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thusspoketrish · 3 years ago

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Words Are Very Unnecessary

TW: Dark fic; Angst; mental illness; mention of past suicide attempt; implied self-harm; scarring; psychiatric ward; unethical medical practices/harm; inappropriate patient/doctor/staff interactions; shifting tenses

Created for the prompt Pretend for @drarrymicrofic

Title taken from Depeche Mode’s Enjoy the Silence

3.3K words. This is something that I may consider coming back to expand on in the future. READ ON AO3.

A heartwarming thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the thorough beta!

When Healer Robins announces that Harry will not be carrying out his final rotation at St Mungo’s, he’s shocked. He’s done everything he can within the last few months to prove himself capable: he’s completed his clinical rotations with commendations, he’s saved lives, he’s brought coffee and donuts in from his favourite bakery in Diagon every Friday, and he’s even played nice with the first-year Trainee Healers. But as Healer Robins announces his fate, Harry not only feels the bottom of his stomach fall—he can practically feel the smug smile burning a hole into the back of his head from his colleague, competitor, and overall pain in his arse, Blaise Zabini.

“I’m sorry Harry, but Blaise has already proven quite successful with some of the patients in Janus Thickey. I’m afraid that if we remove him, many of the patients will respond negatively to the change,” Healer Robins says, aiming a warm smile at Zabini.

“And you have a muggle vehicle, that James Bond-looking thing, am I right, Harry?” Zabini asks.

Harry turns to face him. He hates to admit it, but Zabini looks attractive in the lime green robes—but everything about him is stylish, with his broad shoulders, his fancy clothing under his robes, his stylish haircut. Too stylish for a Healer, Harry thinks glumly, staring down at his beat-up trainers he’s had for three years now. Harry grimaces as the other man smiles widely at him. He’d wager his entire Gringotts vault that Zabini has charmed a tooth to twinkle when he smiles like that.

“Yeah, why?” Harry grunts. He doesn’t want to show just how disappointed he is over missing out on the Thickey Ward, but he’s never been that great at compartmentalising his feelings.

“You’ll need one where you’re going,” Healer Robins says.

--------

As soon as Harry pulled his sleek black ’52 Jaguar XK-120 (a result of his quarter-life crisis earlier in the year) into the driveway of St Peter’s Asylum, the 16th century estate sends a chill up his spine. He exits his car and ambles around the property for a while, wanting to gain a better sense of his new work environment. There’s a 25-mile-long anti-Apparition ward surrounding the property and no Floo Network connection. Everything about the property felt duplicitous. The beautiful large bay windows were covered excessively with sharp, pointy metal bars, stained-glass depicting religious iconography were covered in grime and spiderwebs. The columned archway framing the front entrance has cracks in them and are covered in rotting foliage. Behind the estate is a crematorium where ominous black smoke currently poured from the vents, spilling upward into the grey sky. He should have known then that something was amiss.

After a confusing meeting with Head Healer Madison, a quick introduction to the nurses and orderlies, Harry is shown to his small, gloomy office. Settled in, when he finally glanced through the files of his new patients, he nearly spilled his coffee on the pile.

He did not expect to see Draco Malfoy on his rota.

He can recall the last time he saw Malfoy, right after the trials, when Harry’s testimony wasn’t enough to save him completely from time in Azkaban, but anything after? He can’t. He does not recall exactly how much time Malfoy served—had it been three years or four? Did he receive early release or was that his father? How had Harry simply put Malfoy out of his mind after everything they had both been through? How had Zabini not warned him Malfoy would be in a psychiatric ward? Did he even know?

All these questions left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth. He had asked Healer Madison to give Malfoy’s file to a different Healer due to the conflict of interest, but there were no other Healers that would take Malfoy, and so Harry was left with a quandary: either help Malfoy or they’ll send him back to Azkaban, untreated, to serve out the rest of his sentence.

Malfoy’s file was as depressing as Harry imagined it to be.

Malfoy was considered a permanent resident on the ward, but the history is muddled as to why he’s been labelled permanent if his psychiatric care was part of his early release requirements from Azkaban. The threadbare treatment plan had no end goals or date to reintegrate Malfoy into Magical society. The file simply read of an attempted suicide in Azkaban, manic depression, and tendencies towards excessive violence to not just himself but those around him when angered—this was one of the reasons Healers refused him care. He had apparently injured the last three, one almost fatally. He’s been kept heavily medicated, but lately has been refusing treatment. The nurses have been providing the necessary potions intravenously.

Malfoy also hasn’t uttered a single word to anyone—not staff or other patients—for over two years.

From the gossip that the nurses regularly indulged in, Harry was able to learn that Malfoy befriended a young Scottish man named Ziggy and an elderly woman named Lottie that was also considered mute and antisocial. Ziggy had died exactly over two years ago under mysterious conditions and his body was sent to the crematorium instead of autopsied by the local Medical Examiner. When Harry had brought this oversight to Healer Madison, he had been scolded and suspended for three days for viewing files not assigned to him. She threatened to send him back to St. Mungos if he continued to work on the files that have been sealed by the Chief Healer, which would result in him failing his final rotation.

This, of course, further fuelled Harry’s interests.

-------

Harry began to watch Draco’s condition much more closely.

The other man still wouldn’t utter a word to Harry, and sometimes he wondered if Draco even recognised who he was sitting in front of, his eyes unfocused, body slumped in his chair with his bandaged arms wrapped around his body, his long blond hair falling to his shoulders in messy clumps.

Harry began to discover bruises around Draco’s wrists when they’d meet for sessions. When they began to appear around Draco’s neck, and finally, his left eye, Harry calmly enquired about it, and this sent Draco into a silent, violent frenzy. Draco had shoved most of the contents on Harry’s desk to the floor, thrown books at the walls, and ripped one of his bandages free to viciously dig his nails up and down his arm. Harry had to call a CODE RED as he scrambled to unlock his wand from the warded drawer of his desk to Stupefy Draco before he reopened all his wounds. It was the first time Harry had seen any kind of real reaction from the other man and quite frankly, it scared the hell out of him. He had watched helplessly as the orderlies rushed in to gather Draco’s limp body from the floor.

Later that day, he approached Healer Madison.

“I’d like the evaluation forms for any other medical treatments Mr Malfoy is having here,” Harry had demanded. She had popped her gum in Harry’s face before rolling her eyes at his request.

“Those records are private, Potter. For the Chief Healer’s eyes only,” she had said.

“Well, I need the evaluation forms as well. I should be aware of any changes in treatment methods, considering Malfoy is one of my patients.”

Healer Madison patted Harry on the shoulder. “Relax, Potter. No need to be such a bloody worry-wort. Code reds happen all the time here. You’ll soon come to realise how we do things at St Peter’s.”

-------

Harry left the hospital at 5pm every day. Like clockwork, when he’s just about to get into his car, he’ll look up to the third-floor window of the recreation room where he’ll catch Draco staring down at him through the slats of the bars. Each time, the monster in Harry’s chest that’s begun to grow with Harry’s concern and affection for Draco, roared to life. He knew it would be just a matter of time before Draco ended up dead if Harry did not figure out what’s going on in this hospital.

--------

On a particularly cold, grey day in October, one month into Harry’s rotation at St Peter’s, Harry enters the third-floor recreation room. All of Harry’s patients have been improving greatly, Draco in particular. Intravenous treatment ended a week ago as he’s now more cooperative in taking his medication by mouth. His self-harming had eased somewhat, but there were still bad days that Harry monitored closely. Draco interacts with staff and his friend Lottie again, sitting next to her to watch the Muggle telly or just holding her wrinkled hand as they both stare out the window. His grey gaze seemed stronger, more focused, determined, even. It made Harry happy to see a sliver of the person he once knew shining through, and he hoped it would just be a matter of time before Draco speaks, so Harry can help him.

Harry glances around the room. Soft music is playing from off the telly. There's plenty of places to sit, but he opts to walk over to the window where Draco is sitting and playing chess by himself. The man’s wrists are bandaged again, no doubt from picking at his scars. Harry can see a patch of blood through the gauze and wonders why none of the nurses have been around to replace them. He wishes he had his wand (which is locked in his office for safety reasons) so he can replace the bandage himself.

“Draco,” Harry starts warmly. “How are you doing today?”

Draco looks up from the board and Harry gasps. There’s another brutal black eye around his left eye, and the top of his lip is split. Harry reaches out, his fingers lightly touching Draco’s lips before grazing along his jaw. Draco remains very, very still under Harry’s touch, his lips parting slightly as his chest heaves. When Harry remembers himself, he snatches his hand back as if he’s been burned.

“Who did this to you?” Harry hisses.

For a moment, Draco’s eyes turn incredibly bright as he exhales a phlegmy breath before his gaze shutters. Harry sits on the opposite side of the board, staring down at it as Draco takes one trembling hand to move his black bishop to E5. Harry sighs.

“You can tell me, Draco. I…I want to help you. I know there’s something terrible happening in this hospital, and I know someone is hurting you. Please, Draco—”

Draco abruptly stands from his seat, startling Harry. Draco doesn’t pay him any notice as he stretches his long, rail-thin body before strolling up to the nurse’s station. He taps on the glass divider several times before Nurse Mathilde slides the panel open.

“What is it, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco mimes smoking a cigarette.

Nurse Mathilde purses her lips. “The Chief Healer has given you permission to smoke again, but not until 5pm and especially not without an orderly present. You’ll have to wait until then. No exceptions!” she snaps before slamming the panel shut.

Draco doesn’t come back to his board game, nor does he glance over at Harry.

Harry watches as he instead sits next to his friend Lottie who is staring at the only plant in the recreational room. He lifts her wrinkled hand and entwines it with his own before settling in to watch the plant with her.

---------

At approximately 5pm Harry exits the asylum, briefcase in one hand and car keys in the other. When he passes by one of the gnarled oak trees, he notices Draco leaning against it, blowing tendrils of smoke from his cigarette. Harry slows down to watch him.

Draco’s hip is cocked out, his hospital shirt bunched up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale flesh and a titillating v-line that disappears in his thin cotton hospital pyjamas. He’s properly beautiful—all long lines and sharp edges carved in delicate, alabaster marble. Harry has noticed just how clearer Draco’s eyes are now, how the grey is piercing, brimming with cleverness and an intelligence that reminds Harry of the boy he knew in Hogwarts.

Harry’s suddenly startled out of his reverence when he glances around and notices that Draco is currently unattended.

Harry decides to approach him.

“Draco. Are you out here by yourself? Where is your attending orderly?”

“He was recovering from the blowjob I gave him before I did this—” Draco says, his voice thick and raspy. Harry is so shocked to hear the familiar drawl that he stumbles forward, his eyes widening, realises too late that Draco has lunged towards him, left hand raised high to strike Harry on the side of his head with a large, jagged rock.

When Harry comes to, it’s with a sharp groan and with the sound of a string of complex Latin filling his ears. He grits his teeth as a burning sensation wraps around his wrist. He realises that he’s frozen on the ground by a particularly thorough Petrificus Totalus. Despite his throbbing head, he focuses enough to catch Draco at his side, hissing as a thin, red bracelet appears on his left wrist, the bandages now gone. Harry hasn’t seen his left arm exposed before, and he cries out as he takes in the horrific scarring over the Dark Mark, as if someone had tried to peel the Mark off with a scalpel and failed to dig deep enough. There were healed and freshly scabbed cuts from his wrist to his elbow on both arms.

Draco appears above Harry then. “Oh, good. You’re awake.”

There are streaks of dirt across Draco’s face, his hands, and under his nails.

“Please, Draco, whatever it is…don’t…don’t…”

Draco snorts. “What, don’t hurt you? Don’t kill you? Why would I harm the person I’m currently Bonded to?” Draco asks, lifting Harry’s wrist to his face. The red bracelet there matches Draco’s.

Panic seizes Harry immediately. Had he not been completely immobile, he sure he’d be shuddering. “What the hell is going on?” Harry asks, his voice shaking.

Draco drops his wrist and instead lifts a thick, taped together manila folder covered in dirt. “You’re helping me get the fuck out of here, Potter.” A smile breaks across Draco’s face then, making him look both incredibly beautiful and deranged. “It was as if you breathed life back into me, the day you walked through the doors of St Peter’s. I knew then that I had to hold on just a bit longer because surely it was a sign that my initial hard work wasn’t done in vain. You see this file here? I used to sneak out documents I’d gather from Madison, the Chief Healer, and the nurses proving the abuse. Some of the orderlies will let you do whatever you want if you can…provide the right services…and they would often leave me alone long enough for a smoke. I would hide the files here, Potter. But after Z-Z-iggy—” Draco’s excitable tone falters, a veil of sadness falling so quickly over his face Harry experiences a sense of whiplash. “They killed my friend, Potter. They treated Ziggy well before, even let him play Bowie when things weren’t so bad. They killed him during the experiments…”

“What experiments?” Harry asks, shocked.

Draco’s expression shifts once again to happiness. “I knew you wouldn’t be involved in something so gruesome.” He holds up his scarred arm. “On the Dark Mark and Purebloods who have come from Dark families. They’re trying to figure out how Dark Magic is entwined in a person’s DNA and…I don’t know…undo it.”

Harry’s eyes widens, mind beginning to race. “What?”

If the Healers here were literally using human flesh and blood to somehow recreate or understand the links between DNA and inherent Dark Magic, who knows what kind of torture and body modification they’re causing their subjects.

Draco eyes become manic. “You have to help me. You have to get me out of here in the next five minutes. My outdoor time is only half an hour and the orderly is currently passed out—”

“—Draco,” Harry whispers, interrupting Draco’s spiral. “How many others are there…how many other victims?”

“I don’t know, I swear. I just knew Ziggy personally but there would always be screams, so much screaming, so many voices…” Draco says, closing his eyes and swaying on the spot. He mutters softly, incoherently, to himself for a few moments before he opens his eyes, so grey, intense and bright. Harry is overwhelmed with shock, horror, and above all, disgust. Disgusted that the people he’s been working alongside for a month now, the people who have vowed first to do no harm, have been torturing their patients, vulnerable patients.

“Draco, I want to help you, okay? I will help you. You just have to undo the Petrificus Totalus. We’ll get in the car and just drive. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Draco holds up Harry’s wand, points it at Harry’s face. “If you betray me, Potter, you’ll regret it. We’ll get in that fancy car of yours and you’ll drive until I say stop. If you do anything to prevent me from getting these files to the right people…if you try to get help from the Aurors or let your friends know what’s going on, I’ll off myself. And this bond here, this bond will take you with me. I’m the only one that knows the counter, and once we get to my final destination, I’ll release you. So, don’t you dare fucking try me.”

Harry bites back a gasp.

Despite his very real fear, Harry’s desire to help Draco outweighs it. He nods.

“Okay, whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

Draco’s face, dark with suspicion, slowly starts to slide towards something lighter. He bares his teeth. “I hold onto the wand. You’re not allowed to touch me, period, or else I might get the wrong idea that you’re trying to get your wand back, and I don’t want to have to hurt you, or worse, hurt myself.”

“Yes, okay.”

With a wave of Harry’s wand, Draco undoes the spell. Harry sits up slowly, so as not to alarm Draco, who has quickly scrambled to his feet, the dirty file hugged to his chest, wand still trained on Harry. Harry follows after him, head throbbing and legs unsteady.

Draco casts a healing charm his way before strengthening a Disillusionment Charm around them.

Feeling much steadier, Harry exhales. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I hit you in the first place. I had no other means to incapacitate you.”

“You could have just told me what was going on.”

Draco shrugs. “I had to make sure you were trustworthy. And honestly, I’ve wanted to knock you out for years, so this very much fulfilled a boyhood dream of mine,” Draco says, his lips tugging upward. Harry pauses to look at him. The monster in his chest is awake, thrashing about as affection and desire feeds it.

Harry knows he��s fucked.

They make their way towards Harry’s car after checking on the unconscious orderly. Once settled in, Harry starts the car and drives, past the gates of the asylum and onto the stretch of empty country road. He glances at Draco, not at all shocked to see the tears that are streaming down his battered face.

“Where to?” Harry asks softly.

Draco continues to stare out ahead of him as he answers, “the only safehouse I know. A house on Spinner’s End, Cokeworth.”

Harry draws in a sharp breath.

#drarrymicrofic #Drarry Microfic #trigger warnings #Drarry #drarry fic #Healer!Harry Potter #Patient!Draco Malfoy #unreliable narrator #Dark themes #horror elements #honestly it's not THAT dark #right?#haha #to be continued #thank you for reading

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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Human Relations Snippet: Tim teaches Jon the internet and odious goats are sacrificed to the cult of Bezos

There’s no reason for this to exist. I was rereading a bit of HR and I saw a throwaway joke about Jon wanting to buy Martin a Portal Gun. I started wondering about how that would even work. The answer is, obviously, a 200 year old man squinting at a computer screen wondering why there’s so many horny singles in his area. I get possessed by demons easily, so I took three hours out of writing my daemon au and wrote this instead. Bon Appetit.

(Edit, quick clarification: I think that Jon would refuse to use the name for the Beholding that Smirke made up, and although all of this exists in my head and you guys don’t know this, there was a lot of tension between Jon and Jonah’s ‘circle’. So Jon hated Smirke and thought he was a hack. He uses Smirke’s terms to others sometimes for ease of understanding or in deference to Jonah (:/) but I think that mentally he mainly calls the Beholding his own name, The Witness. It rings of that personal and intimate connection Jon and the Beholding has. Anyway, onto the story.)

After one hour in anguished uncertainty, fifty popups that advised Jon of very many ‘hot singles in his area’, six separate sites that Jon’s God had to inform him were covers for thieves that stole money from you, and a very confusing retreat to Jon’s favorite internet page ‘Wikipedia’ as to what an Amazon was, Jon had given up.

Normally this was where he asked one of his personal assistants for help. Normally, he wouldn’t even be trying, and he would have just told one of them to do it. This was how Jon had cunningly mostly avoided using computers for the past twenty years. Some endeavors were unavoidable, and Jon was proud to say that he mastered email in 2010. Or was it 2008? He liked to think it was 2006, but it was possible...never mind. If it was important, the Witness would tell him.

Peter Lukas was right on almost nothing, Jon thought disgruntledly as he slammed his laptop shut - including in his taste of men, company, philosophies, men, patron deities, professions, and men - but he was right in his proclamation that the internet was the degradation of society. Not that he hadn’t sacrificed his morality and sold out, feeding his patron through something called “incel forums” and “Reddit”. Between him, Jonah’s “Excel spreadsheets” and “TurboTax”, and Annabelle Cane’s ridiculous “MMO guilds”, the Society was filling with computer geeks. Jon could always read the wind: he had to keep up, and quickly.

Besides, Martin had kindly educated him on how it was almost unheard of for a young man like Jon to not understand how to work that Goggle thing. Giggle? Martin was very streetwise and was one of the most insightful people Jon had ever known, he was definitely right.

Which is why he had to buy him this “Portal Gun” that he wanted. He had even shown Jon the website! And if Jon was in desperate times trying to navigate these confusing webpages entirely with URLs he memorized, then he would take desperate measures!

“I’m going down to the Archives,” Jon said, slithering off the couch and clutching his laptop to chest. Jonah had bought it for him. He appeared surprised that Jon was using it. “I may not be back for a while. I need...a book.”

Jonah didn’t look away from his own infernal machine. It seemed he was on that ‘Excel’ program again. Was it one of those ‘video games’ he kept hearing about? “Do I want to know what you were doing on that laptop.”

“Reading Wikipedia,” Jon said immediately, and somewhat defensively. Jon had discovered Wikipedia in 2001 before promptly funding it and throwing his weight behind its development. He had spent a solid five years convinced a computer was a kind of electronic screen that let you read digital Encyclopedia pages, like in Star Trek. He’d seen Star Trek. Georgie made him. “Did you know that -”

“Yes, yes, have fun. Haven’t you read that entire site already?”

“Not even,” Jon said defensively. “I can’t just sit and read through entire Encyclopedias anymore, Jonah. We know more things now.”

“What a way to describe the last two hundred years,” Jonah said, not even looking away from his computer. “We know more things. Never change, Jon.”

“You’re the one who never changes,” Jon grumbled. But it was a weak comeback, and considering his brand new delightfully short stature somewhat untrue, so Jon breezed out of Jonah’s office with full knowledge that he’d think of a better comeback halfway down the steps to the Archives.

In fact, it wasn’t until he was at the door, and by then he felt stupid for losing a point against Jonah anyway. He easily opened the door, stepping inside and quickly bee-lining for Sasha’s office. Her burgeoning powers were wonderfully flowing in the shape of access to and understanding of technology. He had never seen such gratuitous breeches of privacy as she casually committed. Every day Jon was validated in his decision to save her from the Stranger. A balance, an equal yet opposite Archivist from Jon, would be invaluable. Not that Jonah and Jon weren’t their own yin and yang, but Jonah’s powers were paltry and out-of-date. Mind reading and spying through iconography was so 1960. They needed fresh blood.

