#there's also an argument for childe being a demon princess rather than a prince but I'm tired | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

The “Momma Sturmvoraus was Literally Satan” AU

As requested by @spazzbot. This AU was initially brainstormed on the GG fanworks server almost a year ago. Specifically, on the first day of 2020.

[ID: a truncated discord message by “Miss Nixy, Gay for RoboLadies” posted 01/01/2020. The message reads “I need to sleep but please for the moment consider:” and ends there.]

So. Let’s get to it.

Satan took a human form because why not see what's going on topside, live like a human, and “Oh shit is this pregnancy? This is pregnancy. Fuck, that's a tiny human. Which is now half demon. Am I supposed to take care it? Wonder if retconing this form into that Valois family was a bad idea. They do have SO much money though, I get to live like a queen. I suppose another child shouldn't hurt, it wasn't that bad. Oh, he's cute, this is actually making sense, why humans do all the sinning. Not counting dear Aaronev's murders, of course, those are just evil, but I did search out the worst of the humans to pair myself to...”

This is literally just "Tarvek and Anevka's mom was low-key Satan on a bored “let's be human for a decade or two to see what happens” jaunt, consequences happen because these kids are LITERALLY half-demon and arguably anti-Christs."

Also it's just Very Funny for Tarvek, ineffectual sexy lamp fashion twunk extraordinaire, to be an antichrist

Jeff thinks he’s pretty. Jeff keeps describing features that don’t entirely make sense. (Jeff’s canon name is Karl Thotep but they spent so long unnamed that the server collectively named them Jeff.)

This is not a crossover with anything, btw. Ambiguously Pop Culture Satan just got bored and went to have babies with a serial killer.

They’re just kids! That are vaguely demonic. So. Moreso than the rest of the Valois.

Sometimes "mom" comes back from the dead and visits Anevka and Tarvek to impart Wisdom and possibly magic lessons The rooms always smell faintly of sulfur after that...

They try to put Anevka in the machine but SHE isn't hurt and the MACHINE just melts

So that's the end of that.

It's very awkward for everyone, but the paperwork isn't too bad. It's very easy to write "incidental fire began during late-fugue experimentation, resulted in fire spreading through six rooms and several casualties, including Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvoraus."

As per @atagotiak, “I feel like if we’re going in any way dimensional weirdness with thing, Tarvek got so good at exploring bc he could just clip through walls.”

With image provided by @thisarenotarealblog:

Tarvek in Paris: My dead mother keeps showing up in my dreams to tell me I need to seduce my way out of my problems and also she looks like Satan. Tarvek's Voltaire-Appointed Therapist: I still don't know what that means. Just like the last five times. Tarvek: I keep telling her that I can’t seduce Colette, if seduction is that important she should get Anevka to do it.

Like he probably wouldn’t say most of that in front of any Voltaire-approved individual, but still.

Tarvek is still very good at self control but there's a Special Edge to his rants.

(Derailed in the moment to me thinking about Anevka in a sfw-but-concerningly-deadly succubus getup, because... yeah.)

Aaronev dies and goes to hell and his dead wife is just there like "hi! Time to be tortured for eternity!" He wasn't a good husband so. He can't exactly sentimentalize his way out.

“In the sexy way?” “... not for you, no.”

Mostly I just want the BULLSHIT that is "Storm Mom was actually just Satan getting bored and going on vacation as a retconned Valois girl, the kids are half-demons and sometimes it Shows."

To clarify: the Satan bit isn't the retcon. Grandma used to have one daughter. Now there are two. (Seffie and Martellus's mother doesn't remember being an only child, but sometimes...)

Satan retconned a new daughter in, which included a Valid Valois Venusian Vestment, so the blood tests play out.

The subtle signs of wrongness would be fun too. Anevka tends to smile a bit too wide and sharp for a human face. Inexplicable uneasiness, here you can’t point at any specific thing that’s wrong but it’s uncomfortable. Uncanny valley prettiness, almost like the porcelain she became in other timelines. Skin isn’t supposed to be that smooth.

My brain's pre-nap contribution at that point was "Satan's pronouns when not pretending to Human are sin/sinself" which is! Certainly a thing.

Tarvek, at some nebulous future point: I mean, your ancestors were monsters, but my dad was a serial killer and my mom was literally Satan, instead of just figuratively like Lucrezia, so. I mean. I kind of get what you're going through.

Per @firebirdeternal: Tarvek and Anevka growing up with "you're allergic to holy water" and not questioning it until a little later because What.

And then they test it and it's like "yeah, no, there's a rash now. That stung. What the fuck."

It INFURIATES Gil in Paris when Tarvek tells him that's a thing, because there's nothing chemically different about Holy water and regular water. But no, this is somehow happening.

It gets logged in medical journals as a Valois genetic thing because, well, Mom was like that too, right?

One time they both go into a church for an Adventure and Gil is very annoyed to find that Tarvek is like. Faintly smoking. It smells like burnt hair in here.

Gil: What smells like burnt hairgel? Tarvek: [glares]

Gil decides that it must be something particular to the church, like a fungus or something in the stone, contaminating the air and water so it only LOOKS like the holiness is what's setting off reactions.

It is not.

Tarvek once got into an argument with someone and ate a slab of raw, completely uncooked meat as a power move.

SVV seems to work perfectly. Everyone is fine. We get the ‘you fight like ducks’ moment.

And then Tarvek bursts into flames, and everyone panics because no they fixed this what the fuck is he still infected with Hogfarb’s oh my god... and then everything settles down and he's perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him, no longer turning funny colors. Completely unharmed. He's in a nicely tailored suit and looks faintly stunned

"I just met my dead mom, who's apparently Satan. She told me that after I died the first time just now, I should be harder to kill later, especially with fire, because now there's more demon and less mortal and guys I think I'm going crazy." "Is that a martini?" Tarvek looks down. "Apparently."

Tarvek starts just. Randomly setting things on fire by glaring too hard and has to tone it down. Meanwhile, Agatha and Gil are having crises about how he's somehow getting PRETTIER.

Is he faintly glowing? Maybe!

Gil handles it by angrily sniping at Tarvek about how of COURSE he's an evil little rat with a background like that.

Tarvek just wants a nap and to forget this ever happened. Many people are sworn to secrecy. It's very awkward.

Still, SVV did something, for handwave-y reasons, and so they're linked now. Gil and Agatha both getting tiny flashes of the same shenanigans.

They get none of the powers. They just keep getting Weird Shit.

Other characters with divine influence are like "Did you.... did you make a pact with a demon?" "What no that's our boyfriend."

Tho tbh I wouldn’t be surprised if a Heterodyne did sign a contract with a demon at some point in exchange for like. Materials. A hundred souls sacrificed in exchange for some succubus blood. Thanks!

Tarvek and Othar: Falling out of CW as in canon. Tarvek: WHAT THE HELL SINCE WHEN DO I HAVE WINGS HIDE THIS BEFORE I GET BOOTED FROM THE LINE FOR THE THRONE

IDK where Anevka is during all this. I think she might have decided to go sleep her way through the courts of the Ice Tsars. Vacation, y'know?

Othar after he's decided to make Tarvek his new Heroic Apprentice: AH, my poor afflicted young friend, it's noble of you to go against the dark nature of your tragic heritage like this. Tarvek: I hate you. I wish I could hate you to death. But you have a point. I shouldn't let my father's blood limit what I strive for in life. Othar: I... I thought your mother was... Tarvek: I know what I said.

Tarvek: Also you can't tell ANYONE about that, I can't have them thinking I'm not actually in line for the Storm King's throne.

He does admittedly have to like. Explain things to Grandma.

Terabithia is Tarvek’s maternal grandmother so this is supremely awkward. That said...

Grandma fondly remembers her pregnancy cravings; bone marrow and sulfur.

"Yeah so, my mother, your daughter, was... maybe actually Satan? But retconned into your life?" "Tarvek, darling, please. I figured that out half a century ago."

TARVEK ACCIDENTALLY FINDS HIM HIMSELF WEIRDLY INTENSE AT CONTRACTS

I mean that honestly just Tracks about Tarvek anyways? But like moreso.

He just. Writes something up and there's things getting signed or shook on and then the person tries to break the contract and either suddenly catch fire or are deeply unlucky for a set amount of time.

And Tarvek's just standing there like "how in the FUCK did I do that?"

Severity of infernal punishment depends on the severity of the breach of contract.

Tarvek finds out that Anevka's been convincing rich people to sign their souls over to her. It's a fun challenge. She keeps them in jars.

They can still remotely pilot their bodies but like. They can't TELL anyone what happened.

Satan: I'm going to go make babies and now everyone else has to deal with the consequences.

Anevka's living up to that whole "princess of hell" vibe. Tarvek's just like "nope nope nope I want the storm throne, not the hell throne, BYE MOM."

Satan's just feeling sinself down in hell like "awwww look at my babies go, aren't they adorable?"

Tarvek: Anevka, what... first off, how did you figure it out? Anevka: Well, I temporarily died when father put me in the machine, and... I can't say that hell kicked me out because they were afraid I'd take over, but mother DID say she'd rather I play about with human governments instead of Hell's. Tarvek: Okay, cool cool cool. What after you planning to DO with all these souls? Anevka: They make for some lovely reading lamps, don't they?

(Anevka absolutely sets herself the goal of acquiring new titles that rival her old ones, or even surpass them. She just black widows her way through Europa.)

I just want someone (probably Snackleford) to ascend, take one look at Tarvek, and run SCREAMING.

Tarvek still needed to be anchored to Higgs, because Tarvek is Baby.

Gil is eventually in a relationship with an Eternal God Queen and the Literal Son of Satan.

