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scandalsavagefanfic · 4 years

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DC Kink Meme Prompts List

Since the kink meme is getting a lot of attention and growing daily, I thought I’d post a convenient place where I can keep track of the prompts that I’d like to see filled again. I figure you’re all here because we share similar interests and this way, if you’re a writer with looking for a prompt, you don’t have to scroll through the almost 400 prompts that are currently posted.

So here we go. Beware, this is a kink meme. These are nsfw and some may be triggering.

JayDick Watersports - Filled HERE

sub!Jason & Dom!Dick are in a consensual D/s relationship that has a heavy Master/slave dynamic (whether 24/7 or primarily during sex is up to you!). They're on a stakeout one night, and it's really cold, and, aw, fuck, Dick needs to piss, but he doesn't want his dick to freeze. Good thing he's got his bitch there with him, right? Dick pissing in Jay's ass preferred just to show the level of not caring about Jay's comfort [it's still cold!], but totally not gonna complain about piss drinking, either, if Dick's feeling a little more charitable. Is Jay surprised because it's the first time Dick has done this? Is this a normal, expected duty that he performs regularly? That's up to you!

Tim/Jason A/B/O - Filled

In an A/B/O world where omegas are in charge and alphas are treated like animals, or kept as pets, CEO Tim decides to treat himself to a new toy and buys Jason. Feel free to go as wild as you like with the kinks, I'm pretty unsquickable

Tim/Jason Stalker!Tim - Filled on the Meme by anon and HERE (by me)

Older Tim, younger Jason, where Tim's stalking gets a little obsessive once Jason takes over as Robin, and he starts stalking Jason out of costume as well as at night. A little judicious hacking later and he's able to keep an eye on Jason's internet activity too. Once he finds Jason looking at gay porn he knows he's got an in. And he starts blackmailing Jason, online at first, but escalating every time he gets Jason to go a little further, until he gets him to submit in person.

Slade/Dick/Jason - Filled amazingly HERE

Dick's been with Slade for a while, and now that he's stopped fighting and given into his training, Slade thinks he deserves a reward. Every good boy deserves a puppy, and Batman's new Robin looks like he could fit the role perfectly.

Jason Todd - Object Insertion - Filled on the meme (art)

Honestly, that's all I've got for you. I just want someone making Jason take things up his ass that have no business being there. Consensual or not are both fine! Any ship, though definitely a strong preference for Roy, Slade, Tim, Kyle, Dick, Roman or Ra's. Preferably not underage, but I'm not entirely opposed.

Ra's/Jason - Filled HERE

Ra's test drives an undunked Jason. The boy must be useful for something, after all, and he looks so pretty in chains. ABO welcome.

Prompt- Pegging (Jason) - Filled HERE

Jason gets pegged by one (or more ;)) of the lovely ladies of the DC universe. And enjoys it thoroughly Pairing is dealer's choice. <3

Bruce/Jason

Bruce takes in Jason off the streets, but more for use as a personal whore than to be Robin. Bonuses for Bruce still adopting Jason and getting off on fucking his son. EXTRA bonus points for Alfred's unfazed acceptance/support of it and perhaps even his participation.

Jason Todd Intercrural Sex - Filled on meme

This man deserves more thigh fucking and so do we! All ships welcome!

No Title - Bruce/Jason, Dick finds out Bruce has been sexually abusing Jason

One of the other prompts made me realize that while there are a lot of fics where Jason discovers Bruce has been abusing Dick, there are none the other way around and suddenly I have a craving. So I would like for Dick to find out (maybe right after Jason returns, Dick catches them and overhears Bruce say something to indicate it used to happen regularly) that Bruce had been sexually abusing Jason since the moment he found him and try to save him. And like, because of his background as a child prostitute, Jason kind of thinks it's normal or that it's the only way he could earn love? Maybe Bruce implies that Jason is useless otherwise and he'd end up back on the streets if he's not useful. Maybe Bruce is even happy to point out that the reason he never even considered touching the others is because they were too good for it, pure and wholesome, while Jason was ruined goods.

Dick/Jason fuck-or-die bottom!Jay

I would absolutely kill to see a fic where Dick is forced to fuck Jason (for whatever reason but preferably not due to sex pollen/aphrodisiacs/drugs - I would prefer if they were both in their right minds please) Preferably they wouldn't be in a relationship or have secret feelings for each other and this would be mutual noncon/rape with a focus on how horrified they are that they're having to do this to each other. I would really, really like if it was bottom!Jason for this, but that there is acknowledgement that Dick is being raped here too!

Skeezy Ric Grayson

One specific fic I read has completely coloured my perception of Ric, and now I'm just desperate to see him being a total creep. Perving on his siblings and former friends. Would love to see him not take no for an answer, especially with someone who doesn't want to fight back because "it's still Dick in there somewhere, I can't hurt him" or something like that. Preference for Wally (HiC who?) or Jason, but Tim, Roy, Babs or Donna would be okay, too! A/B/O with Alpha!Ric would be a bonus but isn't necessary.

Cassie/Rose bondage spanking and D/s, semi-dubious consent

Cassie has had enough of Rose mouthing off and causing trouble, so she ties her up with her lasso and lectures her. Rose mockingly asks her if she’s going to spank her for being a bad girl, and much to her surprise, Cassie does. They both enjoy it much more than expected

Nyssa/Talia

Nyssa/Talia, set post-Death and the Maidens, Talia restrained while Nyssa gets her off, begging to be allowed to reciprocate. Bonus points for twisty fucked up Nyssa POV with all kinds of big global megalomaniacal justifications for what she's doing and how important it is to the greater good. (Reposted from old DC kinkmeme)

Jason Todd/Dick Grayson/Roy Harper/Koriand’r

Kori loves watching her subs play with each other and rewards them well for good behavior

JayTim hatesex

Jason and Tim having incestuous-sibling-rivalry-hate-sex against the memorial

Any Bats/???, Alfred has to clean up

Poor Alfred often gets stuck cleaning up the mess when any of the family bring partners over. The crackier the circumstances the better!

Slade/Jason identity porn

Slade and Jason fuck while in costume as and pretending to be Batman and Nightwing respectively

Kyle Rayner/any

Kyle winds up working as a stripper somehow. Some other heroes find out and pay him a visit

Batfam/Jason; non con or resigned-to-his-fate cumdumpster!Jason

Could also be Earth-3 Owlfam/Jason. A/B/O welcome but it doesn't have to be. Would appreciate any one or combination of the following: dehumanization/objectification, humiliation, public sex, breeding kink, restraints, fucking machines, cum enemas, lots of cum in general, size kink... I just want something unapologetically filthy. I'm pretty much good with everything but scat.

Dick/Tim non/dub-con, universe hopping

Dark Dick from a dark universe ends up in the main universe, where he is delighted to find a brand new Timmy to play with, who unconditionally trusts his brother and doesn't know he's been replaced. Cue Dick slowly luring him in so he can have his fun. Tim doesn't realize until it's too late, or doesn't realize at all and has no idea how his beloved older brother could do this to him. Main universe has fully platonic, familial relationships within in the batfam. Feel free to imply/state anything you like about the dark universe. Grooming/slowly warming Tim up to more and more touches, crying, overstimulation, bondage, or any combination thereof are all bonuses

Young Justice S3 Dick/Jason omegaverse

Alpha!Dick Grayson is stuck on a mission and somehow has to help the mysterious Red-Hooded omega through his heat. But they have to stay quiet in order to not wake the pup Damian sleeping right next to them. Preferably there's an identity reveal in there where Dick finds out the omega is Jason Todd under the mask.

Addict!Roy Harper Noncon

Noncon (or possibly dubcon, if the manipulation is clear enough to readers) with Snowbirds Don't Fly era!Roy Harper as the victim. Could be an OC, another Titan, a Leaguer, a canon villain... Dealer's choice! Looking for something that really focuses on how he's being taken advantage of, rather than just "can't technically consent because he's high, but is totally into it."

Woder Woman/Batman, Rough Sex

Bruce loves it when Diana is rough with him

Bane/Bruce, violent noncon

Something set during Knightfall, where Bane decides to take “breaking the Bat” even further by raping Bruce and possibly also his precious little Robin

Jay/Tim bdsm AU, sub Jay

What it says on the tin. Was thinking maybe also an arranged marriage of sub Jason to dom Tim Drake, to cement a business union but also because subs aren’t full citizens.

Robin!Jason/Bruce Somnophilia

Bruce drugs his new little Robin and slips into his room. He takes his time with him, enjoying Jason before carefully opening and fucking him. Would be great if Jason wakes up towards the end but can't do anything but take it- maybe because of the drugs, maybe because of the way Bruce is holding him down, or even because he likes it.

Sidekicks/Villains noncon glory wall

Any sidekicks you want—Speedy, the Robins and Batgirls, Kid Flash and Impulse, the Wonder girls, etc.—being displayed in a glory wall, leaving their holes open for fucking. Interested villains can pay to fuck any hole they desire, and they enjoy wrecking the sidekicks and filling them with come

Robin!Jason/Villains & Henchmen?

Robin Jason gets captured and tied up by the villain of the week, who decides to take advantage of the situation. Robin is blindfolded and groped/fucked by the villain and maybe some henchmen while waiting for Batman to rescue him. Batman finding a bound and blind Jay too tempting to resist is a bonus.

Dickjay daddy kink

Older! Dick and bottom! Jason. Jason came back years later and Dick is around 40.

OmegaJason/Batfam first heat, lactation

It's Jason's first heat and the alphas of the pack know that his milk is on its way soon. All it needs is a little encouragement. A few knots and some nipple play should do it. His milk tastes perfect as it starts to flow.

Jason/Dick, Jason/RomanSionis, Hooker!Jason & Officer Grayson

So this is based off a discussion from AGES ago in the jayroman discord server that I still think about to this day XD A no capes au in which Jason never gets picked up by Bruce and ends up a crime alley prostitute who somehow along the way caught the eye of Black Mask and winds up working for him. And Black Mask has basically the whole city in his pocket, including the police force, which is why it’s so annoying when this little upstart, Officer Dick Grayson, starts to try to challenge his hold on the city, the little goody two-shoes denying any and all bribes and refusing to back down in the face of threats. And it should be easy to squash one annoying little bug, but somehow all attempts have failed and he can’t openly go after him without risking his reputation as a clean, law-abiding businessman, a reputation that’s slowly starting to unravel thanks to the dogged efforts of Officer Grayson, because the little shit is annoyingly not as stupid as his attempts to go after Roman would make him seem and despite all of Roman’s power and having basically the entire police force and the various other government officials Roman has in his pocket against him, he has made far too much headway in his endeavors So Roman gives Jason the job of seducing Dick, because if bribery and threats don’t work, video evidence of an officer fucking an underage hooker makes excellent blackmail material, and should be enough to take him down for good if he ever steps a toe out of line again Except no matter how Jason tries to seduce him, Dick is just too decent a guy to take advantage (Ex: Jason: *shows up wearing even more revealing clothes than the night before.* Dick: “You must be cold, here, take my jacket.” etc.) And before he knows it, Jason finds himself growing weirdly fond of the infuriating idiot with his stupid puns and painful sincerity

Roman Sionis/Jason Todd, AOB noncon impregnation gang rape

Intersex AOB verse. Roman wants to punish and claim the upstart omega, so he plugs Jason’s cunt and lets his men anally rape Jason until the omega begs Roman to breed his pussy

TimKon, a/b/o, alpha!Tim, bottom Conner

Humans have a/b/o. Kryptonians do not. Alpha!Tim thinks that he shouldn't bother Kon about Tim's rut. Kon thinks otherwise. Whether Kon can keep up with Tim (superpowers got to be good for something, right?) or is overwhelmed is up to anon :) I am absolutely unsquickable so whatever extra kinks are fine with me. Just please top!Tim only. Please, my crops are dying.

past romanjay now mobJay, gangbang

After getting tired with his new toy, Roman decided to just give his subordinates a chance to have fun with it. But mostly he just want to see the red hood to get more humiliated after destroying his empire.

