you looked up at him.

In one fluid movement, Gallus reached out and took you into his arms, pulling you into his cell and shutting the door behind you. His embrace engulfed you, your cheek pressed against his chest as he held you close and buried his face in your hair.

Closing your eyes and taking a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his middle and clung to him, silently thanking whatever gods had heard you for returning him to you.

When the two of you finally broke apart, arms still loosely wrapped around one another, you took a small step back so that you could gaze up at him once more. He was silent as you examined him, the light from the candle burning nearby illuminating his skin and casting a golden glow over his dark hair.

“I was afraid I would never see you again,” you confessed, your voice small as he reached up slowly to touch your cheek.

“You were the only thing on my mind all day today,” he replied, his rough fingertips somehow feeling so smooth against your skin. “It was the thought of you that brought me back.”

Squeezing your eyes shut at his admission, a few stray tears slid down your cheeks. “Gallus, I’m so confused,” you whispered hoarsely, the sting of his rejection from last night still burning a hole in your heart. “What—what is this between us?”

He sighed softly, reluctantly releasing you and taking a step back. “It’s my fault you’re confused. I—I thought that I was doing what was best, but I selfishly just can’t stay away from you,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he shook his head and turned to face the flickering candle, the light of which caught on the small carving of the wolf and the dove.

“I don’t want you to stay away from me,” you blurted out, stepping closer to him and reaching out to place a gentle hand on his arm. “Gallus, please. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Help me understand.”

Gallus slowly turned to meet your eye, and you could see the full weight of his agony and fear. It was staggering in its intensity, and you found yourself trembling in response. But you held firm to his arm, showing him that you were not going to run away.

“Sabina,” he began quietly, his voice a desperate rasp between you. “Atticus is not a good man.”

You blinked slowly, your heart suddenly seizing with terror. What had Atticus done to him last night? And was it all because of you, because of what Gallus had done to defend you? You felt sick.

“What—what happened?” you asked softly, afraid to know, but also recognizing that it was the key to understanding Gallus’ actions last night.

Sighing again, a soul-deep sigh, Gallus leaned forward and rested his palms on the flat surface of the table. He was quiet for several minutes, but you stood beside him, patiently waiting.

“Sit down,” he told you gently, pulling out the one remaining stool and setting you down upon it carefully, making sure you were comfortable. He paused again before saying, “Atticus has always known that he hasn’t had anything to hold over my head, and it makes him crazy. I’ve never truly cared whether I lived or died, and there isn’t anything he can take from me that I haven’t lost already.”

You sat perched on the stool and listened to him carefully, still except for one hand nervously twisting in the folds of your tunic.

“He’s tried many times to lure me with gifts and rewards, trying to find some kind of weakness in me that he can exploit for whatever his purposes are. That’s what he does, Sabina. He watches people and he learns their weaknesses and he uses them against them.” He sighed again, running his hands through his hair as he clearly fought to continue on. “And I always thought that I was safe from all that, that there was no weakness he could find in me, nothing he could manipulate to get to me. But now there is,” he admitted, fixing his gaze on you slowly.

“What is it?” you asked, your pulse pounding in your veins.

“You.”

The word hung between the two of you, suspended as if in midair as your eyes widened and the truth of it etched itself across Gallus’ face.

“Atticus knows that I care for you, that I would sooner die than see any harm befall you. And after the stunt I pulled at the banquet last night—well, now there’s no denying it,” he grimaced.

“Oh, Gallus, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, feeling responsible for the turmoil he was facing.

Gallus held up his hand, halting your apology. “No, Sabina. This is all me. I’m responsible for this.”

“I still don’t fully understand,” you said slowly, biting your lip as you looked up at him. “Last night, during the banquet, when Atticus pulled you away—what happened? What did he do?”

“It’s not what he did,” Gallus told you, his voice low and saturated with bitterness. “It’s what he threatened to do.”

You felt nauseous all of a sudden, but you couldn’t quite explain why. You sat silently, both hands resting still in your lap, waiting for Gallus to go on.

He surprised you by suddenly kneeling on the ground before you, taking both your hands in his and resting his forehead against them. “Sabina, this is all my fault. I wanted to protect you. I’m so sorry.”

“Gallus, what is it? Whatever it is, just tell me,” you coaxed gently, slipping one of your hands out of his grasp and resting it atop his head, running your fingers through his hair.

When Gallus finally lifted his head to look at you, his misery was so profound that it took your breath away. “He threatened you, Sabina. He knows now that he finally has something to hold over my head. He made it clear that should I ever do anything to displease him, he would take it out on you, that he would hurt you and—and—” It seemed that there was more on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Gasping softly, you took his face between your hands and pressed your forehead to his, absorbing all the pain and fear and misery he had been carrying around all on his own. The horror of his admission—and of just how awful a man your master truly was—washed over you, but you clung to him all the tighter, refusing to let him go.

“I thought—I thought that if I could distance myself from you, push you away, that you would be safe,” Gallus went on, pain cracking his words and splitting them in half. “Sabina, last night—you have to know how much I—but I—”

He had been trying to protect you. What you had understood to be rejection and indifference was in reality a testament to just how much this man cared for you. He was willing to break his own heart, to let go of you forever, if it meant keeping you out of the clutches of your vindictive master.

No one had ever cared for you in such a way before.

“Gallus,” you whispered, stroking his face as you stared deeply into those dark golden eyes of his.

You understood now the magnitude of what it meant to give yourself to him. You thought of Phoenix and her fear of having her relationship with Carnifex found out. You thought of the tragic, ill-fated love of Rufus and Niobe. It was a risk, a danger to give your heart to him and accept his heart in return. It would make sense to do as he said, to distance yourself from him and let him push you away.

But he was the first glimpse of true happiness you had ever known in this life that was not your own. With him, you felt alive in a way you never had before.

You had known nothing but pain and suffering and misery since you were six years old. Your heart had been broken more times than you could count. You had survived and pushed forward anyway, compelled by some force you couldn’t name and certainly couldn’t understand. But you knew, with undeniable clarity, that you would not survive this heartbreak if you had to give him up. It was like you had been drifting out at sea all these years, and he was your first real sight of the shoreline—of safety, of security, of home.

You could not let him go.

Whispering his name once more, you wrapped your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair, and pressed your lips to his, kissing him so tenderly that you felt your own heart shatter and then begin to knit itself back together again, stronger than before.

Gallus was still for a moment, frozen beneath your touch as your lips covered his. But then, as if by instinct and the guidance of some invisible force, his arms came to wrap around your waist and he rose slowly, pulling you off the stool as he did so. One hand came up to bury itself in your hair as he kissed you back, his mouth moving against yours in a way that was almost shy.

You moaned softly, tightening your grip on him as you stood on your tiptoes, melting into him. You felt the wetness on your cheeks, but it took you a moment to realize that they weren’t your tears.

Pulling back, breathing heavily, you stared up at him, at this man who had captured you, mind, body, and soul, and found that he was crying.

Lifting your hand, you brushed away his tears, as he had done so many times for you, and smiled at him through the haze of your own emotion.

“I am yours,” you vowed, pushing his hair back and cradling his face in your hands. “No matter what anyone does to me, I will always be yours.”

“Sabina,” Gallus breathed out, pulling you into his arms and kissing you again, relief coursing through his body as he held you close.

He held you like he would never let you go.

And as you kissed him, your mouths fitting together like they had been carved by the gods for that express purpose, you knew with unwavering certainty that there would never be another for you in this life.

He was yours, and you were his. Forever.

TAGLIST: @callsign-magnolia @eli2447 @lt-spork @dlea203 @cherrycola27 @mikpieboo @callsignblondie @morgan108 @aprilwithapricots @up-thereinthesky @gigisimsonmars @na-ta-sh-aa @fav-fanficssss @lewmagoo @kmc1989 @inky-sun @je-suis-prest-rachel @amortentiadrops @jostyriggslover96 @nolita-fairytale @roosterscock @bradshawsbitch @shouldershimmycity @missathlete31 @andfreeshipping

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #hannix #hangman x phoenix #top gun #top gun: maverick #miles teller #Ancient Rome AU #si vis amari ama ⚔️

[ebaylee422]

Mending Our Home PT. 1

Dad!Steve Harrington X Mom!Reader

Author’s Note: We be needing more daddy Steve people. As well huge trigger warning for any of those who have struggled staying or getting pregnant. You are seen and heard and we should normalize talking about it. Because you are not alone! I have many other fics for you to read if this is too graphic. This is still a insert because it's an ongoing timeline, I have kinda started a series for Dad!Steve. So again, I'm thankful for those of you who do decide to read it and respect the ones who cannot!

Summary: Steve picks you up for work on a particularly hard day. Neither of you realized how much your life could change in just a few hours.