Family dinners can include ALL the in-laws if you duck down to hell! - You borrow Bill from... probably heaven, maybe purgatory. - You have Lu and Aaronev and Satan already there, though the first two... well. Aaronev and Lu get invited to dinner but they have to eat by themselves at the kiddy table and nobody talks to them or acknowledges their presence. After all, this is hell, and what better punishment for Lu than to be completely ignored, and for Aaronev to see Lu at her worst and be reminded that he gave everything for this horrible, horrible person who isn't even pretending to care about him anymore. - Zanta and Klaus get invited via portal. - Anevka saunters in with a blood-soaked dress and a complaint about militant demon-hunters refusing to let her go shopping for a new pair of shoes. - Zeetha tagged along with the OT3. (She can't wait to see this situation explode.)

Oh God, Satan is actually second place as far as good parenting goes.

Well, actually, fourth. Because Adam and Lilith. But second as far as bio parents go. 1. Zanta 2. Satan 3. Klaus 4/5. Lu and Aaronev N/A. Bill

Someone (Anevka) decides to stir the pot and invites Von Pinn, Terabithia, Bang.

Bang is basically Gil’s older sister, right? Right.

This is Zanta meeting Bang for the first time! Zanta is just: "It's so nice to meet my husband's adopted daughter." Klaus freezes. Bang freezes. Gil is the only one who is just. "Yeah." Meanwhile Zeetha is crying with laughter off to the side because both of them deserve this. (Zanta would legit love Bang though.)

Agatha: Tarvek, I think DuPree is-- Tarvek: Hitting on my sister? I know. Agatha: On your mom, actually. Tarvek: NO!

Also I do love the idea of like. Nobody tells Bang they're inviting her. She just wakes up in Hell like. "Ah. Yes. Fair enough."

Satan: Oh no no no my dear, you're here as a guest. Besides as well as you'd fit you're not one of mine, you've got other things waiting for you. Bang: Okay, but I love the decor. And is that Cheesecake?

Bang’s family has their own evil god in the novels, but! Bang DID pick on Tarvek a lot in Paris. Satan cares more than Anevka does. Bang might get the sexy punishment.

I feel like the fact that no permanent damage was done and it taught Tarvek a lot of things means Satan isn't gonna be all that upset about it.

And let's be real, if there's a character in GG who could look the literal Christian devil in the eye and be like "Yeah I tortured your kid, what're you going to do about it?" it's Bang.

Even Satan doesn't know what to do or think about Othar.

He sure is here! As Anevka’s arm candy! Nobody knows what to do except Anevka herself, who just wants to be Smug.

(What's that scene from Phineas and Ferb that's the mad scientist trapping the platypus within the rules of polite dining at a fine restaurant? Like he can't make a scene because that would be rude?) (That. Othar would dearly love to start a fight, but it's a Family Dinner. You're only allowed to fight verbally at those.)

(Othar isn't even fighting Satan, he just wants to argue with Klaus.) (And maybe fanboy in Bill's direction a bit).

#Girl Genius #Phoenix Posts #Anevka Sturmvoraus #Tarvek Sturmvoraus #Aaronev Sturmvoraus #Gilgamesh Wulfenbach #Agatha Heterodyne #Lucrezia Mongfish #Othar Tryggvassen #Bangladesh DuPree #Otharnevka #GG OT3

101 notes · View notes

cyndalyssa · 3 years

Text

Disney Marathon Commentary: The Silver Age

A compilation of various jokes and observations during our marathon of the entire Disney Animated Canon over the past year. No movie was safe from being poked fun at, and while I couldn’t get all the jokes, I did gather the ones that stuck out by the time each movie finished. This is all in good fun, and we like most of the movies.

Participants were me (A2), @knighta3 (A3), and @angelfishcake (A4). Most of the time, I’m being vague about who said what, though I get specific in a couple cases.

Today, we come back to the full-length animated features, covering the rest of the movies that were made during the rest of Walt Disney’s life. We got a bunch of classics here, and also a bunch of snark.

Cinderella

~ Cinderella is me in the morning when my alarm goes off.

~ We love the local aspiring grandfather, The King.

~ *discussion about the Fairy Godmother’s relation to the Blue Fairy*

~ *theorizing that the rest of the Kingdom doesn’t like the Tremaines*

~ “It’s the Headless Horsemen!” “No, they have heads.”

~ Everyone makes fun of the Prince for trying to find her based on shoe size, but it wasn’t his idea.

~ “My old enemy…

STAIRS.”

~ Conspiracy theory, Anastasia is the Russian princess of the same name and was kidnapped as a child by Lady Tremaine

Alice in Wonderland

~ This jumped into the um, “plot”, rather quickly.

~ Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are squeaky toys.

~ The White Rabbit is the only sane citizen of Wonderland.

~ She’s not a freakin’ weed you piece of crap flowers!

~ Oh, look, the caterpillar was actually helpful.

~ The “painting the roses red” scene is the only one with some line of logic.

~ Yo,

Is that José ?

~ There’s nonsense, and then there’s being rude, and nearly everyone in Wonderland is the latter.

Peter Pan

~ Wendy’s getting her own room? Oh, the horror!

~ This shot of Peter’s face looks so evil.

~ Geez, Wendy, making the moves on a boy you just met!

~ “I’m Mary Poppins, y’all!”

~ “That is one of the funniest casual murders I’ve ever seen.”

~ “All hands on deck! We’re gonna shoot a kid!” “There’s a flock of them, we gotta hit at least one!”

~ Every scene with the Indians is uncomfortable to watch.

~ The Chief’s mouth moves so weird…

~ I really wonder why all these girls like Peter, he’s kind of a jerk.

~ They all want free tattoos!

~ Wendy, it wasn’t “wonderful��, I legit just saw you have a terrible time in Neverland.

Lady and the Tramp

~ This is such accurate puppy behavior.

~ “Meanwhile, on the other side of the tracks…”

~ “Mmm, yep, I just woke up… what a day!”

~ “Oh no.”

~ “I don’t like this lady.” “She’s a Karen.” “She is!”

~ Plot twist, it’s the rooster that’s shooting them.

~ The dog pound scene is worse than those humanitarian commercials.

~ This rat is a surprisingly scary Disney villain.

Sleeping Beauty

~ “Oh, look, it’s the three of us.”

~ “Do you not understand the concept of growing up?! This isn’t Neverland!”

~ Don’t follow strange voices, you might get captured by the fae.

~ “Yep, they’re definitely you two.”

~ Since the raven was hit by the magic spewing from the chimney, it would have been funny if he had been colored a splattered blue-and-pink mess for the rest of the scene. Imagine Maleficent’s reaction if he had come back to the castle like that.

~ “I think the kings are a little drunk.” “Psht, lightweights.” “Well, that guy is a lighter weight.”

~ And Prince Phillip gets captured by the fae.

~ *fumbles over the word “Gargoyles” and it comes out “GARGLES”*

~ “It’s a demonic ritual.” “No, it’s a barbecue.” “Eh, same thing.”

~ *argument over whether Maleficent’s bird is a crow or not*

~ People don’t talk about the fairies enough, they’re more the main characters of this movie than the title character.

~ “Maleficent, the final boss!” “Guess this is a video game now.”

~ “She said a bad word!” “Jiminy Cricket said worse.”

One Hundred and One Dalmatians

~ Roger here acting like it’s his wife having a baby

~ When Pongo turned off the TV, the guy in the commercial looked startled just before he disappeared.

~ Cruella has a devil phone

~ All these dogs are good dogs

~ In this house we stan the Colonel, Sergeant Tibbs, and the Captain

~ This poor man has no idea why this lady is going all road rage on him

~ *the three of us die laughing at the implications of “Oh, Pongo, you old rascal!”*

The Sword in the Stone

~ “This guy looks like the Stabbington Brothers from Tangled.”

~ *A4 keeps cooing over the unfortunate wolf*

~ Just use magic to fix up your loft!

~ This boy is discount Cinderella

~ “How many people are in this castle?” *sister proceeds to count each character that shows up or is mentioned, including the ever offscreen Hobbs; there’s not very many*

~ This is sexual harassment!

~ Hey, the owl’s giving him some actual education!

~ Honestly, Merlin’s not very helpful, no matter how much Arthur claims he is.

~ This isn’t a plot, this is just random animal shenanigans stringed together and calling it “education”. What exactly is Arthur learning that’ll help him when he’s king?

~ The sword was only relevant for the last five minutes.

The Jungle Book

~ EVIL WINNIE THE POOH

~ STONER ELEPHANT

~ Bagheera, no, every time you leave, something bad happens!

~ Musical numbers are trouble or at least invite it.

~ *guess what song we start singing*

~ “I’ve only known Mowgli for half a day, but if anything happened to him I’d kill everyone in this jungle and then myself.”

~ The elephants are the ones behind deforestation!

~ “Shere Khan reminds me of Count Dooku and I’m not sure why.”

~ “I like these vultures. They’re friends.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Next Time: The Bronze Era / Disney’s Dark Age)

#disney #disney marathon #commentary #cinderella #alice in wonderland #peter pan #lady and the tramp #sleeping beauty #101 dalmatians #the sword in the stone #the jungle book

7 notes · View notes

mus-brunneis · 4 years

Text

@inferno-principe

inferno-principe:

Fyedora simply blinked, her face rather unimpressed at the girl’s little magic trick. She was right to be wary. Any child of Asmodeus was an enemy to her. She wasn’t even fond of the prince. She had been taught that they were enemies. But this girl…she looked more human than Fyedora herself did. What sort of threat did she pose?

“I was human once. But I didn’t sit on my cushy behind as a princess. I personally attempted to assassinate Napoleon himself.” A….bit of an overstatement. She did attack the French military, but Ace didn’t need to know that. “Just like I should be doing to Asmodeus!”

“Play nice, Dora,” Holika interrupted, her hand now rubbing at her temple. “She’s Lucifer’s daughter as well. Treat her with some respect.”

“I thought I said to not call me that!” The smaller woman huffed, giving her axe a kick. “She can’t be both Lucifer and Asmodeus’ daughter. That doesn’t make any sense.”