Damian Wayne/Jason Todd, bestiality

It's time for Damian to introduce his new acquired pet to the pack, Titus and Ace.

Tim gags and spanks Damian

Red Robin has to take Robin out on patrol because Batman is away, Damian is reckless and keeps disobeying orders so Tim punishes him while having him gagged for being mouthy. can progress to something more sexual but doesn't have to be. Damian secretly enjoying it is a bonus.

Deathstroke/All the Robins

Slade really has a thing for fighting and chasing after Batbrats…

Rose/Jason mommy kink edging and pegging

Jason wants to be a good boy for mommy, Rose rewards his good behavior

Jason Todd/Kyle Rayner hatesex - Filled

I’d love some rough, angry, violent hatesex between these two. Bonus points for snarky asshole bottom!jason and kyle using his ring to make restraints/other kinky constructs ;)

Flashpoint!Father Todd/Incubus!Dick

Incubus!Dick seduces Father Todd. Jason holds out longer than most but Dick prides himself on being irresistible. He’s never failed before and he doesn’t plan to start now. But maybe, instead of his usual dine-and-ditch MO, Dick think’s he might like to savor this meal for long. Jason falls so beautifully. (bottom Jason please) Catholic aesthetics, blasphemy as kink, church sex (altar, confessional, pews, etc)

Flashpoint Thomas Wayne/Father Todd

Thomas Wayne as Batman bends Father Todd over the altar. In uniform. (At least for Thomas. It would be super hot if he strips Father Todd out of his robes first. Maybe everything except his rosary?)

Jason/Tim rape

Tim ties down Jason and rides(rapes) him. Pls let Tim use Jason as nothing but a mere meat dildo.

Titans/Dick, Titans/Jason, Titans/Tim consensual gangbang - Filled

The not-so-secret tradition of team bonding by fucking the current Bat on the Teen Titans is well-adhered to, especially given the enthusiastic consent of all participants Feel free to include any or all: garden sex, pool sex, power use, DP, riding, pegging, toy use, CBT, nipple play, cockwarming, CFNM/CMNM, and consensual somno All other kinks welcome excluding scat, watersports, emeto, ageplay, vore, and anything else bloody

Thomas Elliot/Bruce Wayne (Rape/Non-con)

Bruce doesn't realise how obsessed Thomas really is with him. Leads to Hush raping Bruce. Can be when Bruce knows who Hush is or when he still doesn't know.

Evil!Dick and Jason, noncon or dubcon

Jason comes back to his safehouse and is surprised to find Dick already there. After the initial surprise, Jason is quick to find out that there's something... off, about this Dick. He's not acting like his usual self. It turns out this isn't the usual Dick that Jason is familiar with, instead, he is a darker version of him (drugged? Talon from Earth-3 that somehow ends up in the main universe? other possibilities? all welcome options!), and this Dark!Dick is obsessed with Jason and wants to fuck him... and he doesn't take no for an answer. So there's a setup for a non-con or dub-con(in case Jason also has a crush on main Dick) for you. Restraints (gags, ropes, tapes etc.) are also welcome but doesn't have to be present.

Kon-El/Lex Luthor Daddy Kink DubCon

Lex genetically programmed Kon to need his daddy to fill him up when he created him. Lex made Kon to check all his boxes (ie Superman, something he made, a gifted teenager). Kon can’t actually consent because of programming, and he doesn’t want it until he’s getting it. Can be simple daddy kink or full of abdl. Bonus points for trans!Kon

Guy Gardner/Bunch of Aliens possible Dubcon/Noncon

Macho, hotheaded, shit-talking Guy is the embodiment of hyper-masculinity, and that arrogance of his gets him into a lot more than just a bar fight. All of Guy's enemies seem to be of the huge, muscular variety, so let's see the most stocky lantern get put in his place. Does he secretly love it? Does he outright hate it? Maybe all that shit-talking was just a ploy to finally get someone to "punish" him right. The choice is up to you. Maybe it's a bunch of random aliens Guy's ticked off in a bar. Maybe all that showboating's pissed off Kilowog or Arkillo. Maybe Lobo's still put out after being tricked one too many times by Guy. Perhaps, Atrocitus's still kinda harboring a grudge for Guy kicking him out of the Red Lanterns. Then there's always the way too touchy Dementor with his Vuldarian kin. I'm all for any other kinks or situations, I just would prefer no bathroom stuff. Go absolutely wild.

Black Mask/anyone, bathroom control, omorashi - Filled on meme

I'm a simple person with simple needs: Roman controlling whether or not someone's allowed to piss. can be consensual or noncon torture, the victim can end up pissing themselves or make it to the bathroom safely. just as long as Roman's in total control of the situation, and smug about it. bonus points: tears, begging, banter, degradation, embarrassment, additional torture, anything else along those lines. watersports only, please, no scat!

Roy Clones/Dick gangbang omegaverse

YJ season 3 episode 4 has excellent gangbang material just so you know Add omegaverse to it and its perfect Noncon/dubcon is accepted also

Titans/Jason Gangbang

Prefer comics based more than the show but either is fine. Dick and his friends welcome the new Robin the Titans way, by breaking in that hole. New kid is always the team toy, and it's even more fun now that it's Nightwing's bratty kid brother. Consensual or non con, dealer's choice. Double (or triple) penetration, dirty talk, and powers used for sex are favorite kinks but I'm good with pretty much anything.

Willis Todd/Jason Todd, Mob/Jason; Incest and forced underage prostitution

Willis pimps out his kid for cash and drugs. Catherine either pretends she doesn't know or knows and helps/doesn't care. And like any good salesman, he makes sure to test out his product to make sure it's up to snuff.

Make it cruel and awful and hopeless. Dehumanizing and degrading. Jason is just a hole to sell and use. belting in sensitive areas, beatings, violent sex, cum play, blood play... I just want something dark and nasty.

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Woo! Ok. I’ll try to keep this up the best I can. I’ll link/mark when prompts are filled so that you guys can check it out if you want (all filled prompts can be reached by the link in the title, but some have ao3 links that I put on the “Filled” note).

I’ll also reblog this with any new prompts that come up or if I find I’ve forgotten one.

#DC Kink Meme #long post #too many things to tag #content and trigger warnings apply to some of the prompts #enter at your own risk #mostly Jason Todd centric #but others that I liked too

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sebeth · 5 years

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Young Justice: A Bat Family And The House Of Al Ghul

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

Seriously, turn away if you aren’t up to date with Young Justice: Outsiders – particularly episode 6.

You have been warned…

The current Young Justice season has shown the following members of the Bat-Family:

Batman (Bruce Wayne)

Nightwing (Dick Grayson)

Oracle (Barbara Gordon)

Robin (Tim Drake)

Spoiler (Stephanie Brown)

Batwoman (Kate Kane)

Jason Todd

Damian Wayne

The House of Al Ghul has the following representation:

Ra’s Al Ghul

Talia

Sensei

Damian Wayne

“Rescue Op”, the latest episode of Young Justice: Outsiders, dropped a few bombshells on the Wayne Family and the League of Shadows. Now is a perfect time for a recap and speculation post.

Batman: Has grown tired of the limitations imposed on the Justice League by the United Nations and Lex Luthor in particular. Bruce resigned from the League and formed Batman Inc. Green Arrow, Batwoman, Katana, Hardware, and Plastic Man have also resigned from the League and joined Batman Inc. Robin, Spoiler, and Arrowette resigned from Young Justice in support of their mentors.

We haven’t seen Batman since the mass resignation so we are unaware of his future plans.

Batwoman: Has made one brief non-speaking appearance. I’m assuming Kate’s origin is similar to her comic book version. She should re-appear when Batman returns on the scene.

Nightwing: Left Young Justice at the end of season two. The death of Wally West, his best friend, laid a heavy burden on his shoulders. We have no idea what Dick has been up to during the two-year time gap between season two and three. The use of hypnos in an early episode hints as adventures with Spyral, a spy organization.

The season opened with Dick breaking up meta-human trafficking rings. He’s in a relationship with Barbara Gordon. It appears Dick will/has formed the Outsiders as of the latest episode – Brion and Halo stated they’d work best “outside” the Young Justice team.

Oracle: Has been paralyzed for less than a year. The prequel comic had Babs active as Batgirl in year six. We aren’t aware of the circumstances of her paralysis but it’s most likely due to the Joker. The only question is if we will receive a “Killing Joke” flashback or if it’s only referenced in a comment. Babs is strictly working with Nightwing at this point but will she organize the Birds of Prey in the future? I would love to see Huntress and Lady Blackhawk in the YJ-verse!

Dick and Babs were both aware of Bruce’s “Batman Inc” plan but are not actively participating in it.

Robin: We’re not sure when Tim became Robin. I’ve always felt it was shortly before season two started due to the anxious protectiveness Dick had of Tim in the first episode. Tim should be around 16-17 years old in the current season. He resigned along with Batman in the first episode. Tim’s romance with Wonder Girl is on the rocks due to the resignation.

Spoiler (Stephanie Brown) – Like Kate, she has only been featured in a non-speaking role. Steph was part of the mass resignation of episode one. I’m assuming Steph’s origin is true to her comic book roots: daughter of Cluemaster, adopts the Spoiler identity to foil his crimes. A significant difference is her early adoption into the Bat family. Trust me, Steph wouldn’t have been able to join the team without Batman’s approval. Steph’s resignation suggests she has a much smoother relationship with Bruce in the YJ-verse. Another difference – Steph isn’t romantically involved with Tim. Is Cassie doomed to be the “Ariana” of Tim and Steph’s future romance? Or will Tim and Steph simply be BFFs?

Finally, Jason Todd!

Jason was seen briefly in season two as a memorial hologram. He had died sometime during years two and four of Young Justice. We’re not sure of the exact time or circumstances.

I would set Jason’s death in year four. Dick would be approximately 17 years old during the fourth year of the team. Dick, traditionally, is around 17 to 19 years old when he breaks off from Bruce and forms the Nightwing identity. Jason would have a brief tenure as Robin and a member of Young Justice before his death- allowing a very new to the role Tim to join the team in year 5.

We’ve never been told the circumstances of Jason’s death. It’s a safe bet the Joker was involved in some way.

Let’s recap the various versions:

Post-Crisis: Jason searches to find his birth mother. Sheila Haywood, said birth mother, betrays Jason to the Joker. The Joker beats Jason with a crowbar and leaves him to die in an exploding warehouse.

New 52: Very similar to the Post-Crisis death.

Under The Red Hood movie: Similar to the traditional death minus the mom.

Batman: Arkham Knight: The Joker kidnapped, imprisoned, and tortured Jason for many months. Joker appeared to murder Jason in a video, causing Bruce to stop searching for him.