Characters: Steve, Reader, Teddy Harrington (oc child), Dr. Kerr (oc, readers doctor), Wayne, Joyce, Robin and the OG Posse of Nuggets.

Warnings/Tags: Graphic description of miscarriage!!!! I cannot say this more, do not read if you are triggered by hospitals, blood or anything of the type.

Word Count: 3.8k

Waiting on the dial tone as you called home, Steve was alone with Teddy. So you knew to wait and give him a few rings before trying your hand again.

“Yello, Harrington Residence! Teddy ‘member what we talked about when the phone rings?” You could hear the faint giggles and little voice respond ‘Yes, Daddy.’ 

“Hi babies, it’s me.” You responded, tired voice evident of your distress.

“Teddy go in the living room and get your stuffy.” Steve asks him with sicky sweetness a small distraction “Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Steve voice lowers his voice,

“I’m not feeling to well Stevie, boss let me off early. Could you come pick me up?”

“Yeah-yeah of course-. No not that stuffy the other one, we’re gonna go on a car ride to Nana and Pop-pop’s.” Shriek of Nana Joyce rung through the phone, splicing straight through your skull. “I’ll be there soon, just hold on for us. I’ll bring you home.”

“ ‘Mkay, love you. Don’t break any traffic laws.” You leaned against the cool metal of the phone box.

“I love you most. I’ll see you soon.” With that the dial-tone rang back and you set off to sit on the curb of the diner, waiting for your husband. He came not even 20 minutes after your phone call, parking job shoddy at the very least but all in one piece nonetheless. You stood slowly, Steve sprung out of the car opening the passenger door just shy before you could reach the handle. You leaned against him as he hugged you, arm limp at your side. Fatigue overtaking your body when you finally sat down in the car, mostly.

“You okay, Sweets?” Steve knelt down to eye level, putting his hand on along the roundness of your knees lovingly. You sighed, hunching over. 

“I swear if this is the first trimester of pregnancy aches, I don’t think I could possibly give birth again without an assortment of drugs lined up at the ready.” You tried to joke, blowing a laugh out your nose. Which made Steve smile bright and big. 

“Well unfortunately we burnt up the singular Russians lab years ago, so I can’t get you anything foreign.” You both laughed, “Have you eaten anything yet?”

“No, everything makes me want to puke my spleen out.” He got up and set your bag in the back, shuffling for something else behind the seat. You got the courage to swing each leg into the car. Leaning into the leather seats, it was pretty muggy outside. Steve’s head came into view again with antacid and water, along with a brownie he’d made the other night with Teddy. Dancing to Bob Segar’s greatest hits. You smiled taking the pill and the brownie, he opened the water bottle placing it between your thighs. He leaned over placing a kiss onto your forehead, unnecessarily aiding you with the seatbelt and gently closing the door before hopping in the driver's seat.

“Stevie, you shouldn’t be driving this late give me a minute. I was just scared to be by myself.”

“I’m fine, scouts honor.” You furrowed your brow at him, he was beat up so much in high school his vision and hearing is slightly impaired on one side. “I know the way home like the back of my hand, I’ve gotten used to the blurriness.” Hunger subsided but the pain slightly increased as he was driving home, something felt wrong. Pressing yours eyes shut to aid in the nausea, wringing your knuckles into the leather seats as waves crash over you they stopped with a sharp inhale.

“Hey what’s going on? Not sleeping already are we?” his eyes flickered between you and the road, placing a hand on top of your thigh. Shaking your head, realizing that probably wasn't the best idea as you fought not to get sick in Steve’s BMW. Not that it hadn’t happened before, you were both 21 for a whole year. 

“I think I just over did it today, I bet a bath and definitely some sleep and cuddles will help. I’m all dizzy and cramping.” Groaning, pushing the back of your head into the cushion behind it. Holding his hand tightly, breathing through the cramps. 

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” Steve asked, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles.

“It’s okay, just wanna go home and be comfortable.” You assured him as he turned to go home. When finally seeing the dim parking lot relief oozed for your shoulders as he pulled into the assigned spot. You unbuckled, he held tightly to you walking through the apartment complex, up the stairs to the apartment. Only letting go as he started a bath. Sitting on the edge of the already made bed slightly confused, everything was dizzy and blurry until Steve knelt down in front of you. Helping you to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet while the steam clouded the mirror.

“Okay, here I set everything up. If your okay being alone for a minute. I’m going downstairs to make some dinner quickly. I’ll check up on you, then we can go get Teddy from the Byers if you’re feeling better. Otherwise you know Joyce and Hop love the company now.” he kissed the top of your head closing the bathroom door behind him. 

Beginning to undress, moving the water between your fingers to see how hot it was. Taking off the now ever tightening diner uniform, stopping at your underwear there was a small red spot. You’d had a rough birth with Teddy, your doctors weren’t concerned for later pregnancies. The cramps came over you once again distracting, nearly knocking the wind out of you. You quickly sunk deep into the rose scented waters, moving your hands through your wet hair. Beginning to massage your abdomen, it was extremely hard, the pressure was unbearable. Then white shocks of pain started flowing through your center, twisting relentlessly. You groaned and thrashed slightly in the water, you couldn’t catch your breath. There was burning going down your legs, you opened your shut eyes to see the water turned a bright red. You yelled for Steve in shock, pain and so many other things bottled up inside. Hyperventilating, when the door crashed open you were barely able to keep your eyes open as Steve rushed to you. Diving over your frame, lifting you out of the water and a towel wrapping around you. You saw lights flickering to and from each eye, small pinches in your arms. Darkness came over your consciousness, pain subsided.  Waves of movement and lights came about once in a while, as well as voices. Several voices through time and time again, until you opened your eyes to strange surroundings. Waking up from a really good nap, taking in your surroundings; beeping of monitors, extremely bright lights, a sickly clean smell with a mix of sale metal. Moving just your eyes around you could tell it was a hospital, there was warmth to your left hand. You dizzily tried to move your head to look over, Steve had one hand in yours while the rest of himself was toppled over leaning on the other propped up by his legs. Rubbing and scratching at his scalp, 

"Stevie?" You said just above a whisper, his eyes met yours. He jumped forward on his feet, leaning over the bed.

“Baby? Oh my god,” he brushed your hair from your face, endlessly kissing everywhere. Feather light kisses on your hand, cheek, temple, jaw and forehead, “I thought I wouldn’t see those beautiful eyes soon enough, Jesus Christ,” he pressed a button on the wall and a faint red light flickered. You yawned with a dry mouth, suddenly aware you are hooked up to the beeping machines. Along with an IV and Blood bag, there was also something taped to your leg. You shifted trying to sit up comfortably when an extremely tall older man pushed the curtain open.

"Woah, hold on there Mrs. Harrington. You're quite freshly out of the ER. I'm an anesthesiologist, just checking you feel alright before I get Dr. Kerr. Any confusion, chills or feelings of vomiting?” you shook your head, feeling some drowsiness but overall not terrible.

“Great, and any pain I should alert your charge Nurse of?” you shook your head again, moving your taped up hand over your stomach feeling excessive fabric there. You looked at Steve who held tension in his eyes, “alright well, I wish you a speedy recovery ma’am, I’ll let my colleague know you’re ready.” the man wrote something on the clipboard, before walking out and shutting the curtains again.

“Hey, you’re here. That’s the only thing that matters-” Steve started.

“What happened? Is the baby okay?” you asked him scared, his face contorted with pain. Sitting back down pulling his tiny chair closer, hanging his head in shame. Red, all I saw was red. Those words were so similar to ones said to you, what seemed like a lifetime ago. They rang through you like a séance but desired something else this time, you felt Steve’s other arm reach up holding yours fully in place. He was shaking before he came up for air,

“I’m sorry Sweetheart, there’s nothing I could do. I-” The curtain ripped out to reveal a stout man your primary doctor and a even tinier woman full of gusto. Who you knew to be Dr. Kerr and a probable Nurse,

“Evening Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. Just wanted to give you a final diagnosis as well as some time for us to discuss after care.” Steve wiped his face, you looked at the wrinkles in the curtain. Dazed with all the drugs you were probably on, everything felt dry. You didn’t even realize you were smacking your lips until a cup appeared in front of you. It was ice chips with a spoon added to the top, the woman handing it to you nodded before stepping back behind where Dr. Kerr had sat across from Steve. “Mrs. Harrington, do you remember much?” you shook your head in response, Steve reached out to hold the cup as your free hand scooped up ice slowly. The cold crunch sent a shiver down your spine, a hand still tangled with Steve’s rings rolling against each other. “Then please know that I’m giving you the facts and that it may indeed be hard to hear.” you took another scoopful, making short eye contact with Steve before putting the spoon back into the cup. "We weren't able to save the baby, it was an ectopic pregnancy. Have you heard of them before?” You shook your head. “It was the main cause of the abdominal hemorrhage or severe bleeding, so you unfortunately miscarried…” You swallowed hard, looking at Dr. Kerr for the first time since giving birth to Teddy. His eyes were a dark blue, rich with knowledge and no doubt pain. You felt your heart grow heavy, breathing then swallowing. Repeating the word over and over again.