This was getting out of hand now. The conversation had been entirely derailed, and Holika was starting to get annoyed. “Look, it doesn’t matter, alright?! What’s really important is that we need to be prepared for an attack. We’ve been tasked with protecting the capital and we need to take it seriously. Ace, your abilities will be beneficial, especially if Asmodeus sends his weapon here. We need to formulate a plan and if anyone can help with that, it’s you. Now enough sulking from the both of you, we have our orders, let’s go.”

Ace was generally a patient person. Sometimes you needed to get to know a person better before you could truly get along with them. And honestly, she herself was often terrible at first impressions. But thusfar Fyedora had done nothing to get in Ace’s good graces. Everything the girl said was a verbal attack on her person in one way or another. And she wasn’t going to just let that slide, even if Holika told Fyedora to play nice.

“No, no, she’s right,” Ace began addressing Holika, in a scarily sweet and chipper voice; “I shouldn’t earn her respect simply by being Lucifer’s kin.”

She then turned to Fyedora and continued with a more serious tone: “But I wasn’t born a princess, and I didn’t ‘sit on my cushy behind’ all day being pampered, like you seem to think. Sure, Lucifer taking me into his household means I could just go back to Dis and hide away in safety, living some sheltered life as a spoiled princess where the war won’t affect me. Instead I’m far away from my home, between demons who view me as their enemy as well, trying to defend your home from my damn father! -Speaking of which, Asmodeus abandoned me already before I was born, he wants nothing to do with me. If anything he’d rather see me dead, he just hasn’t had the guts to deal with me himself yet. I’m willing to risk my life in order to take him down, and you can at least try to respect me for that!”

Before this conversation could derail into a petty argument any further, Holika silenced them, telling them that none of it mattered. What really mattered right now was that they were prepared for the impending attack. They had to devise a plan, and Ace’s knowledge on Asmodeus’ weapon was of great importance. Unfortunately, while she knew what he was likely plotting, she wasn’t really sure how to counter it. And so she couldn’t help but furrow her brows in worry when she began to speak again:

“Right… a plan. Well like I already said, Nai already figured he’s going to send the dragons. He’s been raising a big flock. They’re far more lethal and destructive than any amount of soldiers, and a lot tougher to take down with force. But I personally know these dragons, I’ve interacted with them. If I could get close to them, I might be able to talk them out of attacking the city. Maybe if I can get Buttons here...-- oh, he’s my own dragon. He’s also an offspring of Hashmedai, the flock’s alpha. I could ride him to safely reach the others.”

She made it sound awfully simple this way. Just talk to the dragons and all will be well. It wasn’t going to be simple. Asmodeus was still their handler, and they viewed her as a little fledgling. They would not take orders from her over him. And then there was the fact he had taken Kaelon hostage. Ace didn’t know the details, but it surely had something to do with them. Maybe he wanted to use her singing to cast magic incantations, maybe to make the dragons even more lethal somehow...

“We’re worried about Kaelon though. Asmodeus kidnapped her for a reason, and something tells me he’s not just going to send the dragons our way, that’d be too easy. Nai, Sabrael, Dove and Terrance will try to save her before anything happens, but still, we should probably at least focus on taking measures against dragon attacks. Barriers or shields that protect against their fire, for a start… and hopefully they’re also strong enough that they can keep the dragons outside the city walls. I really am not sure how much influence I have on them and if I can get to them before they cause any problems, so better safe than sorry.”

At this point she wished she had Dove here with her. Not only was he far more clever and strategic than she was, he was also a master when it came to barriers, and controlling fire. With him at their side, the dragons couldn’t do anything. But he was needed as part of the group which would assault the palace in Akri’qar to save Kaelon. Instead she had to settle on fighting fire with fire: “Do you think you could somehow help me get Buttons here? He could make this a whole lot easier for us, possibly…”

#infernoprincipe #tumblr is fucking around again with the reblog so I'm making a new post to keep it organized.#I can't install Xkit on this computer cause it's not mine :'D #Normally I wouldve just let you cut the post but since my reply is super long it felt... too much

1 note · View note

officialravendc · 6 years

Text

Crimson Summer

Here’s a new story, for the first time in forever. Prompted by and dedicated to @princesscochlea.

"The rose was sweet like rotting death, like caramelised bones, a kind of corpse bruleé... and his eyes, pure glaring yellow. The colour of fear."

Iarina swears she's being stalked by Koschei the Deathless. But that's impossible, because Koschei is a character from a fairy tale. But as she searches for a saviour, something grim and ancient threatens to devour her city.

Read this story on AO3, or click here to keep reading!

There hung Koschei the Deathless, fettered by twelve chains. Koschei entreated Prince Ivan, saying:

'Have pity upon me and give me to drink! Ten years long have I been here in torment, neither eating nor drinking; my throat is utterly dried up.'

The Prince gave him a bucketful of water; he drank it up and asked for more, saying:

'A single bucket of water will not quench my thirst; give me more!'

The Prince gave him a second bucketful. Koschei drank it up and asked for a third, and when he had swallowed the third bucketful, he regained his former strength, gave his chains a shake, and broke all twelve at once.

'Thanks, Prince Ivan!' cried Koschei the Deathless, 'now you will sooner see your own ears than Marya Morevna!' and out of the window he flew in the shape of a terrible whirlwind.

- “Marya Morevna” (1890)

Deep in the woods, a single sick rose twisted its way up through the snow.

From a young age Iarina knew the shape of good and evil. Good was warm, human, charming; evil was the figure she glimpsed late one night out of her bedroom window staring up at her as she froze closing the curtains. It was quite clearly there one moment and the very next not - a lurking shadow, suddenly reduced to a brief flash of white and then nothing. Iarina could not explain this. It was like nothing she had ever seen, not outside of the TV, and so her teenage mind performed a strange leap of logic and snapped straight to the events of a faerie tale she had been told earlier that evening.

Iarina’s mother liked to spend the winter evenings weaving rich tales about the Faeries, the Dreaming Folk, like the Baba Yaga and the Firebird. These were the tales she had been told as a child, and her mother had been told as a child, and so on. These were old stories, stories with ancient roots in the cold Russian dirt – so it saddened and soured her when they failed to take hold with her teenage daughter. The slums of St Petersburg were a dismal and messy place that felt like a bit too much for a small, poor girl to take in. Iarina would rather be listening to easy stories of dashing American superheroes and tyrant aliens than grim complex faeries. It had been a while since Putin’s sardonic smirk had gently draped a new Iron Curtain across Eastern Europe, and the only escape from the perpetual uncertainty of politics was into simple uncomplicated fantasy.

This was why it came as a surprise when Iarina ran down the stairs one night and demanded a retelling of Marya Morevna. Her mother was taken aback, but complied gratefully until Iarina asked her to stop.

“Mama,” she said, “I saw him outside my window.”

Iarina, it seemed, had developed a fear of the archetypically brutal Koschei - Коще́й - the Deathless.

“The other tales I told you, they were based on respect,” said her mother. “A Baba Yaga? Something to be feared, yes, but also something to which you defer. If you treat her correctly, she will protect you.” She truly believed in the things she spoke of. “These are forces of nature, Iarina. Sheer elements. But Koschei?” She scoffed. “Koschei is a warning about trust. About deceiving appearances. He is not a god, a king or a spirit. He is dead. That was the punishment for his hubris.”

“But Mamulya – ”

“Don’t you ‘But Mamulya’ me.”

“Mama, you said to fear the Baba Yaga and her like, but…”

Iarina stopped, because it felt like someone was listening, and jumped when her mother spoke.

“…But?”

“But those stories are just fairy tales.”

Koschei was the Wife-Stealer, the hunter of young women, the ancient predator of Slavic folklore. No wonder, then, that he particularly struck a fearful chord with Iarina, who had to avoid men like him on her way to and from school each day. The trouble was Koschei was magical, and immortal, and probably much faster than anybody else she knew. Despite the fact that handsome young Ivan Tsarevitch had long ago killed the Deathless and burnt his lying corpse, something of him felt pertinent. Real. Current. Iarina had to admit that she fancied the concept of Ivan Tsarevitch, to the extent that her admiration of Prince Ivan was the only thing that matched her unnatural terror of Koschei. She was sure Ivan would carry her away as he had warrior princess Marya Morevna. She was sure.

A farmer by the outskirts of St Petersburg came across a great field of roses encroaching on his property. He went inside to call the police. They laughed at him, but five minutes after he put down the phone he was dead.

For a long time, Iarina had a vaguely embarrassing thing for Superman. Superman was simple and kind and good and wore bright colours to show that he meant well. He was a sort of prince, she thought, combining her two interests of aliens and superheroes rather neatly.

Then Ivan came along to vie for her affections, and of course he rapidly usurped the Big Blue Boy Scout, because he was Russian. Iarina knew of no Russian Superman. If he existed, she reckoned, he would be dour and grey and complicated. Ivan was not complicated. He had a sword and he killed bad men and was handsome and swept princesses off their feet.

Ivan kept Koschei and the Faeries at bay.

Trudging through the snow back home in the dark mid-afternoon, Iarina thought she saw movement in the gap between a couple of concrete shacks. A flurry, a flush of rich tail, like an animal out of a Disney movie just behind a thick pile of trash. Iarina came to a halt, staring curiously at the pile, and was about to take a step towards it when she noticed a pair of cruel eyes looking back at her from one of the windows. They peered coldly through a gap in the blinds, glaring bright yellow like a hungry tiger.

Iarina ran home and didn’t look back.

The roses crept along the roadside and down into the sewers. The smell was sweet like rotting death, like caramelised bones, a kind of corpse brûlée. It drifted on the breeze and suffocated three people in their beds. Despite the sugary stench, some insisted on picking the roses. Those who did shrivelled like dead petals and in minutes became screaming skin husks by the roadside.

“Iarina,” said her mother, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re just saying that,” Iarina responded. “I can tell by your pale face and clammy hands.”