Sasha had been a wonderful choice, and Jon didn’t regret choosing her to act as saviour. Most of the time. Some of the time she -

“She’s not in.”

Jon’s fist halted in front of the door, about to sharply rap on her office door. He turned around to actually look through the bullpen, only to see that Timothy was sitting in his chair chewing a sandwich. Somehow angrily. Definitely suspiciously.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked dubiously. “Because you’ve lied about this before.”

“Because you should stop coming down here and bothering her.” Timothy balled the saran wrap in his hand and dunked it in the trash can, somehow undoubtedly giving the impression that he wished it was Jon’s head. “Just bugger off.”

Someone was in a snit. Normally Timothy wasn’t this hostile. Jon had thought that learning his name might make him less mean, but it did little to help. But when Jon looked around he didn’t see Martin, and a quick check assured him that both Sasha and Martin were having lunch at their favorite deli and engaging in that plotting hobby they both enjoyed. Timothy had elected to stay behind, stewing in his own angry and paranoid juices.

He would have to do this with Martin out of the Archives...and he really wanted to take care of this now so Martin would get it before the weekend...and it wasn’t as if Jon was scared of this boy he was one hundred and seventy years older than…

“Uh,” Jon said intelligently, “can you help me with...something…”

Timothy’s face twisted in a novel combination of surprise and disgust. “What,” he sneered, “your evil fear god or whatever can’t figure it out for you?”

“I don’t need others to think for me,” Jon said stiffly. It was something he’d had to say far too many times. “The Witness is less helpful with...troubleshooting...look, do you know how to work a computer?”

Timothy stared at him blankly. “Like, at all?”

“I’m trying to buy Martin this toy he desires,” Jon said desperately. Fuck it all, he walked over and sat down in the chair next to Tim’s desk. He pulled a little bit closer, placing his laptop on Tim’s desk, and ignored the way the other man leaned away. “But whenever I try I keep on seeing alerts about hot singles. I’m not interested in young women, I just need to buy a ‘Portal Gun’. Do you know what a Portal Gun is?”

Timothy continued staring at him, eyebrows raised. Clearly involuntarily, so quick that he may not even have noticed, one corner of his lips was ticking upwards into a smile.

“How many credit card scams have you fallen for?”

“Absolutely none,” Jon said, very quickly. He pulled out his credit card, placing it on the table. He knew a credit card was involved, although he didn’t know how. “What do I do? Do I swipe it? Is there a port?” He picked up the laptop and squinted at its sides, looking for a port. “I wanted to ask Sasha for help, since she’s the expert in hacking, but surely you know the basics?”

“I mean...I can’t, like, code, but yeah, I can work Amazon.” Timothy carefully opened the laptop, watching the display light up. He effortlessly navigated to an icon on the screen, clicking it open.

“That’s not right,” Jon said urgently. “You’re supposed to press the E.”

“I do not want to know how many toolbars you have,” Timothy said bluntly. “We’re using Chrome. That’s another way to look at the Internet.” He rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, I got a grandmother, we can do this.”

Jon perked up. “So you’ll help?”

Went unsaid: even though you hate me?

“Whatever,” Timothy grumbled. Jon decided not to press his luck.

Jon decided that he liked the Chrome better than the Internet Explorer, because it was simpler and Google was on the first page. Tim rapidly typed on ‘Amazon.com’ into the search bar and easily scrolled through the very busy and picture filled page that immediately popped up. Why was everything so fast? Maybe this was why the young people had no attention span: these pages just came up immediately. No flipping for indices for finding anything in phone books.

“Right. What was it, a Portal Gun? Like from the game?”

“A board game?”

“Video game.”

“Like on a VHS…?”

“Right.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, Sasha said that you’re one of the most famous sociologists and anthropologists in British history.”

“I am extremely intelligent, Timothy, and I won’t abide any insinuation otherwise,” Jon said curtly. “I cannot be expected to keep constant track every time there’s another - iPhone or whatever. You have teenagers in your family, correct? Do you always know what they’re talking about? That’s, what, a twenty year age gap? Multiply that by ten.”

That shut him up. Timothy sighed again, much more aggressively, but he clicked the white bar and typed in ‘portal gun’ anyway. “Right. Not fucking apologizing, but right. I still don’t fucking know what ‘Twitch’ is.”

“It’s a brief spasmodic contraction of the muscle fibers,” Jon said helpfully. “Fascinatingly, this phenomenon was first observed in frog’s legs before I was even born in 1780, by Luigi Galvani. Erudite man, by the way, but he couldn’t hold his liquor. It was the birth of the study of bioelectricity, although the exact mechanism of muscle contraction eluded scientists for years.”

“Never mind.” Timothy sighed again, the perfect mix of aggravated and long-suffering. It seemed to be the man’s two favorite emotions. “My grandmother has a PhD and she still can’t figure out her cell, either. We had to get her a Jitterbug.”

Amazon, as Timothy explained, was a kind of shopping mall, except you could pick out what you wanted by its picture and have the shopping mall pack it up and send it to you. Jon didn’t quite understand why people preferred this to just going to a shop yourself, seeing as you could get it immediately instead of with a three or four day turnaround, but Tim explained that Amazon was cheaper, had a wider selection, and didn’t make you get off the couch.

“Oh,” Jon said, finally getting it, “this follows the economic model of large scale businesses underpricing their products to undercut smaller businesses in the area, driving them out of business until they hold monopoly over the market and can raise their prices without worrying about staying competitive.”

Timothy stared at him.

“I mean,” he said, “I guess?”

“This explains why my Alexa project was successful so quickly,” Jon mused. “With a lack of competition or alternatives, consumers are more likely to accept the dramatic invasions of privacy as normal. Normalizing intrusions into privacy took ages, but my early efforts paid off very well. The Ring doorbell was even better, along with the line of security and home protection systems. We’re now working on live streamed 24/7 surveillance to social media platforms.”

Timothy stared at him further.

Finally, he said, “Alexa was...you?”

“Of course,” Jon said, baffled. Who else would it be? “I gave Jeff the idea and convinced him it would be profitable. I didn’t understand the whole mechanics of it, but once I gave Jeff a vision from the Witness he was eager to implement the divinely inspired spyware.”

Timothy continued to stare.

“The evil fear god controls Jeff Bezos.”

“He thinks I’m a prophet, actually,” Jon said helpfully. “I let him become Cardinal of the imaginary cult in exchange for funding some of my more esoteric programs. Had him sacrifice a goat and everything, it was great.” At Timothy’s alarmed look, Jon was quick to elaborate, “It was the most evil goat you’ve met in your life. Morally odious.”

“...for my sanity I’m going to pretend that you said none of that.”

In retrospect, although Timothy had worked at the Institute for a few years, it did take quite a bit of time to acclimate to the fact that the Avatars permanently shaped the shape of human existence in order to better feed their gods. Jon knew better than anyone: when humanity made gods, and gods made man, and man made gods...the feedback loop could self-perpetuate for years. Eternity, if needed.

But they had no luck on ‘Amazon’. With Jon’s eidetic memory he was able to easily pick out the one that looked most similar to the one that Martin had showed him, but all of the little toy guns were for someone named ‘Rick’. Then Timothy took twenty laborious minutes explaining the entire plot of ‘Rick & Morty’ to him, which Jon patiently sat through.

“I think young people today deeply enjoy explaining media,” Jon said, once Timothy finished telling him the funny jokes. “I’m very interested in your interests, Timothy.”

“You are so fucking condescending. And please call me Tim, you’re sounding even more like my grandmother.” When Jon brightened, Tim - Tim! - quickly said, “This does not mean we are friends.”

Granted, Jon had never once in his life gave a shit about making friends, but he felt as if he should be making more of an effort with Tim. He was a sort of supernatural brother in law, wasn’t he? Although Sasha perhaps Sasha was more of a favored niece. At least, he would be, if today’s generation found some morality and stopped living in sin.

Good lord. Now he was sounding like Jonah. Georgie used to joke that he was born in the wrong generation - he should have been born a 17th century Puritan instead. Jon found it a very funny joke. Jonah did not.

“Are there any other shopping websites?” Jon asked finally, after Amazon failed them. He’d have to call up Jeff later and complain. “Or is this the only one?”

Tim sighed. “Let’s check Google.”

Quickly and efficiently, yet with many lightning fast detours, Tim found another site called ‘eBay’ - pronounced ‘e-Bay’, not ‘ehbay’ - that listed off exactly what they needed. They weren’t under the toy section, instead listed as something called ‘cosplay’, but Tim seemed highly resistant to explaining that one, so he dropped it.

They picked a likely looking white toy gun that looked the most similar to the one that Martin had liked and Tim talked Jon through punching in the numbers on his card into the website and sorting through the billing and shipping information. Tim helpfully took down the numbers on his card to file later.

“And...done!” Tim said, pressing a button and leaning back. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was ten times as complicated as I thought it would be,” Jon assured him, “but also much more fun. What else can you buy online?”

“Oh, god. What can’t you buy.”

Jon brightened. “Can you buy books?”

“Old Gertrude used to buy Leitners on eBay,” Tim said dully, “so yeah, sure, why not.”

Jon stared at his computer. He carefully navigated the mouse to the big red x and clicked out of the internet browser. “That’s enough of eBay, then, I think.”

Guess he would have to stick to buying Leitners in person. It was no good buying fucked up books from sketchy sources. Always stick to people you trusted, or at least trusted to be themselves. Mikaele was Jon’s favorite supplier since the kid Leitner disappeared, and they had a pleasant working relationship. Mikaele shared his grandfather’s stories about the history and culture of the Maori, and Jon told him which of his haunted artifacts would be the most helpful in the imminent apocalypse.

“Well,” Tim said finally, gently pushing Jon’s laptop away, “that was...something, great bonding session with my local supervillain, please run back to Elias and bother him instead.”

“You were very helpful, Mr. Stoker,” Jon said, as professionally yet paternally as possible. Tim was six years older than his body, so he’s not sure how it came off, but the touch of grey at his temples helped with the dignified air. “And as soon as you start acting like a man and propose to my Archivist, you’ll make an excellent brother in law -”

“Uh, excuse me?”

Jon spun around in his chair to see Sasha and Martin standing at the door, holding doggy bags and looking somewhat flummoxed. Probably confused at the sight of him and Tim having a civil conversation, which admittedly had never happened before. Possibly also confused at how completely mortified Tim looked.

“Who said anything about proposing?” Sasha asked incredulously. “Tim, are you -”

“No! No, god no!” Tim stood up quickly, holding his hands out as if he was placating a raging bull. “Nobody’s been saying anything - I would never do that to you -”

“Oh,” Sasha said frostily, crossing her arms and letting the bags swing, “would you.”

That was a domestic Jon should stay out of, even though he definitely caused it. He and Martin sidled away in tandem, huddling near the back of the Archives as Tim frantically pled for his life.

Sneakily, Jon glanced at Martin out of the corner of his eye. He looked happy. Happy, and just as stressed as he always looked - Jon had never known Martin when he wasn’t constantly stressed out, and he was more than aware that it was his fault.

He looked good, too. Really nice, broad jawline that gave his face a friendly round shape. Just friendly and round in general, it was really handsome. His hair was as nicely short and ruffles as ever. The big glasses were super stylish, and really framed his face well. Really big, broad hands. Jon, who had always been so poky and tall and thin and gaunt, like some kind of haunted scarecrow that lurked through the corners of time, was envious. He wanted some of that softness and gentleness. Really, he wanted some of Martin’s -

“So what were you and Tim doing?” Martin asked. “I didn’t know you knew he existed.”

“You told me his name,” Jon said anxiously. “I don’t forget the things you tell me, you know.”

Martin smiled shyly and him, and Jon found himself smiling back. “It’s pretty good for my ego to hear that I have something to teach the immortal genius.”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, as Sasha yelled in the background, “I’ve been learning a lot lately.”

“Really?” Martin teased. “Anything interesting?”

“Oh,” Jon said, watching the yellow fluorescent light cast Martin’s dim smile in soft relief, “I can think of a few things.”

#my writing #jonathan sims #tim stoker #archivist!sasha #martin blackwood #sasha james #mild homosexual activity and massive old man activity inbound #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #im posting this at an awkward time so prep for a lot of self rbs

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insomniac-dot-ink · 4 years ago

Text

She Walks on the Beach at Dawn

Words: 13k

Genre: wlw modern fairy tale

Summary: A woman sees a strange figure walking on the beach every morning. She seems to lack a shadow, and disappears after Claudia blinks. However, Claudia can’t seem to help herself: She can’t stop wondering about the lonely figure.

After many weeks of waiting she ventures toward the other woman and brings her a small present. And a strange and twisting tale of an unusual woman on a beach and her admirer starts to unfold.

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She walked on the beach at dawn.

She had loose ink-black hair that swayed down past her hips, and an airy foam dress the color of pearls and ship sails. It was sleeveless, long, and exposed a long swath of her dimpling back. She had eyes like iron ore, and freckles of gold that spanned her shoulders and cheeks. Her footsteps were light, bare, and quickly washed away by the morning tide.

I noticed, I always noticed, that she did not cast a shadow as the sun rose bloody orange across the ocean front. I never approached.

She sang as she walked: a jaunty, endless tune that tripped and dallied its way down the melody with the speed of playful hiccups or a prancing horse. She was slow as she walked, her head bowed, and her eyes downcast. There were no other houses near that stretch of beach. My grandmother had the only small white cabin for miles.

The cliffs were too rocky, and the water was too cold to attract anyone but grouches who hated company and delicate wildflowers that dotted the hillsides. She walked in the sunlight with her song as thin as spread butter, and I watched. I never used to get up at dawn.

I never used to watch sunrises or chase the retreating silhouette of lonely stray girls. I wasn’t like that. I wasn’t that type of person, or at least, that’s what I told myself. Nonetheless, there was no denying it: she was the strangest and most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

She walked for several long minutes with her back straight and voice carrying. I would watch safely from a distance until I would blink or accidentally sneeze and look away for an instant, and she would be gone. ------------------------- “Grandma,” I came back into the kitchen with the backdoor clattering shut behind me. “Have you taken your pills? I laid them out with the yogurt.”

A bent old lady with her curly white hair like cotton fluff atop her head squinted back at me. “Where have you been?” She said tartly. “I had to put the coffee on myself.”

“Sorry.” I said breathlessly and went to the counter to check the coffee pot and get out two mugs. One with kittens and the other big enough to fit a bowl of soup in.

“Don’t tell me you were at the beach again.”

I didn’t meet her eye and instead busied myself with the creamer and sugar packets. Those two were for me since grandma liked hers black as midnight.

“I told you not to go down there,” She sniffed. “Break your neck on the cliffs down that way.”

I glanced over my shoulder finally and finished pouring the coffee. “And did you take your pills?”

“Yes, yes.” She said and waved a hand dismissively. “Did you take yours?”

“It’s a patch, grandma.” I went over to kiss her forehead. Something in me exhaled from that comment alone even after all this time. “And I did.”

“Good.” She said and her sharp bluebell bright eyes swung to meet mine. “I don’t want you out there again.”

I shrugged, and started to sip my coffee. It was as bitter as you like it even with sugar, and I was humming to myself the same song I had heard almost every morning since I had been there. A song from the girl on the beach.

Grandma scowled darkly and muttered something to herself before drinking her own coffee in a way that suggested she didn’t even taste it. ------------------ The morning air smelled sharply of salt and ozone from the rumbling dark clouds in the distance. Grandma Lettie had been saying for hours the day before that there was a storm coming.

I still had a tradition to maintain though. I went to the crevice of a beach just alongside the cliffs and I ducked behind a set of boulders. It felt wrong, the hiding alone made my skin prickle in a way I hated, but it had been three months alone in this corner of Maine with barely any contact.

A few friends still emailed and texted and called, but it seemed less frequent and sometimes less friendly. Most of them were chums from the law firm with square sturdy jaws and white teeth made for the courtroom. Men with family bank accounts established in pilgrim times and women whose eyes spoke of hunger and procedurals. Each one of them would usually offer up a friendly “good for you” when I told them the news, and then wouldn’t meet my eye for a while. It didn’t matter.

I squatted on the beach with my hands twisting together. I had a ribbon in my hand, and that felt wrong too. For a moment, I worried she wouldn’t come or that the storm would bulldoze across the ocean in a flash and ruin everything. I knew I couldn’t do this drenched. However, as if on cue, a funny little melody burst to life and I peeked out.

The woman stood with her shoulders sloping and freckles golden in the first of the light. Her long black hair swayed and I could only just make out a twisting design on her back. I always was a sucker for tattoos even if I had refrained from getting them for my “law career.” That didn’t matter anymore either.

I crawled forward as I watched her dainty footprints mark time across the ground. My heart throbbed in my throat as I stood and it felt like some sort of test I hadn’t studied for. A roller coaster no one buckled me in for. What was I doing? She turned toward the light and her hair was pushed aside by a strong breeze.

I made out the tattoo. It was of an eye with long lashes and two circles spreading out around it in a spiral. It was dizzying to look at. And beautiful.

My hand shook as I lifted the ribbon and maybe I should have run then. Perhaps I should have dove into the water myself and let the ocean claim me. “Excuse me,” My words shook and I hated this. “I have, um, this.”

She twisted around at an unnaturally fast speed, and her eyes went wide. There was a darkness there that I didn’t expect and she hunched over. “For your hair.” I said and it felt much stupider than I had planned.

The song was gone from her thin lips and she leapt feet-first into the water while my mouth hung open. Oops.

“Sorry!” I called. “I’m really . . . sorry.”

I put the ribbon under a large stone I had found and scrambled away from the beach as fast as I could. My grandma commented on my “dour face” when I walked in through the back door and it was all I could do from breaking down into tears.

I didn’t go to the beach the next morning. ------------ It was a week later when I found it.

There was a village two miles inland where we bought our groceries, visited the doctor, and picked up medicine. I had no appointments that day, but managed to snag a whole chunk of parmesan cheese for a spaghetti dish I wanted to try making. There wasn’t much else to do in a cabin isolated with your grandma but learn to cook.

I ended up packing up all the groceries into my basket and meandering past the shops with little tight windows, lacy curtains, and knickknacks on tables outfront. I fingered a rouge dress outside one of the shops. It was bright as cherry lipstick with tiny white flowers sewn into the skirt. It was lovely as a spring day, and even had pockets and a modest neckline.

I bit my bottom lip and wondered if I was going to be brave today. Would the woman inside give me a look like I had grown a second head if I went inside and tried to buy it? I hated being looked at. I hated being seen since I was young and my mom tried to get me to sing in front of strangers at her parties.

I almost puked from their eyes landing on me and my mom boasting about my rendition of “You Are my Sunshine.” I put the dress down. I sighed, you already own that blue one from Fran with the white stripes and that purple lacy one. I reminded myself.

I wore them in front of the mirror in my room and thought about date nights and summer movies on the beach and returning to civilization. I turned to go home, but something caught my eye like a fish hook through the mouth.

There was a painted rock holding down a pile of fliers inside. The fliers seemed to be for a music night at a bar nearby or something. However, painted in heavy brushstrokes on the rock was an eye with long lashes and a twin spiral coming up from the center. I rushed inside with a sudden gust of energy.

The shopkeeper was a greying old woman with a white kerchief tied in her hair and a bright orange shirt that didn’t suit the petulant frown on her mouth. She was thumbing through a magazine when I banged into the room. She looked up slowly and I pointed wordlessly to the rock.

“What’s that?” I stammered when I remembered language.

She looked me up and down and I had to remind myself not to bristle. “Local band night.” She licked her finger and turned a page in her magazine. “Seven O’Clock.”

“No, I mean,” I picked up the heavy gray stone and brought it toward her. “This.”

She tilted her chin up with a fierce little movement. Her eyes were dreary slate-gray and her voice was throaty like craigs in a mountainside as she spoke. “You up on Sugar Hill?” Sugar Hill was what the locals called the cliff-top where my grandma lived.

Apparently, it looked like a lump of sugar in the winter when it snowed. It snowed often.

“Yeah.” I nodded and turned the stone over in my hands. “With, uh, Miss Sampson.” I tried to make my voice higher and less intrusive. I hadn’t spoken to anyone but my grandma for a few days now.

The shopkeeper nodded. “So you don’t know.”

“Huh?” I ventured and wished she could just hand me a pamphlet of local iconography and spooky symbols.

“You can have it.” Was all she had instead. “I’ve got more.”

“But what is it?”