“Miscarried.” You said out loud, out of body only stating it as he did without hesitation.

“Yes, there would have been no way to save it. It's very important that you know it's not your fault, as well the risks moving forward fertility wise are concerning but always possible." You felt so many things at once; numb, angry, relieved more than anything from the pain. Steve’s voice churned you from your thoughts,

"Why's that?" Steve asked, holding your hand a bit closer to his chest.

"More often than not after one ectopic miscarriage, the risk for another one is extremely high. About 1 in every 10 women, which is more than a simple miscarriage. As well, since we did have to expel the rest of the fetus. We have no way to measure fertility until the future, it determines how suitable the uterus will be unless we simply try other means of procreation. Those I'm afraid are very expensive but worth the health and wellness of your partner. If you wish to continue to have a child once she’s healed, you're both fairly young. There will be plenty of time for you Mrs. Harrington." Your heart was shattering, tear slipping into the collar over your starchy hospital gown, Steve pinched his nose sniffling with you.

"I would like to keep you here for at least 24 hours if that's alright, you may stay with her unless they run a test or scan Mr. Harrington. Otherwise, you'll be shown some exercises by physical therapist to prevent blood clots. To just give us more peace of mind that you will not hemorrhage again. Since the blood loss was towards the extreme as well as the circumstances. I do not want to take any chances, despite how much I enjoy your family.” Looking at Dr. Kerr you gave him a hopeful smile, “You'll be moved into a private room shortly for the remainder of your stay, I have walks scheduled every four hours for you to do with a Medical Assistant. Until they clear you from a one person assist, please do not try to do much but the assigned walking and of course eating in an hour would be fine. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight or questions that you have?" He reached out holding your shoulder comfortingly, like a father figure would. 

“No.” You shook your head, tears hadn't stopped since he entered but your breath finally catching when you spoke clued the other into your own misery, guilt swarming between all of you.

“Our family is in the lobby, when can they see her?” Steve asks for you, you look up from the curtain across the walls to his face. His eyes, red, heavy with dark circles and so swollen, lips dry and his hair a mess. He looked so young next to you, you were both so young barely 25.

“As soon as she is completely aware from the general anesthesia, and moved to the private room. However, now that she is awake I will need you to step outside into the hall Mr. Harrington.” You shoot your eyes to the doctor.

“Why?” you ask, your voice is so quiet and hoarse. 

“Just a precaution while my nurse asks you a series of questions. Because of how tragic the event was we just need to ensure somethings.” You start to speak, but Steve squeezes your hands.

“It’s okay, Sweets. They probably just, just want to confirm my story. I’ll be right in the hall waiting for them to be done.” Steve stands from the chair pulled next to your bed, and places your hand on the side of the bed before walking out with the doctor. You finally notice Steve is in light brown scrubs, they open the curtain where dozen of others are either alone or holding their sick loved ones. 

“Oh I almost forgot, sorry it’s my on-call night. But healing should be about 2 to 4 weeks, so nothing should be inserted into your body after they remove the catheter.” You curtly nodded at him again as Steve walked with him shaking Dr. Kerr’s hand. Shortly after a tall dark skinned woman in dark blue scrubs comes over and closes the curtain.

“Hello Mrs. Harrington, I’m Nurse Maywood. I need to ask you a series of questions, are you alright with that?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She moves to the foot of your bed so you don’t have to strain to see her.

“Alright I need you to answer as truthfully as possible each time. First one, how are things going at home?” You almost laugh, until her raised eyebrow shows signs of extreme seriousness.

“We’ve been working a lot, both my husband and I. While taking care of our young son, until tonight things have been blissful.”

“Has any of yours or Mr. Harrington’s behavior's changed due to this pregnancy?”

“No.” Her brow raised again, (blanking) you to continue. “I’m sorry, is Steve in trouble?”

“Mrs. Harrington we just want to ensure your health and safety.”

“Steve is a wonderful husband and father, he picked me up when I started having pain tonight despite taking care of our son as well. He has never emotionally or physically hurt me or my child.”

“That’s enough for me, Ms. I am truly sorry for your loss, and do recommend postpartum therapy for all women I see. You are not alone.”

“Yes, I appreciate the gesture. I just need my family now.” She smiles, respectfully leaving bringing Steve to you again. Followed by more Nurses in scrub but the original pitete Nurse from Dr. Kerr.

“Hey, you needed me? Did everything go okay?” you nod at him, with a somber smile. The two people look at your chart, one walks away before one begins to speak to you.

“Y/N Harrington? We’re about to move you to a private room now, if you just step aside for a minute Mr. Harrington.” You push yourself up on the pillow a little, still extremely numb in your abdomen. The woman comes back with a large wheelchair, then takes your IV and other monitors and puts them on the tall pole attached to the back of the chair. Steve pats your head and moves out of their way, the man who spoke to you draws the curtain. They both put on gloves, Steve staying by your head as they removed your catheter. Running his hand through your hair, soothingly. They wiped everything, before coming back up to speak to you.

“Alright honey, we're going to do a two person assist to get you into the wheelchair. Since you're still quite numb and drowsy, each of us is going to take hold of the support under you, you’ll sit up completely, she’ll move your legs off the side of the bed while I hold you upright. Then we’ll use a belt above your sternum and pivot you to the wheelchair. Sound like a plan?” You nod and do exactly as they instruct, to their surprise you have more strength than they thought. “Thanks Shelby. Alright Mr. Harrington if you’ll just follow us.” it’s quite a way before he carts you into a room. The belt still strapped to your chest he pivots and assists you into the bed by himself while Steve watches from the foot of the bed. The man leaves you two alone, closing the door behind him. Steve doesn’t move, until you reach your hand out to him. He forces a smile, walking around and grabbing it with both hands. You pat the side of the bed, and try to scootch over making room for him.

“Hey, hey. I don’t want you hurting yourself, careful.” He stops your hips, 

“I just want you to hold me,” you say innocently through your lashes, Steve instantly melts. Putting his arms under your legs and behind your back moving you over just enough that he can lay sideways next to you. You have to lay on your back but it doesn’t mean you can’t turn your face to his. You brush the hair away from his eyes, caressing the side of his face, he sighs as his heavy eyes close.

“We should let them know you're awake,” he whispers to you, eyes closed. Holding the forearm caressing his face, the other had the IVs still attached so you kept it against your midsection. His free arm draped across your lap, below.

“We should get some sleep first, where’s Teddy?” he props his head on his hand with his elbow flush against the bed, trying to avoid sleep.

“He’s with Aunt Robin and Dustin at home. So just Joyce and Hopper. Nancy and Jonathan have been keeping the others updated. Everyone went to the Wheelers to wait for news.” he yawns huge at the word news.

“So you haven’t slept for like, over 36 hours?” he shrugged.

“I was terrified, Robin kept me updated on Teddy I was able to say goodnight to him. He-he doesn’t know yet, I didn’t know what to say. I don’t think-”

“Steve, one thing at a time. You need to sleep. It’s okay we’ll figure it out, this is not good for you.” he groaned neck cracking as he rolled off the bed.

“And I will, but first. I’m going to go get them and get us some refreshments and gross hospital food.” grabbing his wallet from the front of his brown scrub pants. “Also Joyce brought clothes for us and these are a little ripe.” He pulls at the collar of his scrubs, and grabs the call button clipping it to your pillow. “I’ll be right back, promise.” You take hold of the hand he was using and press the side of your face with it.

“I would kiss it but we’re in a hospital, and I don’t know when you last washed them.”

“Yeah that’s fair,” He leans down leaving you with the impression of his kiss on your temple and thoughts. Caressing the side of your face before walking out the door. After a minute of contemplating you pull the sheet down and slowly bring the nightgown up. You of course weren’t wearing anything except this thin gown, ribbed gray socks and a ginormous diaper they slipped on after removing the catheter. Holding your mouth to quiet the sobs, you needed to calm down before they came back. They were all already so worried about you, so much you can’t imagine how Steve was still standing. You let your mind wander until feeling like you had to go to the bathroom, it hurt to let it sit in your bladder so you pressed the call button. After a few moments there was a knock on the door, someone announced themselves before entering, “Hello, Mrs. Harrington, what can I help you with?”