Her mother was silent for a long time. Iarina waited patiently if unhappily, but when the response eventually came it was terse and vague.

“I do not believe in Koschei,” her mother said. “He is a tale for unhappy widows to muse on and nothing more.”

“But Mamulya - ”

“No more questions. Go to your room.”

“Please!”

“Go to your room!”

Nothing more was said, though the silence was fraught with the ghosts of arguments.

Iarina found herself praying for Prince Ivan’s tenuous existence. She felt lost, scared, alone; she needed a confidant or protector or partner. The other girls at school ignored her already, and now that her mother had refused to support her the long walk home became bleak and harrowing. Iarina needed Ivan, because Koschei's shadow frequently tripped down the alleyways and loomed like a great tower under puddles of streetlight. She could swear there were eyes watching her too, ravenous demon eyes searching incessantly from the stark rooftops.

Iarina prayed, and hoped, and feared.

The roses had crawled a dark circle round the underside of the city, snaking grotesquely through the buried pipes and tunnels. They did not hesitate for the icy winter, spreading their knotted, thorny roots down into the brick and turf to take hold – and then, all of a sudden, it was time.

Iarina was lost.

These were streets with which she was familiar, streets she knew by their coarse individual feel on her feet. She could have charted her course home in her sleep. So why was she in unknown alleys, worn cobbles strange beneath her sole?

The mist closed in, bringing with it a flake or two of snow. The street was quiet.

So, so quiet.

So quiet that when Koschei stepped out of a narrow passageway just in front of her, Iarina couldn’t even scream for fear of disturbing the silence.

Koschei the Deathless looked like he had killed the Grim Reaper and climbed inside its skin. He made for a towering, skeletal figure in a smoky black shroud, and out of the peaked hood burst a pair of bright yellow predator's eyes. Iarina felt that hunting yellow, the colour of fear, as it wormed its way into her brain and down her spine.

So she turned and ran. Koschei reached for her, thin pale fingers stretching from the ragged arm of his cloak, but she slipped past his clammy grasp and ducked into another fog-swollen alley. Her feet pounded at the cobbles, Koschei’s hobbling step gaining pace rapidly from behind. Iarina flung herself round a corner onto a wider street, then back into another passageway, breath hissing through her teeth in short, panicked strokes. Fists balled, movement violent, adrenaline coursing. Legs like pistons – swinging round a drainpipe – throwing down a stack of empty crates – blood pumping like a drum through ears – harsh inhalations – clutched side – frantic searching gaze – painful exhalations – a cry –

“HELP!”

And as if to answer her call, there stood wonderful, strange, beautiful Ivan.

The Prince Tsarevitch was swaddled in rich fabrics, gold and red and woven like tapestries. His mouth was wrapped against the chill, but as Iarina stared at him in amazement and relief he pulled the scarf aside to reveal his warm, human eyes and confident smile. To his left stood a silvery, glittering unicorn, and to his right a coppery, glowing fox. Iarina recognised its tail as the one she'd seen some days prior slipping behind the trash in the alley. To think she’d been that close to safety, and had she followed her instincts then she would never have had to worry about Koschei at all. Ivan gestured in a kind of old-fashioned bow, and the animals inclined their heads towards her. It seemed as if he was about to speak, but then a dusty dry breeze wafted over Iarina from behind.

Koschei stood there, hunched, eyes glaring a blaze of red. Rage peeled off him like steam, his stance one of utter hatred. As Iarina stepped back towards Ivan, Koschei's glare flicked towards her for a second and darkened slightly before returning, brighter than before, to Ivan.

“Stop,” said Koschei in a mangled, unrecognizable voice, but Ivan waved his hand and the copper fox pounced to intercept. Iarina turned and ran, following Ivan and the unicorn down the barren street.

The gutters were littered with Koschei’s victims, skin shells that might have once been people. Iarina gagged as she fled, the sickly smell invading her nostrils and burning cold fire through her sinuses. Tendrils clasped the bodies, holding them close to the floor, pulling them into the drains. Ivan looked back, checking on her, then started at a roar and a flash of light behind them. Koschei burst through the edge of the mist in pursuit, the molten remains of the copper fox dripping from his clawed fists.

Ivan waved - the unicorn turned and struck, bearing Koschei back into the fog on its horn. Koschei grunted in pain, then vanished from sight. Ivan beckoned frantically, and Iarina followed his reassuring gestures, turning out into an open plaza. Suddenly she recognised this. They were back in the real world, in the city centre. Just up ahead, instantly recognisable, was St Petersburg’s famous Lion Bridge. Ivan’s eyes creased with hope, and the message was clear – over the bridge lay safety.

Either side of the great bridge archway waited stone carvings of those great alert cats, guarding the causeway stoically. Before the Prince and Iarina could reach the gate, however, there came another roar and flash of light as Koschei emerged from the mist behind them, bony hands soaked in both his own blood and the silver blood of the unicorn. Ivan stumbled onto the bridge, shook off one layer of the rich fabrics he wore, and draped it over a lion statue.

Ivan stroked the pelt, and the statue came alive, sheathed in gold. Iarina rushed onto the bridge, and the lion sprang at Koschei, just moments behind.

“No!” cried Koschei. “Stop! Stop!” But Iarina was already on the bridge, following her Prince, and Koschei struggled against the beast.

“Iarina Vasiliev!” Koschei pleaded. How did he know her name? “Don’t go with him. You are in terrible danger.”

“Yes, I am,” Iarina retorted angrily, stopping and turning. “From you.”

“From me?” Koschei asked. The lion roared, but Koschei hit it with a burst of purple light and it whimpered back a couple of steps, struck fatally. “I am not here to hurt you, Iarina.”

Iarina stared at him for a long moment. “But of course you are. You are Koschei the Deathless. Wife-Stealer. Girl-Hunter. You are a predator, a murderer, and worse. I can tell by your eyes. They are like an animal's.”

But Koschei's eyes no longer glowed yellow. Now they were soft and sad. He stroked the lion, shushing it as its semi-life melted away in his hands, and spoke.

“If I am like an animal, like a predator, then why am I not the one sending animals after you? The fox is a predator. The lion is a predator. And tell me, why do you think the unicorn has its horn? It is not to make it look pretty.” Although Iarina could not see Koschei's face, he looked expectant.

“It is for killing,” Koschei continued after a moment. He then reached up with both hands, still looking at Iarina, and slowly pulled the cloak back from his face. From under the hood there emerged a striking visage - hair as black as a raven's feather, lips red with her own crimson blood, and that same blood in tracks down cheeks as pale as the snow.

“You see,” said Raven, for it was she, “I am not Koschei.”

Iarina reeled. Who was this woman, this she-Koschei, this contradiction in terms?

“Do you know the story of Koschei the Deathless, Iarina?” the woman asked.

“ – of course,” Iarina said in a small voice.

“Then tell me how Ivan found Koschei in Marya Morevna's tower.”

Iarina stuttered, then began to recite: “There hung Koschei the Deathless, fettered by twelve chains. Koschei entreated Prince Ivan, saying – ”

“That’s it,” the woman said. “He appeared helpless, vulnerable... in short, exactly what a hero like Ivan wanted to see. Somebody to be saved.”

“What are you saying.”

“I'm saying, Iarina, that things are not always what they seem. So yes, I look scary, but...”

Her voice drifted as she looked up over the bridge. Iarina followed, and found Ivan, golden and handsome, standing on the other side.

The lamps lining the sides of the causeway glowed soft and somehow distant in the mist. Iarina's slight frame shivered in the middle of the bridge, over the icy water, trapped between Ivan and the woman Koschei. The strange woman was thin, sallow, unsettling; the colour of her irises twisted and shuddered like a jammed video cassette even though her gaze was calm and fixed. By contrast the Prince was warm, comforting, beckoning with his no doubt toned physique and deep blue eyes. Snowflakes drifted down, melting on Iarina and Raven's flushed faces.

“Why is he so perfect, Iarina?”

“Shut up.”

“The snow is sticking to him and staying there. He's empty and cold inside because he came from the ice and the snow.”

Iarina turned again, desperate. “Shut up!”

“And it hasn't talked once. I don't think it even understands the concept of language.”

“Stop talking! Koschei talked. He used his words to trick Prince Ivan into freeing him, because he was evil and dark and wicked, and so are you!”

Raven shifted. “Why did he appear? How did he appear? He’s a fairy tale, a story, nothing more!”

Shouting now, she gripped the plinths on either side of the bridge's entrance and leaned in. “You wanted a hero, a perfect saviour Prince, and down came the faeries or daemons or something from up in the dark stars or deep in the heart of Russia's collective imagination and made that, that thing there, and it wants you, it needs you, it lives and breathes you and as we speak it keeps eating and eating and it has to stop.”

Iarina was still watching the Prince, who shook his head and smiled, reaching slowly into his robes.

“And I can stop it,” Raven continued, “but you have to make the choice to reject it. You have to do this. You have to turn and walk away.”

“But,” said Iarina, on the verge of tears, “but...”

“But what?”

“But he brought me a rose.”

The Prince was holding it in his left hand, a gnarled beautiful thing, with the thorns and the petals and the scent, and somehow both he and it were utterly disgusting.

Raven's eyes were a deep purple, and Iarina felt a great sadness and love wash over her, and her tears welled up and split dark rivulets down her face.

“Oh, Iarina,” said Raven,

“...Roses only grow in the summer.”

“My father was terrible too.”

Iarina didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I can feel it in you,” Raven said. “I feel what you feel.”

“How?” Iarina asked, somewhat lamely.

“Magic,” Raven responded.

Iarina looked down at the pile of golden robes where the Prince had once stood. “The sun is up already.”

“Time passes quickly in strange places,” said Raven, wiping blood from her face, “and this is one of them.”

The Prince had looked on, motionless, as Raven twisted her hands and tore it into little chunks of writhing maggoty meat and roots full of rot. Now it lay in a hundred different places, a silent blast pattern, a thing departed. The fog, as if on cue, had eased and retreated into the distance.