She let a stream of angry air from her nose. “Keeps favor.” She said simply, “Don’t want the spirits chasing you.”

Spirits. I flipped that over in my headspace like trying to finger a hole in my pocket until all of the seams burst and my hand fell through. “Spirits.” I repeated and wondered if my confusion alone would be enough for her to elaborate.

“Yep.” She said and turned the page of her magazine which I saw now had a star chart inside. She also had an astrology chart fixed on the inside of her space and a crystal ball tucked away by her sleeve. Of course. “Spirits.”

I opened and closed my mouth before leaving the shop with the rock in tow. I wasn’t sure what I had gained-- if anything at all. ------------------ I sat staring at my barely chewable soup I had made for the night. I was experimenting with heavy stews, but the broth was thinner than I wanted and the meat was thicker. I stirred the contents around before my grandma huffed.

“What’s wrong now, Claudia?” She said. She had finished the soup in record time which was truly impressive for someone bordering on 90.

“Um.” I contemplated the beef very thoroughly. “Do you think girls . . . like ribbons? As presents.”

“Sure.” She said and squinted. “You meet someone in town? Be careful. They’re all superstitious kooks in Summervale.”

“Sorta,” I didn’t meet her eye. “But I think I scared her.”

The muscles around my grandma’s mouth tightened as she seemed to search for the right thing to say. “Then she’s not worth your time.” She finally settled on, but I think she might have misunderstood me.

I looked away. “Sure.” I sighed.

“Try the wildflowers,” My grandma contributed with something that was almost a smile. “Nothing like our flowers anywhere else. And if she still doesn't like ya’ after that-- then buy yourself a nice dinner and don’t look back.”

“Oh. Flowers.” I sat up straight in my chair for once. “Ours are nice.”

Grandma snorted as if that was obvious. I stood to go scurry outside before all of the light died for the day.

On some level I knew I should let it go. There was no point in chasing girls who dove into oceans. Nevertheless, I couldn’t get that image of her out of my head. A lone woman with her feet marking the earth and a song about nothing floating through the air. That sight every morning was so lonely it made my chest ache.

And by then I knew dearly about loneliness. -------------------- “Maybe she’ll try and eat me.” I muttered to myself. “Maybe evil spirits are real and she’ll be the avenging kind . . . Or maybe you just shouldn’t harass poor girls on their morning walks.” I chastised myself.

I walked around in circles. I gnawed my lip to smithereens and I almost went home twice. I held a dozen white wildflowers to my chest. They were wrapped in blue string and held a very simple note that only read: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.

“Normal women don’t leap into the water to get away.” I kept going. “And you don’t even know what’s going on here. I mean, I don’t believe in spirits of course, but what if she’s . . .”

I never finished the thought as a prayerful kind of song was rising with the light. It was one I had never heard her sing before. I froze in place and hunched my shoulders. I listened for a moment. The melody was syrupy and filled with woeful long notes. I started walking toward it as if possessed.

“So, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why do you come here every morning?” I practiced what I wanted to ask her. “I’m sorry if I bothered you before. I just thought, well, that’s a lot of hair. What about a ribbon? I love long hair. I’m growing mine out and, um, um.”

I came around the bend and stopped mid-stride. She wasn’t walking this time. She was standing on our tiny beach with the enormous gray rocks beside her that led up to the cliffs. Her back was turned to me and her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail.

The ribbon I had placed on the beach was tied in it like a shining blue beacon. I swallowed painfully and almost turned around again.

She must have heard my steps crunching in the sand however, and quickly turned to look at me in that unnaturally fast way. My mouth was hanging open and she smiled. I had never seen her smile before. It was breathtaking.

“Oh,” I fumbled gracefully. “Hello.” I forgot every other word in my vocabulary.

Luckily, she didn’t run away and instead turned with the rising sun behind her and hair fluttering like a living field of dark kelp. She put her hand out. “Hello.” Her voice was smooth and seamless like a river rock. “Are those for me?”

I presented the flowers to her. I suddenly wished I had worn anything other than the ratty long brown skirt I had been trying out, and a white blouse with smudges on the sleeves. On some level I wasn’t sure I believed I would meet her.

I wished I was someone else with better words and a sharper wit and hair fully grown out. It only reached my chin so far.

She kept staring at me and I realized she was waiting for the flowers.

“Yes,” I squeaked and wondered when I had become so bad at this. “Flowers.” I put them in her hands and her smile somehow grew wider.

“Why?” She asked and it was a lovely edgeless word.

“Oh,” I wiped my palms down on my ratty skirt. “I, um, you live in the area, don’t you?” I asked in a way that resembled a person.

She laughed and it was rustic and almost chaotic in sound. “Close enough.” She said, “Do you give all of your neighbors flowers?”

Only you.

“No.” I admitted. “We don’t have any other neighbors.”

She laughed again in that shameless close-to ugly way. I wanted to bottle it and sell it to the heavens for good favor. “Thank you.” She said slowly and shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve never gotten a ribbon before.”

“You haven’t?” I heroically kept going.

She shook her head and took a step back. “I appreciate it. And the flowers,” She crushed them to her chest before looking over her shoulder. “I should go soon. What’s your name?”

“Claudia.” I blurted out. “Claudia Samson, I live up on the clifftop.”

“I know.” I should have been much more creeped out by her saying that. “Will you come again?”

“Yes!” I swore it and there was an almost sad look on her face.

“Come again at dusk. Be careful of the cliffs.” She said in a way that was unnerving. And then she dove into the water headfirst this time and I wondered if my flowers even survived that.

I collapsed onto the beach and watched the sun shine as if my entire world hadn’t just been shifted and led to something that felt breakable and breathless. The woman on the beach didn’t look me over like I was about to start speaking backwards.

She just looked at me-- simply and wonderfully, and it was all too good to be true. I stumbled home after that and my grandma kept asking me why I was smiling like a fool.

I kept telling her that I didn’t know. Sometimes good things just happen. Sometimes you get to be a fool. ------------------ I had never thought to meet her at any other time but the dawn when I first spotted her the morning of one endless, sleepless night. She had just been a peculiarity back then, but now she was a full blown mystery. Where did she live? What did she do for a living? What did she think about in the morning when she woke up and what did she like to eat for breakfast?

I wanted to know everything. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her lips curled into a cheshire grin and the way she asked if I was going to come again. I was definitely going to go back.

I put on the purple dress that showed-off my calves. I took off the purple dress and found some jeans that were at least unwrinkled. I put the purple dress back on and groaned at the mirror. Finally, I went to my grandma.

“Grandma Lettie,” I called and I knew she was in the television room watching her game shows or Animal Planet. “I have a question.”

Grandma Lettie lifted her chin and the gloom of the living room almost made me claustrophobic. She always watched TV with the lights off for some reason. I sucked on my bottom lip before turning on one of the duller lamps. “What do you think of . . . this?” I offered weakly in the purple dress with lace at the bottom.

“Let’s see it.” She said curtly.

I turned in place and it didn’t seem any better. “I know, it’s a little much.”

“This for the girl in town?”

“No.” I said truthfully. I was better now at telling the truth than when I was a lawyer. “Just someone.”

She hummed deep in her throat, “You taking her somewhere?” I shook my head and my grandma made a disgusted noise.

“I gave her the flowers. She liked them.” I answered shyly, “We’re just . . . meeting.”

Grandma shifted in her stuffed pink chair. She was thin now and her cheeks were gaunt and slightly haunting to look at. Her gaze was still razor-sharp and intelligent though, “Are you bringing something to do at least?”

“No?” I stuttered. “Should I?”

“Haven’t you dated before, woman?”

“Not like this!” I turned and stomped to the next room. “It’s not that easy.”

“Bring her wine!”

“What if she doesn’t drink?”

Grandma just snorted. “What kind of woman is that?”

“Grandma!” I whined and Grandma Lettie shook her head.

“She should at least like a good German beer,” she smacked her lips. “Or a little italian wine! I have some in the pantry. Make her a better woman yet.”

I rolled my eyes. I wanted to ask if that’s what grandpa did for her, but I knew it would be a sore subject either way. They were both unhappily divorced in a ceremony Grandma described as “making me a worse Catholic and a better person.”

I crept into the pantry for the wine and an ideal sparkled in the back of my head. “I’ll make a picnic!” I said brightly. “That’s like, a nice thing. Picnic’s are nice.”

“Wine is better!”

“Grandma, hush, I have to concentrate.” I started to think of inoffensive dishes to make for strange girls on the beach. Tuna sandwiches? No, it had to be better. It had to be something that would make her smile again.

I started cooking.

“You are a terrible nurse, Claudia.” Grandma grumbled when I didn’t share the food with her.

“But a good granddaughter, yeah?” Grandma just smiled and let me borrow a neat white blanket from the shed to sit on outside. ------------------ I rushed to the beach just as the sun was setting and my heart was threatening to burst and leave me dead. I managed to struggle my way down through the boulders just in time to see someone slipping across the sand. She was facing me this time.

“Claudia!” She sang. Her hair was still tied back and the foamy dress swaying in the wind, but she looked different. Her eyes were darker and face slimmer somehow. Her golden freckles seemed silvery and mouth quirked in a new direction.

In a fit of extreme embarrassment I realized I hadn’t asked for her name at our last encounter. I trembled. “I brought um, well,” I gave a nervous laugh. “Do you want to picnic?”

“Yes.” She said instantly. “Oh yes!” She clapped her hands. “So many people do that, yeah? They used to come all the time in the summer to picnic here.”

“So you’ve been here a long time.” I was still clutching the basket to my chest. “Were you born here?”

“Yes, yes,” She nodded. “I like your dress very much, Claudia.”

“I, yeah, thank you.” My cheeks flushed and felt somehow exhilarating and perfect to be told that. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t think I asked your name before.” I stood transfixed to the spot and tried not to wind myself up into a panic attack.

“Ah,” She just nodded. “I’m Rommel. It’s nice to meet.”

“Rommel.” I said fondly. “That’s unusual. It’s good.”

She shrugged. “It’s mine.” She swept to the side, “Let’s eat, I have to be home soon.”

“Of course.” I nodded like I wanted my head to fall off and my hands only shook slightly as I spread out the blanket. “I made two avocado sandwiches with spinach doused in a little lemon and a tomato. And a fruit salad, and oh, uh, wine.”

“Wine?” Her face split open. “Wine, yes, magnificent.” Her words were somewhat fast and bled together like mixed paint. “I’d like that.”

I poured us the wine first and she beamed when I handed her the paper-towel wrapped sandwich. She took one enormous bite before putting it down-- her mouth smudged with mayonnaise as she did. “Are you a chef?”

“Oh, oh no.” I said and hesitated to bite into the sandwich. It seemed menacingly large as I looked at it again.

“What are you then?”

I almost choked. “Well, I’m looking after my grandma now.” I clarified. “She lets me live there for free while I, well, I kinda quit my job and decided to start my life over.”

“That’s fantastic!” Rommel was obliterating the sandwich with a speed I had never seen in another person before. “I love your cooking. You should be a chef.”

I gave a wheezy little laugh. “I’m not sure about that.” I nibbled on the outside of the sandwich. “What do you do?”

She gave me a sly look. “What do you think I do?”

“I don’t know.” I shifted in place. Rommel started to drink from the wine now. Her cheeks were flushed and raw and I couldn’t look away. “Singer? Um, tax accountant?”

She rumbled with laughter. “Definitely a tax accountant!” She shook her head, “Tell me about your grandma then. Do you get along?”

Rommel was full of questions. She wanted to know who my grandma was and why she was such a grouch. She wanted to know about the house I lived in and how many dogs I owned growing up and any funny stories about the neighborhood kids. She wanted to know everything.

It was a brilliant half-hour that I wished lasted a lifetime. I wasn’t used to talking about myself-- I used to erasing myself in the name of manners and good standing and a family name I no longer wanted. “So, um. I tried to be a big shot lawyer, but never actually showed up in court.” I chuckled, “I can’t believe my parents even wanted me to go into it. I had a stutter growing up! How could they see a kid like that and go: lawyer. Definitely should be lawyer.”

“What should they have said?” Rommel was giggly and bright-faced.

“Oh maybe dentist.” I said and it felt so good to speak freely. “Or perhaps part time as a professional koala bear.”

“Koala?” She shook her head. “I don’t see koala in you.”

I shrugged, “I love eating things that are bad for me and doing nothing.” I joked.

“What do you think I’d be?” She stuck her chest out and she seemed to like to play guessing games.

“Horse.” I said directly. “Or one of those funny little seabirds.”

She stuck her bottom lip out. “Seabird?” She whacked me on the shoulder. “You aren’t getting any flirting points.”

“Points?” I sat up straight as if electrocuted. “Jesus, am I being graded? Don’t tell my brain that. I’ll start hyperventilating like I did in the fifth grade during spelling bees.”

“Oh no worries.” Rommel said with ease. “No grades here. Though grade school has a lot to teach us, such as about the alphabet. And sharing.”

“You know a lot about gradeschool, eh?” I tried to probe for facts about her.

Rommel shrugged. “My mother is a teacher of sorts.”

Some part of me exhaled at that. She had a normal, teacher mother who probably lived nearby. She was a normal woman-- even if I still couldn’t pinpoint her shadow behind us. “And this for instance,” Rommel started tracing words into the sand. “A good learning moment from grade school.”

I almost choked on my wine and had to start coughing and beating my chest after a second. It was not elegant in the least bit, but in my defense Rommel had traced words in the sand. They asked: Do you like me? Yes. No.

“Well?” She put her hands on her hips. “What do you say?”

I crawled over and checked the yes. “You are quite tricky.”

She laughed. “Tricky like a fox!” She whooped, “Not a seabird.” She looked over her shoulder where the last of the light touched the purple seas.

“You are a lady of layers.” I grinned.

“Yes.” She said. “Would you like to do this again?” She asked quickly and cocked her head to the side. “Go on dates?”

“YES.” I stood up all at once and brushed the purple skirt off. “Yes, yes I would!” It was absolutely the sweetest thing in the world to be asked instead of doing the asking.

She nodded. “Have you ever been into town? I’d like to go.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been. They have . . . music nights and craft shows sometimes and all sorts of things.”

She smiled prettily. “Good. I have to go now, but when you come next I need you to bring me three things, and then we’ll go into town.”

“Anything.” I said and I meant it.

She tilted her chin down. “Three drops of your blood, a lock of hair from a land dweller, and a piece of shadow from a mountain stone.”

“Uh, what?” She smiled and I looked around me to see if I was about to be pranked or something. “What does that mean?” I turned to ask for more details, but she was gone. I was left alone in the dark with an empty wine glass and my head spinning.

Maybe she wasn’t such a normal woman after all. ------------- I paced back and forth in my room. That can’t be right, I thought to myself. She doesn’t really want my blood. That’s ridiculous.

I had heard her ask for it of course. I had her say “three drops of your blood.” I had seen the look in her eye that was neither humorous nor lighthearted.

It felt like preparing to take the LSAT all over again: questions with no right answer and answers that barely made any sense. I retrieved the rock I now kept in the drawer of my bedside table. I examined it carefully and chewed on my bottom lip again.

What if Rommel was something else? What if there is something more to this world?

I had been raised with rationality held to the highest esteem. My sister had been teased mercilessly by the entire family when she went to see a fortune teller at the carnival. My mom threw out some Tarot cards I had been given at a birthday party as a “sad gift.” We were raised with facts and hard reality and capital “t” Truth. I was one of the reasons I was bullied into being a lawyer-- as well as so many other reasons.

But what if I got to peek into something Beyond us, capital “B”?

It didn’t make any sense. It didn’t seem to have any logic behind it. On the other hand, I couldn’t imagine not seeing her again. It felt right. It felt like relief, being a potted plant that had been dying of thirst for years now and finally watered. Was it just because she was the first pretty girl that talked to me? Was it just because it was the first time I talked to a pretty girl as . . . myself? Was it all a sham done by gooey unknowable feelings I had developed somewhere in the plane ride between here and Manhattan?

Rommel. Rommel. I flopped onto my bed and kicked my legs in the air. “Rommel.” I said her name out loud and my cheeks flushed. It felt like the kind of crush I had never allowed myself in the past.

I beamed until my face hurt and my grandma called out. “Claudia!” She yelled in her dusty voice, “Claudia, come here!”

I rolled out of bed and my eyebrows rocketed up. “Grandma,” I quickly went down the stairs and to her room on the first floor. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I would be if my nurse had helped me get tucked in.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you needed--”

“I’m kidding, Chicken,” She said fondly before turning on her bedside table lamp. Her face was bathed in its quiet glow. She smiled, “I wanna hear about your date.”

I hid my smile behind a hand. “Grandma.”

“An old lady has only so many thrills left! I heard you prancing around up there.”

I rolled my eyes before grinning. “It went well. Really well,” I leaned on the doorframe and I felt girlish and like I wanted to start twirling a pigtail. “She asked a lot of questions. Very, uh, spunky.”

“Fine, good.” Grandma lifted her chin up. “Did you kiss?”

“No!” I took a step back. “It was only like, a first, or second? Date.”

“Then kiss her next time.”

I remembered what I had to bring her and almost balked. “She did ask for something . . . weird.”

“I don’t wanna know.” Grandma waved a hand through the air. “If she asks for something behind closed doors then at least humor her. People will surprise you with their affinity for wax or spanking--”

“Grandma!” I jumped and almost left the room. “Nothing like that.” I burned brightly in the dark. “Just, um, something a little out of the ordinary.”

Grandma shrugged. “Did she ask for money on the first date?”

“No, of course not.”

“You’re fine then.” Grandma lay back down.

“You think I should bring her the things then?” I asked while trying not to reveal too much.

“Sure,” Grandma huffed and turned over in bed. She had obviously gotten tired. “Alright, I’ve confirmed that you didn’t self-combust or have a shot-gun wedding without me. I love you, Chicken. Go to bed now.”

“Oh,” I squirmed in place. My parents hadn’t been ones to say those words so easily. “I-I love you too.”

I scurried back to my room and tried to think about anything too deeply. Sometimes you shouldn’t try to break a good thing before you have it. ------------- I ended up getting all three things from my room. I cut off one of my brown curls, and then retrieved a small geode I bought at a mountain in Colorado on a family ski trip. I didn’t know what she meant by “shadow” of it, but a simple rock was going to have to do.

I wasn’t so sure about the blood since I wasn’t too fond of the stuff. I ended up perching on the toilet in our bathroom and taking deep even breaths. I was able to prick myself after two tries and my eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Ow.” I grumbled and put three drops of it on a piece of tissue.

I had slept through dawn by accident that morning so I would have to wait until dusk to see Rommel again. I had to fetch groceries in the afternoon first, and was almost late coming home. I would have been on time, but I had snuck down the street and picked up the red dress.

The old woman hadn’t even blinked when I bought it. She simply said, “Like the stone?” I nodded.

“It’s fine . . .” I didn’t meet her eyes as she checked me out.

“Best to keep it in a sunny spot.” She said cryptically.

“Sure?”

“There’s another concert at the bar tonight.”

I grinned. “I know.” I said slowly, “I think I’ll be there this time.”

She raised one bent old eyebrow. “$14.99.”

I paid and ran back home. I needed to do makeup. I needed to find stockings. I needed to spray my curls down and I needed everything to be perfect-- even if I also needed blood for everything to be that way.

I made it just in time as the evening arrived and she was standing on the tiny beach with her face tilted toward the sky. She reminded me of a dark reticent owl.

Rommel barely looked up as I breathlessly scrambled down the hill and held out a little package. “Okay, so I got these.” I said and she snatched them out of my hands in that lightning quick way. “Is this, um, like some sort of test?”

Rommel smiled pleasantly. “It could be.” She took the small geode, looked over her shoulder, and placed it in her pocket. She inspected the hair next before placing it in her other pocket. She frowned at the drops of blood. “Sorry,” She said with what sounded like real remorse. “It needs to be fresh.”

She looked over her shoulder again as if checking for something.

I blushed deeply. “How fresh?”

She put her hand out as if to take mine. “I’m really sorry.” She said quickly, “Do you mind?” She grabbed my hand and lifted it up. Some part of me replied: You can do anything you want to me. The other part of me replied with a series of question marks. I didn’t say either of that out loud.

“Um,” I said instead. “Okay.”

There was a brief sting on the pad of my finger and then the kitten-lick of her tongue. I nearly burst into flames and fainted like a lady from an old pulp fiction magazine. I pressed the memory of that moment away and looked back at her. “Okay.” I said dumbly. “So?”

She beamed and took my hand that she’d just bitten. “Let’s go!”

“Can you tell me what all that was?”

“Later!” She cried out. “Let’s go to town first.”

I was helpless to do anything else but follow her and follow her and follow her. Her black hair streamed behind her and bare feet slid across the summer grass. I was smiling and barely knew why.