Now let’s discuss the various resurrections…

Post-Crisis: Superboy Prime punched the walls of reality causing alterations of the timeline. One alteration was Jason’s resurrection. A massively brain-damaged and physically injured Jason awoke in his coffin. He dug himself out of his grave and wandered the streets of Gotham in a semi-catonic state. Talia discovers Jason and brings him to the League of Assassins. Jason has muscle memory but no intellectual capabilities. In other words, Jason can fight but not communicate. After months of no progress, Ra’s orders Jason to be sent to a home. Ra’s orders Jason will be taken care of out of respect for the Detective. A desperate Talia throws Jason into the Lazarus Pit. Jason emerges with full mental capabilities but an insane amount of rage. Talia furthers Jason’s training but also amps Jason’s rage – she sends him like an exploding bomb into Gotham. Prime targets: Bruce, the Joker, and Tim. Jason and Talia have a brief, icky, sexual relationship.

New 52: No Superboy involved – Talia straight up throws Jason into the Lazaurs Pit. She still serves as Jason’s mentor but no sex was involved. Jason’s return as the Red Hood and his roaring rampage of revenge happened before the New 52 began. We never receive the full details of Jason’s revenge but Jason comments about his rough treatment of Tim and Roy jokes about a “duffel bag of severed heads” so we’ll assume it was similar to the ‘Under The Red Hood” arc.

Under The Red Hood movie: Ra’s resurrects Jason due to his guilt over unleashing the Joker. Jason’s death was never intended and Ra’s resurrected him to make amends. Unfortunately, Ra’s couldn’t contain Jason’s rage and banished him from the stronghold.

Batman: Arkham Knight: Never died but still full of rage and bitterness due to Batman’s “abandonment” of him.

Jason is seen briefly in “Rescue Op”. He’s masked and wearing a red hood. He fights Nightwing. After Dick’s team leaves, he mutters “Grayson”.

Ra’s comments: “Oh, your memory is finally returning. Excellent.”

Let’s speculate:

We can safely assume Jason died at the hands of the Joker. It’s a universal constant. I feel it was a true death as the “faked” death of Arkham Knight doesn’t work well in universe with a Superman and a Martian Manhunter. If Batman didn’t have Jason’s actual corpse in his arms, he would have called in his entire Justice League team to find his son. And if he didn’t, Dick would have.

More questions: Was Dick in space when Jason died? Did Dick and Jason work together in Young Justice? Did the brothers have a better bond in the Young Justice universe or was it the more typical “overshadowed by Dick’s greatness” combined with Dick’s bitterness over being replaced route?

As for Jason’s resurrection…

We can rule out Superboy Prime and timeline alterations.

The Lazarus Pit is the obvious solution. However, Jason is very much in his post-grave but pre-Lazarus dip state. Has Jason been immersed in the Pit? If not, what caused his resurrection?

If Jason has been immersed in the Pit, why such a half-assed job? And where’s the rage?

The Young Justice comic book had Robin (Dick) accidentally drop Ra’s – causing the man to fall to his death. Talia and Ubu threw Ra’s into the pit and he emerged fully intact with no memory loss.

If Jason still has memory loss after the Lazarus pit – is it due to the massive head trauma caused by the Joker’s crowbar? But, again, Ra’s had died in the Young Justice-verse and been resurrected in prime condition. Talia and Ubu had to travel back to the Lazarus Pit – meaning Ra’s was dead for hours – that would also cause brain damage and he came back in perfect health.

My theory is an outside force caused Jason’s resurrection. Talia discovered Jason wondering the streets and brought him back to the League’s stronghold.

It would explain Jason’s current state. I have no idea what the “outside force” would be though.

Jason has been healing and training with the League but has not been immersed in the Pit.

Ra’s al Ghul stated in “Recue Op” that he is no longer the head of the League of Shadows or a member of the Light.

A power struggle occurred and Ra’s lost. Ra’s only has his own family – Talia, Damian, and Sensei – along with a few loyal operatives on the island. Who has assumed control of the League of Shadows?

I listed a few suspects when I covered “Rescue Op” – Cheshire and Lady Shiva. I even theorized over the introduction of Cassandra Cain. I completely forgot the most obvious suspect – Nyssa al Ghul.

Nyssa is the older sister of Talia. Nyssa lost most of her family in concentration camps during World War II – mainly because of Ra’s outright refusal to help her.

“Batman: Death and the Maidens” is Nyssa’s origin and revenge against Ra’s. She murders Ra’s al Ghul and Talia and assumes control of the League.

The trio of Nyssa, Lady Shiva, and Cheshire would be a terrifying triple threat. And if Shiva has coerced Cassandra to help? Very bad times ahead for Ra’s and Talia.

Let’s talk Talia. She only has a brief appearance in the cartoon but received a two-issue spotlight in the comic book series.

Talia is a more multi-faceted and likable character in the Young Justice-verse than she is in the mainstream DC universe.

Talia wants Bruce to love her but realizes he doesn’t/can’t – at least not the way she wants him to. She’s frustrated that her father doesn’t understand or accept this. She wants someone to see her as something other than Ra’s al Ghul’s daughter or Batman’s lover. Talia is very tired of the endless conflict between Batman and her father.

I believe Talia discovered the resurrected Jason. She brought Jason home with her so he could heal. Talia has been patiently waiting for Jason’s full recovery. In the comics, Talia didn’t push Jason into the Pit until Ra’s threatened to send Jason away. Clearly, this isn’t a worry in the YJ-verse so Talia would have no reason to immerse Jason in the Pit and risk the resulting insanity/rage.

Initially, Talia rescued Jason in the comics so Bruce would be grateful to her. Cartoon-verse Talia likely has a similar motivation.

What would cause Talia to throw Jason into the Pit – restoring his full mental capacity even at the risk of rage and insanity?

Two words: Damian Wayne.

Talia was holding baby Damian in her arms during the episode. Why introduce both Jason and Damian together unless their storylines intertwine?

I feel Ra’s successors in the League are going to pursue the remaining Al Ghuls. The League, by its various nature, is a bloodthirsty affair – predecessors aren’t allowed to live out their lives in peace. And Ra’s isn’t a “chilling on the beach” type of guy.

Damian is a newborn and I’m assuming he was conceived the old-fashioned way. None of this Talia drugged Bruce or stole his genetic material stuff. It wouldn’t be true to the Young Justice version of Talia.

Talia has a newborn and a price on all the Al-Ghul heads. Talia realizes Damian needs to be with his father for his own safety. Talia is unable – or unwilling – to leave Ra’s side. It’s possible an ambush goes very badly. A desperate Talia throws Jason into the Lazarus Pit. She orders the now fully restored Jason to bring Damian to Bruce.

Jason may not even engage in a “roaring rampage of revenge” against Bruce. Mainstream-Talia’s manipulations helped cause Jason’s revenge (“You remain unavenged”). Talia has no reason to amp Jason’s revenge in the YJ-verse – she needs Jason to get Damian and himself to Gotham asap.

Jason’s rage may not even kick in until after he hands Damian over – it could be days or weeks later when Jason discovers the Joker is still alive. Enter the Red Hood.

If Jason does go all revenge-driven Red Hood, I am going to be seriously annoyed if he focuses his anger on Dick and not Tim.

Bad enough Dick stole the founding of Young Justice and the Kon friendship from Tim, if he takes the “replacement feud” I’m going to have a fit.

Dick is the original Bat-Family thief – first Barbara has multiple accomplishments stolen from her history in order to make her Dick’s “true love”, and then Dick steals the founding of Young Justice and Superboy from Tim!

I love you, Dick, but stop stealing your sibling’s stuff. They are allowed to have accomplishments and storylines without you hogging the action!

#Young Justice #Young Justice Outsiders #Jason Todd #Talia Al Ghul #Dick Grayson #Red Hood #Nightwing #Bruce Wayne #Ra's Al Ghul #Tim Drake #stephanie brown #Robin #Joker #Nyssa Al Ghul #Batman #Barbara Gordon #Oracle #League Of Shadows

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lostinfic · 5 years

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The Raven and the Goldfinch | 1

Part 1 of 3 | Ao3

Summary: In turn-of-the-century London, the famous illusionist, Peter Vincent, must use his skills to reclaim the love of his life, a woman he thought was lost to him. Now that he’s given a second chance, he won’t lose her again, not even when supernatural forces get in the way.

Genre: childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, Victorian Era AU, movie AU (The Illusionist), supernatural elements

Rating: mature

Word count: 5k

Ship: Peter Vincent (Fright Night) x Jenny (Spirit Trap).

Why this pairing? Peter Vincent witnessed his parents get killed by a vampire, but lived in denial of this until reality caught up with him in the movie. Jenny’s mother was a medium, but Jenny refused to believe it (just like her father, who left because of it) until she experienced her own encounter with ghosts in the movie. I think this similarity between their personal stories is interesting and a good starting point for a ship. And that’s all you need to know about these characters.

A/N: @ktrosesworld prompted: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hrmm Vamp!Rose with a HEA ... umm umm ... is that a stake in your pants or are you just pleased to see me ;) ... or wherever you muse decides to take you with smutty Peter Vincent.

So many things about that prompt were out of my comfort zone, but I really wanted to write it for KT who is always so lovely and supportive. So, I stretched that prompt as far as it would go, but I promise there shall be smut, a HEA, and that quote, but I tried writing it with Rose, and it wasn’t working.

≒

The Sunday Herald, 31 October 1895

A NIGHT OF MYSTERY.

Some Curious Facts Concerning All Hallow Eve.

The Night When Maidens Try to Find Out Who Will Wed Them— A Curious Circumstance— Tricks Played.

From its first origination, Hallow eve has been invested with a peculiarly mystic character. It is an almost universal superstition that supernatural influences then have unusual power— that devils, witches and fairies are abroad, that all spirits are free to roam through space, and that the spiritual element in all living humanity can be detached from corporeal restraint and made to road its own future or to reveal to others what fate may have in store for them.

As there is nothing in the Church celebration of the ensuing day of All Saint's to justify these singular ideas and customs associated with Hallow eve, and none of them are of a religious character, we may justly regard them as relics of pagan times.

In all ages and countries, Hallow eve has been deemed, as it still is, the occasion par excellence for devilling the answer to that momentous question which absorbs so large a share of the thoughts of romantic young men and maidens, "who is to marry whom?" The means employed to gain this much desired information are as quaint and curious as they are numerous and varied.

Water, nuts and apples bear a prominent port in the spells and charms of Hallow eve. A quaint old book of charms, published in Edinburgh in 1070, entitled: "Old Father Time's Bundle of Faggots Newly Bound Up," declares that an infallible means of getting a view of your future husband or wife is to go to bed on Hallow eve with a glass of water, in which a small sliver of wood has been placed, standing on a table by your bedside. In the night you will dream of falling from a bridge into a river and of being rescued by your future wife or husband, whom you will see as distinctly as though viewed with waking eyes.

≑

Jennie hated All Hallow eve, but she loved a good party.

She crossed the reception room to refill her glass of wine. Her black silk cape, shaped like bat wings, floated behind her. She pulled the hood over her blond curls, hoping to escape Lady Rothermere’s attention. But no such luck.

“Iphigenia, dear, I believe it’s your turn to play.”

Thankfully, no one at this gathering, in London, knew of Jennie’s mother’s reputation or else they might have asked her to perform the same divination. Tonight, the guests’ interest in the permeability between worlds resided in predicting one’s luck in love rather than honoring Pagan gods of old.