“It made some sort of circle under the city,” Raven continued. “I think it was building something. Some lost broken magick or other.” She took hold of Iarina and turned her away, walking her back across the bridge. “Truth is, I don’t know what it wanted. Or if it’s dead. Or if death is a state that even means anything to it.”

They reached the broken lion, stepping off the bridge. “For all I know, it could have been an inanimate function just dipping into our universe. Like a gamma ray - infecting one cancer cell, something that spreads, making more, and so on.” Raven looked at Iarina. “But you’re safe now.”

“Are you a Baba Yaga?” Iarina said, after a moment.

Raven looked at her, then off into the distance, then down at her own hands.

“Maybe,” she said. “I’m not sure I’d know if I was.”

“What do I do now?”

“Go home, get some rest,” Raven said. There was a moment, and then the ghost of a kind smile crept onto her face. “Believe in stories.”

For an instant there was a pure white after-image, then a whining tone like a badly tuned radio, and Iarina was alone.

Epilogue

The roses wilted, one by one, stretching back from the woods to the farms to the streets. As they died, they let out little puffs of air, like sighs of relief.

The streets were empty but for a young woman running out towards the slums. Her head was purged of princes, as it had been of Kryptonian strongmen before. Instead it was full of someone else, someone tangible and present and – complicated, for once.

In fact, something that had been said about her father came back to her, and she began to wonder why she had cared for men at all.

One rose, with a Herculean effort, tore its roots free from the dying knotted network. It was an attempt to hold on to life that lasted for a few brief instants before the boot of a running girl came down, flattened it, and kept moving on into tomorrow.

14 notes · View notes

bluboothalassophile · 7 years

Text

Give Me Back My Mind!

One Road Trip to Hell, with Fries Please

It was after breakfast, on the road, at a gas station, filling up his car, when Jason remembered why he didn’t do the family crap in life.

“Hurry up!” Jason shouted at the locked door of the bathroom. “Or I’m leaving you demon brat!”

“Your brother?” a woman mused which had Jason turning to look at a civilian smirking.

“Yes,” he grounded out. And the truth never tasted more bitter on his tongue as he leant up against the wall and scowled. The woman merely chuckled before she was gone, and he looked over at the convenience store to see Raven picking up a pair of sunglasses. Sighing he pushed off the wall as he walked up silently behind Raven as she paid for the glasses.

“Find something you like princess?” he murmured by her ear and smirked as she stiffened before she shot him an icy glare over her shoulder.

“Don’t call me that, and yes,” she said as she picked up the sunglasses and he walked with her to his car which was still at the pump.

“Mind telling me what convenient lie you spun so Bats isn’t hunting us down for abducting his precious Prince of Assassins?” he asked indifferently. Truthfully this was something he should have asked way earlier, but he hadn’t out of fear. Fear of her not having something in place to deter the Bats which would gladly hunt him down and gut him. Jason knew for a fact that his faked death only worked as long as they thought he was dead, and he enjoyed being the unknown guy on Dick’s shit list, but Jason wasn’t willing to have it blown to hell by having Damian around. Also, there were people in the League of Assassins he’d rather not have finding him and dragging him back.

“Meditation, I said I was taking him to work on calming his anger and controlling his emotions. He’s got an explosive rage,” Raven explained as she leaned on the hood of his car and he propped himself up beside her.

“My kind of rage or just natural?” he asked; true he’d been angry and dangerous before the Pit, but now… Now he knew the difference between his rage and the Pit’s.

“Natural,” Raven replied. “It’s been earned though, his grandfather was Ra’s al Ghul, twisted him up, then his mother dropped him on Bruce, and you know how emotional Bruce is, also Bruce has blatantly shown very little trust in Damian, and while Dick tries there’s only so much you can do for a child who’s been dropped by his parents, who has busy adopted older siblings, and twisted up by his grandfather. It’s why Damian is with us, Dick wants him to have friends and help.”

“If you want to help the brat you’d get him out of the sidekick business, it’s murder,” he grumbled.

“It’s all he’s got left, Jason, and I’m not taking it from him.”

“Then what are you doing with the kid?” he asked.

“I’m trying to be his friend,” she sighed. Jason frowned. “He just… he needs family, and someone who isn’t there to judge him, and someone who can guide him. I don’t know if it’ll help him, but… I’m trying. He just needs to know he’s not alone.”

“Good luck with that,” Jason flatly told her as he pulled a cigarette and lit it, taking a smoke.

“You could help, perhaps not as Jason Todd, but as Jason, He can use a supportive older brother other than Dick,” Raven murmured and he looked over at her.

“No. I don’t do the family shit; wrong kid. I’m the bad kid, the black sheep, the cautionary tale for the others, I’m not family material,” Jason growled out lowly. Raven merely gave him a bland look.

“I have a feeling you’re very good at family shit,” she countered.

“Nope, now, we’re going to take the 80 to Newark, stop there for the night, then we’ll head to Gotham,” he explained.

“Why Newark?”

“Because… it’s the worst possibly fucking place to go and I’d rather be shot than go to Gotham County, or Gotham, or in the vicinity of Gotham,” he stated flatly. Besides, Newark was a cultural shock on the world and the brat could use it.

“I could just teleport us there,” she said.

“After you passing out yesterday, and still being grayer than normal, I’d rather you not little bird,” he muttered.

“I have a name,” she snapped.

“I know, I just like the other names better,” he cheekily replied.

“Then I’ll call you Red, for both Red Hood and Red X,” she growled lowly.

“You already do, so please continue,” he mused. He wondered if she had even noticed that she called him Red this morning, even at breakfast in that crappy diner.

“I hate you,” she muttered.

“Feeling is mutual,” he lied.

“So, Red, in Newark, what are we to do?” she asked.

“Not get shot,” he stated as he flicked the cigarette away.

“Those will kill you,” she pointedly looked at his cigarette butt.

“I stress smoke,” he chuckled.

“That is the worst excuse for a horrible habit,” she monotonously stated.

“Oh, so it’s not a disgusting habit?” he inquired after hearing so many lectures about his ‘disgusting’ habit.

“Gar licks himself, I think that trumps smoking on a scale of disgusting,” Raven dismissed. His head felt back as he laughed then.

“You’re hilarious!” he wheezed.

“That’s a first, I can now die saying I heard it all,” she stated, whilst looking indifferently bewildered. Jason just stared at the deer in the headlights look on her face and thought it was priceless. She might have been the Ice Queen, but she was expressive, only idiots would miss that.

“So, my smoking is a bad habit?” he mused.

“Very,” she scrunched up her nose and he continued grinning as he looked to the store.

“You know this mission is bound to end in disaster,” he soberly reminded her.

“Only if I don’t retrieve or destroy that book,” she sighed sadly.

“You can’t seriously be doing all this for a book, sunshine, so what aren’t you telling demon brat and I?” he asked, his eyes watching the store as he saw Damian selecting a few snacks.

“You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you, and it’s just really important we get that book back,” she muttered as she looked at her clasped hands.

“You don’t tell Bats about me and I’ll do whatever you need,” he shrugged.

“Really?” she mused skeptically.

“I don’t like double crossers, and I was double crossed,” he pointed out, his eyes narrowing on her.

“Fair enough,” she shrugged.

“Got everything!?” he shouted at Damian.

“You do not command me, thief,” Damian growled.

“Let’s hit the road now, I’m thinking Big Belly Burger for lunch,” he stated as he stood up, Raven got in the car and Damian clambered in. getting behind the wheel he mentally checked everything before he started the engine and pulled out.

“I am a vegetarian,” Damian huffed. “Don’t you feel bad for the animals?”

“Damian, I respect that you don’t eat meat, and we will get you a vegetarian lunch, but respect that we do,” Raven calmly cut off a coming argument.

“You sound like you have this argument a lot,” Jason chuckled as Damian grumbled and leant back in his seat.

“I’ve been having it since I was thirteen and started living with Garfield, I don’t recommend tofu,” Raven said calmly as she opened the map he handed her and kept his eyes on the road.

“The animals are tortured, and mistreated before they’re butchered!” Damian shouted.

“Damian, I will go with you to three animal rights protests, of your choosing, and help you advocate for the animals if you leave the meat eating habits of Jason and I’s, alone,” Raven offered.

“Really?” Damian perked up.

“Yes, and I will help you talk Dick into getting a puppy,” Raven compensated.

“You drive a hard bargain, I’d take it kid,” he chuckled.

“Very well, I find that acceptable.”

“So that thing from earlier?” Jason inquired.

“It helps,” Raven shrugged. “Next exit.”

“You’re not too bad sunshine,” he decided. And he meant it, he was finding Raven’s company to be the best he’s had in years. It was almost like having a friend.

Shaking his head of such wistful thinking he continued to merge with traffic. Damian and Raven were talking, and he slowly tuned them out as he watched the road. He liked this too much, he needed to get that book back for Raven and leave her and the Demon brat at the Manor and never look back. There was a reason he worked alone, and a reason he tried to stay away from friends and family scenarios, he liked it too much. However, it never stayed.

Whoever was with him never stayed, it was for the best to leave first so he didn’t get used to this sensation.

Jason glanced at Raven and Damian in their discussion and he smirked. He was on the highway to hell with the demon spawn of his former guardian and an actual demon. This could be an interesting trip. However the sooner he was away from this little environment of… comfort, the sooner he’d feel normal again. Also, there was the matter of him envying the demon spawn of Bruce’s, Bruce would definitely do anything for a blood son. Even kill the fucking Joker.