Something tickled behind my left ear and words drifted from afar. I brashly and fiercely ignored those soft words behind us, and a voice that shouldn’t have been there. I ignored everything as I chased after Rommel. ------------------ We arrived into town just after the sunset with the night thick with muggy air and lightning bugs hovering over the long tendrils of summer-sweet grass. The strip of shops glowed like a string of welcoming Christmas lights and I navigated us toward two open wooden doors.

We were still holding hands by the time we reached the bar and I hadn’t become any less aware of that. Was I holding too tightly? Was my palm too sweaty? I felt incredibly rusty at all of this as we found our way to the bar.

It was a two-story wooden building that looked better suited for a tavern in a medieval video game or else a knockoff Irish pub. The windows streamed golden light out of the small windows I could hear commotion and chatter streaming out from the inside.

I hesitated. Rommel tugged. “It’s so charming.” She gushed and she seemed to be full of adjectives like “charming” and “amazing” and “fantastic.”

Being with her felt like chewing on a piece of sugary gum and never wanting to spit it out again. I stumbled in after her as we reached the doors. A middle-aged woman with long bushels of brown hair and a round belly handed us a pamphlet as we walked in the door. “Bar or table today, ladies?”

I buzzed with the force of her words. “Table, yeah?” I unexpectedly answered first as Rommel had let go of my hand and was poking around the area.

“This is so cool.” She said and tapped on a picture with a generic looking mountain in it. “Where is this?”

“Alps, I think.” The woman shrugged and I felt strangely embarrassed but that wasn’t new.

“They have wine here, Rommel,” I offered as I guided us across the crowded room. It smelled like bitter beer and split cider along with two dozen bodies squeezed together into one small space. The band was already tuning their fiddles as a golden-haired singer tested her mic.

“Do you go to these places often?” Rommel said and kept looking over the fairy lights and long wooden tables lined up throughout the room.

“No.” I said truthfully. “Maybe a little back in college, but I’ve always been . . .” Waiting? Nervous? I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Rommel was gleaming and shiny as a new coin. She tugged on the waitresses skirt after we sat down, “Two wines please.” She asserted quickly, “best in the house.”

“Best?” I tried not to let my panic show. I still had money from my law firm days, but it dwindled quickly when you lived with two people with medical expenses.

“Only if you want it of course.” Rommel buzzed. She on her own level, “I can pay. I mean, is alright if I pay for you?”

“Oh.” I sat up straight. This was different as well. “If you like? If that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.” She patted my hand and it felt somehow more real and solid than anything else in the world. “I’ll get this round. That’s what they say, right?” She muttered the last part under her breath, “Yes, I’ll get the whole night.”

“What do you say was your job again?” I quirked an eyebrow up. Maybe I truly could become the trophy wife of my wildest dreams.

She winked. “Treasure hunter.”

I studied her face for a moment before turning toward the stage as the first bursts of music began to play. It was a fun and upbeat sound that resembled something celtic and old world. Rommel began clapping her hands along to it, “I love music!”

Her smile was infectious. “You’re quite good at it yourself.”

“They’re glorious though,” Rommel gushed, “So good.”

“You’re very . . . positive, you know.” I observed softly.

“Gotta be.” She said and swayed back and forth to the beginning of some folk ballad. “It’s an unpredictable world. Enjoy it while you have it.”

I hummed deeply at her unexpected depths, but maybe I should have expected them all along. She had said she was layered. Rommel was quick to down her expensive wine and then order another.

She was red-faced by the third song and clapping the loudest of any person in the room. I wanted to hide under the table as people threw bemused looks our way. In order to assuage my own nerves I ended up drinking my own wine in record time.

Rommel wiped her forehead the moment the next song was over and the break began. “Do you dance?”

“Not typically.” I was focusing on a spot on the wall. I glanaced shyly over to her disappointed face, “But I can be convinced.”

She rapped her knuckles against the table. “And how would you like to be convinced?”

I snorted. “You seem to think you have some power here.”

She shrugged nonplussed. “I am quite powerful.”

I smiled despite myself. “I believe it.” I could barely hide my awe at her.

A wild disjointed night unfolded. Rommel ate messily and sang loudly and by my third glass of wine she had me up on the table. People seemed to enjoy stomping on top of the wooden tables and hoping from one to the other in a kind of dance.

Rommel pulled me up before I knew what we were doing and stomped alongside them. It was the most fun I had had since before I could remember. The fiddle wailed away and we twisted and clapped and sweated buckets as we sang along and mouthed to the hectic sounds.

We held hands and twirled and the red dress spun out around me like a flower opening up and if I was going to use the word “perfect” I would have used it right then and there. I would have used a thousand words and traded every single one of them for one more second of that night.

Rommel was sweaty and smelled strangely of something fishy as she got down from the table and howled. “Thank you everyone!” She waved like she was their best friend now and took a messy drink from someone’s beer. The man didn’t seem to mind even as she was evidently absolutely tossed by that point.

She reached for her pocket and put two hundred dollar bills on the table. They were slimy and covered in something moldy and green. They looked like they had been soaked in water twice and dried using a weed whacker. The waitress scowled at it for a moment before checking for its legality and waving us off.

We swung our arms back and forth as we departed back into the warm night. I had no idea what time it was anymore, but I was giggling.

“I can’t believe you kicked that girl's drink into her lap.” I guffawed. “You’re so lucky you’re charming or she would have licked you!”

Rommel flexed her arm. “I coulda taken her.” She announced before swaying in place as we tried to stagger home. “I really am sorry I knocked it over though. I gave her some money too.” Some part of me was afraid it was another hundred, but was too nervous to ask.

I watched Rommel sway back and forth. “Went a little hard, I see . . .”

Rommel shrugged. “No point in holding back is what I say.” She tipped her head up to the stars to watch them twinkle. “It’ll all be over in a blink.”

Her existentialism had returned. I followed her gaze upward, “Does that make you sad?”

She lurched forward. Her toe snagged on something and she almost fell into my arms. “Yes.” She said and looked up. Her black eyes swam and some absolute sorrow swirled beneath the surface. “God yes.”

She covered her mouth and I didn’t know what to say. I patted her head instead, “It’ll be okay.” She gave me a grim smile and stood up to continue our unsteady trek toward the cliffs.

“Can I walk you to your place?” I asked timidly as Rommel’s moods seemed to be swinging wildly from one direction to the next.

She scuffed her feet in the grass and wilted in place. “I have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” I said gently and tried to nudge her toward the cliffs where she must live somewhere. My feet crunched on the sandy beach as we arrived at our usual spot. “You’re very drunk though, so whatever you say I won’t hold against you.”

She shook her head almost childishly and her eyes were wet again. “You should get away from here. You should not come here again. You should move.”

“What?” I took a step back and the blood drained from my face. “Did I, did I do something wrong?”

“I was selfish.” She seemed to be starting on a tirade. “And you’re sweet.”

“Rommel.” I reached for her in order to close the growing dark gap between us. “Look at me.” I realized that’s all I really wanted. For her to keep looking at me in that way.

“I was stupid.”

“Please,” I begged as the colors of the world started to fade. “I’m sorry if you stayed out too late. I’m sorry-- are you going to be in trouble? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes.” She said solemnly and then turned quickly and started running.

I didn’t know what came over me, but I pivoted and started trailing after her. “Wait!” I said with a strained voice. “I don’t want to leave like this.”

Rommel looked over her shoulder as she reached the water's edge and her chest was heaving. “I’m sorry.” She said in a small voice.

“Wait,” I wheezed and delicately reached for her. “I want to make it up to you.”

“Don’t follow me! Don’t you realize?” She said in a whispery way. “You’re not the problem.” She tilted her chin up and her face was dark and shrouded. “I am.”

There came a crashing behind me and I turned just in time to see a wave so tall it could have taken down a large horse. It foamed at the mouth and the voice was back: Don’t, hissed something ethereal and larger than life. Touch my daughter!

I had no time to react as water as cold as heartbreak washed over my head and I was dragged toward the darkness. I thrashed against the wave just as Rommel screeched, “Don’t touch her!” She said, “She didn’t do anything wrong!”

It was too late. I clawed at the cold depths, kicked uselessly, and my eyes stung as the light faded. I was being dragged down, down, down into the dark by my ankles as I choked for air. My lungs gave a fiery, angry pulse, and salt poured down my throat. I was too drunk to fight for long, and the world submerged into a decaying empty nothingness. --------------------- A bird cawed overhead. Sharp light pierced my eyes.

It made a sour high-pitched whining noise. My head throbbed and my throat was so parched it felt like it could be used for sandpaper by school children. It took the last of my strength to wrench my sticky eyes open where they had been gummed shut. I turned over and quickly threw up.

I blinked a couple times and stared down at what was mostly sea water. I rubbed at my face haggardly and reminded myself this was why I rarely drank. It took a long moment for me to fully remember the night before.

“Rommel?” I flipped over to look across the small beach, but it was empty and serene. My red dress was filthy and ocean-crusted. Had we taken a swim that night? Had she left me on the beach after I passed out?

Everything was a fuzzy blurry mess and I stood with creaky knees and a hurt back. I sniffled pathetically, “Rommel?”

She still wasn’t there. I didn’t know why, but a hollowness ate me from the inside out for it. I turned to grope my way home and climb into bed. ---------------------- “I told you.” Grandma was not happy. “I told you not to go near the damn cliffs.”

I sucked on the chicken noodle soup weakly. I couldn’t even taste it. “It wasn’t the cliffs.” I drooped. “I just . . . took a bad swim.” Where had I gone wrong? What had happened?

Grandma clicked her tongue. “You got a fever?” She didn’t wait for an answer and her hand snapped out to feel my forehead. She tutted again, “You’re fine, Chicken. Go take a hot bath and treat yourself to dinner. She isn’t worth it.”

I was ready to drop to the floor again. In the fetal position. “She seemed so . . . good.” I said lamely, “It seemed like she liked me.”

“I’m sorry.” Grandma patted my hand with her cool palm and then turned toward the windows. “But life keeps turning. Turn with it.”

“I guess.” I blinked away some growing sorrow burbling up. “She had a laugh like . . . a ridiculous motor. And she said everything was fantastic! And great!” I face-planted into the wood of the table, “Rommel . . .”

“What?” Grandma barked. “What was that name?”

“Rommel?” I repeated. “She’s the woman from the beach.”

Grandma heaved a breath like her lungs were giving out. “Don’t.” She said dangerously. “Don’t ever go to that beach again.” Her eyes were sharp and far too intelligent to ignore.

I tried to listen. ------------------------ Grandma was a heavy sleeper.

I snuck out before there was any kiss of light across the water. It was that kind of ghastly vacuumed-sealed time of night-- the hour of ghosts and in between things. I slipped down to the beach with my head bent and my heart a noisy battering ram in my chest.

I just had to see her. I just had to say one or two things and then I would be done. I would never bother Rommel again, I would stick to the small town, and maybe never leave my bedroom again. I would get over it.

I almost tripped as I hurried my way onto the beach where the first purple of dawn graced the flat horizon. I could smell the summer heat rising before the day began. It was going to be another hot one.

I held my breath and looked in both directions. I clenched my hands together and tried to make myself small. I waited. I kicked up sand into my shoes and paced back in forth from one side of the cliff walls to the next.

It skimmed time off my life to stand and wait there with a certainty I was about to be rejected or told off. However, she never came. Her feet never pressed into the soft sands and no voice was there to yell “Claudia!” or “Wonderful!” At anything else.

Somehow, that was the worst possible option. I hung my head and turned just as the sunlight was freckling my skin. It was almost past 7 now and grandma would be up and about and asking questions.

I heard the barest sliver of something on the breeze and whipped around. “Rommel!?” I called loudly into the thin air but nothing answered. I heard just the hint of her song coming from what could have been an entire lifetime away.

I searched behind boulders, waded into the ocean, and tried to lean forward to look beneath the cliff face. I scanned the hills and even went inland to check behind trees. I ran back home where Grandma had finally come out at around 9 O’Clock to behold my sweaty face and heaving chest.

She gave me a hard scowl. I didn’t care.

“She’s gone.” I announced miserably. “I can’t find Rommel anywhere.”

Grandma beckoned me back home. I looked over my shoulder as I trudged up the hill-- I swore I could still hear her song coming from the ocean itself. -------------- The water sloshed against the side of the boat and I squirmed on the wooden bench. I clenched my teeth so hard they ached and the sailor man gave me a once-over that I hated even more than the dingy itself.

“You sure you know how to man this thing?” He was an older gentleman with sea salt hair and bad tobacco-stained breath.

“I’ll be fine.” I righted my enormou floppy hat and knew in my heart I was finally taking things too far. Grandma thought I was in town treating myself to a dinner and not looking back. I was looking back.

I grabbed the two oars in hand and grunted as I sunk them into the waters. This was going to be harder than I thought.

“Well alright.” He scratched his head and watched as I struggled away from the pier and toward the cliffs. “Be careful!” He called as he must’ve seen where I was headed. I turned my face away and ignored the man who’s dingy I was borrowing.

My wrists ached and I swore I was already getting blisters on my hands from the rough wood. I held on nonetheless and watched as the dusk swept across the land with lungfuls of purple and pink light.

It glittered across the dark ocean and I held on as the waves rocked me back and forth in place. I was not doing what any doctor would order me to do after getting hurt: I was going right back to the source.

I couldn’t sleep though. I barely wanted to eat or cook. I heard her song day and night and knew for certain where it was coming from and it was not the land. I rowed with all my might for what felt like an hour.

I glanced up as the sun plummeted off the edge of the horizon and I was losing the last of the sunset. “Dammit!”

I was below the cliffs now and staying just far enough away from the rocks. I twisted in place to look behind me. The pier was a long ways off. I sighed and moved my oars back into the water just as a sudden anemic lovely sound coursed through the air.

A song I recognized.

“Rommel?” I whispered and there was a figure on one of the rocks nearby. How had I missed her before? She was faint and strangely hard to look at. She was sitting on a sloping lichen-covered rock with her back turned to me and her feet submerged in the water.

I splashed the oars in and out excitedly and furiously moved toward her. “I’m here!” I cried with a sudden unexpected joy. “I made it. I missed you.” I gushed before I knew what I was saying.

Her head snapped around and her face was slimmer and less freckled. She frowned in my direction with her whole entire face. “Claudia,” she whispered. “He will kill you.”

I shook my head, drunk on my own victory. “Please,” I put my hand out to her. “Can we talk? I just want a few words with you and then you never have to see me again.”

“Oh,” She said heavily with her brow scrunching up. “Do you want that?” I realized her eyes were shining. “Because it’s so rare I even get to come on land. It’s so rare any of you can see me. Do you want to never see me again?” Her voice broke on the last words.

She was suddenly far less shiny than before, and thin streaks of dark tears trickled down her chin. They were strangely oily and grey.

I looked down at my lap. “You’re not a normal woman, are you?”

She shook her head with forlorn and pointed. I followed it into the water where her feet were shackled in heavy iron chains. “I’m not.” She finally said, “I was tricking you. I’m not like you.” She hiccuped and wiped at her face, “You should leave.”

“I . . . don’t want to.” I said truthfully and rocked the whole boat by leaning toward her, “Maybe, um, I like being tricked. Maybe I don’t mind that you’re not normal.” I chuckled to myself, “By all accounts I’m not that normal myself.”

Her eyes went wide and they were strange and dark as ever. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew.”

I sighed heavily. “Try me.”

She looked toward the enormous rocky cliffs with their clean drop-off and ugly jutting stones. “You have to ask him.”

“Who?”

“You have to ask my father if you can date me.” She moved her ankles, “He is already punishing me for daring to wander outside of his protection.”

“I know about overprotective fathers.” I tried. “I mean, mine was more the distant and gruff type, but you know”

“Please, Claudia,” she said thinly. “Do you actually like me? Do you really want this?” She gestured loosely to herself.

I calmed my galloping heart and met her gaze head-on. “You know when you look at me,” I hunched over slightly, “I feel like I’m more. I feel like I’m stronger and better than I actually am.” I chuckled. “And I have fun for once. Look, I understand what it’s like to . . . be alone.” I lifted my gaze to meet her eyes. “And I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“I’d-I’d,” She hiccuped and kept wiping at her soaking cheeks. “I’d like that too. I’d really like that with all my heart, Claudia.”

I reached out to her and this part was at least familiar. This part at least felt right. “Wait,” She put her hand out. “I can be with you. I can become mortal, I would love to become mortal, but only with my father’s permission.” She pointed loosely, “My father, the shadow of the cliffs.”

“The . . . shadow of the cliffs?”

She nodded solemnly without any humor. “The tides met the shadows of the cliff and fell in love. They bore a child of the ocean dawn and dusk. And so it was.”

“Wow,” I tried to process that in bite-sized chunks but it felt more like choking on an entire meal with no silverware. “So, um, a child of the dawn and dusk, huh?”

“A creature of the ocean.” She said and she was looking off into someplace I couldn’t see. “A creature bound to her home or bound to death.”

“Oh, well . . . I can help. I can ask.” I swallowed slowly, “Do you want that?”

She nodded furiously. “I have spent centuries watching humans come to our cliffs and laugh and swim and frolic,” she sniffed and her face was clear again. “I have spent all this time watching them be in love with each other.” She stated simply and openly.

“Okay.” I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Here,” she reached out to hand me something. “The ocean will not toss you into the cliffs if you are wearing this. Go toward the caves and you will find him. Ask for me by name.”

“Uh,” I could feel myself getting in over my head. “I won’t,” I cringed. “This isn’t like . . . it’s not like me asking for ownership is it?”

She smiled gaily, “No. He just needs a reason to let me go.”

I swallowed and nodded. The bracelet was made of lumpy luminescent pearls strung together. I slipped it onto my thin wrists and grabbed the oars again. “I’ll give him one.”

I angled myself toward the cliffs and started to row. I prayed that the bracelet would work and I wasn’t making my way toward my death-- still, there were worse ways to go. I watched as Rommel waved at me before fading into the night like a dream. ----------------- The cliffs loomed much larger than I expected as I drew closer with one lung after the next. They were sturdy, impressive beasts with proud powerful spines of stone and an ocean that thrashed against their base.

The caves were simple black inlets where it felt like I was about to face the devil himself. I couldn’t stop my heart from jackhammering away, but neither could I stop rowing. The waters churned around me, but seemed to lose their power inches from my boat. They licked at the sides, the currents raced, and I could hear the crash of one wave after the next beside me, but my boat remained untouched. It was dark now and the only light was from the silver of a half-moon that smiled down from above.

I rowed until I was almost delirious with ache and exhaustion. I could see the mouth of the cave, but barely seemed to be making any progress toward it. Finally, I shouted. “Rommel!” I called, “I’m here for Rommel.”

In a sudden surge the boat was pushed toward the dank and cold opening with a swift tug. And then it was quiet.

The brilliant moonlight was to my back, and the rest of it was silent as the grave and twice as dark. My skin crawled and a prickle of dead-cold crept across my neck. Goose flesh rippled across my arms and the sensation of being watched was hot across my skin.

The world was very small and suffocating at that moment. “Rommel.” I remembered myself softly. “I’ve come from Rommel.”

Something moved in the dark and I didn’t blink.

It slithered and heaved with moist wheezing breaths from somewhere deep within. For a moment I thought perhaps I would drift deeper and deeper into the darkness and disappear forever.

“You,” A voice like smooth baseless wells and the echo of thunderstorms spoke from within the darkness. It laughed cruelly, “You’re the one who wishes to take my daughter?”

I lifted my chin boldly despite my shaking hands. “She wishes to be released.”

“Bah!” The word was enormous and seemed to raddle around inside my skull. “She doesn’t know what she wants. Mortality is cruel and mortals themselves are far crueler.”

“I know.” I said softly and something panged in my chest. “But we could . . . keep each other company. We could make it worth it.”

“Fool.” He seethed, “You are in love with the shadow of a person, a perfect replica, her humanity would make her just as slow and dull as the rest of you. She was created in perfection that should outlast all of you-- without that she is nothing but more meat meant for dying.”

“It’s what she wants.” I responded steadily. “That’s what matters.”

“Little cretin, will you still be enamored with her when she isn’t the dawn? The dusk? The ocean’s beauty itself?”

“But,” I stammered and groped for the right words. “Yes, fine! So she’ll be a little . . . more human. I don’t mind. I just want to spend a little more time with her.”

“Pathetic.” The darkness hissed. “But she gave you the bracelet so I will give the test nonetheless.”

“Test?”

“To prove your worthiness. As I have given to many before you.”

I suddenly felt like the ill-prepared heroine in a fairy tale. “Alright.”