Still Jennie could not entirely enjoy the festivities for it reminded her too much of her mother’s lunacy. A terrible illness of the mind had afflicted the poor baroness until her death, she would hear voices and see strange things to which she lent some mystic signification. The superstitions surrounding October 31st used to worsen her symptoms, and those who believed she had a supernatural power would flock to Featherstone Hall. They only increased her suffering, and caused Jennie to flee her own home for the night.

Jennie’s plan for Lady Rothermere’s party was simple: avoid anything to do with spirits except the alcoholic kind. But peer pressure threw a wrench in that plan.

Jennie’s friends thrust an apple and a knife in her hands with excited giggles. The game involved going alone in a dark room in which there was only a mirror and a candle, then trying to peel an apple all in one piece. If successful, one’s true love’s face would appear in the mirror.

“Why does she have to go? She’s already betrothed,” a girl pointed out, but the other ones were already pushing Jennie towards the door.

Her friends shut the door behind her. Despite the candle flame, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to darkness. She sat on the floor in front of the small mirror propped against the wall, and started peeling the apple. The peel curled around her hand like a scarlet ribbon. Although, she didn’t believe in these silly games, she still applied herself to the task.

It would be a relief to see Richard’s face in the mirror, so that, despite her doubts and reluctance, she would know accepting his proposal would end happily. He was a decent man, willing to overlook shameful things about her family to acquire her father’s lands. And his fortune wasn’t uninteresting.

But in her heart of heart, she knew whose face she wished to see, a face she had not gazed upon in twelve years.

Moving to the underside of the apple was the most treacherous part, especially in the dark. Almost there. She cut off the last inch of the peel with too much pressure, and the blade hit the pad of her thumb. It sliced through her skin. A crimson drop rose to the surface.

The mirror shimmered.

Jennie held her breath and looked closer. It was only fog on the glass. She wiped it with her sleeve, but it stayed there. The fog moved, like smoke from a pipe, it unfurled along the edges of the mirror in a rough oval shape. Then it started to clear from two points in the center, leaving two holes in the fog, like hollowed out eyes. Blood drained from her face as the smoke gathered in an increasingly precise shape. The shape of a skull.

≑

The master of ceremonies introduced Peter Vincent to the crowd gather in the Sofia Theater, in the Bulgarian capital. The illusionist waited for a few seconds, letting the anticipation rise in the public. Once the chatter died down, he walked swiftly through the curtains. Fog rolled under his leather frock coat as he crossed to the stage apron in long strides. He wore a pair of black gloves which he removed and tossed into the air above the spectators, where they turned into a pair of ravens.

He bowed dramatically to the applause, then addressed the crowd in Bulgarian (a local friend had translated his text, though Peter was familiar enough with Slavic languages to understand most of the words).

“I thought we might begin this evening with a discussion of the Great Beyond. All of the greatest religions speak of the soul's endurance beyond the end of life. So, what then does it mean... to die? Tonight is a special night. A night when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is lifted. Let us see, if we can cross this barrier between realms and call forth some spirits.”

An assistant rolled a small table onto the stage. A paisley cloth covered it, and a crystal ball sat upon it, larger than normal to allow the audience a better view.

Peter stretched his long hands above the sphere, with each flourish of fingers, mist rose inside the crystal. The spectators had yet to be impressed, most squinted at the ball and exchanged comments, but Peter’s focus didn’t waver. The mist inside became more opaque, then turned from white to gray, to lilac and deepened to purple. Suddenly, the crystal cracked, a sharp pop of glass followed by gasps. The glass was cleaved and the fissure grew in a fractal pattern with that slow, spine-chilling creak. Pressure grew inside the ball, the smoke pressed against the edges. Everyone held their breaths, bodies tense, anticipating the explosion. The crystal ball shattered, and all the fog rushed out of it taking on ghostly forms that grew high above the stage. Three pairs of red eyes appeared, and then Peter was knocked off the stage.

He fell.

And he fell.

A never-ending descent. He landed under a bed, years earlier, knees to his chest, hands clapped over his mouth to keep his breathing and sobs silent. He heard his parents’ screams and that horrible gurgling noise. Hot tears ran down his cheeks.

Then it stopped. They stopped kicking and screaming. His mother’s arm fell limply off the bed. The murderer stopped drinking and smacked his lips.

The boy cracked open an eye. Blood dripped along the bedframe, thick and scarlet. Drip. Drip. A drop morphed into a raven and it perched on the headboard. The black bird turned to the child and spoke in a young girl’s voice. “Make us disappear.”

Peter woke up with a gasp.

“Are you quite all right, old sport?” asked his manager, Ingwer, sat next to him.

“Yes. Of course,” Peter replied though his heart still hammered in his chest. “That lass after the show tired me out, that’s all.”

He winked at Ingwer, who didn’t seem convinced, he twirled the end of his sandy mustache, looking Peter over. Peter turned away from his manager and towards the train window. It was night so it only returned his own reflection, blurry and immaterial, gossamer.

It wasn’t uncommon for Peter to dream about a performance going wrong: a defective prop, a mocking audience or being stark naked on stage (though that often turned into a wonderful dream). But it had never morphed into a flashback to the night his parents died.

Peter reached inside his jacket for his good luck charm, a raven carved out of ebony, flat like a coin and not much thicker. Absentmindedly, he manipulated the object. He turned it between his knuckles, from thumb to pinkie and back, then made it disappear in one hand and reappear in the other. The wood was smooth from years of use, the varnish long gone. It soothed him.

Not long after his parents’ death, a travelling showman had stopped in his hometown in Northern England. He’d performed a few magic tricks in exchange for a hot meat and ale, and like any eight year-old boy, Peter had been fascinated. The old magician had pulled a wooden raven from behind Peter’s ears. He’d hidden it between his palms, said a phrase in latin then blown on his hands, and a bird had flown out.

“Nothing is what it seems,” he’d said.

And Peter had thought, if one’s senses can be deceived so easily, then perhaps he had not really seen a monster that night, in his parents’ bedroom.

Sensing the child’s sadness, the old magician had patiently taught him a few tricks. And Peter had never stopped after that.

“We’ll be crossing into Serbia soon,” Ingwer said.

“That’s two nights in Belgrade, then Sarajevo?”

“Yes. Then Sarajevo, Budapest, Vienna, Innsbruck, Venice, Berne and Paris.”

“I want to go to London.”

Though he’d uttered the words casually, like a mere technicality, his manager’s pale eyebrows rose.

“Erm, well, I have some contacts there, maybe we can arrange something for December or January…”

“No, I want to go now.”

“You haven’t set foot there in over ten years. Always refused offers. Why the sudden urge?”

“I’m homesick,” he lied.

≑

London Daily News, 20 November 1895

PETER VINCENT’S FRIGHTFUL ENTERTAINMENTS

Egyptian Hall, London.

Saturday and Monday evenings. Doors open at 7:30; commences at 8 o’clock. Carriages at 10.

For the first time in England: Peter Vincent in his Extraordinary Sorcelleries or Creatures of the Night.

Peter Vincent’s astounding feats in natural magic are based on principles not within the power of any other Artist in the World, and declared by the Press to be of so singular a nature as to be past all human conception, and that in an age and country less enlightened, they would inevitably have appeared supernatural. Mr. Vincent who, alone, unaided by confederates, and without all ordinary apparatus, deceives the eye, amazes, bewilders, and baffles the keenest observers, will display his truly miraculous acquirements in Prestidigitation, which surpass everything hitherto presented to the Public, in fact exhibiting powers that seem impossible to be achieved by human agency.

With regard to the moral bearing of the performance, it is only necessary to intimate that the Very Rev. Dean Stanley, in his sermon preached the act as it demonstrates the power of our Lord over Evil.

The Proprietor feels justified in calling attention to the fact that no expense has been spared in this production. Endorsed by the entire Press as being most mystical, mirthful and marvelous.

≑

“And for my last feat, I need a volunteer,” Peter declared.

Spectators avoided eye-contact with him and shook their heads until a young man raised his hand. He walked from his seat to the stage with a smirk. A little shit who thought it was all a trick; Peter loved to scare them.

The illusionist uncovered a tall mirror and placed the young man in front of it.

“What is your name, Sir?”

“Walter Gardiner.”

“Mr. Gardiner, if you would be so kind as to inspect this mirror and assure our dear spectators tonight that it is not tricked.”

Walter walked around the mirror, inspecting its gilded frame and knocking on the back.

“Now, do you see your reflection in this mirror, Mr. Gardiner?” Peter asked.

“Yes.” He waved at himself.

“And do you also see our esteemed audience behind you?”

“Yes.”

“And now you see me too in the mirror?” Peter placed himself behind the young man.

“Indeed, I do.”

With the help of an assistant, Peter turned the mirror around as well as Walter so that he had his back to the stage curtains, with the mirror between him and the crowd.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror, Mr. Gardiner, and let me know if anything in the reflection changes.”

“Righty-o.”

Peter pulled on heavy silken ropes, and the green velvet curtains behind Walter parted.

Loud gasps rippled through the theater. In the third row, a woman fainted.

Walter laughed uneasily. “I don’t see the curtains anymore,” he said.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Behind you!” shouted someone from the balcony.

On the stage, three young women, all dark hair and pale blue skin, wearing only nightgowns had been revealed. They snarled at Walter, displaying long canines. Their shackles clanked as they lunged forward.

Mr. Gardiner scurried off the stage, and nearly broke his neck in the stairs.

"Back, spawn of Satan!" Peter shouted, brandishing a crucifix.

The three vampires retreated with loud hisses.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my vampiresses!”

The audience applauded with some restraint.

“It is well-known by the Slavs that certain dead persons possess the power of returning by night to molest the living, to suck their blood, and by such refreshment to continue their own terrestrial existence, at the expense of their victims. These creatures do not have a reflection in a mirror.

But the worst part remains to be told: this faculty proves contagious; and those who have been sucked by a vampire, feel themselves condemned to become vampires, in their turn.

I saved these poor girls from the power of their sire in a remote corner of Transylvania. Animal blood furnishes them with the means of subsistence.”

Spectators flinched and covered their mouths.

“Thanks to my powers, and the power of the Christ, I can control these creatures of the night and make an example out of them. A cautionary tale. So you might recognize them and not fall prey yourselves.”

Peter stretched his arms and hands towards the three wild women, his face scrunched up with effort.

“Thou shall rise from the dead.”

A vein throbbed on his forehead. As he raised his arms, the three women slowly lifted off the floor and levitated high above the stage.

≑

As soon as he exited the stage, Peter collapsed. He didn’t even have the strength to remove the wig that scratched his scalp.

As usual, Ingwer ran up to him with a flask of whiskey and a cool, damp cloth.

In the theater, spectators were still applauding and talking loudly. Peter let their appreciation wash over him as he recovered from the exhausting performance.

The theater’s director came up to him and announced the Earl of Westmorland was here and wished to speak with him.

“Give me a minute,” Peter said.

“The Earl will not wait that long.”

With Ingwer’s help, Peter rose to his feet. They both knew the approval of the aristocracy could open many doors and make him a rich man.

A group of people awaited him in the salon, the Earl at the center. He held his head high perhaps to compensate for his small stature. Generous sideburns covered part of his cheeks down to his jaw.

“Your lordship, may I introduce Peter Vincent, the Illusionist?”

“Fascinating demonstration,” the Earl said.

