#in that book. she's him that's his story. reading it as susan losing out on heaven purely bc she discovered sex is the least intersting tak | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rileyglas · 23 days

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Demonic Convergence - Pt. 1 - First Impressions

Hazbin Hotel OC Story x Alastor

It is here! Althea and Alastor meet an interesting new face in Cannibal Town. All the praise and credit to @laudrawin for not only providing her OC interactions but also the first incredible art piece for Part One! Story below the cut!

Meet the OCs

It was a quiet afternoon in Cannibal Town. Althea sat by the fountain, book in hand, as she waited for Alastor’s meeting with Rosie to wrap up. Thanks to Rosie the town was usually quite pleasant. Other than their acquired taste for flesh, the cannibal demons were polite and proper (so long as they weren’t too hungry).

Althea’s reading is abruptly interrupted by sounds of feral snarling and yelling, causing her to jolt to her feet. She snaps her eyes towards the sounds coming from an alley across town square. Looking closer she sees a small group of demons huddled together, growling through hungry smiles. In the back of the group Susan shouts her usual insults and profanities, “Scrawny little shit! You idiots are wasting your time! Just snap him in half! Don’t break your teeth on him!” ~Uhg Susan…~

Between the cannibal’s heads and shoulders, a tall yet thin man stood slightly hunched with blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes glow teal as some bones float in front of him, pushing the cannibals away. The man looks like nothing but a sack of bones and ink and today he seems to have messed with the wrong people at the wrong time.

He huffs, the shine in his eyes flickering. He feels his power slowly vanishing as one of the bigger cannibals manages to pick up a bone and break it. Though terrified, his expression remains cold and emotionless.

Althea can see he is far from prepared to handle the group before him. ~Must be a newbie~ she thinks to herself. Luckily over the years, she's earned a good reputation amongst the town thanks to all her help during the Exterminations. She pushes past the group with ease, placing herself between the cannibals and the man, "Alright guys move out! Go find someone with a bit more meat! What were you gonna do, use him as a toothpick? Let's go! Don't make me get Rosie!" she shoos the less than thrilled cannibals away.

Turning her attention to the person behind her, she notices the blood still dripping from his mouth, "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

A couple bloody black feathers rest beneath him. His eyes stop shining, returning to their usual teal color. He's scratched and bitten, on the surface it appears as nothing serious. The demons seemed to have just taken a few tiny tastes, however the tattoos across his skin hide most of the purple bites and bruises.

"These- mindless zombies-" He grunts, frustrated. To Althea, his irritation seems to come from the unfair fight but this was far from the truth. Inside he was seething over the lack of ability to control his attackers.

His perturbed expression makes her cock her head in intrigue, "Zombies? I mean I guess - wait what was with that glowy shit? It usually takes a while for newer sinners to figure out any possible power they possess." She takes a step back, realizing this might not be some weak, everyday new arrival to Hell.

“I’m not here for chatting” His eyes flash, attempting to conjure a portal beneath him. A small one flickers at his feet before disappearing again. He huffs at how much the attack weakened him, “Fuck-“

His gaze darts back to Althea. He takes a breath attempting to speak but is only met with blood expelling from his lungs in a deep cough. ~How fine, now they’ll come like sharks to blood~ he thinks. He ponders how losing would work here in Hell or rather, how dying works. Does it just… send him to the beginning of Hell again? Does his power vanish, forcing him to train all over again? Whatever the answer, he didn’t wish to find out. He looks at the blood in his hand, realizing the gravity of his injuries.

Althea stands on guard, still staring at the man. “What!?” He barks, agitated by his more than public failure. Her eyes narrow at him, trying to understand exactly what and how much power he has. She raises an eyebrow, "Look, you can keep your secrets. However being arrogantly stubborn won't get you far here. Let me heal you." She extends a hand to him. Should she trust this stranger? Her first instinct is to say no. But she knows at this moment, he isn't a danger and obviously needs help.

"Don't touch me!" He hisses, stepping away. "Don't you dare to put a hand on me!" His body tenses despite his weakened state. It's a primal feeling. What one would see as rage was really just his fight or flight response, his pupils shrank even more if that was possible. He continues to step back until bumping into the brick wall behind him. The idea of being cornered makes his anxiety skyrocket.

Seeing his apprehension, she retracts her hand and takes a few steps back. "Yeah guess saving you from becoming an afternoon snack isn't enough to earn your trust." she scoffs, somewhat frustrated by his coldness. She turns to leave but seeing him injured and backed against the wall makes her agitation melt into something softer.

She hangs her head in personal defeat, throwing her words over her shoulder, "You obviously don't how things work around here so let me give you some advice - if someone in Hell is kind enough to offer help, you should take it."

Althea faces him once again, eyes glowing a soft pink as she draws her power, "It would be wise to have -" she flicks her wrists, summoning a few needles floating above each hand, " - acquaintances in higher places."

With another quick movement of her wrist the needles disappear. She smirks at the man's reaction, "Name's Althea by the way. If you decide to heed my advice I'll be over by the fountain." She turns on her heel and begins walking back to the town center.