“There is a bucket on the top of my cliffs,” I could almost feel the shadows grinning wide and cheshire. “Fill it.”

I waited and let the gloom cling to my boat as I drifted deeper into the cave and lost the hope of light. “That’s it?” I finally said and the voice laughed.

“That’s it.” The shadows rippled like an erupted star and the dark waters finally stirred. “NOW LEAVE.”

The boat gave an enormous creak as a wave arose and drove me back out into the middle of the ocean. Stunned, exhausted, and utterly at a loss I somehow managed to row home. And decided very thoroughly that I had a bucket to fill. ----------------- I slept like a corpse.

My arms were lead weights attached at the shoulder and my grandma had to bang on the door to wake me. “I thought you were going out to treat yourself!” She sniffed loudly, “Are you hung over?”

I just groaned.

“Well, good girl.” She said hotly before leaving me alone again.

It was almost midday by the time I fully remembered the past night and bolted to my feet to run outside and toward the top of the cliffs. Wildflowers grew in droves and my bare feet stung and scraped as I moved.

I scanned the grassy ground over and over. Perhaps he’s lying, I thought to myself, or maybe I’ve truly lost it.

I swept the area piece by piece, and just as he promised, a bucket stood right atop the cliff. It was an ordinary wooden bucket with a handle and a round face. I turned it over in my hands again and again, until I paused and looked into the bottom.

The bottom was completely black, depthless, a fathomless shadow in its own right. I had a terrible feeling about this challenge. ----------------- I tried water first-- obviously. I tried water from the tap. I tried milk from our fridge, I tried filling it with stones and grass and anything I could find.

There wasn’t so much as a thunk or a splatter with each new item. It just disappeared into the black hole at the bottom of the bucket. I reached my arm down once and all I could feel was a coolness against my fingertips and empty space.

I tried plunging it into a full bathtub but it simply swallowed all of it and left the tub bone dry. I even went all the way into town and bought Rommel’s favorite wine. I knew on some level there had to be a trick to it-- there had to be some special move.

Even after wasting good wine on sentimentality the bucket remained drained. It was well-past sunset when I stumbled home blurry-eyed and spent. The hem of my brown skirt was filthy from running around all day and my body ached in places I didn’t know I could ache.

I almost stopped for a short cry. I had no idea what I was doing.

The second I stepped into the kitchen someone cleared their throat from the dining room table and I looked up. Grandma Lettie was sitting hunched and frowning at the table with something in front of her.

“So,” She held up the painted stone from my bedside drawer. It’s eye looked at me with a cold indifference. “You’ve been messing with the spirits.”

My mind went blank and I shifted in place. “I don’t know what you’re--”

“Sit down.” She gestured to the seat next to her. “This is worse news than when you took that silly law firm job.”

“Oh.” I dragged myself over to the chair. The bucket was still clutched in my arms and I had to place it down on the floor to truly face my Grandma. I flinched slightly as I looked into her sharp blue eyes. “I can explain.”

“You better, Chicken.” Grandma Lettie clucked. “Because you shouldn’t mess with the old spirits of this place. Bad things happen to people on the cliffs.”

“You knew?” My eyes went wide.

She shrugged. “I know many things.” She glanced down at the bucket with a sneer on her lips. “I know you’re in over your head.”

I rubbed my hands roughly across my swollen eyes and worn face. “Yeah. I really am.” My voice almost broke over the words.

Grandma gestured loosely, “Well, let’s have it.” She sat back in the chair and her sly grin almost returned. “Tell me a story.”

So I told her a story of a woman who met a stranger on the beach and felt something like love for her. I told her of trying to give her ribbons and flowers and how she seemed to stream light from her with every movement. I told her about going dancing and feeling more than I ever had before.

I told her about being dragged under.

I told her about the woman chained to the rocks and the shadows that hissed from the darkness. I told her that I had apparently discovered the spirits of this place. And had been given an impossible task.

Grandma simply hummed and nodded in several places. There was a long silence when I finished the story and my head was in my hands. The silence yawned and ate me up from the inside out.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Grandma cleared her throat and her next words were like a gut-punch. “Do you love her?”

I peeked up through my fingers. “I,” My mind worked with the wheels spinning and gears grinding along. “I don’t know.” I said truthfully. “I know I want to spend more time with her. I want to see her again-- and keep seeing her. I don’t want her to be alone anymore.”

Grandma nodded solemnly. “Is this all what you want, Chicken?”

I nodded again. “This is one of the only things I ever wanted.” I said with a rumble in my chest and my eyes unfocused. “I’m certain of that.”

Wouldn’t it be nice? To hold someone. To walk along the beach with them. To laugh with them and show them the expanse of the naked world. Wouldn’t it nice to not have to fight to be seen, but simply exist as you are with someone else?

I exhaled.

Grandma reached over and patted my hand. “She’s got two parents.” Grandma relented, “Go ask the tides for the answer.”

“I’m pretty sure the tides tried to drown me.” I grumbled and remembered the sting of puking up sea water.

Grandma tilted her head up gravelly. “You’ll just have to speak her name then, won’t you? Tell her what you told me. Tell her that you want to help her daughter.”

I furrowed my brow. “Speak her name?”

Grandma sighed and gestured for me to lean in. “You learn a few things getting this old.” She murmured, “Come here.”

She whispered a name into my ear and I closed my eyes. My battle wasn’t over. -------------- I went to the beach at almost midnight. It was low tide and the summer breeze smelled of cut grass and sun-baked earth.

I closed my eyes before taking my first steps and raising my arms up. “Great mother!” I summoned and water licked at my toes with a cold lash. I tried not to run. “I don’t come to fight you.”

The ethereal drone was immediate. “Others have come before you.” She said in a voice of tumbling water and a push and pull of vowels. “You are not the first.”

I lowered my head and peered down at my bare toes. “I don’t mind.” I said and something fluttered in my chest. “Rommel should be freed. She wants to be mortal.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants.” The water snapped up toward me and I winced.

“I care for her.” I said softly, “Mother Irah.”

The water receded back into the surf as if burned. “Where did you learn that name?”

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” I whispered. “Let me free her.” The water stirred and churned with the only the light of the moon to see by. “A parent shouldn’t keep their child hostage!” I yelled this time with more force than I expected. “A parent should let their child be who they’re going to be!”

I would know about that.

The waves heaved in a disturbed frenzy before finally evening out into a dull expanse. A sigh came from within like the rolling in of mist. “Bend closer little one.” She said softly, “And I will tell you how to fill the bucket.”

“You won’t try and drown me?” I asked softly and the water gave no reply. I took a deep breath and lowered my face toward the ocean spray. It started to whisper.

The world became slow and syrupy as I listened. I stood up robotically afterwards and turned toward home. My thoughts bare and empty as I went into our shed and got out a saw. It took me barely a few minutes with the bucket to finish the job.

And I was ready to face the shadow of the cliffs and the ocean tide. --------------------- The gleaming hints of dawn pressed orange and fiery red across the horizon. My eyes throbbed with a dull pain from lack of sleep, but I didn’t care.

It was quiet, like the land was holding its breath and the last of the stars were watching as I walked down from the top of the cliff for what felt like the last time. My feet padded softly against the grass as I looked out over the strip of plain white sand.

I held the bucket in my hand and felt surprisingly calm as I approached the water’s edge. It was empty and a stillness grasped my bones and shook my insides. I lifted the bucket above my head and faced the cliffs.

“I’m here.” I said softly, “I’m here for Rommel.”

There was a figure sitting on one of the rocks in the distance. She didn’t move, but her long black hair was swept back behind her and her head was bent.

Something dark and slick moved along the cliff. It slithered across the places you cannot see and inked its way to a place you cannot comprehend.

“Arrogant.” It spat. “The bucket is not even partially full.”

I nodded. I held it up and the bottom of it was cleanly sawed off. The black hole still lurked in the bottom of it as I raised the bucket in the air. “Let her go.” I said and my voice didn’t shake for once. “Let her come to me and do as she wishes from here on out.”

“You wish to bring death to my daughter.” The shadow called and the waters churned. “You wish to make her chained to a finite life.”

I gnashed my teeth. “I wish to let her make her own choices!”

“Foolish knave, you think you are the first to ask for her hand? You are nothing but another pearl on a necklace of lies and treachery to deceive her, ruin her, take her.”

“You’re wrong.” I said simply.

The shadow laughed. “And you think you’ll win? Still? The bucket is empty. And no man has ever truly won her heart. No man has ever--”

“I am,” I thundered with a force that shook me to my marrow. “No man!”

I slammed the bucket into the water and held it under. The water started pouring in from both sides: it infinitely coursed into one side and infinitely went in the other. One infinity met another infinity and they embraced to make a single whole.

The bucket trembled against my palms before sinking to the ocean floor. The tides snapped around me as if in victory and a dark hiss came from behind me.

“You impertinent, cowardly--”

“Yes?” I smirked.

“Mocking, heedless, idiotic--”

“I said yes.” I stood up fully straight. “I am the impertinent coward. I am the mocking, heedless idiot.” I spread up wide, “And I just filled the bottomless bucket.”

The air itself seemed to crackle and fizzle with some unseen force. The shadows lurched and seemed to heave toward me as if to strike. But it was already too late. I had found the loophole as any good lawyer should.

I heard a splash in the water. I turned my head and sudden lightness spilled through my chest. A figure was waving and splashing through the water. “Claudia!”

I bounded into the surf and let the salt water spray my face as I ran. “Rommel! It’s really you!”

She was running. Her ankles were free. Her air was loose and the world was smothered into that one moment and that moment alone. She crashed into me with the force of a small train and I spun her around with the sun blooming into life behind us.

She pecked warm kisses across my cheeks and wrapped her arms around my neck as I spun her.

“You did it!” She cheered. “Oh Claudia, I never thought,” she said breathlessly, “I only thought.”

She looked deeply into my eyes and I realized her black irises had turned brown. Her straight white teeth had dulled slightly, and her front two teeth were slightly bucked. Her freckles faded into a normal summer-brown color and her hair turned wilder and less sleek.

She touched her face hesitantly as if she was just feeling it herself. She exhaled, “I am mortal.”

I leaned toward her hesitantly. “How does it feel?”

“Oh.” Her breath was ragged and she shook slightly. “It feels . . . a million ways. A million ways!”

“Is that alright?” I was smiling now and wasn’t sure if I would ever stop smiling.

“Yes,” her eyes filled with a brilliant wetness. “Yes! Claudia! Yes! Unless,” she gave me an impish look, “You’ll only have me as a dawn maiden.”

I shook my head. “I’ll take you anyway you give yourself.” I whispered, “If you want me.”

She pressed in close and I could feel the force of her. She was all lithe muscle and slippery damp limbs. She grinned for a moment before answering.

Her kiss tasted like citrus light and a world of strangeness I couldn’t understand. It was pulsing warmth and blew me apart with the gentlest of touches. We stood in the surf and kissed as my head spun and my world realigned. It shifted like stars in the heavens to make a new constellation.

A new light to be guided by, a new way to be myself.

She pulled back, pecked me hard on the lips again, and then slid her hand into mine. She tugged me back toward dry land. “Come on,” she burst out. “I want to meet your grandma.”

Suddenly, in a way I had never expected. I was no longer alone.

And there were two women walking on the beach at dawn.

---------------

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flamehairedwritings · 5 years ago

Text

The Fiancé: Chapter Three

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ Only

Summary: A lie about your best friend at a Christmas party spirals into world news, but a previously unknown threat leaves you having to now live the lie of Steve Rogers being your fiancé.

Originally based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé,’ by @alloftheprompts.

A/N: The whole series will include swearing, alcohol, threat, violence, protected sex, and more tags to be added!

The Fiancé Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

You, Me, and The World

“Right...”

She’s looking at you, you’re looking at her.

“I didn’t tell anyone else,” she whispers after a few, silent moments.

“I believe you, Dolly, it’s all right.”

You’re internally panicking, externally, actually, too, probably, from the way she’s looking at you. You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again after taking a breath.

“Right. If you could just tell her that... I’m in a meeting right now... but that I will call... her back.”

Dolly nods slowly. “Okay... All right...” She nods again, and then closes the door and you watch her run towards her desk.

You sit back and stare at your computer screen. The article is still up, and you can’t stop yourself from continuing to read it.

Update! The lucky, lucky lady of Cap’s dreams is Y/N, Head of Marketing at June & Mayflower Publishing! A regular old person, we’re glad Cap is so down-to-earth! Our sources say they’ll be announcing the date of the wedding within the next couple of days, and we’re so excited!

Along with the update is a picture of you, taken from your Instagram account. You’re smiling into the camera, mid-laughter, a cocktail in your hand.

Oh my God...

You feel your phone buzzing in your bag and jerk forward, fumbling as you try to unzip it quickly. Grabbing your phone, it’s a number you don’t recognise. Expecting a call from a new client today, you answer it without thinking.

“Hello, Y/N speaking?”

“Hi, Y/N! I’m calling from Stars Today, congratulations on your engagement! I was just wondering if I could have a quick—”

You hang up, dropping your phone onto the desk and put your head in your hands as you groan, your eyes closed.

This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening...

How did they get your phone number? How did this even get out? Joe? Gwen? Someone else who had overheard your huge, stupid lie? You wonder how Steve is—

Your eyes snap open.

Steve.

Oh my fucking God.

You grab your phone again and unlock it, tapping and swiping quickly to find his number. Dialling, you hold it to your ear, biting at your lower lip. It rings, and rings, and rings... and goes to voicemail.

Shit, he probably can’t hear it while he’s jogging, or he has it on silent, or whatever, oh my God, this is insane...

Hanging up and locking your phone, you sit back, your gaze lifting to the window. The office has filled slightly, more and more people arriving and, yes, they’re all glancing in, murmuring to each other. They’re smiling, they’re all happy and delighted, but you just feel your heart sink lower and lower.

No, right, none of that, just clear it all up now, just go out there and say it was a lie, suck it up and feel humiliated for ten years, it’ll be fine.

Pushing your chair back, you clear your throat as you move around your desk, clutching your phone in one hand. Opening the door, you step out and people are already looking at you. Clearing your throat again, you inhale a breath and smile as they instantly go quiet.

“Hi, everyone, uhm...” You shift your stance as your gaze sweeps the room, everyone silent. “I’m sure you’ve all heard what has been said in the tabloids and I just wanted to—”

“You bitch!”

Any other time you would have been offended, but now you just want to curl up and die because of how overjoyed the voice is.

Bridget Sanderson, your closest friend in the office, and D.C besides Steve, marches through the door, pushes through the small group and grins at you, their mouth open.

“You engaged bitch! I knew something had to be going on! How could you not tell me?!”

You exhale a faint, and you feel like you’re about to faint, laugh and shake your head. “Oh, well, actually, Bridge’, and, uhm, everyone, you see the thing is—”

“So you’re giving the Monday morning pep-talks now, huh?”

Oh my God, will everyone please stop turning up to work on time.

CEO of June & Mayflower Publishing, and your boss, Yvette Adebayo arches an eyebrow at you as the group parts for her, removing her gloves.

“Oh, no, I was just—”

“Can I see you in my office?”

“Yep, absolutely.” You smile as she nods and heads for her own office. You follow after her, somewhat meekly.

Yvette is no-nonsense, hates a fuss, a scene, is the classiest woman you’ve ever met, and you hate disappointing her. That’s not to say she’s mean or cold or anything that the world labels assertive women in leadership roles as, you just bloody love her. As much as you love yourself, God, you want to be her.

Closing the door to her office as she removes her coat and hangs it up, you clasp your hands together, trying not to play with them nervously. Sitting down, she looks at you, folding her arms.

“So.”

“So...” you parrot, stretching the vowel out.

She arches an eyebrow.

Sighing, you drop your hands. “Oh, Yvette, this is a fucking nightmare, I’m not—”

“I know, I can see that it is, I’m not here to chastise you for not telling me or anything like that—”

“Yvette.”

She pauses, her eyebrows raising slightly as you’ve not once in your three years of working together interrupted her or used an exasperated tone. You probably look as helpless as you feel, too.

“Yvette, I’m... I’m not engaged.”

Her eyebrows rise higher. “... You’re not?”

“No.” You feel your face warming in embarrassment as you launch into your explanation, “It was just a stupid lie I told at the party to make Joe jealous.”

“Joe was there?” she frowns.

It’s not the most pressing of matters to address right now, but then you remember she hadn’t attended the party, knowing her employees wouldn’t fully relax with the big boss there.

God, she’s amazing.

“Yeah, he said Adam invited him as a plus-one. I suppose he’s back for the holidays to see his family, too.” You shake your head slightly, embarrassment returning. “And I just... whenever I see him or think about him I get so mad, he was such a pretentious asshole even when we were going out, I was actually working myself up to break up with him when he put in for the transfer which was a blessing in disguise and—”

“So, you wanted to get one over on him,” Yvette cuts you off from your rambling.

“Yeah, well...” You pull a slight face. “That kind of makes it sound like I used Steve... which I did...” You pull a face again before closing your eyes and pressing the heels of your palms to them, groaning. “Oh, God, I’m such an awful person...”

“No, you’re not, Y/N,” Yvette insists. “Joe was always an ass, thinking he was better than everyone, so I can completely understand why you would want to have a moment of superiority.”

“That still doesn’t make it okay, at all.” You fold your arms, blowing out a breath. “He just... He looked at me like it wasn’t possible. Like I couldn’t have Steve Rogers fall in love with me, or someone like him, and I hated that. Even when I was dating him there was always something about him that just... Made me feel like he was doing me a favour. That he was so amazing and a complete catch. So just once, for one second, I wanted him to think, ��God, I missed out... She is worthy, she is incredible’.”

“Y/N.” You gaze meets Yvette’s as she leans forward. “You are worthy. Period. No matter what. Whoever you decide to be with, they’ll be damn lucky and they’ll know it.”

“I know, I know, I tell myself that and believe it most days, but...” You sigh heavily. “I used Steve. I did what everyone else does and put him on a pedestal and used his status and his iconography to just get back at my stupid ex when I’m supposed to be his friend. Sure, he’s a super-soldier and a, you know, super-hero but first and foremost, to me, he’s my friend and a human being. And I dismissed all that for one tiny, stupid moment of wanting to feel smug.” You can feel tears starting to fill your eyes.

Wiping at them quickly, you blow out another, slightly shaky breath.

“Y/N,” Yvette says gently, “It was a dumb thing that you did, but a human thing. You made a mistake, and we can rectify it.” You watch her as she turns her computer on and straightens her back. “We’ll write a press-statement that we can release, it doesn’t need to give specifics, just that there’s been a misunderstanding, and then you can tell everyone you actually know as little or as much as you want.”

God, you are actually about to cry, she’s just the absolute bloody best.

A smile pulling at your lips, you wipe your eyes again. “Thank you, Yvette. I mean it, you really are—”

“You fucking bitch!”

God, I wish Bridge’ would stop calling me that—

As Yvette’s eyes widen, though, and you turn to look out of her window to the office floor, you realise it’s not Bridget. A young woman, sobbing, steps out of the elevator. People stare, frozen to the spot, because this has never happened before, security in your building has always been incredible, and why would someone trespass on your floor? She’s striding across the room, too fast for people to clock on and react, pointing at you.

“You bitch! You don’t deserve him, he’s better than you!” she yells, thoroughly and completely distraught, but all you can do is remain frozen in your spot.

You can hear Yvette shouting into her office phone, demanding where security is, when four of them are suddenly there, shoving people out of the way and one of the men grabs the woman when she’s only a few feet away from the door. She screams as he wraps his arms around her to restrain her, hauling her back and having to lift her slightly. She just kicks her legs out, thrashing and trying to get free.

“You bitch, you bitch, you bitch!” she screams over and over and over, and you’re still frozen.

The security man drags her back towards the elevator, another man accompanying him, and the remaining two, a man and a woman, continue towards you. The woman opens the door, shaking her head as she steps inside.

“We’re so sorry, there’s just so many of them down there, she must have just slipped through. Are you okay?”

You stare at her.

“There’s more?” Yvette asks.

The woman looks to her. “Yeah, they just started turning up, some are fans, some are paparazzi.” Her gaze returns to you. “Again, we’re so sorry, we’re increasing our team for the foreseeable future, it won’t happen again.”

You think you might actually faint now.

“Okay. Thank you,” you hear yourself saying.

The woman nods and steps out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

“Y/N, are you all right?” Yvette asks gently as you turn to her, your lips parted.

“Uhm...”

When you don’t continue after a few moments, she nods and moves around her desk towards you. “Take the day off. Alice and I’ll draft a statement later. Is there someone who can come and pick you up?”

You nod a few times as she squeezes your shoulder gently. “Uh, yeah, there’s someone I can call.”