Immediately Jason shook the thoughts from his mind as he tried not to think about Joker; it would trigger a violent black out.

~~~*~*~*~~~

“What’s so important in Newark, if the book is in Gotham we should just go get it!” Damian snapped.

Raven sighed, but then there was an overwhelming flood of bloodlust which seemed suffocating to her as she refrained from gasping. The pain, the brutal feelings of pain and betrayal, and envy were drowning her, overwhelming her, and it was so powerful it was almost breaking her shields as she looked at Jason who was glaring at the road.

“Red!” no response, but there was a faint green glow in his eyes.

“Jason,” she repeated his name firmer and then his gaze snapped to her as the glow receded, and the turbulent storm of emotions started to dissipate.

“Huh?”

“You alright?” she asked.

“Just a ray of sunshine, Rae,” he grinned easily but she could still feel the receding pain in his emotions.

“Alright, and why are we going to Newark?” she asked, hopefully Damian hadn’t noticed any of what was going on with Jason. But then again he was a Bat and they were annoyingly observant; even Jason was.

“I have a place there we can crash, go over battle plans, and get ready. We’re not charging into a house blind or without a plan,” he stated.

“That is logical,” Damian conceded.

“Did Demon Spawn just give me a compliment?” Jason demanded in a teasing tone.

“It sounded like it,” she mused, Damian glared murderously at them then and she chuckled.

“I did not! I simply stated that it was logical!” Damian hissed.

“It sounded like a compliment to me, what about you?”

“Agreed,” she mused.

“I will slit your throats,” Damian’s empty threat was hanging there and Raven chuckled.

“Ah, but the baby bird loves us, right, little bird?” Jason cooed.

“Big Belly Burger,” Raven pointed.

“Trying to change the topic will not dissuaded me from reveling in the fact I got a compliment from the Prince,” Jason informed her.

“I figured,” Raven shrugged. “But I’d rather not be a wreck.”

“You’re no fun, sunshine,” he chuckled.

“I like being alive,” Raven stated.

“I can second that,” Jason murmured softly.

“Me too,” Damian decided.

“Alright, we’re ordering lunches, so what’ll it be kid?” Jason asked as they started pulling through the drive food. Damian insisted on a vegetarian burger, Raven shuddered in disgust. She’d accidently been tricked into eating one of Gar’s veggie burgers; well, now there was a reason Raven did not eat on nights Gar cooked. Raven liked real food: real meat, real milk, real eggs, real! food, not soy or tofu.

“A double with cheese, grilled onions, everything on it, a strawberry milkshake, no drink, and a side of fries,” Raven ordered.

“You’ll eat all that!?” Damian gaped at her.

“I am a demon,” she pointed out.

“Alright, make it three doubles with cheese, grilled onions, everything on them, three strawberry shakes, three sides of fries, a veggie burger with everything on it, a side of onion rings, one Diet Coke, and one Dr. Pepper,” Jason ordered.

“That’s a lot of food,” Raven mused.

“I’m a big guy,” he pointed out and Raven actually noticed for the first time just how large Jason really was. He wasn’t out of shape, just… Batman big. Though she was willing to bet he was a bit thicker in the shoulders than Bruce was, and perhaps just an inch shorter. Dick was on the leaner side at about five ten in height, and Tim seemed to have stopped growing at five six, and Damian was almost taller than her. However, Jason was huge, and she was wondering how she had missed it.

“You should consider being a vegetarian,” Damian said to Jason sharply.

“I will get you a puppy just to piss off the Bat clan and Bird Brains one through four if you shut up and never tell me to be a vegetarian again,” Jason stated.

“Really!?” Damian perked up. Raven chuckled.

“Really,” Jason deadpanned.

“Careful, you might end up buying him a zoo if you’re not careful,” Raven mused feeling genuine excitement rolling off Damian for the first time since Garfield had adopted a kitten three months ago.

“Will it irritate Bats?” he asked seriously.

“Yes,” she and Damian answered in unison.

“Then I might, if you behave, do your homework, eat your vegetables, don’t kill me, do exactly what Raven tells you to do and I’ll consider,” Jason conceded.

“I will consider the terms then,” Damian contemplated seriously.

“Can’t the circus freak just take him to the circus to see the animals?” Jason asked.

“Be nice,” Raven warned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off as he started looking through his wallet for the money. “Wrong guy to be asking to be nice.”

“I still do not like him,” Damian muttered to her. Raven just sighed.

Families were complicated; well, unless it was hers’, hers’ was rather straight forward. However, until Raven had become friends with Victor, Kori, Gar and Dick she had thought families to be loving. Wrong she was, they were complicated as hell.

And the Bats family won the contest of complicated; hands down, it was not even a competition in her mind as to who had the most complicated family. Bruce had collected children and tried his best, but Raven knew where he went wrong and she knew how it complicated each Wayne in their own way. Jason would be no exception, except that he wished to remain dead to them, and them dead to him. It was frustrating, and hilarious to her that Damian refused to trust his second eldest brother, not that he knew that Jason was his brother.

“Well, until this is over and that book is back in little bird’s hands we’re stuck together,” Jason countered before she could sooth Damian. “And trust me, this is the last thing I wanted to be doing.”

“Both of you will have to get along, else I’m sending you back to the Tower,” she pointedly looked at Damian as Jason took the food and set it in between them before he started driving.

“So you will not punish him?” Damian accused.

“No, I’ll destroy him if he double crosses me,” Raven shrugged as she started sorting through the food and handed Damian his share.

“That seems adequate,” Damian decided.

“I’d rather not be destroyed, just speaking from personal experiences here, little bird,” Jason mused as she handed him a partially unwrapped burger.

“No doubt that’s your preference, and should we get the book I can assure you that you will remain in one piece,” she promised.

“That’s promising,” he grinned before taking a massive bite of his burger. Raven just gathered hers’ and started munching on her own burger, savoring the consistent goodness of Big Belly Burger. It was amazing how it was delicious no matter where in the States one had it. Absolutely fucking delicious. Raven loved it.

“It should be, I wanted to annihilate you the other morning,” she pointed out and he chuckled.

“You’re too much of an angel to kill me,” he pointed out.

“I’m a demon,” she countered.

“Does it matter?” Damian finally asked and Raven looked at him; after her months of trying to get him to accept her as herself she was shocked to hear such a childish question from him.

“Not really,” Jason answered for her. “It’s just another label and a part of who you are, like I’m a thief, you’re Robin, it’s all just a part of you. Right, angel?”

“Don’t call me that, and yes, it’s just a part of who I am,” Raven agreed.

“Then you’re a Titan,” Damian shrugged and Raven hid her grin in her burger as Jason smirked.

“There you go, you’re a Titan,” Jason agreed.

She wanted to tell him he was a Bat then, but she didn’t as she sat there staring out at the road. Absently a tune on the radio caught her attention and she hummed as she ate. It was the most peaceful she had felt in a while, neither Jason nor Damian were draining her emotionally and she felt calm. It was a pleasant realization for her as she ate her burger and hummed with the radio.

Damian and Jason did the one thing Dick couldn’t do and she found it a breath of fresh air as she rolled her window down and let the breeze wash over her.

These two Bats did silence.

Not the thick heavy, thinking, awkward, brooding silences, just silence, and Raven found it peaceful. Passing the fries back to Damian she tossed the burger wrappers away and handed Jason his. It was kind of fun, just feeling normal, like she was on a road trip. She’d done a few with Victor, and those were fun but this was kind of relaxing in a strange way.

“For Shadowcrest, it’s magically protected,” Damian started. “Do you need anything?”

“I packed all the essentials,” Raven assured him. The boy nodded and pulled out a sketchbook as he started drawing.

“And if you need something, angel?” Jason prompted.

“Don’t call me that, and if I should need something then I will go collect it. The magic world isn’t all that large, at least, not with the serious sorcerers and magicians,” Raven dismissed.

“Zatanna is a serious magician,” Damian pointed out.

“I know,” Raven assured them. “And let me worry about the magic.”

“I hate magic,” both Jason and Damian muttered, she smirked as she took a bite of her fry.

“Not your jurisdiction, boys?” she mused. They both glared at her.

~~~*~*~*~~~

“We are not having this argument again!” he snapped at his older cousin as he shoved his stuff in his bag. He’d never be good enough for them, not for the great John Zatara; now Dr. Fate or his perfect daughter, Zatanna Zatara and he hated it.

“This isn’t about that Zachary!” she shouted back.

“Then what is it!?” he demanded.

“Please, just… just stay the weekend, I’ll talk with Batman, and Dick and we'll… if…” she sighed. “If it’s that important to you then I’ll help you get there.”

“I shouldn’t be stuck in your shadow!” he snapped, his frustrations rising. He hadn’t really wanted to join the Titans, no, but it was the fact he’d never been asked which was really pissing him off. It was the principles of such matters, he wasn’t just someone who could be shrugged off!

“You’re not! You’re not in my shadow!” his cousin argued.

“I’ve been locked away, no one cares or knows my name, I say I’m a Zatara and it’s 'Oh, you know Zatanna!” he shouted.

“Zacharay please, just the weekend,” she sighed.

“If you don’t talk to them I’m walking,” he warned as he stalked past her and up the stairs.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Damian looked at Jason and Raven; his current models, and he watched as they talked. It wasn’t a chatty sort of talk, no, they were talking about books. Nerds. Not that he was surprised that Raven could talk books, he’d peeked into her room before and even managed to sneak in once before he was thrown out; the woman had more books than his grandfather and father. Which was saying something. However, what was a surprise was that Jason talked books like Raven did, it was a bit odd since Damian was still certain that Jason could not be the nefarious Red X. Jason was just so… abrasive, it was offensive really, and not to mention the man was about as educated as a fly; but here he was having a serious talk with Raven about books. Books! Classic novels to be specific.

Currently Raven and Jason were debating which piece of Charles Dickens was the greatest, not that it really interested Damian. Sighing he continued his drawing of them in the front seat, the light was a bit off, and he found it vexing that it wasn’t perfect. However, he was too bored to start a new drawing so he continued the drawing. Moving to add himself in the backseat; it was kind of fun.

“Alright, we’ll agree to disagree,” Raven sighed.

“Best revenge story?” he asked.