“Am I allowed to use the restroom with assistance or do-do I have to pee myself?” You asked quietly,

“Great question, if you're uncomfortable standing right now. You can most definitely use the alternative, but it is good to start moving right away. Just like you normally would postpartum.” She helped you use the restroom, changing the pull up as you continued to bleed. She assured you, it will likely occur for a couple days until your hormones balance again. There was a small shower and everything in this room, you were probably in Labor and Delivery now.  You were able to wash your hands and wipe your face off a bit, before leaving she helped you to an upright position in the bed and got you some ice chips. It took about 15 minutes total. She made you feel more human. Instead of overwhelming you with information she was making you as comfortable as possible. Knocks clambered the door, opening to reveal your family. The answer to salvation in the darkest of times.

Masterlist

Part Two

#dad!steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #angst #reader insert #stranger things #no minors allowed

[cosmicjoke]

Hi again,

I haven't had time to organize my thoughts coherently so this might be a bit disorganized, apologies in advance lol.

We all know that Levi takes it upon himself in the AOT universe to be responsible for the lives of others, probably because he's the only one who has the strength he does. But does Levi ever expect others to want to care about their fellow humans' lives (especially those in power)? His own value of life might be so obvious to him, so would he expect others to share his value of life? Whether in AOT universe or in the modern world (if he did live in our modern world and didn't have the superhuman strength he does). I mean, in AOT universe, it's clear he can singlehandedly make significant contributions to saving the lives of others, but in the modern world, most of us obviously just aren't that physically strong and/or have very little actual power or authority on our own to help those who are oppressed, victimized, killed even...in the modern world, it's really a collective effort. Our strength is in numbers. So i guess my question is, would Levi hold that expectation of others in the modern world? Like, what if he was placed in a situation where he didn't have the superhuman strength he does, and has to rely on the goodwill and cooperation and *desire to help* of others in order to help people. He values life immensely, but it's also clear that he realizes that perfect peace in humanity is an unachievable ideal, right? Like human violence against other humans has always been and will always be a thing, both in his universe and ours. So while he probably expects that there will always be people who just want to harm their fellow humans, does he also always expect there to be people who want the opposite?

If he *does* hold that expectation for others, do you think he feels disappointment when he is inevitably let down, and he comes face to face over and over again with the fact that some other people simply do not care for fellow human lives? Or does he just set his expectations for others so low that he thinks it's a default for people to behave in that way? And whenever he does meet someone else who values life as much as he does, it's more like just a pleasant bonus rather than a given?

hopefully any of that word vomit made sense lol

These are great questions you're asking me, haha! So first, let me just say thank you. I really enjoy this sort of conversation about Levi.

It's interesting about Levi, because while he has this great strength, and he utilizes it the best he can to help others, he's still faced, more often than not, with sort of his own sense of helplessness. He often isn't able to save as many lives as he wants to, or make as much change as he hopes. He said something along those lines to Hitch, during the Uprising arc, when she was criticizing the SC for getting so many people killed in Trost while trying to capture Annie. He said "Hmph... It makes me sick. We're all in the dark when it comes to how this world works. Other than the ones in the very center, of course..." So I think, even within the setting of the AoT universe, Levi still feels pretty powerless, the same as he would if he lived in a modern world and didn't have his Ackerman powers. I think that's also pretty evident post time skip, after they've lost Erwin. Levi sees himself as a tool, as a weapon to be wielded by others. That's what he views his strength as good for. For Levi, Erwin was the person he sort of relied on to utilize that strength to its maximum potential, and when he lost Erwin, I think Levi felt a definite sense of directionlessness. He wasn't sure anymore how to use his strength to help others, even as the desire to do so remained just as strong. I think it was similar to how Levi felt when he was living in the Underground. He wanted to help people, but there wasn't much he could actually do. He was trapped in poverty and desperation with everyone else down there, and being physically powerful, while it can help in some things, isn't going to do much when we're talking about social inequality or oppression. Isayama said that Levi came to the surface because he wanted to help people, something he realized he was able to do after Furlan and Isabel came into his life; but his circumstances and status Underground limited his options. He didn't have citizenship, for one thing, so he couldn't officially join any sort of service branch, like the military. So I think Levi was always very familiar, even with his exceptional physical strength, with this feeling of helplessness and powerlessness, and a sense of being unable to do much to help others, despite his desperate wish to.

So, going into what you asked about Levi's expectations of others in that regard, I think Levi definitely WANTS people to care about others and to have the same level of respect and sense of value for life that he does. But that doesn't necessarily mean he expects them to be able to protect life or help others in the same capacity that he does. In fact, I think Levi understands and is sympathetic toward people not being able to do much to improve theirs or others circumstances. During his speech to the 104th during the Uprising arc, he speaks about choosing the hell of people killing each other over the hell of being eaten by titans. What he means by that is that he wants people to have a choice. As things stood then, the people of the walls were essentially living in a giant prison. They were trapped and had no options, no freedom, no choice in how they lived or where they went, and through no fault of their own, through no action on their part. It was just how they were born, the circumstances they were born into. So, yes, while Levi definitely understands and is accepting of human nature, of the violence inherent to human nature, and while I think he understands more keenly than anyone the tragedy and inescapability of that reality, he also believes the way people live should be up to them, and he prefers them having that choice, even if it manifests in violence and killing each other, to them having no choice at all and still dying. He calls both realities hell, but the hell in which people get to at least have a say in what happens to them is better than things happening to them which they have no control over.

Levi himself grew up in an environment which left him with no option but to rely on violence in order to survive. So yeah, I think he definitely understands that sometimes people just don't have a choice and that they can't always do the "good" or "right" thing, according to society, depending on the circumstances. He understands that sometimes you need to kill in order to protect yourself or others. He understands that sometimes you need to steal in order to survive. A lot of the characters in AoT look at morality as a static concept, through a black and white lends. They categorize things in two ways, good and bad, and there is no in between. Levi is one of the only characters that understands the fallacy of that premise. Morality isn't static. It's on a sliding scale and it's complex. What's good and bad, what's right and wrong, depends on the circumstances, depends on the situation. It's not always wrong to kill someone. It's not always wrong to steal. It's not always wrong to use violence. It doesn't always define a person's morality or reflect on their worth as a person if they do something which, within normal society, would be considered "bad" or "illegal". I always talk about how Levi is probably the least judgmental character in AoT, along with probably Armin. Levi never tries to tell anyone what to do or what they should think or believe. He always lets other people come to their own conclusions and choices.

With that said, what I do think Levi wouldn't be accepting of and what would really disgust him in another person is a total disregard for life. And that's why Levi hates Zeke as much as he does. Because Zeke shows, repeatedly, not just a deliberate disregard for life, but he also repeatedly expresses actual pleasure in the taking of it. We see Levi express similar disdain for Eren after the raid on Liberio, when he compares Eren's actions to the scum he grew up with in the Underground. What we know from this is that Levi no doubt witnessed a lot of blatant disregard for life while growing up, a lot of people treating the lives of others as worthless, taking life without needing to, just because they felt like it or because they simply didn't care and were apathetic toward other people's lives, and we also know it's something Levi has always felt disgusted by. So while I think Levi is both sympathetic and empathetic toward people not always being able to act and help others, and also toward them sometimes having to engage in certain types of behavior and actions that society would generally frown upon, what I think he wouldn't forgive and would be extremely judgmental toward is deliberate cruelty, dismissiveness and a contempt shown toward life and what he believes is its inherent value. I think, to Levi, that's unforgivable. So while Levi understands the reality that there will always be people who deliberately want to harm others, and who take pleasure in harming others, that doesn't mean he has to like it or forgive it. He accepts that violence is just a part of the world and a part of human nature, and he accepts and even forgives that people are sometimes forced to violence. What he won't forgive is intentional cruelty and disregard shown toward life.

So I think Levi probably is disappointed in the sense that he wishes things could be better, that people could be better in general, while at the same time acknowledging that this is just the way people are and there's nothing he can really do about it. I don't think he necessarily has low expectations, but I think he's always ready to be faced with the ugly side of human behavior. But still, he'll determine the worth of a person's character based on how much respect they have toward life, I think. Again, if someone shows a blatant disregard for life, or shows they don't value life in a truly meaningful way, Levi's not going to think very much of that person. We see that demonstrated in his disgust, also, for the nobility and their greed and selfishness in how they treat the general populace.

#Levi Ackerman #attack on titan #shingkei no kyojin #analysis #meta #commentary

[kellanved-ammanas]

TF2 Drabbles: Scout/Sniper - Matters of Perspective

Summary: If we're talking holidays, there's Sniper having grown up with summery Decembers while his boyfriend is from snowy New England. Fun little comparison of what they associate the holidays with.