—

Natasha Romanoff beams when you exit the elevator and approach. Beams. She’s smiled at you before, sure, several times, but this is a beam. And then she opens her mouth.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re telling people now!”

I’m fucking sorry, what?

Before you can mutter that this is actually not something you’re quite ready to joke about yet, she throws her arms around you and hugs you tightly. “Oh, I’m just so happy!”

You just stand there, holding your bag, as she rocks you, having never felt so confused in your life.

“Uh—”

“Right, yeah, no time, let’s get you home, huh?” She’s no longer beaming when she pulls back, instead looking incredibly sympathetic in a way that doesn’t make you feel any better. Patting your arm, she looks behind you and nods at Yvette and the two security guards who have accompanied you down into the private underground garage that belongs to the building. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.”

Dropping her hand, she moves to her black Corvette a few feet away and opens the passenger door, holding it open for you and gesturing for you to get in. Looking over your shoulder at Yvette, you manage to return her smile before heading to the car. Getting in, you place your bag on the floor between your feet as Nat closes the door, and buckle your seatbelt before closing your eyes, exhaling a long breath. You open your eyes when the driver’s door opens and Nat slides into the seat, closing the door.

“Nat, I—”

“What an exciting day. You must be so over-joyed!”

She’s beaming at you again as she starts the engine after buckling her own seatbelt, but something about her tone tells you she isn’t actually joking around.

“Nat, do you—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you okay? It must have been terrifying with that woman getting in.” She looks genuinely concerned this time as she steers the Corvette up a ramp and onto the main street level.

“Uh, yeah, it was actually, but, uhm, I—”

“It’s all right, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She pauses for half a second to check the street as the barrier lifts before she turns onto it and, fuck, you forgot how fast she drives. “We’ll just get you home, then you can relax and we’ll do what we can, okay?”

“Yeah, right, okay, but—”

She turns the radio on, turning the volume up a few numbers, and taps her fingertips against the steering wheel. “Have you spoken to Steve?”

Your heart sinks at the reminder of him and how this must all be affecting him because of you. “No, not yet,” you murmur, playing with your hands in your lap. “Have you?”

“Yeah, he can’t wait to see you.”

He must be fucking desperate with how fast you’re going.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, he’s at your place, popping open a bottle of champagne I should think.” She glances at you, beaming again, and you just frown.

What the hell is going on.

Something tells you, though, to not broach the subject again, so you lean your head back and mutter, “Yeah, I’m gonna need a fucking drink.”

It doesn’t take long for Nat to reach your apartment, and you still don’t understand how someone can be a fast and safe driver. You’re about to say as much, because you can’t do a single journey with her and not, when she parks in front of the building. Right in front of it. You pause in unbuckling the seatbelt you had been gripping, frowning at her, because she never does this as your building also has its own underground garage, and she loves her car.

“Nat, what about the garage?”

She unbuckles her seat belt and reaches over you to the glove compartment. “Oh, I won’t be staying long.” She pulls a box out of the compartment, closes it and sits back, opening the box. She opens the box to reveal sunglasses and puts them on. Sunglasses.

Leaving the box on the dashboard, she smiles at you and pushes her door open, stepping out. Grabbing your bag and doing the same, you watch her as she closes her door and looks up and down the street. Then, she looks to you as you close your door, her smile lingering.

“Come on, let’s get that drink, shall we.”

You reach the front doors of your apartment building first, and unzip your bag, searching for your keys. As you pull them out, Nat takes your bag from you, her smile still there.

“Here, I’ll hold this for you.”

“Okay.” Deciding to just go along with whatever is happening until you’re in your apartment, you turn and unlock the door. Faint Christmas music plays over a small speaker on a wall, and the building guard, Aaron, who you’d say you’re quite friendly with, looks at you from his place by the mailboxes as you enter and you nod at him. He nods, then gives you a thumbs up as he grins.

Oh, God.

“Way to go, Y/N! I had no idea!”

“Yep, okay, Aaron,” you murmur as your face heats and you stride towards the elevator. Nat is close behind you and you press the button to herald the elevator as she stops beside you. Then, you glance at her, frowning.

She’s searching through your bag, opening pockets and unzipping compartments.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, raising your eyebrows as she takes the spare pens you always keep in your bag out before slotting them back into their compartment.

“Nothing,” she says without even looking up at you.

Right.

Your jaw moves as the elevator ‘ding’s and the doors slide open. Incredibly grateful to find no one inside, you step in and turn to the buttons, pressing the button for your floor as Nat also steps in.

The moment the doors close, you turn to her, your hands going to your waist, your keys digging in to you even through your coat. “What the hell is going on, Nat?”

She doesn’t say anything, continuing to search through your bag. Your eyebrows raise as you release a scoff of disbelief because she’s ignoring you.

“Nat?”

Finally, she zips your bag back up and lifts her head, holding it out to you. You can’t tell if she’s satisfied or unsatisfied, and she’s silent, her gaze holding yours. Taking your bag, you shoulder it and press your lips together. You’re angry, confused, definitely dissociating somewhat, but something else is starting to creep up now. Fear.

The ‘ding’ of the elevator makes you jump slightly. Nat’s through the doors first this time, beckoning you to follow. You do, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. Your keys are biting into your skin as you shift them in your hand as you walk, and you find the key to your front door, Nat pausing by it. You unlock it, glancing at her. Her eyes are on the hall behind you, her features expressionless. Your heart pounding, you push your door open. Stepping in, you lift your head and pause, finding Sam Wilson stood in your living room area.

He turns and grins, holding his arms out wide.

“Y/N! Congratulations!” he laughs as he moves towards you, and your bag falls from your shoulder as you hear Nat close the door behind you.

As his arms go around you in a hug you would usually be delighted to return, you just stand there, again, feeling tears of irritation start to prick at your eyes because what the hell is happening.

You’re speaking before you even realise. “Can someone please tell me what in the absolute fuck is—”

“All right, the place is clear.”

Steve appears from your bathroom, making you break off, your eyes darting up to him. Sam releases you then, holding your shoulders gently, his smile gone. “Y/N, are you all right?”

You look from him to Steve, your lips parted. “No, I’m not. What the hell is going on?”

Nat moves around you and pushes her sunglasses onto her head as Sam drops his hands. “Sorry about all that, Y/N. We’ll explain in a moment.” She raises her eyebrows at Sam slightly, gesturing him over to the large window that looks down onto the front street of the building. “Sam?”

Giving you a reassuring smile, though you absolutely don’t feel reassured, Sam follows her, leaving you standing there, looking at Steve. His arms are by his sides, and he exhales a breath as he moves towards you, an expression you can’t describe on his features.

“Y/N—”

“Oh, Steve,” you quickly interrupt, unable to bear whatever he’s about to say, good or bad or disappointed, because no matter what, this is your fault. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He shakes his head, his hands replacing where Sam’s had been, warm and light. “Y/N, are you okay? Nat messaged about what happened at the office, I’m glad you called her.”

You look at him in disbelief, your hands having found his chest at some point. “Yeah, I’m fine, are you okay?”

A corner of his mouth lifts, softening his features instantly as his thumbs stroke your shoulders. “I’m fine, Y/N, I—”

“Really? You can say if you’re not, I would absolutely understand, actually you should be pissed off with me, Steve—”

“Y/N, Y/N, it’s all right,” he says gently, having heard, as you’d tried not to, the slight cracking in your voice. He draws you closer, his arms going around you in a warm embrace.

You realise, in that moment, that neither of you hug very much. You see each other so often that all you greet each other with is a hello, or you just high five when something exciting happens. Hugs are reserved for when you’re thanking each other for a present or when... You can’t really think of any other time. Even when you have a cry, you’ll both sit down and he’ll pat and rub your back, and you’ve never seen him cry at anything more than a movie, so.

God, we should hug more, this is nice.

“So...” Sam’s voice has you pulling back, Steve’s arms falling from you as you turn to him, a smile tugging at his lips. “How did this happen, or do I just not have my RSVP yet?”

You tilt your head, your lips pressing together. Yeah, you’re definitely not ready to joke about it yet. You might not ever.

“Well...” Moving to the couch, you take a seat as you blow out a breath, your face already warming again.

Here we go, my now permanent state of embarrassment continues.

They’re all looking at you, Sam leaning against the wall, glancing out of the window every now and then, Nat sat on the arm of the couch opposite you, Steve standing between you and Nat, his hands in his pockets.

Clearing your throat, your hands on your knees, you lick your lips. “So... When Steve and I were at my work party last Saturday, my ex-boyfriend was there and I told him that...” You take a short breath, glancing at Steve before deciding to settle your gaze on the coffee table. “... Steve was my fiancé, because...” You just can’t bring yourself to say it. “... Well, I don’t know why, really.” You move on quickly. “So, when I got to work today, Dolly said Gwen from work overheard me saying it to Joe, so she could have spread it, or Joe could have, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Joe is the ex-boyfriend?”

You gaze darts from where you had been looking at Steve to apologise to Nat.

“Yeah. He lives in Chicago but he’s back for the holidays, I’m assuming.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Only a few months—”

“Did he ever meet Steve?”

You frown lightly at her. “Only at the party, why?”

Her hands are clasped together, her eyes fixed on you. “What’s his last name?”

“Havers. Joe Havers. Why?”

“When did he start working at your place? When did you start seeing each other?”

You look at Sam, who’s looking out of the window, then to Steve, who’s looking at the ground, then back to Nat. “About a year ago. We started dating a month after, and then he broke up with me when he transferred to the Chicago branch the August that’s just gone. Why—”

“Did he ask you out? Pursue you?”

You release a breath, your frown returning. “Yeah, and I guess, but, like, in the way you would when you want to date someone—”

“Did you ever meet his family? Friends?” She’s unrelenting, expressionless.

“Well, no, but he never met Steve during that time, either—”

“Did he ask to?”

“No.” You exhale in frustration, your jaw moving. “Look, what’s going on, Nat? You’d said you’d tell me.”

She lifts her hands slightly. “We just have to look at every option, Y/N.”

Your frown returns as you look at them. “Option for what? Who spread it?”

There’s silence. Your eyebrows raise. Sam meets your gaze for a second before looking back out the window, Steve’s still looking at the floor, and so Nat, once again, is your only option. Your eyebrows rise higher as she tilts her head.

“Y/N... We need you to continue being Steve’s fiancé.”

You stare at her, your lips parted. “... I’m sorry... What? Why?”

As slight as it is, it’s the first time you’ve seen Nat look uncomfortable. “You’ve already encountered a rather... over-zealous fan, and, we’ve got intel that suggests some... unsavoury characters are using the chatrooms and blogs that they operate to track Steve’s whereabouts.”

You arch an eyebrow, releasing a breath and not quite knowing what to address first. Irritation blends with anger and you focus on that because you don’t want to feel anymore afraid than you already are. “’Unsavoury characters’? I’m a big girl, Nat, you don’t have to sugarcoat whatever this is.”

She glances at Steve for a fraction of a second. “All right, terrorists. Terrorists are using chatrooms to plan to assassinate Steve.”

Your mood shifts instantly. A coldness sweeps over you and fear envelops you as you look at Steve, who is finally looking at you, your eyes wide. “Why the fuck would they want to do that?”

Steve opens his mouth but Nat gets there first.

“Steve is America’s greatest living symbol. Can you imagine what kind of message it would send from any group should Steve be killed?”

You look between them all, your mouth open. Nat continues after a moment, not liking the idea of that statement hanging in the air.

“We need you to spend this week doing what happily engaged couples do. Cake tasting, wedding dress shopping, visit venues, hold hands, look completely in love, all of that so that we can see who turns up and who follows him.”

You close your eyes for a moment, your brow furrowing, before you release a breath and look at her. “So, I’m... I’m, we’re bait?”

Nat’s features soften. “Y/N, you and Steve couldn’t be safer, I promise. We’re going to move you both to a new apartment with proper security, the place’ll be watched around the clock and it’s only until Saturday evening.”

“Why Saturday?”

She rests her hands either side of herself on the arm of the couch. “We’ve been hearing chatter that that’s when they’re planning to attack, at the party with the world watching. So we need to identify who they are before then. Obviously.”

“Right.” You stare at her for a few moments before your gaze drops to the table. You haven’t quite been able to get a handle on your breathing for the last hour, but now it really is difficult. Your hands are gripping your knees, and you have to swallow hard to stop the bile rising in your throat.

“Y/N, you don’t have to.” Your eyes lift at Steve’s quiet tone. Then you realise what the expression is; regret.

You release another breath. “Are you kidding me, your life is in danger, why didn’t you tell me this?”

His mouth lifts a fraction. “It’s not exactly what I want to race home and tell you about.”

Your chest tightens. You make your mind up instantly. You look at Nat.

“I’ll do it.”

She nods, giving you a small smile. “You can’t tell anyone it’s not real, and be careful when you’re speaking on the phone, they could tap it.”

Ah, so that’s why Nat had checked your bag and Steve and Sam had been checking your place, and probably why Steve hadn’t answered your—

Oh, shit, wait...

Your shoulders drop slightly. “Oh, my boss knows.”

“Yvette?” Nat slides her phone out of her pocket as she looks at you.

“Yeah, I spoke to her earlier, before the... fan, and she asked me how I was and I told her.”

“Right.” Nat arches an eyebrow, tapping something into her phone. “Can she keep a secret?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Nat smiles at your fierce certainty, locking her phone and keeping ahold of it. “We’ll need to speak with her, anyway, let her understand the severity of the situation so she won’t trust anyone. That’s good actually ‘cause you’re gonna need to take the week off work.”

Your heart sinks. “What, why?”

“You need to spend every moment with Steve, and I think this would be a natural thing to do. We can have a press release put out saying you don’t want your work bombarded like earlier, you won’t be able to concentrate—”

You raise your hand, pointing a finger. “Hang on, I can multi-task and work under any conditions.”

Nat’s lips twitch. “We know that, Y/N, I’m not discrediting how good of a worker you are, we just need the rest of the world to think that.”

You bristle slightly as you press your lips together, your shoulders dropping again.

Her amusement vanishes, her features softening. “It’s just until Sunday, then we can let everyone know the truth. This is a great chance for us to find these guys, Y/N. We wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important or useful, but you can still say no.”

There’s a long pause. You glance at Steve, he’s still got that same expression, almost pained. You could say no; you think it would almost relieve him if you did. You know him well enough by now that he’s probably full of regret for putting you in this position by being your friend.

Well, Steve, I get the guilt card on this one, it was me who put us in this position.

You've always known the risks of being associated with him and being his friend. You’ve never spoken about it with each other but you’ve just always known, it’s how his world operates. But he wanted to be your friend and you wanted to be his, so why the fuck shouldn’t you be. Something that had come up in one of your first, long, late-night conversations is the sense of loneliness you both feel. Sure, you have friends, both of you, and you both work in very people-orientated careers, but... Loneliness just seems to linger, uninvited. You’ve never felt that loneliness with Steve.

And now some fuckers wanted to kill him.

You look at Nat. “Yeah, I want to do it.”

She gives you another smile, nodding. “All right.” Rising to her feet, she folds her arms. “I guess we got some packing to do, then.”

You’re about to look at Steve, hoping to reassure him that you really do want to do this, when Sam lets out a low whistle.

“Well, Nat... Think there’s gonna be some scratches on your fancy car.”

Pushing yourself up from the couch, you move to the window as Nat tuts under her breath, and join Sam. Your stomach flips as you gaze down and see the crowd of people on the street, surrounding her car and staring up at the building or at the entrance. There’s a couple of news vans, too, reporters and their cameras hovering by them, gripping their microphones and glancing up every few seconds, waiting.

Oh my God... There’s gonna be three people in this so-called relationship; me, him and the world.

—

Comments, reblogs and likes make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in this series!

Tagged: @herb-welch, @jobean12-blog, @gifsbysimplysonia, @multireality, @saltyspiceduh, @sergeantangel, @sarcasm-is-my-native-tounge, @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky, @dispatchvampire, @superapplepie, @rynabarnesrogers-reading, @im-not-great-at-making-up-names, @imaginedreamwrite, @thesefleshfailures

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #the fiance #my writing #flamehairedwritings

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dererumgestarum · 5 years ago

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THREE WOMEN/THREE PATRONS

In stark contrast to ancient Greece, the Romans had no use for the cult of the artist. The native sculptors, painters, mosaicists, and goldsmiths produced copies of Greek works or adapted from Greek sources, were freedmen or slaves whose names are not preserved and whose personal contribution to their work was minimal. When Roman patrons commissioned works from Greek artists (or looted masterpieces by classical artists), those names were often dutifully recorded. Architects were also freedmen, but commanded a little more respect, perhaps because the Romans knew that in this area their architects surpassed Greece in technical ability and iinnovation.

We also know that while the Roman elite recognized and valued high degrees of technical skill workmanship in the artists they patronized, the viewed those manual abilities as inappropriate for members of their own class and looked askance at their social peers who attempted to practice the visual arts. Capable emperors like Hadrian and Julian who took an interest in a manual activities including art, were thought to have degraded the purple in doing so.

Roman art has therefore been largely viewed as the product of an elite patron, who had no direct experience of making art, but whose taste, education, and class informed his/her choices of style, iconography and materials. The work art expresses the patron’s concerns, ambitions, and assumptions, without ever being “expressive” in the psycho-personal, modern sense. Unlike their Greek counterparts, the role of patron in ancient Rome was much more open to women. The following three examples demonstrate the real ways in which privileged Roman women used artistic patronage to assert themselves in the public sphere and to exercise limited, but meaningful, forms of political power.

I. EUMACHIA OF POMPEII

Nearly everything known today about Eumachia stems from epigraphic inscriptions found in Pompeii. The longer of two inscriptions on the building bearing her name adjacent to the Forum identifies her as the priestess of the cult of Venus Pompeiana. The priestess was the sole female member of the city council. Obtaining the position required great wealth and high social rank and the same inscription suggests Eumachia had both: she was the heiress of a successful brick and tile manufacturer and the wife of a patrician duumvir.

In addition to her role as priestess, Eumachia was the patron of Pompeii’s fuller’s guild. In the second decade of the 1st century, she paid for the construction of an enormous elegant building, which served as the meeting place and/or the workshop for the guild. A togate statue representing Eumachia placed in a niche inside the building was donated by the guild in her honor. The inscription also notes that the building was the building was dedicated to Concord and the pax augusta, which indicated that Eumachia wished to be known as a supporter of the imperial government.

Eumachia also commissioned the largest tomb in Pompeii. The elaborate monument exceeded the city’s limits placed on tomb size and surpassed the size of the mausolea of her male colleagues on the council.

II. AGRIPPINA THE ELDER

The daughter of Marcus Agrippa and Augustus’ daughter Julia was married to Germanicus, the most esteemed and capable general in Rome’s history and the adoptive son of Tiberius. After the untimely death of Germanicus, Agrippina actively promoted the sons of Germanicus as potential heirs to Tiberius. In pursuit of this goal, she commissioned one of the most important works of Roman art, the so-called Grand Camée de France.

The largest cameo to survive from antiquity was probably given to Tiberius, who is depicted at the center of the middle register. In the upper register, which signifies the divine realm, the deified Augustus is joined by Drusus and Germanicus. Seated next to Tiberius in the realm of the living is Livia (which dates the cameo to before AD 27). Alsc present are Germanicus and Agrippina with their sons Nero Julius Cæsar, Drusus, and Gaius (Caligula). After the death of their father, the older two boys were adopted by Tiberius. Both were dead by AD 31. Below, captive barbarians served to remind Tiberius of the glorious victories of Germanicus.

Following the example of Augustus, the Julio-Claudians were avid collectors of cameos and intaglios. Agrippina would have been familiar with the most accomplished gem carvers and the works they produced, including the Gemma Augusta. The size, refinement and complexity of the Grand Camée could not have failed to make an impression on Tiberius and Agrippina’s goal was eventually fulfilled: Caligula inherited the throne after the rest of his family, including Agrippina, was exterminated during the ascendancy of Sejanus. The priceless object proves that with access to unlimited resources Roman women could surpass their male counterparts in the commissioning of lavish artworks designed to serve as instruments of political power.

III. GALLA PLACIDIA

Galla Placidia was the daughter of Emperor Theodosius I, the sister of the Emperors Arcadius and Honorius, the mother of Emperor Valentinian III, and the aunt of Emperor Theodosius II. She was given the title Augusta in 421. Galla Placidia, Eudoxia, the wife of Theodosius II, and Pulcheria, the sister of Theodosius II effectively ran the eastern and western empires together during the minorities of Valentinian III and Theodosius II.