“Thank you. It’s not easy keeping these lasses under control.”

The Earl chuckled, but it wasn’t genuine.

“It stimulated a great debate amongst us.” He gestured at his entourage. “Rainier here thinks you have supernatural powers? Do you claim supernatural powers?”

“Well, I can certainly do things on stage that mere mortals can’t.”

“Then you won’t mind a question or two. You needn’t divulge anything I cannot guess.”

“Shoot.”

“Mr. Gardiner was in league with you. Or there were lights in the mirror frame perhaps and angled mirrors.”

“I’m sure there are illusionists who would do it that way.”

“I think I understand it all. Except the gloves turning into ravens at the beginning. Where did they go?”

“Right here.” Peter pulled his gloves out of his pockets, much to the amusement of the Earl’s entourage. “Maybe you will understand it next time. Another viewing?”

“You must come to St. James’s Park. We'll gather our best minds next time. You'll really have a challenge then. What do you think, Iphigenia, dear?”

The Earl turned to a woman sitting a little farther in the room.

When he saw her, Peter forgot to breathe. Those plump, pink cheeks, and that gorgeous mouth, but her golden eyes had lost their mischievous glint.

Jennie.

Peter’s heart swelled with hope.

She was a woman now, and what a woman. The low neck and short sleeves of her elaborate green dress, showed off skin so creamy and fair he wanted to dip a spoon in it-- actually, to hell with a spoon, he would lick it.

He kissed the back of her gloved hand more slowly than decency allowed. He didn’t miss the way her chest rose with a sharp intake of breath.

She narrowed her gaze, and he realized she didn’t recognize him.

The Earl put a proprietary arm around her, and Jennie smiled sweetly at him. Peter’s heart plummeted.

“I shall like to see these creatures of the night for myself,” the Earl said.

“Another time, perhaps. If you will forgive, I must see to it that they cannot escape... And I need to go look for my birds.”

He held Jennie’s gaze for a moment, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but her face betrayed nothing. She averted her eyes and clasped her hands.

Peter returned to his hotel. He discarded his wig and fake beard and loosened his neck tie. Only one thing would do to deal with this: la fée verte. He poured an inch of absinthe into a crystal stemmed glass and placed a slotted spoon across the rim with a sugar cube over it. He liked the ritual— at least for the first glass or two, then it was straight from the bottle— like a magic trick, positioning precisely each piece, then as he trickled cold water over the sugar, the liquid turned cloudy unlike his mind. Absinthe produced such a sharp sort of drunkenness, and his memories became that much more vivid: the green, dry scent of sawdust in his father’s workshop, the ribbed smoothness of a grosgrain ribbon between his finger, her laughter in bursts of light.

≑

The first time they met, they were only children. Her straw bonnet hung crookedly over her messy blond curls, and blue ribbons floated beside her cheek. She introduced herself as Jennie, but he knew who she was: Iphigenia Goldfinch, daughter of the Baron. Her father owned most of the hamlet where they lived, a remote corner of Northumberland, between the Scottish border and the North sea. Peter worked for him. He was but a farm boy, having to earn his own living now that he was an orphan. Other children never spoke to him, they thought him a bit odd, and the circumstances of his parents’ death didn’t help.

“What are you doing?” she asked, watching him flip the wooden raven between his fingers.

“I’m looking for my bird,” he replied. “Do you think it’s in the bushes?”

Jennie followed him to the edge of the forest. Peter picked a small purple flower.

“Perhaps it made its nest amongst the petals.”

“What are you talking about?”

He struck a match and lit the flower. With a flourish of his hand, it vanished in a puff of smoke, and was replaced by a black feather. Her hand flew to her chest, followed by delighted laughter. He decided then and there to make her smile and laugh as much as possible.

They became inseparable. Jennie would bring him food and blankets, and whatever material he needed for his latest magic trick. She dreamt of becoming an actress, so they would put on elaborate performances. As they grew older, their act became more and more complex, lengthy skits with scenarios, costumes, decors and monologues heavily borrowed from Shakespeare. Sometimes for an audience, but more often for their own entertainment. She never asked for the secret behind his tricks, and sometimes he wouldn’t have known how to explain, cards floated in the air, handkerchiefs vanished and wilted flowers bloomed anew.

The other peasants warned him to stay away from her. “If the Baron finds out…” they said. But neither of Jennie’s parents seemed to care. Her father was never home, always in London, allegedly on business. The baroness preferred the company of ghosts. Even at a young age, Peter wondered which was worse: that one’s parents had died or that they didn’t care about their child. They were both orphans in their own way.

And so, Jennie and Peter sheltered each other from the harsh and confusing realities of adulthood. They surrounded themselves with magic and forgot all the rest.

As Peter grew older, he began to understand what he’d been warned against. What they said he would want but couldn’t have.

When she turned thirteen, her father hired a chaperone, and they had to find creative ways of meeting. An abandoned hut in the forest became their refuge after the chaperone had dozed off for the night.

For his fifteenth birthday, she gave him his first kiss, and he promised they would always be together.

For her fifteenth birthday, the baron came back to Featherstone Hall and announced his intention to take his daughter away to London. That night, Jennie ran to him with her jewels wrapped in a piece of cloth.

“We have to go!”

She was always more courageous than him. He hesitated for too long. Her father’s men came after them. They hid in their secret hut, huddled together in the cold night, as dogs sniffed and barked around.

“Make us disappear,” she begged. “Please, Peter, make us disappear.”

He tried.

He failed.

He waited for her.

But she never came back from London, and so, without an anchor, Peter drifted away.

≑

An insistent knock at his hotel door woke Peter up. His head hurt from too much absinthe. He’d slept the morning away. On the doorstep, he found a simple, handwritten note: “Meet me”.

He quickly washed the smudged eyeliner off his face and changed out of last night’s clothes before heading out where a coach awaited.

The cold november wind whipped the tail of his coat about and he held down his hat as he stepped inside the carriage. It was empty.

The carriage drove around for fifteen minutes, Peter rubbed up and down his arms, looking out the window for clues of his anonymous caller. He dearly hoped the message was from Jennie, but it wasn’t rare for some married women to seek him out after a show. His act thrilled them, reminded them that life was too short for a boring husband.

They reached a busy thoroughfare. Peter huffed impatiently at being stuck in traffic. Suddenly, the carriage door opened and someone slipped in directly from the coach beside his. A woman in a garnet-red dress, a veil concealed her face. Peter put a foot up on the bench, sprawling with a cocky smile, a reflex in female company.

When she lifted the veil, he recognized Jennie. Though the carriage was in motion, she had yet to sit. The feather on her hat wobbled and brushed against the ceiling.

“Are you Peter McHoolihee of Northumberland?”

“The one and only.”

She inspected him with narrowed eyes.

“It really is me, Jennie,” he assured her.

She sat on the bench opposite him.

“No one has called me that in ages,” she said.

She didn’t look as happy as he expected her to be. Staring down at her hands, she fidgeted with her wedding ring. The size of the gemstones was an unwelcome reminder of all the things Peter couldn’t buy her despite his fame.

“How long have you been back in England?” she asked.

“Three days.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I’d been gone long enough. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Although she’d learned to mask her emotions better, he recognized that slightly puckered forehead that belied her words.

“So, you’re Peter Vincent now.”

“And you’re a countess.”

“Only since last week.”

“I’m too late, then.”

“Twelve years too late. At least your magic tricks have improved.”

There was a bitterness to her tone he matched in his reply.

“So have your acting skills.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you must have done something to make an Earl want to marry below his station.”

“Must you be so unpleasant?”

“Must you be married?”

They outstared each other. The carriage creaked and horseshoes beat the gravel path, filling the silence. Jennie broke the staring first and looked out the window.

“What was I supposed to do?” she asked after a long moment. “I wrote to everyone in Featherstone for news of you, but you had left without a trace. I tried to find you.”

“So did I. I went to London.”

“You did?” Her face broke into a grin.

Since their first kiss, he’d learned how to seduce women, but now, one smile from her and he was a fumbling teenager again. His palms were clammy, and he couldn’t think of a single smart thing to say. Just like the courageous but naive seventeen year-old lad he had once been, the one who set out for London with only the clothes on his back and a literal ace up his sleeve.

But the city was much larger than he’d anticipated, and the sight of rich gentlemen-- the kind she may be presented to-- discouraged him. He found work on a cargo ship sailing to Denmark; if he traveled the world, educated himself and became rich, then he might be worthy of her. He roamed the Continent, taking odd jobs and performing magic tricks. But as he journeyed East, he started hearing legends of blood-sucking creatures, and his purpose evolved.

In Poland, he met Emily de Laszowska Gerard, a writer and literary critique. Scottish by birth, she took a liking to Peter and his skills, and hired him to work in her home. Her library contained many a book about myths and legends that they read together. When her husband, a Polish chevalier, twenty years her senior, was stationed in Transylvania, Peter followed them. Still officially a member of staff, but in fact, he and Emily researched the local vampire lore. She even published a book about Transylvanian superstitions the next year. She was the first person, after Jennie, to whom Peter revealed what he had seen kill his parents. She was also the first person, after Jennie, to kiss him. She was older than him by six years and taught him how to give a woman pleasure. They enjoyed each other’s company, but he didn’t love Emily as he had Jennie. Eventually, her husband found out about the affair and kicked him out. Armed with a new confidence and knowledge on two equally mysterious creatures— vampires and women— he started his life as Peter Vincent.

He didn’t confess his insecurities and affairs to Jennie, only summed up that he hadn’t found her in London and then started travelling.

“No wonder you could not find me in London. Father hired this dreadful tutor, and locked me up for hours with her so she might teach me everything a lady should know.”

“So he might offer you to the highest bidder?”

She didn’t deny the allegation, but amended, “He wanted a better life for me, better than I had with Mother. But I did not want it.”

“I’m sure you managed to sneak out every once in a while.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and his stomach swooped. Even if she spoke like a proper lady, in his presence her northern accent and idioms resurfaced. And he laughed, still incredulous that the baron’s daughter was so bold, and that she even deigned talk to him. Him, a peasant boy. It felt like they had never been apart. As he spoke, he lost his cocky façade, and Jennie leaned towards him, elbows on knees.

“I never escaped very far. Not as far as you did.”

“I crossed the continent. I saw Russia and the Ottoman Empire. Always searching… I learned about myths and the origins of faith and fear in men.”

“And vampires?”

“I saw what looked like the victims of vampires: illnesses that medicine has yet to explain, and corpses that decomposed in odd ways, but no real vampire. I must have imagined it all. It became inspiration for my show.”

He switched seat to be next to her, his legs pressed against hers, but she didn’t move. Head cocked to one side, she openly studied him. He didn’t feel unrecognized by her anymore. Her honey-brown eyes warmed him more than the autumn sun shining on his stubbled cheek.

“All that wandering, did you ever find what you were looking for?” she asked.

“In some measure. But something was always missing.” He brought her hands to his lips, holding her gaze, and turned on the charm.

Jennie chuckled softly. “I see you learned about more than folklore.”

“Shall I demonstrate?”

He scooted closer to her, Jennie instinctively leaned forward, smiling conspiratorially.

“You may.”

He ran his hands up, from her wrists to her shoulders, and rested them on her neck. His thumb brushed her jaw, and her lips parted. He had dreamt of those lips. He kissed her as slowly as his weak restraints allowed. He needed her to think about this kiss for days and weeks to come. He needed her to blush every time she was with her husband, and take pleasure in tasting the memory on her lips. He kissed her deeply, adoringly, and feeling her melt against him was his reward.