~

Scout had been warned it would be hot, Sniper had said he lived in one of the hotter parts of Australia. Being confronted with it was entirely something else. It made the New Mexico dessert in summer seem not quite as bad. The AC in their rental car struggled to keep up with it but based off how hot it had been outside during their last stop, it was still a great boon.

Outside the passenger window, the desert rolled by uninterrupted. More red than any desert Scout had seen before, it had been an interesting view at first. After more than an hour of driving though, it was kind of boring. Sniper really had grown up in the middle nowhere, huh? No wonder large gatherings made him uncomfortable. Also how mostly unbothered he’d always been in the heat completely tracked.

“If this is how hot it is here during the winter, I can only guess how much worse it is in the summer. How do you people survive out here in this craziness?” Scout surely wouldn’t have been able to.

Sniper didn’t take his eyes off the road as he replied. “This is summer so this is as bad as it gets. Not that winter’s particularly cold but it’s better.”

“But it’s December so it’s winter.”

“Nah mate, seasons are flipped on this side of the world.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would they be flipped?” Though since Scout didn’t know much about how the seasons worked in general, why wouldn’t they be flipped. This was the opposite side of the world so everything could just work the opposite way here.

Sniper shrugged. “Something to do with the angle of the Earth as it spins. I don’t really know. My parents might though so you could ask them when we get there.”

Even if they did explain it, Scout probably wouldn’t understand it, he hadn’t become a mercenary because he’d done particularly well in school after all. This revelation did bring one more bombshell though. “So not only have you never experienced a white Christmas, Christmas is also in the summer time for you?”

“Yep.”

“That ain’t right. Christmas is a winter holiday.” Originally it had celebrated the winter solstice – whatever that was – before everyone randomly decided it was a religious holiday instead – though few people Scout knew treated it like one. So it not being in winter made no sense.

“Christmas in winter don’t feel right to me. It’s a summer holiday.”

“Australia’s weird.”

“Or maybe America’s the one that’s weird.”

It was another one of those ‘matters of perspective’ things that Scout was experiencing more and more since leaving Boston. Befriending so many people from different countries and different walks of life really made the world feel like a much bigger, more diverse place than he ever would’ve imagined. And there were still whole other parts of the world he knew almost nothing about. Scary in a way with how small that made his personal bubble of experience feel but also exciting because maybe one day he’d get to go to some of those places and see them for himself. Or at the very least, if he kept up this line of work he evidently had a good chance of meeting people from such places. Like how he was due to meet Sniper’s parents here real soon.

#my writing #tf2 #team fortress 2 #speedingbullet #scout #sniper #tf2 drabbles

[breadandbloodybutter]

cambion-companion asked: Hi friend! For the word ask..hmm..how about "Scintillating"

You know, I always thought I was pretty well-literature'd, but I had to google what this word even meant--

Scintillating: Sparkling or shining brightly, or to be brilliantly and excitingly clever or skillful.

It was quite the rare occasion that you would be dipping your toes into the world of fine arts. Or at the very least – to be so apprehensive yet excited about an event.

Even devils must get bored sometimes from just scamming people out of souls, you supposed. A once in a lifetime opportunity! That’s what it had been advertised as. If there’s one thing that this enigmatic man liked to do, it was to stroke his own ego.

You had received a special invite in the mail, just for you. Fancy, elegant writing – and self-combustible after you’d finished reading over it. You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Anything to leave no evidence of anything but a business relationship.

And now, you found yourself sitting in the front rows. Not so close that you’d have to crank your neck to get a good view, but not so far away that you would miss any details. He was wearing an outfit not unlike his usual blue and gold ensemble – but much more extravagant and finely worked. Seeing him on a stage was a whole different experience than seeing him writing contracts in a private brothel room.  

The confidence.

The posture, and the poise.

The way that those big brown eyes would sweep the crowds with devilish delight, until they landed directly on you.

It was almost as if he could hear the way that your heart stopped dead.  

He continued his performance flawlessly, but now that he knew you were in attendance, you caught his eyes continually sliding towards you, radiating a smugness. Knowing that you were captivated by him, leaning forward in your seat. You could tell – he was showing off. But you didn’t really mind, because seeing him in his element was almost as striking as when he’d first showed off his cambion form.

“And as the shadow of the moon fell on these hallowed grounds – not a living soul to speak of could be found! Until the sun would dawn upon flushed apple skin..”

Much to your alarm, he’d knelt and extended a hand towards you, the colours in his eyes seeming to flare as he spoke again, “..ready, once again, to drown oneself in such decadent sin.”  

You were sure that your face must have broken out in the colour of said apple as the crowd around you burst into applause – like this had all been staged and not just thrown upon you for Raphael’s amusement. That lingering stare was magnanimous; promising that if you didn’t follow his lead, there would be hell to pay later on,.

Resigned to your fate, you took his hand and he proceeded to place a single kiss upon it, making the skin tingle. He’d pulled you up to his side, a hand firmly curled around your waist to prevent any possible notion of escape. As the crowd stood and continued to show their appreciation, he hummed approvingly against your hair.

“Did you enjoy the show, little mouse? You’re always welcome to stay for an encore.. and perhaps, celebrations of our own in a private after-party.”

#✍️ writings #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #raphael #Thank you for the ask friendo! #This was a lot of fun to write whilst in a very boring meeting. #I'd imagine Raphael on stage would be absolutely eye-catchignly stunning. #okay to reblog #cambioncompanion

[vegasandhishedgehog]

I've held off posting for a long time about the issue regarding Build and Poi.

A lot of things have rubbed me wrong about the way it went down, how the people involved handled it in the beginning, I am severely allergic to Twitter, and all in all, it's been so much to take in and digest over the past few weeks. I have no real understanding of law for any fucking country and I am not a source blog for news or updates or translations. Speaking in support of anyone, to me, seems perfectly inappropriate and useless. As much as I have my own personal thoughts and feelings, I'm aware of biases and that's no basis for an open conversation.

That, and well....I've been here before. I don't mean with the thing about the dug-up tweets that caused a riot a few months ago. I don't even mean controversial celebrity trials in general. I'm talking about people I personally knew very well being in a lawsuit where some hefty accusations were made and the community got split over their feelings about it. It's a fucking nightmare. I don't need to repeat those details because it was a different case and projecting any of those circumstances onto the one in question would be wrong.

So I'm only going to say this once.

Cut it out.

Stop being self-righteous. Stop taking extreme positions and cutting off friends whose thoughts and views vary. I don't care how convincing one side or the other is to you right now - we do not know the truth and there is a fairly long wait for us to have it laid out for us. If you look at those supporting the opposite side as you and don't think of yourself as also potentially supporting a guilty person, please take a moment to reflect. What is your goal by acting that way? To be right? To feel right? To "weed out the idiots"?

Curate your experience all you like, but cutting people off to such extremes is going to make for very small corners and very nasty echo chambers. This fandom looked itself in the mirror and got so ugly the mirror shattered and we're all just shards now. Little pods of pro-this, anti-that, unsure-something-or-other, etc. There's still so many unanswered questions, and evidence to be reviewed and cross-examined. Some of you will still choose to deny the outcome because it doesn't match the narrative in your head. But before you reach that level of desperation, I simply ask that you put your energy toward making and keeping this fandom a place where people can come for escape.

I won't judge you for being open about who you support here, if you have chosen a side. But attacking and othering people really doesn't make you the better person and you're not gonna get some kind of badge of honor for being woke. A lot of us are just people who come to fandom because it's what brings us joy in a world that is very fucked up, so coming into that space to start fires and burn bridges is really shitty. Making people feel uncomfortable to speak up because they might be attacked or cancelled for merely wanting a proper discussion is awful and I've seen enough.

For those of you who could really use a shoulder to lean on, my offer is here. I can't promise to be a perfect support, and if you're looking for some kind of mediator in an argument that won't be it. But I encourage anyone who needs to get their thoughts and feelings out to take that opportunity privately. Take a step back or a break if you feel like that's gonna help. If you're still unsure, do not hesitate to use any resource you can think of until something works. This has been hard on mental health for some people and it deserves to be acknowledged and given the attention necessary to help people recover.

I still love many people in the KinnPorsche fandom. I still love KinnPorsche. I would love things to heal, regardless of whatever comes out of this lawsuit. I would still love another season of the show if it were possible, for current and upcoming BOC projects to do well, and for the other actors and creators impacted to still enjoy happy lives and careers. I hope this post encourages thoughtfulness and honesty, and most of all, unity. If you've read this far, thanks for at least considering my input.