“Count of Monte Cristo,” Raven replied.

“That’s a good story,” Jason chuckled.

“You ever actually read it?” Damian finally asked as he looked up from his sketch.

“Actually, yeah, I did, in French too, I have a first addition safely tucked away,” Jason replied with a smirk. Damian blinked.

“Really?”

“And I even bought it, shortstack,” Jason chuckled.

“Really?” Raven asked then.

“I don’t steal everything! Take this car, I bought and restored her myself, and same with all the weapons,” Jason defended.

“I was unaware that you were civilized enough to buy things,” Damian pointed out. Jason just smirked and looked out at the road.

“I buy things, help the little people, small businesses as it were, and there’s few things in life worth buying; good books, good weaponry, good armor, and good vehicles,” Jason stated.

“And food,” Raven piped up.

“You can’t cook,” Damian pointed out.

“No, I can’t, but Victor can, I buy the food, he cooks, we don’t starve,” Raven pointed out.

“You can’t cook, little bird?” Jason asked.

“She tried to poison us my first week there with unidentified gooey brown things,” Damian stated. Raven frowned.

“Pancakes, no they weren’t great, but it wasn’t that bad,” she defended.

“It exploded and landed on the ceiling where it remained until Grayson noticed it last week,” Damian flatly informed her and Jason just burst into laughter. Raven shrugged.

“Beats tofu,” she muttered.

“Can the demon brat cook?” Jason finally asked.

“He’d burn water,” Raven maliciously smirked at him and he gaped.

“That is not possible! Water cannot be burnt, it evaporates,” he huffed.

“It’s the silver spoon, love, he’ll never be able to fend for himself,” Jason whispered conspiratorially to Raven.

“I have never had a silver spoon, and I have been fending for myself very well since I was a small child,” he snapped.

“Smaller child,” Jason countered, Damian growled lowly. He hated how familiar Jason acted with him, and more than that he hated how comfortable he was around Jason. It was like being around Grayson or Drake or Brown or his family! It was frustrating and it was nice.

“I will kill you,” he snarled.

“Do it after we get to the hotel,” Jason dismissed. “So if he can’t cook either, what’s he complaining about your cooking for?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged.

“Because we were in the infirmary,” Damian reminded her.

“Unrelated, I checked you myself,” Raven waved off. Damian frowned.

“Where are we staying in Newark?”

“I got a safe place there; though after this job I’m ditching it so feel free to memorize where it is and tell Bats, I’m sure he’ll just love being eight steps behind as usual,” Jason sniggered.

“I will tell father, and I will tell him your name,” Damian triumphantly stated.

“Which one? I have so many.”

Damian scowled; he wasn’t going to be thwarted, he would beat the Red X and drag him to Grayson for his punishment. Red X would no longer elude them.

“I’ll give you a week’s head start, if we get the book back,” Raven shrugged.

“You are a dear, little bird, but I’ll just need an hour to lose the Bats,” Jason shrugged.

“You’re confident about that,” Damian observed.

“I’ve earned the confidence,” Jason pointed out and Damian continued his sketch then.

“I could sketch father your face,” he pointed out.

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled about that, take a picture when you do show him that sketch and send it to me,” Jason maliciously smiled like a shark and Damian furrowed his brow. This was… unusual. Jason was so candid about showing his face and being himself, he was completely relaxed, and it was a bit off putting to Damian. Shouldn’t there be some fear?

His father was the world’s best detective and would find Jason, and yet, Jason didn’t seem overly concerned about it. Raven didn’t speak up either like she knew something about this he didn’t and once again Damian found himself irked about trusting people he didn’t know or who didn’t care to tell him the whole story.

“And if I were to show Grayson the portrait?”

“Also take his picture and send it to me, I’d love to see that reaction,” Jason chuckled.

“You’re infuriating!” Damian grounded out through gritted teeth.

“I try.”

“Damian, worry about capturing Red after we get the book back, else I’d have just arrested him when I found him,” Raven informed him.

“As if you could,” Jason snorted.

“Do you doubt my abilities?” Raven challenged coldly and Damian looked up as the air in the car drastically cooled and the shadows danced a bit.

“No, but I just happen to know my own and know that you can’t capture me,” Jason stated flatly.

“We’ll see about that,” Raven grumbled darkly.

“I have no doubt about that,” he mused. “After this is all over you and I might need to go a few rounds, no kid gloves and after proper sleep.”

“Maybe,” Raven passively agreed.

“I’ll fight you!” Damian grinned then, he would love to fight this Red X guy if he was as good as Grayson made him out to be. It would be a true challenge and Damian rather liked a challenge.

“I’ll consider it, kid, but I’ll warn you now I will not go easy on you just because you’re a kid. I’ll give you hell because you’re a Bat too, if you can handle that I might consider fighting you, next time,” Jason shrugged.

“Why not now?”

“Because, sunshine here needs us in one piece to retrieve that book of hers, right?” Jason asked Raven.

“At this moment, it is preferred if you two are in one piece, after this everything is up for grabs,” she shrugged.

Damian liked that as he leant back in his corner again and resumed his doodle.

“Classic romances,” Raven decided.

“I’d say Jane Austen, but…” Jason started and Damian pulled his earphones out as he enjoyed the music, the car, the pencil and the paper and continued to sketch the moment with Raven and Jason and himself now. It was soothing, it was nice, and he liked where he was for the first time in a long time. For the first time in a long time he liked exactly where he was, the last time it had happened was earlier this year when he’d been hanging out with Grayson before the Court of Owls and the Titans and before father had stated that he didn’t trust him. Before he felt alone again.

~~~*~*~*~~~

They pulled into the neighborhood in the late half of the afternoon after a delay because of an accident. Raven winced at the sight around them as she felt the hostility rolling off everyone, and felt the danger of being here. Glancing back she noticed that Damian was sound asleep and looked at Jason.

“You’re certain about being here?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m not thrilled about it, but I’m sure about being here, the safe house is on the corner, I have supplies there,” Jason said as he pulled up to the curb. Raven looked up a horrible, creaky building which should be condemned and sighed.

“I’ll wake Damian,” she decided as she twisted around and used her powers as she pulled all his weapons out of his reach. Jason was out of the car gathering the stuff out of the trunk and Raven tapped Damian’s shoulder lightly.

The young boy bolted up with a roar as he grabbed for a weapon.

“We’re here,” she calmly pointed out as she felt him relax before she levitated his weapons back to him and stood up as she got out of the car. She moaned as she stretched, properly for the first time in hours, popping her vertebra before she walked to the trunk and hefted up her duffle and her backpack. Damian appeared beside her as he grabbed his own gear, Jason locked up and they followed him.

“Home sweet home,” he chuckled and Raven sighed sadly. It was the comfort and familiarity she felt off him as they walked through a place which felt like a warzone which saddened her.

“Alright, tomorrow night you’ll teleport us to Shadowcrest, that should be enough time for us to get everything ready to go,” Jason said as he opened up the stale safe house.

“That’s fine,” she managed. She wanted to get the book now, to retrieve the Nevermore, but she was aware that charging into the lair of a Zatara with no plan was both foolish and suicidal.

“Demon brat, don’t destroy the place any more than it already is, and I’ve got to go talk to a man about a few things. Stay here,” Jason growled the last part low and in a warning tone.

“I do not take orders from you, troglodyte,” Damian snapped.

“Good one, but stay here if you want to stay alive, I’ll be back after midnight,” Jason waved off as he shut the door and locked it.

“Time to get to work,” Raven sighed as she slowly lowered her bag and shut up the dingy apartment’s windows.

“What are you going to be doing?” Damian asked her.

“The Zatara family are renowned magicians, they practice a form of light magic, and they are very good. I do not practice light magic, so I am preparing for whatever I might run into,” Raven said calmly.

“What’s the difference between your magic and this light magic, isn’t magic magic?” Damian challenged.

“Not quite, magic is energy, I’m half demon, I have a natural affinity for the Dark Arts, it’s as easy to me as breathing, however I can perform light magic, and soul magic as well, but not as well as I can perform dark magic. It’s about energy,” Raven swiftly explained as she pulled her books out. “It’s all complicated, but mostly I practice the Dark Arts.”

“Why? Isn’t that evil?” Damian asked.

“Magic is not that black and white, Damian. Nothing ever is, however, my Magic is natural to me, but to other’s there’s a price to be had for practicing such powerful, dangerous magic, usually in the form of a soul or life or time,” Raven shrugged.

“Then why practice it?”

“Because, I am the Gem of Scath,” Raven shrugged and she levitated the books she had brought and sat lotus style in the air. “Rest Damian, everything will be fine.”

“I’m not worried about it,” the boy snapped.

“Damian, I am an empath, and I am telling you not to worry, I do this all the time,” Raven shrugged.

“And what’s the cost of your magic?” he murmured, he looked so vulnerable and small and then he looked away as if ashamed of his question.

“Damian,” she coaxed softly until the boy was looking at her again. “I’m the daughter of Trigon, I’ve already been condemned to an eternity to Hell, I would not worry about the cost of my magic.”

“But…!” he started.

“I’m a demon, now go rest, everything is going to be alright.”

The boy reluctantly yawned before he walked to the mattress and settled swiftly into a light sleep. Raven took a steadying breath before she focused on centering herself and opening her mind.

~~~*~*~*~~~

“'Ello!?” a sleepy voice answered the phone.

“I need a favor,” he said calmly.

“Ah bloody, buggering hell! Can’t you learn to not play with magic! Or practice it yourself if you need it!?” the grumpy voice snapped.

“Well I would, but you and I know that I don’t have a drop of magic in me,” Jason chuckled.

“Fucking Lazurus Pit is magic! And miraculous resurrection counts as magic as well!” the voice snapped.

“Not my worry, anyway, I need your help, and we’ll consider this even or an I.O.U.,” Jason shrugged.

“We’ll be even?” the older man questioned skeptically.