Too soon, the carriage stopped.

“I have to go,” she said.

Peter caught her arm to stop her, though his grip was light, she winced as if he’d hurt her which alarmed him.

“Rough honeymoon?”

“My husband is… mercurial.”

“Run away with me. I’m rich now.”

“You think that ever mattered to me?” She swiped his fringe to the side and kissed his forehead, but the gesture was too forlorn for him to enjoy. “I wish I could-- there’s so much to explain... Richard would hunt us down.”

“Jennie…”

“Goodbye, Peter.”

“When can I see you again?” he pressed.

“I don’t know.”

And she vanished into the street crowd.

≑

Part 2

#Teninch Fic #ktrosesworld #Peter Vincent #peter vincent x jenny #I start feeling queasy when I don't post fic for a while #I hope you guys will like this despite the unusual pairing #Lostinfic writes stuff #autumn prompts #Raven & Goldfinch #the raven and the goldfinch

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scriptmin · 6 years

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Three Inches of Heaven [Pt.3]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | TBA

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader, Jimin x Reader Genre: Time travel, romance, Royalty AU (Mature themes ahead) | Length: 4.6k

Summary: A bizarre time-warp sends an unsuspecting woman hurtling towards an era of cunning plots, political strife, and strict societal hierarchy—it appeared the world between a few centuries hadn’t been too different after all.

“You there! Servant boy!”

You had only just resumed your descent to the gardens of the castle when a man’s shrill, authoritative dictation had echoed off the stone walls and into the hollowness in the bed of your ear. It was Jungkook who halted first with a sharp upward tug of his shoulder, startled out of the daze which you had left him in, before he was pivoting on the balls of his feet, the wind of his long, flowy robes breezing past you. You followed his motions only a second belated.

“Where is your mis—” Upon the rotation of your body, the natural widening of your scope of vision had accommodated an urgently advancing figure, which had, for a split second, registered in your mind as a cotton ball of blue and white. But as your own profile had come into his sight line, the figure had abandoned all movement, staggering to a stop while his extended index levitated upwards, pointing obnoxiously at you. “My gods, you look ghastly!

Though you barely felt it, you knew your expression must have fallen flat, an indication of unamusement which the man had caught in time with the slow dissolve of his initial mock. He returned his arm back to his side, lips forming a neutral line as the remnants of a smile faded back into taut, golden skin.

“I’d almost mistaken you for one of the servants. They have this walk, you see, slouched and defeated and honestly quite a bit pathe—”

“What is it, Taehyung?”

The man adjusted himself thoroughly this time, shrugging his shoulders straight, hardening his spine. The neutrality on his face had descended into that of sheer boredom, and perhaps hints of annoyance. “It's your brother,” he replied dryly, peering down at you through hooded eyes, “he wants you in his chambers. There was a raven.”

“A raven?” You echoed, anxious. In other words, a text. From somewhere—far. “What about?”

There was a dismissive shake of his head, and the deepening of utter disinterest. “I was not privy. You should see him quickly. Matters with the capital, I think it.”

It was at that moment that you had felt an innate tug at your body, the flexing of the muscles in your neck angling your head towards the man that once stood beside you, and had by that point retreated to a humbled position at the rear of the conversation. Jungkook too, had answered to the call of his own instincts, his wide, mahogany eyes shifting to meet yours, your gazes connecting and igniting in unspoken exchange.

“Best run along now.”

Returning to the nobleman before you, you had gently dipped your chin, according this close kin and friend of yours a temporary farewell, before you were once more treading down the corridor from which you had come. You hadn't made it too far before you were slowing your pace, allowing Jungkook to naturally fall into step beside you. The man was still shackled to the dramatic event from earlier, unable to fight off whatever profound internal monologue that was ongoing in his head.

His expression, which was a cross somewhere between apologetic and guilty, was almost enough to inspire sentiments of your own apology, from having perhaps overreacted at the discovery of something which you had apparently already known. You were not so foolish enough now to fail to recognize the mirror of dynamics between past and present—for the record, the “past” was now and the “present” was the future. Jungkook, be him the cheating ex-boyfriend or the loyal, soft-spoken yet not any less mischievous servant, had consistently managed to uproot you from the grounds you had stood, however momentary.

He mentioned it once; that it was not anyone’s fault that you held so little belief in the things you felt. If you were mad, be mad; if you were annoyed, be annoyed.

“You're the one going belly-up every time we have a fight and you're blaming me for always running you over!”

“Jungkook.” Alas, you had arrived before the heavy, ancient wooden doors of your brother’s private quarters. The travel here had not been short, his room was probably located in a different wing altogether. The smoke-like whispers of musing servants and the hubbub of market noises could not permeate the atmosphere here, the dimly lit stone corridors felt almost soundproof, silencing the very air which wrapped glove-like around your body, tight and warm.

“Yes, m’lady?”

Your hushed exchange was exponentially amplified by the near-vacuum which you stood within, a place where even your soft breaths could be heard like birds in trees. You were careful not to say too much

“If there had been a better choice, I would have fought for it, right?”

If it were possible, the man receded even deeper into his own silence, brooding longer, wandering further. The shadows on his face danced as whimsically as the flickering flames of the torches that lit the walls, casting his complexion in a fickle, part-ethereal orange glow. Jungkook seemed so far away that the baritone vibrations from his throat traveled to you underwater-like, muted and subdued.

“Yes, I believe that.”

You took your lips between your teeth, clenching briefly before you had permitted the servant an affirmative nod. Then you had knocked, had received permission to enter with a muffled, “come in”, from the room’s owner, and had left behind whatever you could of the Jungkook from yesteryear, determined more than ever to go through with the motions of this time if it meant returning your spirit where it rightfully belonged—

in death.

Namjoon’s quarters wasn't anything like you had expected, yet oddly enough, the state of the room didn't come off as surprising. There were the stone-cut windows and wide-open balcony doors identical to yours, but the similarities had ended there with the deep, redwood furniture that starkly contrasted the beiges and whites which made up the aesthetics of your own room. The varnish on the poles of his four-poster bed seemed to have their own shimmer, completely unreliant on the multiple torches that lit the perimeters of the room, and the two candles set up on each upper corner of the ostentatious, masculine study desk that sat perched right before the balcony.

The overall darker palette of the space was watered down by the soft, yellowed pages of open books, unfastened scrolls and loose paper. These were strewn all over the room, across every surface; his bed, the ottoman positioned at the foot of it, his own little round table, complete with a tea set that only peeked barely out from under the foots-long scroll that hung curtain-like down to the floor. The chaos was centralized at his desk, where your brother sat with unhindered focus, ultimate concentration, poring over a tiny, seemingly inconspicuous rectangle scroll that he held between his fingers.

But upon your full entry into the quarters, the last of your long, flowing robes tucked in before the firm shut of the heavy doors behind, Namjoon’s supreme attention had shifted towards you, at no delay at all, with the lifting of his head, the leveling of his worldly gaze with your own, quivering one. You were nervous, but what for?

“Taehyung’s a better messenger than I thought,” he said, smiling easily into his words. “Come, sit.”

Only then did you regain control over your limbs, putting one foot before the other under the floor-length skirt of your clothes, shuffling, essentially, towards one of the two upholstered, red leather armchairs that stood opposite your brother’s own seat.

“He said there was a raven.” Hearing the use of this phrase had not struck you quite as strange as saying it yourself, the combination of words being something completely unheard of in your own time. Nonetheless, you had ignored the rise of goosebumps on your arms, and pushed on, “from the capital.”

Namjoon chuckled idly, his hands trying to administer some order to the mess on his table. Books were shut and stacked, papers were shuffled and arranged to the side, until he had cleared out a small surface area where his busy hands could then rest, clasped in a loose, prayer-like position. Still according you a kind, brotherly grin, he continued, “he’s also better at inferencing than I thought.” He briefly released his hands from their place to hold up the little scroll he had been reading earlier, dangling it in the air before setting it back down, clasping his hands once more. “He’s right. A raven from the royal family, to be precise.”

“Is that good news?”

“I’m afraid not, sister. The capital has sent out ravens to all the Houses of the kingdom, very soon they’ll be having soldiers travel to every city, town and village with official announcements.” Though you would later come to know that the pause he held between his sentence then was that of mournful regret, at that moment it had felt nothing but dramatic, pulling you to the edge of your seat.

“The king is ailing. There seems to be not much time left. With that, naturally, the royal family will wish to find a match for the crown prince, produce an heir, secure the throne—a crown princess selection.”

Good lord, was all that occurred to you in that instance. You had spent barely half a week in this time, but guessing the implications of this was no rocket science.

“Every unmarried maiden in the kingdom must be sent to the capital for screening. I suppose girls of certain ages will be foregone under usual circumstances but this selection will be very different.” Unknown, perhaps, to himself, Namjoon began to fidget—his thumbs twiddling in circles, his pupils shifting every so often. “To hasten the selection, girls will be nominated by the king’s Council, the names of these girls will be entered into a ballot, from which only five candidates will be drawn. As the daughter of a very prominent House and- past… member of Council, you are very likely to be nominated.”

The downward spiral of his tone and the startling recession of the lighthearted, welcoming smile he sported all but minutes ago could hint at only one thing—he didn't want you anywhere near that selection. Or had this simply been your imagination?

“B- but it's only a ballot,” you replied, staggering, through your words, “nothing’s for sure.”

Why was he so worried?

Along with a world-weary sigh that parted his frowning lips, Namjoon’s entire posture had taken a 180-degree turn, abandoning the confident, straight-ruled frame which his spine and shoulders presented earlier, for a more down-to-earth, casual slouch. Though the defeat that hung ambiguously in the atmosphere was slightly unnerving, you found you much preferred this side of him. He had felt more brotherly like this than at any other time you had seen him.

“When you visited Silvercrest Palace with father and I two months ago, the queen had had a word with father in private. In truth, father had already known of the king’s poor health and the new selection arrangements from that point. She had asked a favour of him, which he later passed on to me.”

By that point Namjoon had forsaken all attempts to maintain any form of lordship or nobility, bringing one hand, that appeared wiry and bonier than usual, over his face, his features scrunched into that of utter exhaustion and defeat. This was not comforting in the slightest.

“She promised him that she would guarantee a successful draw of your name in the ballot, and from there, a smooth passage in ascending to crown princess, if you agree to let yourself be nominated. Kind as father may be, he was cruel to me in never making any sort of decision in this matter before his death. And the queen has sent, in secret, another scroll expecting a favourable reply.”

“Hang on, so… you mean we can refuse the nomination?” At this, Namjoon had scrubbed the hand down the expanse of his face, releasing a sigh through his nose before resting his head against a clenched fist. He looked so burned out. “Then why don't we simply refuse?”

“Considering that things are different this selection in that it's no longer an obligation… there are no laws that say we cannot reject a nomination. But more than that…” he was hesitant with his next words, glancing at you briefly before quickly averting his gaze elsewhere. What was wrong? “I didn't think you would ever consider refusing…”

You were ready to combust. What on bloody earth did he mean by that? Did he want you to enter the selection or not?

There was another sigh—yours this time. But you hadn't gotten as far as formulating even a word in your reply before Namjoon had spoken up.