#kinnporsche #build jakapan #poi patchayamon #be on cloud #boc

[designernishiki]

not sure why i was thinking about this but. here’s a long ass ramble about kazama

it’s interesting how kazama, despite being extremely influential on kiryu’s development and being highly revered or despised by so many characters in-game, has so little screentime that it’s very up to interpretation what he was like in non-crucial situations, what all his motivations and ideals were, how close he really was to kiryu (and nishiki), etc. most of what we have to go off of is hearsay and circumstantial evidence– ie, mostly what people say he was like and stories about/the effects of the things he’s done. he’s incredibly morally grey and though you can definitely pretty securely say something like “well at least he’s not shimano,” it’s hard to say anything more definitive.

yeah, he showed remorse after a number of years in the yakuza and actively tried to save the lives of some of his family’s enemies against direct orders– but the number of people he’s saved is far outweighed by the number of people he’s killed or had some part in killing, which is pretty literally countless given we don’t know how many people he killed during his time as a hitman, or in any other situations once he was dojima’s lieutenant and so on.

hell, the guy killed so many people that a whole orphanage was built specifically to house their children. the concept gets romanticized in game to some degree (understandably, because we’re usually looking at everything through the eyes of kiryu, who vehemently wants to idolize and honor him) but the more you think about it the more morbid it sort of becomes– especially if you consider how he then becomes the father figure to a handful of those children. He didn’t have mercy on all these kids’ parents, then he takes their role and watches the kids grow up the way they never could because of him.

On the other hand you can look at it as him feeling responsible for making sure these kids grow up housed and fed, because he orphaned them in the first place. but if that were the case with no caveats, then none of those children should’ve ever been allowed to drop out of school and join the yakuza, even if they protested and reaaalllly wanted to. they’re kids, they’re naive, it was his responsibility as an adult, as the one with all the power in that situation, and as the man who killed their birth parents and subsequently felt obligated to make sure they grew up alright, to not allow it by any means. moreover, just beating the shit out of them (which is problematic in its own right) and warning them that it’s dangerous isn’t affective at all because it’s impersonal and provides no alternatives to “be a yakuza (cool)” or “be a dead eyed salaryman (not cool)”.

It really makes me think he never took the liberty to ask about/encourage/take pride in their interests and passions growing up, because if he had, I’d imagine they’d have found individual likes and dislikes and aspirations, or at least would be more aware that there are more options, things to try, ways to live, etc, than just the bland view of “civilian” I think they must’ve had as teenagers.

TLDR: kazama is a morally grey person on whatever level but did not have the skills nor position in life to take on a parental role. to me, kiryu proves this later on with the contrast in how he runs his own orphanage; he becomes a civilian first, distances himself as far as possible from yakuza ordeals and doesn’t split his time between them and caregiving unless forced by extreme circumstances, he encourages the kids’ unique interests so they don’t resort to blindly wanting to follow in his footsteps, etc. obviously he’s not perfect either, but considering he had no singular decent models from his own childhood to follow, he did well, and clearly was doing it because he wanted to, not just out of guilt, pity, or obligation.

I could go into the dicey dynamic differences between kazama and kiryu versus kazama and nishiki, or the details of how kazama influenced kiryu’s personality and behavior as an adult, or a lot of other things, but I’ll save all that for another post (or two. or three.)

#shintaro kazama #yakuza #rgg #rambling #kazama #I actually legitimately made my head hurt thinking about all this #it’s just. there’s so much room for speculation it’s tantalizing to someone obsessed with character analysis (me)

[sierra6x]

------@stingslikeabee queried: ❝  i do trust you.  you’ve earned that.  ❞

------SAFE HOUSES LITTERED the world. they weren't easy to spot if you didn't have the eye to see them, but they existed in common spaces, almost as sure a thing as breathing or the sun rising. he'd occupied this one for just a few days ... evident in how informal everything was. there were no pictures of loving family, friends, or pets littering the walls. it was clean in the sterile kind of way ... one that suggested leaving behind evidence could mean your life. operators were like park rangers here, insisting to leave it better than you found it with a foreboding or else tacked onto the end.

they very fact that he had given melissa this address, even if it was a safe house, was evidence in its own volumes that he'd trusted her, too.

a towel slung over his shoulder, dampening the clean white of his tee-shirt beneath. the faint scent of irish springs body soap and herbal essences shampoo suggested the shower he'd toweled off from maybe five minutes before her arrival, the towel itself pointed to the freshly maintained facial hair. he found such little time to care for himself these days. even something like a shower stocked with the bare bones was enough pampering to last another few months.

somewhere in the world he had his own home, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view to die for.

he hadn't been there in over two years.

" you come all this way just to tell me that? " it was a lot easier to shut people out than to let them in. in his many years in service of the sierra program, of the CIA through them, he'd kept more than enough people far, far away. he'd claim it was a lonely existence if he let himself feel those sorts of things. but in this day and age, especially now, he assumed everyone was out to kill him.

he didn't think melissa would turn on him like that.

he hoped she wouldn't.

but people were harder to read than he gave them credit for, and everyone had a price.

six tugged the towel from his arm and tossed it haphazardly onto the back of the couch as he passed. these sorts of places never had good windows - the trade-off of privacy for safety, so he didn't have to worry about anyone seeing them. just whoever might've seen her on the way here. and why was she here, anyway? he had a feeling. in the very pit of his stomach he had a feeling, especially if she came with those sorts of proclamations. he just hoped he was wrong.

there was an awful lot of hoping going on in this moment.

(he didn't know if he had the strength to rebuff her.)

he didn't know if he wanted to.

" or did you want to tell me something else? " all of his weight pressed into the hand on the faux-marble counter top of the island. it was a small place, the kitchen and living room were basically the same thing, but it had enough pride in itself to attempt to be fancy with things like fake marble countertops. with eyes like crystal-glass he studied her, careful not to let any emotion eke in (he was good at that), to give anything away in his body language (he was good at that, too). " 'm all ears, kid. "

#vi. interactions #verse. main #stingslikeabee #stingslikeabee 3 #this got away from me #ohoho

[hoochieblues]

Peppy's Big Day Out

Small dog, big excitement. Peppy got to do her first meet and greet event... and she didn't screw it up! 🎉

We got the opportunity to attend a local charity day yesterday, mostly thrusting flyers at people and raising a little bit of awareness, and Peppy got the Very Important Job of poster dog.

From her point of view, she went to a weird place where a bajillion potential new best friends had come especially to meet her. And there was cake. To say she had fun is an understatement.

Doing any in-person stuff for European dog rescue tends to be a bit of a hard sell. Lots of 'ewww, foreign dogs' and 'but why pay attention to... over there... when there are so many UK dogs in need of help?' which is a reasonable question. To which the reasonable answer is 'we're lucky enough to have animal welfare legislation and an established rescue infrastructure with large national charities, though ofc there is always a need to do more, particularly at the moment with abandonment rates increasing due to cost of living, and the blatant cruelty and unfairness of BSL resulting in record numbers of bull breeds being given up or wrongly persecuted. If you'd like to donate to those causes, I have links! Meanwhile, 'over there' relies solely on individual animal rescuers doing their best with less than minimal resources and a corrupt and compassionless system of 'public shelters' where dogs are routinely starved, beaten, and inhumanely euthanised. Would you like a leaflet about supporting the campaign for legislative change and systems of street dog population reduction that don't involve culling, or would you like to hear about what happens when an animal is injected with weedkiller?'

Not to overtly politicise, but I don't like the isolationism that made Brexit possible, and I don't think compassion should know borders. My colleague just got back from a trip to Romania to see some of our dogs in care with rescuers there, and to meet an amazing woman we're working with to (potentially) expand helping with TNR and vet outreach programs in the future. Equity is about helping how and where it's needed, and it's the same reason I support microlending platforms and independent healthcare NGOs over, say, Oxfam.

Anyway, not sure how many minds we really changed, but the majority of people were sympathetic and/or open to learning more, and the small wiggly terrier beast giving I Am Cute puppy eyes while I explained how she'd spent time in the doggy equivalent of Rikers Island (pictured) definitely helped.

We even got to do some walks around the public gardens and go into the house for cream teas. Amazingly, our very own PeePeeFace behaved herself, didn't tinkle anywhere she wasn't supposed to, didn't chew any children (the mouthing is a lot better. She knows she isn't supposed to playbite unless she's had her key phrase... which is 'yum yum' in a Gremlins voice. Hey, if it works, it's not stupid.), and even (mostly) walked nicely on the lead, with only a little bit of spinning and flailing. We even got a few 'gosh, she's so well behaved!' comments, at which I tried with all my might not to say 'yes, it's because she's slightly overwhelmed. Don't worry, it'll pass.'

It was by far the busiest and largest thing she's been to, but she did really well... and now she is verrrry eeepy.