As the de facto ruler of the western empire, Galla Placidia engaged in many acts of imperial architecture patronage. She restored the churches of San Paolo fuori le mure in Rome and the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. In Ravenna, she founded the basilica of San Giovanni Evangelista and commissioned the building known today as the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, which was in fact an Oratory, attached to the narthex of the palace chapel of Santa Croce. After her death in 450, Galla Placidia was buried in the Theodosian family mausoleum in Old Saint Peter’s in Rome. The sarcophagi currently in the oratory, long identified as those of Galla Placidia, Constanius III and Valentinian III, were placed there at a later date.

The interior decoration of the oratory is the product of Galla’s refined tastes and unlimited resources. The mosaic depicting Christ as the Good Shepherd is a masterpiece of Late Antique art, seemlessly combining elements of Greek pastoral imagery, classical figuration, and imperial Roman iconography.

The mosaic representing a saint with a flaming grille was traditionally thought to depict St Lawrence. It has been argued,* however, that this panel represents the Spanish Saint Vincent of Saragossa. Evidence for this theory includes the facts that 1) Galla Placidia had Spanish connections through her first husband, Ataulf, the King of the Visigoths; 2) St. Vincent was martyred by drowning at sea, and Galla had founded San Giovanni Evangelista after she and her children had been delivered from a shipwreck; and 3) Prudentius's fifth century Passio Sancti Vincent Martyris recounts how Vincent was ordered to disclose his sacred books, so they could be burned. This explains the conspicuous representation of a late antique bookpress, containing the labeled codices of the Gospels, which has no satisfactory explanation in the story of St. Lawrence. This interpretation ties Galla Placidia personally to the mosaic program, proving that female patrons (of this class) had the freedom to commemorate their own experiences and personalize, not just pay for, official monuments.

(*) Mackie, Gillian, “New Light on the So-Called Saint Lawrence Panel at the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, Ravenna". Gesta 29:1 (1990), 54–60.

#roman art #patronage #eumachia #pompeii #agrippina maior #rome #galla placidia #ravemna #mosaic #cameo #mausoleum

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seasaltmemories · 4 years ago

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Puella Magi Madoka Magica Review/Analysis

So in 2020, if you know anything about magical girl shows, Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a juggernaut of a franchise, casting a long shadow over the genre for nearly a decade now. While it was beloved when it first came out, over the last few years I’ve noticed growing backlash surrounding it, claiming that it was never really as revolutionary as people claimed to be. Since despite watching it soon after it came out but not really having strong feelings about it, I decided a rewatch was needed, so this review will function more as a retrospective, spoilers abound

Madoka Kaname and Sayaka Miki are regular middle school girls with regular lives, but all that changes when they encounter Kyuubey, a cat-like magical familiar, and Homura Akemi, the new transfer student. Kyuubey offers them a proposition: he will grant any one of their wishes and in exchange, they will each become a magical girl, gaining enough power to fulfill their dreams. However, Homura Akemi, a magical girl herself, urges them not to accept the offer, stating that everything is not what it seems. A story of hope, despair, and friendship, Mahou Shoujo Madoka★Magica deals with the difficulties of being a magical girl and the price one has to pay to make a dream come true.

I included the summary because at this point it’s tradition, but it almost feels silly to do so for this show when practically everyone knows it is the “dark, grim magical girl show” still the fact I rewatched this with my roommate who I warned that it did get dark but knew none of the details about, I think it gave me a new appreciation for the show, spoiler alert, I think it holds up pretty well

PMMM is all about taking the familiar iconography of the magical girl genre and twisting it into something darker. And it’s very good about explaining its world and divvying out new information at a easy to understand pace to accomplish it. Everything from Walpurgis Night, Homura’s true nature, and even Madoka eventual ascent into godhood is foreshadowed and set up several episodes in advance. And while in hindsight some revelations can look silly like “Soul gems are actually the girl’s soul,” watching it with a blind viewer, most every one of them hit effectively (even when she just randomly guessed the big magical girls = witches off-hand)

It is very obvious why it got big so fast as a complex story told in about as digestible way as possible, to me it feels like PMMM always wanted to be mainstream, and while I think that is a value neutral trait, I also believe that influences some of the culture or surrounding fanbase, PMMM very much got the reputation of being an “actually good” magical girl show by dudebros just want to put down traditionally feminine media, and of course many series since then have also tried to tap into PMMM’s market by copying it, but I don’t think the show itself should be held culpable.

For one, a show has no control over its reception. But second of all like the ultimate ending of the show makes it hard for me to believe the claims that “actually this show is all about showing how stupid it is for girls to believe this fantasy,” because Madoka stands up for wishes and dreams, rewriting the laws of reality and even saving herself from damnation. I think to call the show itself feminist would be a bit too generous, but feminist readings are not impossible to make. While she can’t change every aspect of the system, the world of PMMM post-Madoka is much closer to more traditional magical girl shows with only a bit of an edge. If you want pure torture porn just look at Uta~Kata

I guess people more emotionally attached to the iconography of magical girl shows would still be offended by the systematic tearing down of the imagery, but tbh frank I’m a bit of a fake magical fan in that most of my favorite entries tend to distance themselves from the exact formula. Even aside from my personal preference though, like let’s not kid ourselves that elements of the genre only exist for later toy merchandising opportunities. I love me a good toy commercial from time to time, but that doesn’t make it too sacred to be fiddled with later on.

However while I think this is a well-made show, my feelings about it overall still remain pretty neutral. The narrative is very plot driven and focused on its systems first and foremost. The characters aren’t entirely ignored, but most of their stories are little bite-sized fables at their core as opposed to fleshed out story-lines. Also while there is justification for some of the writing choices, like Madoka’s lack of agency up until the end or how no real friendship or support systems exist, those factors still impacted my overall enjoyment from episode to episode. Also the dark elements aren’t quite as revolutionary as its reputation would suggest. Again its a PG-13 sort of horror, character death, creepy imagery, and unfortunate implications, but nothing about the series itself is very transgressive or boundary-pushing.

This is all just personal taste though. I don’t think most of these are genuine flaws, but after a decade of that reputation of being to only good or only dark magical girl show, I can see these criticism starting to grow more and more overblown to match the exaggerated reputation it got as this singular exception. I hope as more time continues to past that we can get rid of the dichotomy others have put on it and rather than treat it like the ultimate good or evil, acknowledge the history that created it and appreciate its unique little niche it has rightly earned for itself.

#my reviews #pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #this might be less about the show and more about the surrounding discourse #but there is something fun about going back to the source to answer common arguments

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kaypeace21 · 5 years ago

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Byler hints in the background of s1-3

Honestly, this should just be called- ‘my autistic brain casually (and without even trying) notices shit in the background, but never mentioned it- because I thought it sounded too crazy to talk about’ XD. But the symbolism and Easter eggs give my byler-shipping heart so much life. So I thought, since you guys prob. didn’t notice it- I’ll mention it anyways. So here goes.

Drawings/rainbows

There has been a theme in s3 about how Mike equates ‘falling for girls’ as a part of growing up, and his feelings for Will as something childish that he has to has to grow out of.

- confessing to El : “A feeling … yeah, like, something… like OLD PEOPLE say it sometimes”.

- “And Will too. I was thinking we could all have new presents to play with and *scoffs* Sorry, that made me sound like a 7 year old... (apologizing to El)

- Mike getting in a fight with Will (after d&d), and saying they can’t be close anymore:

Mike says, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”, and then he tries to ½ apologize only to say, “I’m not trying to be a jerk. Ok? But We’re not kids anymore.” Explaining, this is just the way things are-boys fall in love with girls, get girlfriends, and this is just a part of growing up (heteronormativity). He tells Will “I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? We were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?” And poor Will who is probably more aware of his feelings just responds. “Yeah, I guess I did. I really did.” And of course Mike immediately apologizes for being an “ asshole”, after this.

But here’s the thing! Mike actually does wish he didn’t have to grow up and that he could play games with Will (without girlfriends) for the rest of their lives. His room, in s3, SCREAMS that he’s trying to grow up/act straight... but he can’t let go of his feelings for Will.

He literally takes down his old childhood poster from s1-2 for a more mature/adult poster. But on the same wall (where the old poster used to be) he hasn’t removed a single d&d drawing Will has given him. He’s pretending that he’s grown out of d&d when Lucas is around- because he’s emulating how (the straight) Lucas acted, all season. But Mike has it BAD (and is seriously pinning) for Will! Like, I love Will but his art at 11 years old isn’t so great to justify it still be on Mike’s wall at age 14. He’s just that whipped (and literally can’t part with a single drawing Will has ever given him) XD

Like... it’s cannon that Mike caresses Will’s drawings

He’s that ‘ dumbass blinded by love’ who thinks anything Will’s draws is a perfect- masterpiece. Mike could literally see Will draw scribbles and think it’s amazing! Like in s2 he just guides his hands through the scribbles he drew on the wall- no joke! XD

However, what’s interesting though is the one other things he took down from his wall. In S1 Mike (before he even met El) has a heart sign, with a red heart being propelled by a rainbow. Yet in s3 , the season where he’s ‘obsessing’ about El- it mysteriously disappears. However, in the first ep of s3 when Mike is making-out with El we see a emergence of the heart being propelled by a rainbow (in El’s room) as a drawing. Probably signifying Mike participating in compulsory-heterosexuality and that no matter how hard he tries- he’s not straight!

So given the fact he can’t part with any of the pictures on the wall...you better believe Mike still has that giant binder filled with every drawing Will has given him . And he’s probably hidden it away , with the rainbow heart sign (because he knows it would look suspicious to have laying around).

-Also, Mike literally has more rainbow symbolism than Will (and has had it through every season) XD

-the s2 ref being the most on the nose) Forbidden fruit + rainbow = queer forbidden romance. And during the 80s, that rainbow-apple poster in the AV Club was suspected to be in reference to Alan Turning (the gay ‘father of computers’).

Animal easter eggs that relate to byler and the upside down/supernatural-plot .

tigers- Mike keeps a tiger poster (which was right next to that rainbow-heart sign) in his basement through s1-3. In s1 we see Will also has a tiger drawing, which is later put on the wall (like a poster) in s2. Sara Hopper (like Will ) had her death faked by the government (and had a tiger plushie in s1)- and Kali probably had something to do with it since in the prequel novel ‘suspicious minds’ had Kali talk non stop about her fav animal , tigers. Theory here. But again, Jancy is also connected to tigers as a romantic symbol (just like byler).

sharks- The Duffer brothers themselves said they based the s1 demorgorgan off of sharks, which Nancy even references in s1. Mike and Will have shark iconography in their room/basement. Will has a jaws poster shown in s1-2, and Mike has shark toys visible in s2. The shark (and bear) symbolism hint at the fact that Will created the upside down/demorgorgans/mind-flayer using his powers- theory here.

bears- Will since s1 has had bear symbolism around him. Bears symbolically represent “wisdom” like ‘Will the wise’ and were associated with the demorgorgan/upside down in s1 and 2 as well . Max and Nancy compared demogorgans to bears- and Nancy and Jonathan used a bear-trap to capture a demorgorgan in s1 .

But s3 made bears a romantic symbol- Mike was going to buy a golden teddy bear for El as a romantic gesture. The golden bear had a bowtie (it’s male). And the gray bear that Mike gives to her, was originally Will’s (as shown in s1 &2). This gray bear is coming right in between Mike and El (at the end of s3). They even kiss , while El presses the bear right in between them. In conclusion these romantic bears represent Will. * I mean that whole awkward kiss (where Mike’s eyes are open and he doesn’t kiss back- happens in Will’s room, in front of Will’s open closet, with Will’s bear smushed between them (pretty blatant foreshadowing).

dinosaurs- This one is probably a stretch but we see this boy has tons of dinosaurs (at least 6). He starts to info-dump on El about how much he loves them. But, she has no interest. And if the wtf look didn’t make this obvious.

She even gets up and walks away, ignoring his tangent about dinosaurs.

She literally couldn’t care less about his interest in them.

But in spite of this, we see Mike gave her Rory in s3 (since it’s in her bedroom). And in s2 we see him sadly look at Rory, with 2 other dinosaurs in frame. This, along with s1 implies he has a huge collection of various dinosaurs .But his collection is missing one of the most popular dinosaur species... the brachiosaurus (the long necked dinosaur).

And right after this scene in s2 scene, we go to Will’s room. And he has a huge brachiosaurus! This boy couldn’t even afford a halloween costume and had to have his hand-made by his mom... but he could afford this huge -fancy dinosaur replica? I bet Mike bragged about his dinosaur collection to Will (like he did with El). But Will being a nerd, was actually impressed. So Mike actually gave him his best/fav toy in his collection- kind of like what he did with Rory.

frogs- This is the most hilarious thing to me. I laughed for like 20 minutes on my rewatch. In s1 Will has a GIANT stuffed plushie of a frog next to his jaws poster and teddy bear. I’m dead! Will doesn’t even disagree with the “frog face“ insult.

He’s just like ‘well, he’s my frog face’ . Time to snuggle with this frog that looks just like Mike . Will is so in love but also low key savage dragging Mike like that. I can only imagine Dustin and Lucas saying “nah, you don’t look like a frog”. And poor baby-Mike asking Will what he thinks, and Will not being able to lie, just saying “ Well... some people like frogs.” XD

We also see that in s2 the frog is missing but the Jaws-poster, coin jar, and the bear (we later see El holding in s3) remain .Probably to indicate this is when Will started to subconsciously suppress his feelings for Mike. Although @theclericwill pointed out -that , instead, Mike may have used the frog-plushie as a pillow... for his frog-face XD

Throwing shade at Mileven/mileven shippers in s2

In the Montauk pitch (later named Stranger things) they describe the Mike and El dynamic by saying “ If Mike is the Eliot of our show,Eleven is our Et.” (AKA they’re from different planets)

-In s2 , Erica is forcing He-man and barbie to make out. Lucas angrily separates the two. And then this discussion happens.

Erica: “Hey , They’re in love!”

Lucas (livid- and standing right next to a rainbow): “No, actually, they’re not. They don’t even exist on the same planet.”

Not to mention I doubt it was a coincident they had a (bratty) pre-pubescent girl be the proxy for most mileven shippers.Like not all mileven shippers are bad, but almost all the toxic ones (that the Duffers have to deal with) are tween girls. And to the Duffers, only a child could think 2 people are ‘in love’ after a week of knowing each other. Or that El could understand such things like romance- given the fact that her and Mike are from different planets (given how El has no experience with the outside world).Mike even says in s2, he can’t hate Max because he ‘doesn’t know’ her (despite knowing her as long as he knew El). Meaning he doesn’t love El since he doesn’t know her.

Plus, El told Mike, he treats her like ‘garbage’ and ‘a pet’ . And Finn after s1, said that the Duffers told him Mike thought of El as a puppy, and she is even compared to Dart (a demo-dog in s2). Mike asking Dustin, angrily “What, You have a bond? Just cause he likes nougat (eggos)?” Being a blatant dig at people obsessing over this shallow aspect of their relationship.

Mileven was also compared to that of family members. In s1, right before they kissed, she asks “will you be like my brother?” (while wearing Nancy’s dress). And Mike also referred to her as his ‘cousin’ . Not to mention, El loved ted’s laz-eboy chair (and Nancy said Karen and Ted “never loved each other” ). And right before Karen is about to cheat on Ted - she looks at him sleeping in the chair (and the lyrics are ‘I should have walked away’).

It’s pretty hilarious, since so many people try to ‘no-homo’ byler by saying Mike thinks of Will as a brother/or family- yet, their relationship has never been directly compared to a sibling (unlike mileven).

People also seem to not realize Mike lied in s2 (just like he did in s3). He thought El was dead in s2. He told Max it “got her like it did bob” and then he made a spectacle in front of everyone saying “I never gave up on you”. Which was a blatant lie (since he just told Max a few minutes earlier, she was dead -_-). Mike simply blamed himself for her death (he said they needed her to save Will and even referred to her as a “weapon”). So when she died he felt the most responsible- and was hoping she was alive (and would answer his call) to alleviate his own guilt. Not because he loved her (that was an act). When he saw Will’s dead body, but heard his voice, he went on a rescue mission to save Will (from another dimension). But, Mike didn’t even bother going into the woods after seeing El outside his window (something he did for Will in ep 1, during a storm). And then in s3 Mike couldn’t even bother to call El and apologize- but ran to apologize to Will in the woods during a storm (bringing that whole parallel -full circle).

Plus, El told Mike, he treats her like ‘garbage’ and ‘a pet’ . And Finn after s1, said that the Duffers told him Mike thought of El as a puppy, and she is even compared to Dart (a demo-dog in s2). Mike asking Dustin, angrily “What, You have a bond? Just cause he likes nougat (eggos)?” A blatant dig at people obsessing over this shallow aspect of their relationship.

Bob and Mike parallels- the Rubik cube

Both are unathletic, smart, love comics, the only 2 to not treat Will ‘different’- and would do anything to protect their loved ones. And they also had crushes on Byers in childhood, and tried to give their Byers normalcy (despite them not being a ‘normal family’). They purposely display, and have Will -mirror Joyce- and Mike -mirror Bob- in multiple shots, throughout s2.

And both Mike and Bob are AV club leaders. Bob mentioned in one of the earlier episodes that he founded the Hawkins Middle AV club . And Mike later grabs Bob’s Rubik cube, and mentions this after his death (to solidify the connection- even if subconscious in our minds. He even proclaims after this “we can’t let him die in vain” . And this is when Mike makes the plan to help Will (before El shows up).

gif credit: cath-avery, dailystrangerthings

#byler #byeler

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 5 years ago

Text

It’s Not Living (If It’s Not With You): A Critical Role Fanfic

Guess who’s back? Honestly, I have to thank the Essek Fanclub Server for this. You guys are awesome, and an amazing inspiration. 2019 was a pretty bad year in terms of my writing, but, it ended amazingly because of the Critical Role Fandom. Here’s to 2020! Have some hot wizard yearning and sexy dream sequences inspired by my favorite song by the 1975.

Enjoy!

Warning: Explicit Sexual Content

Read it on AO3

Preview:

This was all because he hadn’t seen the Mighty Nein in a month. He was...getting all confused and acting like some sort of lovelorn maiden from one of the trashy Empire smut novels that he definitely didn’t read after he confiscated them.

“By the Luxon, let them come back soon, or else I might really go mad,” Essek muttered to himself.

“Where are they?” asked a courtier. The question was hissed at Essek as he paused in the Lucid Bastion, the green-lantern glow washing his face out to a pallid hue.

“I do not know,” Essek said simply, with a smile, finding it better than lying.

____

“Where are they?” Professor Waccoh grumbled at Essek, over the tops of the papers she had stacked on her desk. Reports, ideas, and death machines all found their place there, scattered like snowflakes or ashes amongst the heap.

“I do not know,” Essek responded, still smiling.

____

“Where are they?” the Bright Queen demanded, hand dripping with jewels glinting like knives in the light as she slammed it upon the table.

Essek smiled, and shook his head.

____

“Where are you?” Essek asked the empty house, but the windows remained darkened. It stared back into him, searching, and he didn’t have a response.

____

“Will you be long, Shadowhand?”

“Not too long, but I do wish for some privacy,” Essek told his shadow with a sidelong look. In the next moment, the shadow disappeared. For a moment he remained outside the temple, just relishing the stolen moments of being alone, before slipping inside the building without any further delay. Really, it was better to get this over with.

The Temple of the Lord of Light that was closest to the Bright Queen’s abode was a lavish affair. The ceilings were crowded with rows of geometrically patterned lanterns that cast a glow that could be hard for Essek’s eyes to handle. Carved into the walls were the sculptures depicting the mythology of the Lord of Light, His Glorious creation, the Vanquishing of the Spider Queen, and the Ascension of the Bright Queen. Along that were prayer altars that various drow and other citizens of the Dynasty huddled by, to light their own candle and pray. Often when one saw Essek float by, they bowed their heads out of respect for him.

He approached the private praying rooms, and as he did so he apparently caught the eye of one of the clerics. Essek recognized her as Derise, one of the head clerics of the Lord of Light. Though he loathed to do so, he dispelled his levitation magic. His heels clicked as they touched the floor. Clerics could be touchy about the appearance of power in their sacred spaces, and many of those with power among the clergy did not like him for a litany of reasons. He was young, not of one of the storied bloodlines, rather recently adopted in comparison to others, and yet he had gained remarkable power within his first life. They didn’t like him because he wasn’t one of their little puppets and he knew all their secrets in a way that perhaps only the Luxon might, and that made them afraid of him.

(Though he didn’t wish to think of them, it was part of the reason he had found certain members of the Mighty Nein so refreshing. Religion without certain pretenses had its own charms.)

“Lord Shadowhand,” Derise said, pointedly not bowing her head. She held her head up high instead, as if issuing him a challenge. Essek, instead, smiled as he usually did. He curled his fingers behind his back in a display of complete openness.