“You've… changed, you know?” You frowned. “You're a lot, how should I say, calmer. It's like you aged a few years, gained maturity, become this… beautiful, grown woman.”

“Namjoon—”

“I have to be truthful with you,” he said, adjusting himself so that he sat a tad straighter, more somber. “I don't want you back in the palace. It was so hard to get you out and- and I fear what returning to such an environment might do to you. Some things… are just better forgotten.”

“Namjoon,” you declared firmly now, “you don't get to decide what memories I keep and what I let go of. Whatever it is… help me. Help me remember.”

You could feel the nervous palpitations of Namjoon’s heart from your position across his desk. You could feel it pulse around you, constricting and releasing, constricting and releasing; most of all you could feel the heat, the intensity with which he used in protecting you, sheltering your sights, choosing only the prettiest things to show you. He loved his sister—but god… you only wished you were her. Truly her.

“Father died in the palace. You almost lost your own life. I can't afford to lose any more family. You…” Bringing his two hands together, he had cupped your own resting ones, which were cold and clammy, in a sweaty but warm envelopment. You could feel it ebb into you, his plea and fear. Namjoon was just a boy too. “You're all I have left.”

“Then I just won't win. I just won't let myself be picked, that'll do, won't it? I can come home after that.” There was not much you could do but grasp back, your fingers threading with his. Under the pad of your thumb, you could feel the ripples of his pulse, vibrant and erratic. But somehow it had still felt like pulling at a fraying end of a cloth, the more you wanted to hold on to this, the more it came apart. His sister was long gone—he had lost everything. What much else could you do? Why were you even here?

“I wish that were the case but…” His eyes shut under the deep pinch of eyebrows, along with the instant drop of his shoulders, the release of yet another breath. “Of the five candidates, only the two who are eliminated in the first round will be sent home. It's quite impossible for you to fail to qualify—the first round looks at influence and status, only few can rival us in those aspects.

The remaining three, whether or not they become the princess, must remain on in the palace. Two will be concubines, forever sworn to the king’s imperial harem but will never be accorded the respect and attention a queen receives. As much as the prince loves you, rules and tradition will keep him from you. How can you expect me to stand and watch a girl who crosses plains on horseback faster than any man I've seen be placed behind a glass window, a puppet who dances in the queen’s shadow?”

“Then what- what do you want me to do, Namjoon?”

“Why don't you run?”

There were many worse fates to endure than being stuck in the body of a highborn girl, like ending up as a prostitute, or a debtor’s daughter, forced to beg on the streets—that was, if you even wanted to try and live.

You imagined suicide then would be much uglier than drowning in a pond dressed in silks and jewelry. You imagined your body would fester on the streets for days before anyone bothered to take notice, and it’d lay there a while more for the rats to have at it before anyone came to move you away, burn you somewhere at the edge of a forest along with the other bodies that no one thought to claim.

When you thought about that, running was not an option. Of course that wasn't to say that Namjoon would ever let you suffer a fate like that, even while on the run. But as bizarre as this occurrence might be, surely you must have been put in this body for a reason.

Perhaps you had not simply possessed it—perhaps this was a swap. The places of your “deaths” were both bodies of water, and—you were careful in thinking this—both had likely to be intentional.

Your fingers dipped shallowly into the icy cold waters of a black pond, swirling idly, drawing vague semi-circles in the water, the only light a shimmering silver crescent that flickered eerily in the ripples of water. In the back of your mind, you wondered if she was there on the other side—waking up frazzled and distraught in a foreign time, just like you had. You'd feel sorry for her, because unlike you, she has no one around her to ease her into it. If she tried to come back, would you be ejected out from this body like a CD?

You smiled at the thought.

But ultimately, it was the dramatic tail of your discussion with Namjoon that lingered in broken chunks in the front of your thoughts, punctuated by the hum of cicadas, winds rustling in the trees, the occasional soft pop! when the fish in the pond broke the surface.

Now in retrospect, you had gained a basket full of insight into the life you had taken over. These details were not given time to embed in your head before, but as you stood crouched in the silent garden in the wee hours of the morning, a destination found on your own accord after having creeped out of your chambers from sleeplessness, left to your own devices for the first time since, you had been given the space, both physical and mental, to afford any real thought to the bigger picture for your presence in this time.

This garden had been difficult to find. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that this place wasn't one that could be found by those who strove to find it, rather, it was stumbled upon, after various blind turns and throwing caution to the wind. The true owner of this body would have been familiar enough with her own home to know the exact location, but perhaps on her last night, it was the same aimless feet and thoughtless wandering that came to you that had claimed her as well.

Guesswork wouldn't have brought you this far without the information Namjoon had slipped to you unknowingly—or knowingly. Something about her father’s death had bothered this girl, more than it had affected Namjoon. It was strange, suspicious even, that something could happen at the same time and place to two prominent members, as Namjoon had mentioned, of the king’s court. You imagined this hidden factor was a secret that no one else knew but her, otherwise Namjoon would not have been so naïve as to deem her accident here at this pond a mere fall.

Something made her want to die. Something only she knew—and now she was gone. Lost to time.

The faceless, and thus far nameless (until your history lessons decide to come back to you), prince was also another pivotal piece of information. Her relationship with him was surely far from trivial if someone like the queen would interfere in favour of their development, going as far as to manipulate what should have been a fair selection regarding her son’s future. Although, the word fair here was subjective—every candidate would have their supporters, ministers, officials, relatives of the royal family, who would similarly fight for opportunities the same way the queen had promised to do for you. For her.

The prince loved her. Yet he had done nothing in reaching out to her after hearing of her “fall”—he must have known. Namjoon was in the capital then. But even that had something off about it.

Hearing his unspoken sentiments, there was no way he would return to a place so deeply entwined with the demise of his family if he were not forced to be there. Summoned, perhaps, by authorities greater than himself. Those weren't many, you learned, only few members of Council and the king could do so. Or perhaps, there was something he had to achieve, that the advantages the sacrifice would bring was enough to banish any hesitance from his contemplations.

“I thought I'd find you here.”

The slipping of another human voice in an atmosphere dominated by the sounds of nature had quite effectively shattered the little dream-like bubble of space you had created for yourself. A quick whip of your head around had you identifying this voice in no time at all. Jeon Jungkook.

“How did you know?” You said, rising to your feet. You were careful in stepping away from the edge of the pond, earlier which you had been leaning dangerously over.

“I came to replace the candles in your chambers. I knew they would burn out in the middle of the night. Didn't want you to be cold, m’lady.” He was standing at an awkward distance, three strides too far away, as if he were afraid, like you were disease-plagued. Or maybe it was he himself.

You nodded faintly in response, gaze falling downwards at a loss for words. It was then that you noticed that he had been carrying something, draped over his arms which were held at an angle against his sides. His usual stance. It was a cloak, you realised. And having followed your line of sight, glancing down, Jungkook seemed to recall this.

“Thought you would be out here a while. Would you like me to help you put it on, m’lady?”

“Yes, please.”

Jungkook only moved after a lag. Even then his movements were robotic and foreign, as if his limbs were borrowed and not quite a good match in his joints. You turned your back to him so he could drape the velvety fabric over your shoulders, your own hands reaching up to tie the strings in the front.

“Thank you,” you said, returning to face him.

“Was if an unfortunate conversation with your brother? Is that why you're out here?”

“No and yes.” You had then turned in the opposite direction, towards the stone bench that sat on the other side of the pond, trusting him to follow. Sweeping the train of your clothes under your weight, you sat on the further edge of the bench, leaving a space for the man to join you. Which he did, belatedly again, after a prompt with your eyes. “I learnt a lot just now. Namjoon admitted that there were certain memories he kept from me. I told him he couldn't decide that on my behalf.”

You paused at that moment, waiting to see if the implications would sink in. It appeared Jungkook was more perceptive than you gave him credit for, having treated him with biasness after your original experiences with him.

He visibly hesitated, his chin dropping, soft hair falling over his eyes, fingers fidgeting, his shoulders and frame rising and falling. A sigh—his sigh.

“It was I who pulled you from the pond, as I had recounted to your brother when he returned. But I was not wholly truthful with him, out of respect for you, m’lady.” The voice was soft as a murmur, but the moonlight in his round, boyish eyes burned at an intensity greater than the sun’s. This heat had only momentarily afflicted you when your gazes met and tore away with the split-second shift of his eyes, but it was a heat that warmed you so much more than the cloak that wrapped around your body.

“You had tied a stone to your ankles. I could only pull you after I had undone the knot. The weight of your clothes made it a difficult task on its own. They were not clothes you wear for the summer, m’lady. I left these details out of the story I told your brother. I assumed that if this decision of yours was something you would want to keep from a servant like me, all the more you wished the same for your brother. Unless another witness has told him otherwise, I suppose Lord Namjoon remains unaware of this truth.”

“Then how did you know where I would be?”

“I… I followed you, m’lady, even though you ordered to be left in peace for the morning. I must apologize for disobeying your instructions but I dared not leave you unguarded after your return from the palace. You were not the same girl that descended Light Hill for the first time. For sure I knew it was the passing of your lord father that afflicted you, but… it was worse than I ever dared to imagine. I wish I had gone with you, m’lady, I would have protected you with my life. Maybe… things could have been different now.”

The soft intonations of his speech were surely designed to placate, to smooth and calm an otherwise jarring delivery of news. But the words had been so gentle, so cautious, that you could not help but guess that more intimate motivations could possibly have driven the way in which he spoke this to you. Could there perhaps be personal emotions that spurred under his words? Could there perhaps be sentiments that defied the professional relationship he held with you, that he experienced a magnitude of devastation, disappointment and hurt far beyond that of what he articulated?

This possibility shouldn't be something that surprised you, for despite the betrayal that you would eventually come to experience, Jeon Jungkook had, in fact, loved you. It was only that this memory of him was so fleeting compared to the subsequent years of a downhill spiral that would eventually lead you to that bridge over the riverbank. It had been so easy to forget this memory, so easy to convince yourself that it hadn't existed to begin with—because it was so much easier to cope with something you never had rather than to grovel in the loss of something you had only ever grasped by a thin thread.

What would you convince yourself of this time if he had indeed harboured affections for you?

“Namjoon told me something else too.” This was something you said after a moment of silence for the conversation to breathe, the information to sink in. You wanted to confide in him, as he had with you. “The kingdom will see a new crown princess soon, chances are it will be me, but he doesn't want that to happen. I can't imagine how cornered he must feel for him to suggest running away. Literally, y’know? Live in hiding.”

“Well… what did you say?”

“I told him I'd think about it.”

There was genuine curiosity on his face when he glanced at you, brows raised and slightly pinched, his eyes wider than ever. “And have you? Thought about it?”

“I have.” You found yourself grinning softly at him, at the childlike reflection of a boy you knew from once upon a time. In this reflection, you too were a different girl, from a different time. Maybe things could change, now.

“I don't want to run anymore.”

#btswriters #bangtan bookclub #bangtanwriters-net #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #jimin scenarios #bts angst

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what-even-is-thiss · 6 years

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Original work, Mythos

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

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

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

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

First story: 2,733 words.

Second story: 3,951 words

Mythos: What the Hel Were You Thinking?

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

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

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

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

Crunch.

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

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

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

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

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

They still didn’t leave. Eventually she groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanted to ask…” Talyn began,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” He said. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

“But not impossible to kill.” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is he?” Talyn asked.