Also, to those wondering: Chance handled being home alone for longer than usual really well, though I did get back to find the carefully hidden evidence of a felony.

The 2lb locking tub of peanut butter (which had been on the back of the counter after I filled his kong that morning) had been the subject of a daring but extremely tidy heist.

Very little on the counter had been disturbed (even though he had to have been up there to get it, which... good job, buddy. Given the dodgy back leg, good job.) and the tub was just quietly sitting, unlidded, under the table. Not a drop of peanut butter on the rugs, nothing else disturbed. The mark of a master. Not even mad.

Anyway, overall a really good day, and huge progress for Peppy. Dunno if any of the people we met would potentially be interested in adopting her, but you never know. There's got to be someone out there for her.

#foster dog diaries #peppy le phew #dogs #in chance's defence #we were late back so it was well past dinner time #and he had solved the issue for himself. he also yoinked half a pack of wholemeal wraps out of the cupboard #so it was probably a very nice supper #and this is one of the things i love about ex street dogs. the problem solving. the independence. the cast iron gut. #also #he does a happy dance when i come home now. call it stockholm syndrome if you like.... but i saw that wagging tail.

[gkt-tummyaches]

why dont u think blossom and brute would get along?

as i've said in numerous other posts about brute, she's not a likable person. she's a villain - in less gimmicky terms, a criminal. she's incredibly selfish and self-aggrandizing, with very little regard for other people's autonomy, let alone their thoughts and feelings. she's pretty much the antithesis of everything i believe blossom stands for, to an extent that is unforgivable nor able to be overlooked.

brute believes herself to be the utmost authority. it's bolstered by the confidence in her strength and power but also in the way she's carved out a place for herself in the world: brute is greedy, power-hungry, and dangerous. not somebody that blossom would want to be around.

blossom, whose childhood revolved around her upholding a certain standard, a certain goodness, being the pinnacle of all things on the side of political correctness and moral righteousness. while i believe she grows from such a strict mindset (and cruel over-expectation of herself), some things stick. refusing to tolerate the presence of a very dangerous, murderous-if-felt-like-it criminal in her city isn't so far-fetched.

we're not talking about moral ambiguity or antiheroism on brute's part. there's no redeeming intention behind her actions. she isn't a sympathetic villain for blossom to eventually lend a hand to. brute wants, brute gets. regardless of the cost, or perhaps in spite of it. she's irredeemable.

it's my favorite thing about brute. she won't change. she'll continue to antagonize blossom, laugh and mock any attempts blossom makes to shut down brute's organization or mode of operation. she's bigger, stronger, has way more resources, and most importantly she's involved in a side of crime that the powerpuff girls weren't exposed to in their line of work. brute delves into the very real parts of crime, and its certainly not to help anybody.

it's not like brute is a monster of the week to just be sent sailing back to monster island.

there's no secret agenda. brute wants money. brute can get money much easier by simply becoming a crime lord with various illegal revenues, like drug dealing and arms dealing. she doesn't care about the fall out. she doesn't care about what lives are lost. she doesn't care about getting her hands dirty.

do you see how that would be morally reprehensible to somebody like blossom ? how could she stomach standing in a room with brute, knowing all of that ? worse, when knowing blossom doesn't have legal authority to arrest or apprehend brute, doesn't even really have case evidence of any of this - she knows all of this because brute hints at it. revels in dropping bombs because she knows it gets under blossoms skin.

that aside, brute has enough money and enough people in her pockets that she can just pay off any kind of investigation or bail. can bribe people in power. she's the embodiment of power and corruption; she's a reminder of the dark parts of the justice system.

i think it'd make blossom sick. brute is somebody who makes her feel powerless without raising a finger. under no circumstances would they get along. ever.

// none of this is to discredit the gray areas of crime & justice, or to villainize all people who have ever had to break the law. just, in this case, brute is a villain and also a criminal. she has zero nuance. i don't want her to have any. she's a very simple person with a very simple motive, and doesn't let anybody get in the way or achieving her goal. blossom is an obstacle that brute could flick away like lint. brute has some exceptions to her world view, but those exceptions are largely motivated by some self-serving purpose. blossom makes plenty of exceptions for plenty of people, but there is a line. in no way, for me, would they ever get along.

i might have more to add later (writing on mobile is very difficult) but that's the jist of it.

#ask #ppnkg #ppg #headcanons #hcs #powerpuff blossom #blossom #powerpunk brute #like nothing abt them is compatible 💀 #brute

[mariacallous]

An official investigation into a pandemic would seem an unlikely source of sordid entertainment. But such is the nature of contemporary politics in Britain that the inquiry into its official response to COVID-19 has been reduced to just that.

Over the past few weeks, in an office building near Paddington Station in west London, some of the United Kingdom’s most distinguished lawyers have questioned those at the heart of the British state about their response to the pandemic. The inquiry is set to reach its peak in a few weeks’ time, when investigators question former Prime Minister Boris Johnson and other key ministers, including current Prime Minister Rishi Sunak, who was then the chancellor (finance minister), and Matt Hancock, the former health secretary, whose reputation has been little enhanced by his decision to quit politics after a very public extramarital affair and instead become a reality TV star.

Already, the inquiry has shone a light on the bombast and buffoonery in Downing Street, led by and personified in the then-prime minister, Boris Johnson. Most of the coverage so far has been focused on the questions of who said what to whom. And it has been colorful—women denigrated with sexist slurs, other civil servants dismissed with elaborate insults, multiple hatreds laid bare— with most of the vulgarity emanating from the testimony of Dominic Cummings, a self-styled Rasputin figure who had been at Johnson’s right hand until they spectacularly fell out and became archenemies.

While the palace intrigues have caught the media’s attention, the more important failures—the gradual erosion of the publicly funded National Health Service (one of very few state institutions in Britain that remain overwhelmingly popular) and the wider weaknesses of state structures—have yet to receive a proper airing. (That time may yet come. The inquiry has been split into five so-called modules, and it is only midway into the second.)

The state’s dysfunction, however, needs to be seen in a wider context. At the onset of the pandemic, Britain was mired in self-delusion. Years of austerity had drained public services of the ability to do anything more than muddle through, with no slack in the system in case anything went wrong. A sense of entitlement among a small group of Conservative Party politicians, all educated at elite schools, had reinforced a foppish self-belief rather than self-awareness. And decades of denial about the U.K.’s real place in the world had infused, in politicians of all parties, a view that Britannia did still rule the waves.

How else to account for Johnson’s approach to the pandemic, painfully laid bare by several of his former advisors? In devastatingly deadpan evidence, the deputy head of the civil service, Helen MacNamara, said she struggled to think of a single day when Downing Street adhered to the emergency rules it had set, which many citizens were prosecuted for failing to follow.

She described how in the crucial period leading up to the first lockdown, Johnson declared that the United Kingdom’s “world-beating” systems would cope better than all others. For 12 crucial days, people were allowed to go about their daily lives unaffected, even after the World Health Organization declared on March 11, 2020, that the coronavirus outbreak was a pandemic.

The disease, Johnson blithely told colleagues, would be no worse than swine flu. He and his officials had no interest in learning from others, such as from countries that had coped with the SARS virus. MacNamara revealed how ministers fell about laughing when they were told about European states shutting down, mocking the Italians for rushing to do so.

This sense of go-it-alone braggadocio, very much a Johnson hallmark, had seemingly been turned into a governing principle since the United Kingdom’s exit from the European Union.

As early as March 13, MacNamara marched into the prime minister’s office to tell him that the National Health Service would be overwhelmed. “I think we are absolutely fucked. I think this country is heading for a disaster. I think we are going to kill thousands of people.” Johnson finally declared a lockdown on March 23. By then it was already very late, and many lives were lost that otherwise might have been saved.

That was just the start. Texts and WhatsApp messages have also provided a treasure trove of material attesting to the government’s inability to cope. The head of the civil service, Simon Case, wrote to a colleague he had “never seen a bunch of people less well-equipped to run a country.” He described the atmosphere inside Downing Street as “mad” and “poisonous.”

Throughout the two-year pandemic, Johnson would repeatedly get the science wrong, veering between desperation and complacency. One of his officials’ diary entries noted that he had expressed the belief that the coronavirus was “just nature’s way of dealing with old people.”

Nor were government structures properly equipped. The head of the health service admitted that there was a “disconnect” between government and the realities on the ground. Very few senior civil servants had any science background.

Other faults cited by experts in the inquiry and outside it have been overcentralization in the health service and a failure to consult regional authorities across broader policymaking, and a lack of understanding of demographics. Differential impacts on poorer people or ethnic communities were accepted as inevitable. Epidemiological data was inconsistent and disorganized. There were not enough hospital beds or dedicated wards. Supplies of personal protective equipment for health workers were in shambles, as was testing, and tracing was a nonstarter. Borders were not closed for many weeks. Throughout the crisis, informal procurement policies bordered on the corrupt, with several companies linked to friends of ministers receiving large contracts and sometimes producing equipment that failed to work.