“Or I’ll be in your debt depending on how you take this favor,” Jason decided.

“What do you want?”

“You know your ex…” Jason started and by the time he was done all he received was;

“Bloody Hell, I’ll be there in an hour.”

Sighing Jason let his head fall back as he stared around the shithole of Newark and rubbed his brow. Life would be easier if he could just stay dead! Then again, he was having fun fucking with the Bats, and winding up the Bird Brains.

On the bright side, Jason chuckled, he was free, free as a bird so to speak. However returning to Gotham for something other than killing the Joker was weighing on him. it was tiring really. He was enjoying his second life; well, once he’d escaped the League of Assassins, left Gotham, stolen the Red X suit and taken up the life of a contractor. It wasn’t a great life, he knew that, however, he was enjoying his second life as he stood up and started walking through Newark to a dive bar where he’d meet up with John.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Standing over the map of the country she growled, he was in country, there was no way he had the resources to get out of country fast enough, at least, she doubted he had those resources. Picking through his safe house had revealed very little about him, other than Jason was very creative with where to hide his weapons.

Sighing she rubbed her brow and checked her computer; it was running an algorithm for known aliases for Jason Todd, and possible aliases. She was going to find him, and she was going to kill him, and then she was going to murder a certain Titan.

Briefly Talia toyed with the idea of stopping in Gotham to say hello to her beloved and inquire about their child; though she knew her son was already with Grayson at the Titans. It was disappointing to say the least. She looked up when a man walked in.

“My sister send you?” she asked indifferently.

“She heard about your miss,” the older man shrugged. She frowned.

“I was unprepared to kill a Titan,” she defended. “But I will not mess up again.”

“Nyssa’s sent me because it was a Titan the deserter was with,” the man smiled maliciously.

“I will handle the problem, Deathstroke,” she warned.

5 notes · View notes

mirthful-sonnet · 7 years

Note

Could you please tell me about Margaret Beaufort, what was she really like in real life? I only know about her from The White Queen and The White Princess and i know that Phillipa Gregory books are not known for their historical accuracy. She always seemed like an interesting figure in history but she is awful in those books.

Hello there anon! Margaret Beaufort is a fascinating figure and the representation by Phillipa Gregory bears very little resemblance to who she actually was, or at least, it fails to single out the little details that made her such a formidable woman. I did not read The Red Queen (glimpsed it), only the Kingmaker’s Daughter and The White Princess and in this latter book her portrayal was just terrible. Gregory tends to play on scandals, rumors and negative propaganda to boost her fiction, (Cecily Neville having an affair with an archer, Elizabeth Woodville being a witch, Elizabeth of York having an affair with her uncle, Anne Boleyn sleeping with her brother etc. etc.). The subjects for this are always women since they are the focus of Gregory’s fiction, and Margaret Beaufort doesn’t come off easy. Seriously she was quite terrifying.

The Cousin Wars series follows the line of the later negative propaganda against Margaret Beaufort (Francis Bacon comes to mind) by putting her as a fanatical and overly scheming woman whose motive is nothing but power. The root of these claims are true to a degree, Margaret was deeply devoted to her Catholic faith but then again this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for the time and it definitely didn’t go to the extent Gregory presents in the books where she even receives “visions” and believes herself to be some kind of advocate for God. Margaret, as many others did especially during this time, found solace in her faith from an early age and I believe that with Margaret it was one of the few comforts she had. As for the ambition side, once again, I’m not going to claim Margaret was helpless or that she had no ambitions of her own, but then again the way Gregory presents it is in a way that derives from antagonism and no motivation other than that of her own self-gain and self- preservation, when I think her main driving force was her son Henry.

As you may know Margaret Beaufort was first married when she was just a baby and then again when she was a young girl, which was customary back then but her second husband (her senior by some years) decided to consummate the marriage earlier than expected, something that has been debated and agreed to an extent that it was basically rape, even if this was something that Margaret most likely saw as her duty. She quickly got pregnant, her husband died, and she finally gave birth to Henry when she was 13 years old and it was such an agonizing experience for her that both she and her son almost died at one point and her body was left incapable of bearing any more children. I have no idea how this part is portrayed in The Red Queen, I’ve seen comments however that the scene of the birth is rather upsetting which bears truth to what actually happened, just imagine yourself in her shoes? Her youth is something that is completely obliterated from TWQ show at least, because instead of a child she is portrayed by a mature woman bordering on her 30’s so her initial struggle is brushed over with Margaret briefly confronting her mother about it.

Margaret’s new state as a widow at just thirteen made her circumstances difficult and as was the custom she had to give up her son Henry to the guardianship of his uncle Jasper, whom Gregory portrays as some love interest to Margaret but there’s no evidence to suggest that. It’s evident that such a separation must have been expected but painful for Margaret as a new mother. It is also said that around this period she clung to her faith as never before and she referred to Henry as her only consolation in life.

From this point onward her life found itself on a roller coaster of changes and moves to survive by marrying into York to secure her position and that of her son (whose lands were stripped away) until the turn that happened in 1471 where Jasper and young Henry fled into exile and the separation from her son was imminent and they would not see each other for another 14 years. Her third husband Henry Stafford also died during this time throwing Margaret into an uncertain point again and these new set of circumstances consisted on securing herself a position where she could gain Edward IV’s trust and ensure her son’s return. The opportunity for Henry’s return to England arose at one point on the intervention of his mother but Henry escaped his escort by pretending to be sick, probably believing that Edward had other intentions with him for which I can’t speak because even if I think Henry’s flimsy claim to the throne was laughable and not a catalyst for any attempted murder I don’t live inside Edward’s or anyone’s head. But it’s not off to assume that this result of her efforts to bring her son back must have been quite upsetting for Margaret.

Gregory puts Margaret Beaufort as the culprit behind the prince’s deaths, which I personally don’t agree with for several reasons even if I wouldn’t discount her as a suspect if somebody presented a good argument which I’ve seen on some cases, but on this case what I see most of the time is the usual sexist patron of always blaming a woman for another’s doing or my personal favorite, “she had all the motives to kill them, not Richard!”. I love Margaret Beaufort and also Richard III but I don’t discount them as suspects simply because I like them, it’s just dishonest and puts them as something close to fictional characters instead of real people. The only thing that bothers me is what I mentioned before, most of the time instead of seeing arguments all I see is people making bizarre comments about her and saying how her sole and only reason in life since the very beginning was to take the crown (I even saw a comment saying how God told her that her son would get the crown, a fun cause to play ‘Spot the Gregory reader!” when scrolling through comments), and this is exactly what’s shown on Gregory’s portrayal of Margaret. Gregory only presents this as yet another device among many others to demonize her and nothing else.

In The White Princess she’s the mother in law from hell and it’s here where I was particularly disgusted with her representation. Her relationship with Elizabeth of York was just plain abusive and terrible in this book when in reality there is nothing suggesting they hated each other or even an allusion to abuse. I do think that at some points Elizabeth must have found Margaret overbearing, after all Margaret took precedence over Elizabeth which was probably insulting to her and there were reports by two ambassadors on how Elizabeth was powerless and seemed sad, though they shouldn’t be taken as blanket statements as people often do with comments of this nature but they shouldn’t be disregarded either. However on other occasions Margaret and Elizabeth got along well and they even teamed up together on matters of patronage and specially the issue of her granddaughter’s marriage to James IV. This is where my main disgust over this book comes through because as I told you, Margaret was basically raped when she was a child and this clearly affected her as when her son Henry was arranging the marriage of his very young daughter to James IV Margaret stepped forward along with Elizabeth in the case of delaying the marriage arrangements until her granddaughter was old enough, which indicates that Margaret probably feared that James wouldn’t wait until her granddaughter was old enough to consummate the marriage, just like her husband did with her when she was barely thirteen. So Margaret was a rape victim, was clearly affected by it and didn’t want the same to happen to her granddaughter, so why in the world does Gregory portray Margaret so horribly that she’s the one who orchestrates Henry’s rape of Lizzie in this book? Because it makes total sense to have a rape victim plot the rape of another person! Genius! Even when Gregory clearly makes the allusion that the early consummation of Margaret and her second husband was horrible (while at the same time barely dwelling on it) she still latches onto the plot line of Margaret putting the rape idea on Henry’s head. By this sole detail I can already tell you what I think of this book and what I think of Gregory as an author.

The real Margaret Beaufort was an enigmatic and complex woman with her flaws and her strengths as any other human being. I mentioned her early struggles because they’re an essential part of who she is, she was thrust into extreme circumstances out of her control starting by her traumatizing childbirth and instead of completely relying on others or backing down she made moves on her own and relied on her own judgement. The way she handled her circumstances from such an early age is mind blowing and it’s one of the many reasons I admire this woman. While she is certainly criticized for the ambitious moves she made it doesn’t make her any different to any of her contemporaries and without a doubt it doesn’t bear any resemblance to the fanatical child murdering nut-job that Gregory presents in her book. In reality she was praised for her virtue, her piety and her intellect, one example by her good friend bishop Fisher praises her in a similar fashion: “She chose me as her director, to hear her confessions and guide her life, yet I gladly confess that I learnt more from her great virtue than I ever taught her". And a particular description I liked by her biographer Charles Henry Cooper describes her very eloquently: ‘She presents the brightest example of the strong devotional feeling and active charity of the age in which she lived, and she is entitled to the warmest gratitude of posterity for her generous patronage of the learned and her munificent provision for the advancement of science and literature.’ There’s a constant habit of disregarding historical figures actual achievements and virtues in favor of whatever rumors, mischief and propaganda is laid against them and it’s quite tiring. Margaret was a patroness of the arts, a staunch advocate for education, headstrong in the face of adversity, charitable with the poor and most of all she was a devoted mother and she should be celebrated for these things.

I am sorry for this ridiculous long rant. Thanks for the ask anon. ^_^

#margaret beaufort #asks #badass ladies

41 notes · View notes