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

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

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

“Snow gear. Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“Greece has several sea gods.” He remarked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mythos: Wind and Rage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’d freak out?” Jake guessed.

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

“Tidal waves?” Jake guessed.

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

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

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

“Yup!” came a cheery voice.

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

“Ah great. A nymph.” Deon said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fuck off!” Jake yelled at him.

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

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

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

“Who are you talking to you yellow skinned…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m a ponderosa pine.” She said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the Hell?” He managed.

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

“Hey, Viking boy.” The guy said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean…” Jake said.

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

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

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

“Oh, you stupid boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…. wait.” Jake said. “What…”

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

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

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

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

“What? Why?”

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

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

Deon smiled and handed the baseball back to his friend.

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

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

As he opened the door he heard yelling.

“Haru! Where were you?”

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t his fault, mom.”

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

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

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

#roman wrote a thing #original story

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joannalannister · 7 years

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please, tell me a little more of your feelings on cersei burning the tower of the hand (if this is already in your tags, i am so sorry: mobile gives me the useless "there is nothing here")

Are you. Sure you want my feelings on this. Because I have. A lot.

Ok, so, one of the things that I love about ASOIAF is that it’s a story about stories.1 The Frog Prince, the Evil Queen, the Beast, the Huntsman, the Wicked Stepmother, Cinderella, Snow White, Red Riding Hood, the Witch – they’re all here. GRRM takes these timeless stories and twists them and turns them, telling them from the POV of the villain and other distortions. We glimpse their dim reflections over and over in GRRM’s dark funhouse mirrors, in Sansa and Arya and Lysa and Quentyn and Sandor and Tyrion and so many others.2 But obviously the character I want to talk about here is Cersei.

Cersei’s story is shaped and I would even say weighed down by fairy tales and famous literary figures. She is the Evil Queen, she is one of GRRM’s Wicked Stepmothers, she is Guinevere and Lady Macbeth and Clytemnestra.

But I think one of the most interesting fairy tales Cersei embodies is Rapunzel, the Maiden in the Tower. Rapunzel, “the girl with the impossibly long golden hair” “is a story about sexual desire and obsessionand cruelty. […] ‘Rapunzel’ islargely a story about feminine power.” And Cersei’s story is her navigation of power in a world that actively denies her power, and it all ties into the Tower of the Hand.

I will quote from Forsyth’s book, The Rebirth of Rapunzel: A Mythic Biography ofthe Maiden in the Tower, throughout this post to illustrate the similarities between Cersei and Rapunzel, and to discuss what this means for Cersei’s narrative.

Compare

At the age of twelve, Rapunzel was locked up in a tower

[Jaime] had joined the Kingsguard for love, of course. Their father had summoned Cersei to court when she was twelve, hoping to make her a royal marriage. He refused every offer for her hand, preferring to keep her with him in the Tower of the Hand while she grew older and more womanly and ever more beautiful.

Compare

The heroine of the tale begins as a maiden, keptvirginal in a high place. Symbolically, […] hergolden hair, growing with such fecundity, can be seen asa symbol of life and strength and regeneration.

Cersei was reclining on a pile of cushions. Her feet were bare, her golden hair artfully tousled, her robe a green-and-gold samite that caught the light of the candles and shimmered as she looked up. […] Is this the Cersei that Jaime sees? When she smiled, you saw how beautiful she was, truly. I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair.

The text explicitly associates Cersei with the green and gold of summer, a season of growth, life, bounty, “fecundity”.

Compare

Rapunzel let down her hair and the King’s sonclimbed up into the tower. […] he spoke kindly to her and asked her to take him for herhusband. […] The King’s son then visited herevery evening

He remembered that night as if it were yesterday. They spent it in an old inn on Eel Alley, well away from watchful eyes. Cersei had come to him dressed as a simple serving wench, which somehow excited him all the more. Jaime had never seen her more passionate. Every time he went to sleep, she woke him again. By morning Casterly Rock seemed a small price to pay to be near her always. He gave his consent, and Cersei promised to do the rest.

“I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn’t we do the same? Marry me, Cersei. Stand up before the realm and say it’s me you want.”

[ “let down her hair” // being informal, dressing down ie Cersei dressing as a servant || “the king’s son climbed” // sex metaphor]

Rapunzel’s long golden hair is extremely important in the Maiden in the Tower story:

Because hair continually replenishes itself, it has for centuries been imbued with symbolic power. In social-political history, having one’s head shaved can be a form of humiliation. […]

In such stories, hair is nearly always associated with strength, power and sexuality; in other words, with the potency of life. Hair is thus linked to the magical thread of life which is spun, measured, and finally severed by the Three Fates of ancient Greek mythology.

The witch’s scissors are reminiscent of what Milton described as the “abhorred shears” of Atropos, the third of the Fates. […] the cutting of Persinette’s hair by the fairy can be seen to be symbolic of both the loss of her virginity and a kind of metaphoric wounding, or death. However, the cutting of the braid can also be interpreted as the cutting of a symbolic umbilical cord, and Persinette’s expulsion from the small tower room as a kind of birth. As discussed earlier, the key psychological drama of gynocentric mythology is that of birth, life, death and rebirth. So the cutting of the maiden’s hair symbolically ends one life and begins another.

And Cersei’s hair is considered a great part of her beauty. (But Tywin is shown as bald, Jaime’s head is shaved, and even Pycelle (Secret Lannister)’s once magnificent beard is shorn off, symbolically positioning House Lannister as antithetical to “the potency of life” and in opposition to ASOIAF’s life-affirming themes.)

Compare Rapunzel’s punishment for her sexual awakening

[Rapunzel] is symbolicallywounded by the crone, her hair (a symbol of life and thethread of fate) being cut by shears.

to Cersei’s punishment

Septa Unella beckoned to the novices. They brought lye soap, a basin of warm water, a pair of shears, and a long straightrazor. The sight of the steel sent a shiver through her. They mean to shave me. […] She would not give them the pleasure of hearing her beg. I am Cersei of House Lannister, a lion of the Rock, the rightful queen of these Seven Kingdoms, trueborn daughter of Tywin Lannister. And hair grows back.

Both Rapunzel’s and Cersei’s hair are cut as a direct result of sex and sexual desire.

Meanwhile, Rapunzel’s prince “wanders in thewilderness, in eternal darkness, a symbolic death and journey to the Underworld.” I’m still waitin’ for that Jaime-Stoneheart confrontation, @ GRRM, so unfortunately I don’t yet have any good TWOW underworld quotes as Jaime wanders about the Riverlands, but I think y’all get the idea.

So what does this all mean for Cersei?

Cersei spent her youth locked away in the Tower of the Hand, as one of GRRM’s Maidens in the Tower3, much as Rapunzel was locked away. In versions of the Maiden in the Tower story where “the father locks the maiden away from the world, [he is] upholding models of patriarchal control and domination.” The Tower of the Hand becomes a (phallic) symbol of male power for Cersei, of Tywin’s control over her, of her inability to control her own fate and to be something more than “a broodmare”.

And I think Cersei was still (metaphorically) locked away in that tower in AGOT-ASOS. Even the incest … even with Cersei using the incest as a way to take charge of her own sexuality and “horn” / cuckold Robert … even when the King’s Tywin’s son is attempting to help Cersei escape her patriarchal imprisonment … To borrow something @secretlyatargaryen said, “Jaime and Cersei’s incest is the logical extension of Tywin’s obsession with the Lannister bloodline, although not what Tywin had in mind.” So even when we first see Cersei having sex with Jaime in AGOT, it’s just another tower, with Cersei pinned against yet another wall, saying “stop it” while no one listens to her. (I say this as an avid Jaime/Cersei shipper, ok, I revel in the twincest because it is toxic and self-destructive.) Cersei is still very much under Tywin’s control, so when we finally see Cersei and Tywin in the same room in the text, we get this:

When she hesitated, then sat, Tyrion knew she was lost […] “You will marry and you will breed. Every child you birth makes Stannis more a liar.” Their father’s eyes seemed to pin her to her chair.

and this:

“He is sending me back to Casterly Rock as well. He wants me far away, so he’ll have a free hand with Tommen.”

The interesting thing about what GRRM is doing with Cersei // Rapunzel is that Cersei is an intentional subversion of the medieval tales of Maidens in the Tower as merely “passive beauties” waiting to be rescued. Cersei is anything but passive. When Tywin dies, Cersei takes control. And one of the first things she does is burn the Tower of the Hand. She burns her former prison to the ground.

I will teach them what it means to put a lion in a cage

GRRM tells us that “fire is power” and it is specifically a genderless power. Cersei’s wildfire is a destructive power, the power of unmaking, but does Cersei have the power to create as well? Can Cersei reshape Westeros into a world where men obey when she gives a command, a world where she is respected as much as her father?4

Kate Forsyth asks,

Why has this tale of a girl locked away in a tower continued to be told and retold over so many hundreds of years? […] ‘Rapunzel’ is a story about escape from imprisonment. It tells the transformative journey from stasis and shadows to liberation and light. This makes it a story that reverberates very strongly with any individual – male or female, child or adult – who has found themselves trapped by their circumstances, whether this is caused by the will of another, or their own inability to change and grow.

Cersei is looking for her own liberation, but is burning the tower enough for Cersei to escape? Or is she still the Rapunzel figure, “in stasis,” locked into Tywin’s toxic ideology, in a prison of her own making? Will she make her way into the light?

“And hair grows back,” Cersei tells us defiantly, as they cut off her hair, just as Rapunzel’s hair was cut in the original fairy tale. There is more of Cersei’s story left to tell.

The narrative engine of these [Maiden in the Tower] stories was sensuality and fecundity, their most striking images ones of […] flowing tresses of hair […] and lovers entwined together in nakedness. […] It was only in the late Middle Ages that the ‘Maiden in the Tower’ tale lost even this last remnant of matriarchal mythology. The maiden […] did not escape her tower. Instead she was martyred. Murdered by her own father’s hand. The images are all patriarchal: lightning, fire, swords. The aftermath is death, desolation and ashes.

Compare the importance of tears in both stories:

The King’s son recognised Rapunzel’s voice, and the two were reunited. Rapunzel wept, and her tears fell upon his eyes and healed his blindness. Then he took her to his kingdom … and there they lived long and happily. [Rapunzel gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.]

The old woman was not done with her, however. “Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds,” she said. “And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.”

Obviously I don’t think there’s any “happily ever after” for Cersei while GRRM Is telling the tale. GRRM has written ASOIAF to make it even more patriarchal and more misogynistic than the real Middle Ages, so I won’t be surprised when Cersei’s story ends with “death, desolation, and ashes” (”suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth“). I don’t think things look good for Cersei in the books. She and Jaime are currently separated, with Jaime fantasizing violence against his sister.

In the Rapunzel story, tears are seen as a source of enlightenment, which I think will be representative of Cersei’s disillusionment regarding the valonqar prophecy5, when she finally realizes that it was not the brother she hated, but the brother she loved, who betrays her. It may be a moment of disillusionment for Jaime as well (~healing his blindness~) but idk how GRRM is gonna go about the valonqaring, so I’ll reserve comment. (“Then he took her to his kingdom” – we’re going valonqaring at Casterly Rock in the books, not King’s Landing; bet on it.)

So yeah, um. I think Cersei burning the Tower of the Hand is part of GRRM’s exploration of Cersei’s complex relationship with power in a highly misogynistic world, as well as her relationship with fairy tales. I’m maybe in too deep here.