In short, contingency plans for governing in an all-consuming crisis of the kind that arrived with COVID-19 did not exist. But this was not only a matter of Johnson’s administrative incompetence. The British political system has for centuries been based on the so-called good chap theory of decent people playing by informal rules and doing their best. Regulations and structures are habitually dismissed, usually by the political right, as stiflingly un-British. At the apex of power, the relationship between the prime minister, his or her cabinet, and senior officials is blurred and subject to interpretation by each set of incumbents. Civil servants have a duty to political impartiality and to not making public statements, leaving them invariably to being blamed for government mistakes. Although these pressure points have always existed, morale is said now to be at an all-time low.

The watchword now is resilience, and it is at the heart of preparations that the opposition Labour Party, which has a consistently large lead in opinion polls, is making for government after a general election that is most likely to take place between May and October in 2024. The task is considerable. Politics based in precedence and making it up as you go along may have worked in the past (although as ever in Britain, the country’s performance is seen through rose-tinted spectacles), but there’s little reason to think they will be adequate to present and future transnational crises—from climate to migration to natural resources to another pandemic.

What is required is a thorough reconstruction of the United Kingdom’s governance. One of the key figures in any future Labour government is a top civil servant who shortly after delivering her report Johnson’s “party-gate” scandals announced that she was moving to be chief of staff to the likely next prime minister, Keir Starmer. Her main task, which she has already begun planning, is an overhaul of structures, rights, and responsibilities of government departments. This is expected to be wide-ranging.

It has been necessary and, indeed, instructive—and possibly entertaining—for the COVID-19 inquiry to delve into the miscreance of Johnson and his cabal. But it has so far been insufficient in terms of addressing deep-rooted systemic failings.

[inbarfink]

Concrete Witch

Sometimes they are Monster Hunters clad in stone-armour, hiding the fact they have more in common with those they hunt than meets the eye, sometimes they are cold corporate workers who seem just a little more dead-inside than the usual, sometimes they are unassuming faces in the crowd who blend into the background a little too well. Whoever they are, the Concrete Witch’s simple, often plain, visage, hides what powerful and contradictory creatures they truly are.

Concrete Witches' Emotional Focus is the emotion of Apathy. Through this harnessing of the mundane and the banal - these Witches are among the few capable of wielding the powerful art of Anti-Magic. As such, Concrete Witches are often nicknamed “Anti-Witches”. Their focus on the emotion of not-feelings-very-strong-emotions makes them especially effective at combating other Witches’ emotion-based magic. But they can be quite dangerous for other magical beings as well.

Concrete Witches tend to be stoic and quiet. They are as stable and solid as the construction material that gives them their name, and usually have about the same charisma as it does as well. But although they are thoroughly boring individuals, they are practical and dependable to the end. Most Concrete Witches maintain an aggressively average and mundane appearance, and rarely reveal their powers openly. Their power depends on people feeling Apathy towards them, and people feel many things towards the ‘Anti-Witches’, but Apathy isn’t one of them.

Among magical beings, Concrete Witches are among the most feared - but they are very rarely respected. They are seen as misguided destructors. Not just taking away Magic in the name of the banal, but also taking away all emotions that make both magical and non-magical life worth living in the first place. Even many ordinary humans share this world view. And it is true some Concrete Witches are crusading against all magic and emotions, but they are not really representative of the practice as a whole.

For the more benevolent Concrete Witches, the value of magic and emotions is self-evident - but sometimes they do need to be reigned in. Sometimes a Curse needs to be broken, or an evil Wizard needs to be stopped. And you don’t need to feel something about everything. Sometimes it’s better to be apathetic than to care about a bad relationship long gone or a stupid internet post. No one can survive in a world without a little Apathy. Destroying Magic and emotions running amok is never going to be a pretty job. But someone’s gotta do it, a lot of Concerte Witches are not happy about it but they’re not exactly sad about it either.

Concrete Witches rarely use other forms of spellcasting outside of their signature Anti-Magic abilities. Even when they do need to deal with non-magical threats, they prefer to deal with them using their mundane skillset - which tends to be very good and very diverse. The few Concrete Witches who learn other forms of spellcasting tend to focus on simple utility spells. Combat spells are rare but they have a clear Elemental Affinity to Earth and Metal.

#Concrete #witch #apathy #gray #grey #witch art #witch aesthetic #witches #fantasy #fantasy art #character design #character illustration #character art #character concept #digital artist #artists on tumblr #art #digital illustration #digital art

[heartfullofpony]

School Raze

Rewatching the Season 8 finale, rather a lot comes to mind. The underrated genius of Cozy Glow as a villain. Chancellor Neighsay's surprising integrity - the fact that all of his villainy came from an earnest impulse to "protect Equestria," and that he was willing, in light of new evidence, to pull a 180, and change his entire world view - no easy feat.

I'll be writing a more in-depth analysis of these two episodes in general, but first, I would like to focus on something a little bit more personal.

Since MLP: FiM ended, I, (Sprocket here), have come out as trans/non-binary. Since last I viewed this finale ("School Raze, Pts. 1&2"), my perspective has changed a great deal, and there are themes explored here that hit way harder than before.

For those who don't remember, "School Raze" opens with one of Starlight's spells failing. Then Twilight's. Then Rarity's. Then comes a summons from Celestia. And a letter from Starswirl the Bearded.

The upshot? Equestria is losing its magic.

Cozy Glow puts the idea in Twilight's head that it might be Tirek, and packs Twilight's bag to aid in their journey to - you guessed it - Tartarus.

To make a long story short, the Mane Six get stuck in Tartarus (but eventually bust out). Cozy Glow imprisons Starlight Glimmer in a magic-glyph-sphere-thing; Chancellor Neighsay locks up the Young Six (minus Sandbar) for being eeeeeevil non-ponies; and when they eventually get busted out by the CMCs, the Young Six makes their way down to the catacombs under the Friendship School, where they discover Cozy Glow's evil plot - Starlight Glimmer imprisoned - and Equestria's magic, draining (via a glyph-a-majig that Tirek had taught her).

[Caught up on the convoluted turn of events? Good.]

Anyway, as the Young Six are trying to figure out how the buck they are supposed to free Starlight, and restore magic to Equestria (without causing a massive magic explosion that would destroy the whole school), in comes Cozy Glow with an army of students.

She points an accusatory hoof at obvious racial minorities. She riles up all the kids around her, and proclaims that [paraphrasing here] "it all makes sense; you're trying to steal Equestrian magic because you have none of your own and you're jealous."

The WHOLE SCHOOL surrounds the Young Six. It turns into a mob that won't even listen to the CMCs.

While this had always been a powerful moment, for me, it now hits even harder than before, and strikes a nerve that is a bit more personal.

Here on Earth, and particularly in America, violence, (and violent rhetoric) against LGBTQ+ people is on the rise.

I have grown accustomed to assessing danger levels in every scenario. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time - being completely surrounded by those willing to believe the worst about you - it's a terrifying thing.

The social commentary behind the very existence of the Young Six - and the obvious mission of the show to foster respect and tolerance for diversity - had always been intentional.

To be 100% clear, those themes had always been noble ones worth exploring.

However, I felt a little essay was necessary just to highlight the difference between respecting themes, and living them - that this episode, while rough around the edges in many ways, does a great job of demonstrating the horror of prejudiced panic responses to tragedy - of putting you, the viewer, in the shoes of folks that the angry mob might turn against.

In Equestrian fashion, the episode ends with a bit of a Deus ex Tree of Harmony, and a realization on the part of the students (i.e. angry mob) that the Young Six were actually exemplifying the lessons of friendship way more than Cozy Glow was.

The Mane Six and the princesses ultimately return. Cozy Glow is apprehended and imprisoned, but the real glory here goes to the Young Six, who embody what friendship really means, and more importantly, act as a lens for the show to tackle themes of social injustice on a level that children can understand.

The nightmare scenario that the Young Six experience here - of being in the wrong place at the wrong time - of being accused, but neither listened to nor believed - of ending up in a powderkeg situation, simply for being different - it's a very real possibility that millions of people face, (and we factor into decisions in our daily lives).

Kudos to "School Raze, Pts 1&2" form dramatizing that.

Discuss.

-Sprocket

If you enjoy essays like these, please consider supporting my work on Patreon.

#my little pony: friendship is magic #brony #my little pony #mlp #mlp:fim #analysis #inspirational #fandom #mlpfim #racism #young six #transphobia #prejudice