“Lady Derise, I pray the Light finds you well on this day,” Essek said, not bowing because he was certainly still wearing his back brace. Instead he inclined his head an inch. A vein jumped at her jaw. Amatuer, Essek thought derisively.

“And may it find you well, too. It is a lovely surprise to see you haunt these halls,” Derise said, with a tight smile. “I am sure the Bright Queen will be pleased to hear you are working on your religious studies today.”

“Matters of security tend to keep me from my spiritual needs. A bad habit of mine, unfortunately. The Bright Queen understands, of course, being the leader she is.”

“The Bright Queen is certainly accommodating with her favorites,” Lady Derise said, looking down at him from her nose.

“I am afraid that I am far too stubborn to be accomodated,” Essek laughed lightly as he walked forward only pausing to look back at her. “Your daughter, however, is a very accommodating creature. I know she was so pleased about her cousin’s engagement to General Dozall, that is how she ended up at his house at the witching hour.”

“That--it was---” Derise sucked on the air like it had been punched out of her chest. she coughed hastily, like being caught on her own deceit was physically painful. Really it was pitiful when those older than him were so easily tangled in the web. He almost felt bad for her. Almost. But it wasn’t in his nature to pardon stupidity.

“Hm? Well, all’s well that ends well,” Essek said evenly. “You really ought to go to a healer. I can always have one of my shadows escort you, just like they did for your daughter. It wouldn’t do to have you in trouble, my lady.”

“I am too busy to entertain bad jokes, Lord Shadowhand,” Derise said, her tone clipped and icy. “May the Light keep you.”

“And may it keep you as well.”

Derise stormed off. Essek found the royal prayer chamber, which he was allowed to use due to his position as Shadowhand, off of the main cathedral. It was a beautiful chamber with lofted roof painted with images of the constellations and the sun and the moon. In the center was a large fountain, portraying one of the first lives of the Bright Queen holding her arms aloft with the dodecahedron, about her were creatures of the forest and behind her was the fountain styled as a waterfall. It was popular among artist renderings of the queen to have her placed like that, though the fountain of youth iconography was a bit on the nose for him. Essek enjoyed the arts, but hadn’t had time to properly commission something since he had his portrait painted.

He cleaned his fingers within the blessed waters, before kneeling before the altar. He cleared his mind, closed his eyes, and prayed in Undercommon,

“Oh Glorious Lord of Light, You who were first in the Universe and Master of All Creation. Keep me and bless me, in this life and my future lives. Let Your glow illuminate the darkness inside, so that I may reach new heights. Show me the way as you did Our Most Righteous Queen, so that I may never be led astray. Let me pray for ascension, for consecution…”

There was the sound of delicate footsteps upon the marble and rustling fabric. Essek opened his eyes and looked to see the Bright Queen. As always she was arresting to look at, today fashioned more like a river-bathed-in-moonlight. She was without the armor she tended to wear at court, but adorned with a necklace made of platinum and blue topaz that clasped high at her throat and spilled across her skin like the tide. He began to stand, but she lifted her hand and he remained where he was.

“Your recitation of the Book of Madark is quite beautiful,” the Bright Queen remarked, looking towards the altar with the deeply fervent expression she always did. “I always did prefer Madark. He made me sound quite grand.”

“He never overstated your glory, your majesty,” Essek said honestly, bowing his head slowly.

“Madark was quite in love with me, I’m afraid,” the Bright Queen sighed, smoothing out her dress that shimmered like the scales of a fish. “Quite boorish about it too. I do not like men who overstay their welcome.”

“Or women who flirt and swoon,” Essek added before clearing his throat, “And the glorious star herself, may She guide us forever. Our Eternal Blessed Queen, who Heralded the Truth. Beauty Incarnate, who sets the heart ablaze with a single look-- ”

“Oh, the Book of Terawane. Ghastly stuff. I always told her that she was much better suited to singing than to writing. So melodramatic,” the Bright Queen said with a long-suffering hum. “I can bear it when you recite it, Essek. But do not make me listen to the High Priest give his lecture of how my breasts are twin fawns and my lips are a violet ribbon one more time.”

“Are you asking me to sanction his disposal?” Essek asked, taking a seat beside her.

“Nothing so dire,” the Bright Queen laughed, her voice silvered bells upon the marble and high ceiling. She looked into the fire of the candlelight thoughtfully. “No…”

Looking upon her, he often wondered what she felt. She had achieved perfection, she was the umavi. And yet as the firelight danced across her cheek, Essek wondered if she ever tired. She broke his revelry with a tap of her fingers against the stone bench.

“I’m sure you need no news,” the Bright Queen said. “The Mighty Nein have met with King Dwendal after being missing for so many weeks.”

“I was aware.”

“What do your shadows tell you that the human arcanist did not? Was it right to pull back the assault do you think?”

“Yes, it was. It was the cultists who were utilizing our assault to better their aims, we have confirmed reports of a Priestess of the Dawnfather being in cahoots with the conspiracy, and the Mighty Nein dispatched her. Now they work to broker peace. They are being asked to coordinate a parlay between Empire and Dynasty, by giving us back one of the beacons. In their private talks, they are anxious about finding a neutral location, but have not seemed to betray us. Though, Beauregard did state she infiltrated us to get closer to the enemy.”

This was all really just a formality. She knew what he knew, and he knew what She knew. Just another part of the game, Essek thought. The game in which they would all be winners or they would all be losers. It would be up to the Mighty Nein, and the prospect was somewhat terrifying.

“Just that claim is enough for me to have them killed on sight,” the Bright Queen warned him.

“Considering the slipshod job they did of infiltrating us, I find it very likely and compelling that they are just saying what they need to say to retrieve the beacon. That was the assignment given, and that seems to be what they are doing. Besides, they did not hinder our operatives while in the Empire.”

“One of the reasons you amuse me so is you are such a delightful pacifist,” the Bright Queen said.

“So long as it amuses you, your majesty.”

“You would be all I wish you to be, then? Have you no thoughts of your own?” the Bright Queen dared.

“All I have ever done, and will ever do, I do to serve at your leisure. I am just one of the voices you allow to fill up your ear. However, considering you chose and continue to choose to fill it with mine, it gives me some hope about where your opinion lies.”

“And where is that?”

“The long game, your majesty. It would do the Dynasty no good to rip the Empire out by the throat, utterly decimating their population and society. It would only serve to prove the Empire’s propaganda right, and move the masses against us. Instead, we take the high road. We show the Empire citizens we are not the monsters they claim us to be. And then, slowly, we can...improve upon their society,” Essek said simply.

“You care for the masses.”

“I must admit my bias for the common people, no matter their country of origin. At my core, I am still very much the street rat Skysybil yanked off the street.”

“And does it not concern you that they haven’t messaged?”

“I’m sure they are just busy, saving the world and all that,” Essek stated.

"Are you sure you are not just lonely for your wizard pet?" The Bright Queen's asked.

"This is far more amusing," Essek promised with a smile.

The Bright Queen's considered him. She reached out to cup his face and turn it up towards the candlelight. Essek blinked rapidly, but was docile and allowed her to do what she wished.

"Tell me something that no one else knows, Essek," she commanded him.

"I have no secrets from you, your majesty," Essek said, unable to help the way his head tipped to the side in curiosity. "What would you have me tell you?"

"I would have you look at me, unhindered by the mask you wear," she bid him, her fingers running in his hair. "And tell me your feelings, uninhibited. Do you believe that I am in the right?"

"With all of my heart," Essek said without hesitation, "I believe in you, for you are my sovereign."

"And you live to serve me, of course. But do you trust in my judgement?"

"I do, but I do not trust those who may seek to influence your decisions. You are divine, my queen, but not infallible. Though I am devoted to you with all of my heart, I will do my best to change your mind should I think you wrong.”

"With most of your heart," the Bright Queen's corrected, releasing him. "I hope you don’t take me for a sentimental idiot. You are a mortal, and your desires are that of a wild young foolish creature."

“I’m sure it seems that way.”

“They cannot be changed, my dear Shadowhand,” the Bright Queen said mournfully. “My nation will only ever be safe when the Empire has been decimated. It is within their nature to expand and conquer, and even if we broker a peace now it will not last.”

“If you believed that, I would be out of the job,” Essek informed her.

“Perhaps,” the Bright Queen stated. “But for now, what can we do besides pray?”

Between that breath and the next she was gone, leaving him in the prayer chamber alone.

_____

"Will you require anything else, my Lord?"

Essek looked up from his reading to see one of his servants. Essek smiled at him, and watched as the servant relaxed minutely and settled the tray with tea by the bedside table. This one was a newer hire, an assistant to the cook when he wasn’t completing general housekeeping tasks though Essek had the sneaking suspicion he would prove to be a better cook with time. It was important, to know and cultivate your assets.

“No, Amald, you are dismissed for the night,” Essek said. “Tell your wife I send my regards and well wishes to her health. She is with her third, yes?”

“And ready for the end of it, I’m afraid,” Amald said, tusks showing with his smile. “This pregnancy has not been easy on her. Our Denmother believes the birth will be difficult too.”

“Well, I shall send for my personal healer then,” Essek said, closing his book. He held up his hand at Amald’s immediate attempt at response. “Do not worry about the cost, I shall take care of it. Consider it my gift to you and your wife, and a favor I may ask repaid.”

“Of course,” Amald said his voice rich with feeling and gratefulness, bowing so deeply that Essek was worried he would topple over. “You are most kind, my lord.”

Essek blinked at the sight, fighting off his frown easily. Essek often enjoyed compliments. He was handsome, talented, shrewd, powerful, generous any number of things. Kind though? Not one of the usual ones.

“Until tomorrow,” Essek said, and Amald took off.

Essek enjoyed the remainder of his tea, a wonderful blend of ginger, licorice root, peppermint, and chamomile. He always found going into a trance so much more pleasant on the tail-end of nice tea and a good book. He could almost hear his Denmother lecturing him about the importance of trance, after collapsing with exhaustion during his first year of his education.

Essek slipped into bed, laying down among the sheets and pillows. It was always easier to trance when he wasn’t sitting, or his back would protest. He listened to his heart beat, to the breath in his lungs, felt the way his ribs moved beneath his skin, fell deeper...deeper…

He was in his Denmother’s salon. Not his Denmother yet...at least not on paper. Mathulsda Theylss was frowning at him severely, looking him up and down as if all his faults were written upon his features and could be categorized accordingly.

“Smile in a way that doesn’t make you look like you swallowed a frog,” his Denmother scolded. Essek’s reflection looked back at him. A sixteen year old Essek looked annoyed at best, contemptuous at worst. “Smile.”

“I don’t want to smile,” Essek snapped at her.

“You are lucky you were born in this era, boy,” his Denmother scoffed, leaving his side for a moment to take a sip at some wine. “Or you wouldn’t have a choice about what was done with your pretty face. You were the one complaining about the way they treat you, listen to my advice or don’t bother to complain.”

“How is smiling better going to help me? They hate me because they think me common,” Essek demanded, and was given a pinched cheek for his question. She released him and he held his cheek, glaring at her.

“No, they hate you because they know you are anything but common,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She looked at herself in the mirror, and Essek looked at her reflection and saw the transformation. She was truly arresting, in the way she smiled and turned her head just so. “It is easy then, to change hatred to love. You suss out those who hate you, and then you go to their friends. You find their weaknesses and can exploit them easily, because there is nothing for them to hate about you. Your professors will adore you, and will teach you all you wish to know. The noble dens will look at you and say, what a wonderful boy. The Bright Queen will favor you. Forget how to frown, Essek. That horrid little street urchin you were doesn’t exist. You are pretty, pleasant, considerate, and you smile. It is no longer a mask you can slip on and slip off when you play your childish little games with Skysybil. It is who you are now, forever.”

“I’m not like that, that’s not who I am,” Essek said, staring at himself. “I’m…”

“Essek Theylss is,” she said softly, as if it were a mercy. Her hands were upon his shoulders. “If you wish to be Essek Theylss, it’s who you will become. If you cannot get along with them, if you cannot make allies and cannot play the game, we have no use for you. There are other children with talent, though maybe not as talented as you, but they can become far more useful to us if you will not. So? Are you willing?”

Essek watched his own reflection as he schooled his face into a soft smile. It fit onto his face cleanly, naturally, as if this were the way he was always meant to look. Maybe it was the way he was meant to look. Maybe she was right. If this was what everyone wanted then this was for the best. The Denmother patted his shoulder, in a mockery of fondness that tore that thought out by the root.

“Very good, Essek,” she praised, standing in front of him to fix the collar of his uniform. She was taller than him, looking down at him with cruel delight. “Isn’t that so much better? We must always look our best, don’t we--?”

Wake up!

Essek tore himself out of that trance, jerking up so fast that his back twinged. He pressed his hands to his face, taking a few moments to just breathe. He knew better than this, Essek thought, thoroughly annoyed at himself as he lay back down with a huff. A trance was a fluid state, a visitation of memories or dreams affected by waking emotions and thoughts. Bad thoughts led to bad memories or dreams which led to bad trances.

“All I have are bad thoughts,” Essek said as he breathed out to the ceiling, resigned to his fate. There was just too much jumbled together in his mind, too much worry.

Something you don’t know? Essek thought crossly. I miss the Mighty Nein, their shenanigans and their quirks that make me feel like I am not altogether that odd and that I have my life in a workable order. I don’t believe that I have a mask anymore, there is only this. I don’t know how to be without a smile. I don’t even know what it’s like to be that person anymore, but I feel as close to it as I ever have when I am with Caleb Widogast of all people. I want them to like me. I want him to want me, whoever that is.

Essek continued to breathe, though he felt that it was a struggle. He needed to rest. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be as sharp as he needed to be.

Rest, Essek told himself, forcing his eyes closed. Rest.

Entering into a trance again, he was greeted with a dark space. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was a comforting absence. It was a night sky without stars, the inside of your eyelids, the feeling of being underwater, in the warmth, in the bath--

"Essek," Caleb murmured.

Essek was in bed, somewhere comfortable and soft. A weight on the bed next to him, a body pressed deliciously to his as if searching for warmth. This wasn’t what he wanted, Essek thought dizzily. He wouldn’t be able to rest like this, not when his body suddenly felt so alive.

“Essek,” Caleb called again. There was a dip in the bed, the sensation of being straddled, a press of a kiss to his neck. Essek shuddered at the soft touch, the way he was being kissed like he was precious. Like he would shatter at a harsher touch. He gasped as his eyes fluttered open.

“Oh,” he sighed, reaching up to touch Caleb’s face, brushing across his cheek with the back of his hand. Caleb leaned into the touch as if he chased it. His eyes were the powdery blue flowers painted in the mural on their barbarian's wall, regarding him with a tender, searching expression. The emotional whiplash almost took Essek right out of this, but he was anchored by the feeling of Caleb’s body against his.

“Will you stay with me?” Caleb asked him, catching his hand. He nuzzled it sweetly, causing goosebumps to ripple across Essek’s skin, before cradling Essek's face in his hands. Caleb didn’t smile as much as he should, in fact, Essek had gotten the distinct impression that Caleb had long since gotten out of the practice of smiling. But he would look so lovely, if given the opportunity. Essek’s traitorous heart told him that perhaps he would be the one to offer those opportunities, if Caleb would let him.

"Yes," Essek said, managing to get the word out from his heavy tongue. Caleb managed to remedy that problem by dipping his head down and catching Essek in a kiss. Essek tipped his head, to deepen the kiss, to let it linger as long as he could. To feel the imprint of teeth and the stroke of the tongue that left him tingling all over. Essek trailed his fingers over Caleb's bare arms, feeling the hair there, the rough criss-cross of scars against sun-worn freckled skin.

They kissed and explored each other without worry or haste, until Essek lay breathless beneath Caleb, allowing Caleb to pamper his skin with attention, to lavish him with his desire in a way that had him shivering. Essek couldn’t untangle himself from Caleb, from his legs or his arms, and he didn’t want to. Essek was caught there and he never wanted to escape from Caleb’s arms.

"You are so beautiful," Caleb whispered, nipping his collarbone. Essek's breath caught in his throat.

Essek regarded Caleb through a half-lidded gaze, memorizing the exact way Caleb’s hair escaped his tie, and the constellation of freckles dusted across his nose. The adorable little human curve of his ear, the human thickness of his body. Essek had seen the way that others looked at Caleb, with a desire that soaked in one’s skin like a warm summer rain. It made Essek covetous and proud, because Caleb had eyes for him. They were a well-matched pair, in Essek’s opinion.

"Please, do tell me what you find so beautiful about me," Essek bid him.

“Smug,” Caleb chuckled.

“I am merely asking for the facts of the matter,” Essek told him, sitting up. He climbed into Caleb’s lap, something very bold and daring for him, but it was nice to be somewhat taller than Caleb in that moment. Essek found the shell of Caleb’s ear he had previously admired, tracing it with his lips and the barest brush of his canine, letting Caleb shudder under his touch. He curled his arms around Caleb’s neck, looking deep into Caleb’s eyes as he pulled his head back with the softest tug. Caleb bared his neck to him easily, so easily submitting to the touch, and it set upon Essek the fire of desire “Tell me, be a clever boy and tell me what I want to hear.”

“You are the most powerful and beautiful man I’ve ever laid my eyes upon,” Caleb groaned, moving their hips together in a way that made Essek shudder. “I need you. No one else could ever compare to you, Essek.”

“Yes,” Essek gasped, feeling Caleb hot and hard and longing against him. It was driving him crazy. He had spent so long without a lover, without sampling the pleasures of flesh. He hadn’t needed it, and he hadn’t missed the few and sparse flings of his youth. They had been bare-boned things that couldn’t even be called romance, a simple almost instinctual satisfying of urges, a useful distraction, a way to utilize his pretty face to get what he needed. Knowledge, power, the game of politics had been so much more entertaining, and intellectual curiosity being quenched was so much more satisfying. People were easy to manipulate when they were kept at an arm’s length, it was so much easier to smile when there was nothing at stake.

But this? This was something else entirely. He couldn’t even control his body, couldn’t think through the haze of desire. He resurfaced and had to have pushed Caleb underneath him, because suddenly his hands were digging into his shoulders and his hips were moving desperately to the staccato rhythm of his heart as Caleb dragged him harder and more deliciously against him. Pleasure tore him open, it filled him up, it was so good--!

“Look at you,” Caleb moaned, pressing his flame-hot hands against Essek’s belly. “So lovely, so beautiful wrung out like this, just for me. What a treasure you are…”

“More,” Essek demanded, not sure how much longer he could last but wanting to wring out this moment as long as he could. Everything was on fire, on a pin-needle edge, but he wanted to be greedy. He wanted all the things he couldn’t allow himself, all the things that Caleb could give him and that he could give to Caleb in equal measure.

Oh by the Light, they were making love. The realization made Essek lightheaded, it made his back arch with the intensity of the sensation, it sent his teeth on edge. He would be ruined for everything else, Caleb would ruin him, but he had to give in.

“You are exquisite,” Caleb gasped, reverently, desperately--lovingly and then he gave in to the pleasure, forcing Essek over the edge with the intensity. Essek wilted upon him, no more strength in his limbs to hold him. Caleb stroked him through it, with him. For a few blissful moments, there was nothing else in his mind.

Slowly though, he emerged. Essek peppered Caleb’s face with kisses, curling his leg around him, burying his face into Caleb’s shoulder and his soft, fragrant hair. Caleb’s fingers scratched the back of his head, in a way that made him sigh with sated pleasure.

“It is time to wake, Essek,” Caleb chuckled, voice amused and hazy with warm gentle lovemaking.

“No,” Essek grumbled, more firmly pressing himself to Caleb. It was a stubborn childish thing that well in his chest, but he didn’t care. In that moment, completely divulged of his mask, he just wanted to be selfish.

“Yes, it is,” Caleb said wistfully, and as Caleb gently stroked Essek’s back in soft comforting waves that drew him deeper, further...softer…

Essek resurfaced having drooled into his pillow. He sat up and looked at himself in the mirror, at his mussed bed-head and very inelegant splotches across his cheek and--his dream!

His face burst into heat, he grabbed the closest pillow, buried his face into it, and bit into it hard to stifle his scream. Oh by the Light! Had he reverted back into his second decade? He thanked the Luxon and all the Gods above and below for the gift of living alone. He didn’t think he had ever been so mortified in his entire life.

“I’ll never be able to look at him again,” Essek said mournfully, spitting out feathers he had managed to rip out with his fangs. He brought his blessedly cool fingers up to press to his hot cheeks.

“By the Luxon, let them come back soon, or else I might really go mad,” Essek muttered to himself.

His reflection in the mirror seemed to agree.

#Critical Role #Critical Role Fanfic #shadowgast #essek theylss #caleb widogast

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