jsmn_kinkmeme | ☆ Round One!

Welcome to the first round of the Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Kink Meme at

jsmn_kinkmeme!

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■ Anonymously comment with your request – a character/pairing/nthsome, and a kink or prompt.
■ Only one prompt per post.
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■ Have fun! :)

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■ Any kinks welcomed!
■ The fill/request does not need to be sexual or porny.
■ Multiple fills are allowed.
■ Fills can be any sort of creative work: fic, art, song, photomanip, etc.
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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The sun outside was as heavy as sun got in northern England. Strange shielded his eyes with his hand, unused to it. His hair shone auburn in the light. He moved uncertainly, almost as though sleepwalking. The iron bracelet looked large on his rather gaunt wrist.

"See, it is a fine day," Norrell said, and it was. Birds were singing in the trees. There were wild tulips and march orchids blooming in the far-off grass, and more orderly sorts of flowers in the garden beds. Norrell did not particularly care for flowers, but he had paid a landscape architect— some modern, respectable sort from London— to design where they ought to go and lay them in. It was important, Norrell thought, to delineate his domain. To mark the civilized out from the wilderness.

Strange said, so quietly that Norrell almost could not hear him, "They can't— speak to me."

"Whatever do you mean," Norrell said.

"The— stones. And the rain. They are— they are trying to speak to me." He was already worrying at the iron again, shoving his restless fingers at it.

Norrell said, "You have been mad. That is why you think so. But soon you will be better. You will learn to be better."

"No, I..." Strange collapsed to the ground in a lurch of limbs. He pawed at the earth as though he were a dog, raking it up: black soil, new grass, an odd scurrying beetle. His hands turned filthy and flecked with mica. "There is a thing," he said desperately, "a thing I must do, but I can't, I can't, I can't hear it!"

Norrell hauled him up by his shirt-collar. "Enough!" he said sharply. "Is this how an Englishman behaves? An English magician? One would think you wish to be mad!"

Strange cringed away from him as though he expected to be struck. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'll be— I'll be— Please take it off."

"It is for your own well-being," Norrell said. He had said it before. He felt tired, exhausted by having to explain such a simple precept so many times. He wondered if it was the same with all sorts of genius— because geniuses were children, really, weren't they? They were like feral children with obscure gifts. They were skilled, but not yet full human beings. You had to teach them, you had to make them human. It was hard. But it was a sort of holy task that you couldn't turn away.

He sighed. "Perhaps it was unwise to go out of doors," he said. "I can see that you are not ready. We will try again next week, weather permitting."

He steered Strange back up the slope, to-wards the door. But at the last Strange balked, his body jerking to one side, as though he could not enter the house. His toes curled in the grass. "No," he said. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no—"

Exasperated now, Norrell seized his manacled wrist. "Come now," he said. "You are being a child. You bring this on yourself. If you behaved yourself, you would have a book from the library, but instead you insist on this infantile defiance—"

Strange briefly struggled with him, but he was not a well man, nor in his right mind. Norrell did not even have to use magic. He half-shoved Strange through the door and into the entryway. Strange had mostly given up by then. He was shaking his head back and forth, making a low keening sound.

"I'm dreaming," Strange muttered, seemingly to himself. "I'm dreaming. I knew I was still in Belgium. I knew, I didn't fall for it, I didn't really think— because I wouldn't, I didn't mean to do it. I didn't meant to do it," he said more clearly to Norrell. His shoulders were hunched in.

"I know," Norrell said gently. "I know you didn't." He had no idea what Strange was referring to— one of his war exploits, no doubt. He ought never to have let the army have Strange. He ought to have kept him here, at Hurtfew, all along. This was where he was meant to be. This was his right place. In time, Strange too would realize that.

Strange was knotting one hand unhappily in his hair. "There is a thing I am meant to do," he insisted plaintively. "There is a man who comes to me in the dark. There is more, I know there is more, but I can't hear it!"

"Hush," Norrell said, touching his shoulder. There were spells he employed when Strange became overwrought. If this proved insufficient, there were herbs; liquids; there were lots of methods he could use. Strange would sleep for two, perhaps three days, and forget. When he woke, he would be calmer. "It's nothing," Norrell said. "You'll find it is nothing."

He tried to believe it. He thought: it does not matter whether I believe it. I will make it so, and that will make it true.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh and the beautiful conclusion. This was fucked up and sad and delicious in all the right ways. <3

NICE. Poor, poor Strange.

omg so fucked up I fucking loved it.

OP-- omggggg, this is deliciously fucked up. A+ work.

Ow. Ow, ow ow. This is brilliant. Fucked up and painful and brilliant. The mentions of Strange trying to take his own life, and Norrell's detachment to the fact. Small details, like Childermass being gone (of course, he would never stand for it). My heart hurts, anon, and I love it.

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeessssss this is all I have ever wanted. It hurts so good!! And it has the bonus of being so beautifully written. Bravo, A!A.

Oh my God this is amazing! I love how coldly rational Norrell is about the whole thing, and how beautifully you broke Strange.

Would A!A be averse to my writing a continuation of sorts? The idea of simply leaving Strange in Hurtfew indefinitely troubles me.

A!A viewed this as sort of a mirror!verse where everything goes horribly warped wrong, but welcomes any and all fic on the subject, so go for a sequel!

Continuation A!A: passerby!commenter wonders if you ever followed this up, because I just read the original fill, and my heart is in pieces. Cruel, cruel Norrell! Please help Joanthan. This is making me very sad. I would do something myself but I have 3 WIPs going on.

...
Oh god.
I think my heart's been torn out.
I need there to be more to this!

He wondered if it was the same with all sorts of genius— because geniuses were children, really, weren't they? They were like feral children with obscure gifts. They were skilled, but not yet full human beings. You had to teach them, you had to make them human. It was hard. But it was a sort of holy task that you couldn't turn away.

^^^^^^^INCREDIBLE LINE. LIKE WOW.

☆ Round One!

FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)

Re: FILL: Cold iron is master of them all (2/2)