"Can't you just not touch me?" He grunts, unimpressed but knowing he needs healing. "You can't trust anyone in Hell and I'm not becoming your pet for accepting your aid." He spits more blood, "Vexel." He tries to stand as straight as possible with a soft, ironic bow in introduction.

A smirk crosses her face, but she drops it before walking back towards him. "Vexel...I do not require someone to be a pet to me but I do require them to keep their mouths shut on what I can do." her once kind tone is now just as cold as the man in front of her. "But since you're not here for chatting I suppose I don't have to worry about that."

She extends a hand once more, slower this time to not intimidate him, "And unfortunately, I have to do something a little more intimate than just hold your hand. Nothing here is easy, you'll come to learn. But I promise it doesn't hurt...well it won't hurt you." She braces for another refusal, already sensing his extreme discomfort in her offer.

"I talk to no one, generally." Vexel’s eyes snap to her hand, instinctually sticking to the safety of the wall behind him. He straightens as much as he can, demonstrating his near two meters of height. Fear bubbles in his chest. He tries to subdue the feeling with deep breaths to no avail. "Be quick." he commands through a frown. As he tightly closes his eyes, the sense of a familiar presence helps ease his mind ever so slightly.

Althea sighs, feeling conflicted. It was uncommon for someone to have such apprehension towards her, especially one with his stature. He towered over her, how could he...be scared? It was hard to imagine he was actually fearful of her, so realistically, that can't be it. There's something more.

~I'm probably going to regret this~ she thinks before cautiously moving closer. Noticing he was already grimacing at the mere thought of touch, her usual method of healing (a kiss directly on the wound) would probably only make things worse. Instead, she gently places his hand across his chest before pressing her lips against the back of his knuckles.

A flash of pink lights up the alley as her power exudes from his wounds. After a few deep breaths Vexel can’t hold back any more. Overcome with disgust and anxiety, he harshly pushes her away with the back of his hand. His force, combined with the hot sting across her skin and the sharp stabbing in her lungs, causes her to crumple at his feet.

He keeps his stare just above where she fell, taken back by how his wounds had vanished. It was painless, just as she said it would, but how? A look of utter confusion paints his face.

After a tense moment, Althea brings herself to her knees, panting as the pain in her body fades. In the brief moment of contact with him, she sensed a power unlike any she's encountered before. Her thoughts race, ~Who the Hell is this guy~. Looking up, she notices his demeanor change.

"Don't think too much about it. I get the feeling you've seen crazier shit than that." her words breathless but playful. She goes to stand, staggering from the unexpected head rush of healing someone with such rooted power.

"I had." He grunts, eyes wandering the rooftops before staring back to Althea. An ease washes over him seeing how disorientated she’s become. He puffs out his chest, "I'm not interested in - contacts - but since I'm back in shape, I should be able to show you what failed with those people of yours, healer."

Taking another step back, she braces against her knees to ground herself. Static floods her ears, signaling Alastor is close by, "Well might want to make it quick before -"

A voice echoes off the walls, "And who do we have here, my dear?" The Radio Demon materializes right next to Althea. He wraps a protective arm around her waist as he stares face to face with Vexel, eyes flashing to black dials.

She steps in front of Alastor, "This is Vexel. He just had a bad run in with the locals." she says in a tone warning him to stand down.

"Vexel? What a name! I'm Alastor, quite the pleasure." Alastor sneers through a toothy grin. He extends a hand only to pull it back immediately, continuing to glare at the thin man.

"You have a guard dog too? How smart." Vexel bites, maintaining his cold stare. He cockily raises his chin with an accompanying authoritative tone, "Mind to be my test subject for a moment, Alastor?"

Alastor’s grin wavers at the odd request, "Bold to ask such things of someone you just met. However -" he hands his microphone cane to Althea before rolling up his sleeves, " - I'm all for a good show." he taunts arrogantly.

Althea looks to Vexel, eyes silently begging him to tread lightly with the demon he knows nothing about. A pit forms in her stomach, unsure of what 'test' he is about to perform. His irises begin to shine bright as he focuses on Alastor's crimson stare. Neither man dares to show their true emotions, hiding behind their own masks. One with a smile and one with a cold, emotionless stare.

The Radio Demon feels Vexel gradually seeping into his thoughts. The tips of his fingers go numb while threads of teal magic come out of thin air to embrace him, settling into every pore. Both glow with power. A silent war raging between their minds.

"Uhm Vex - " Althea squeaks out but is quickly cut off by Alastor. "I'm fine." he hisses, trying to fight against this unknown power. As soon as Vexel finds a crack, he exploits the weakness to gain control. "Too much pride." He mutters through a devilish smirk.

His control spreads, forcing Alastors legs and arms to go numb, teal cuffs now entrapping his wrists and ankles. Vexel's hair spreads and flows with power, his own body feeding on magic from their environment. His source of magic is a common one for Hell, death itself.

In awe of the scene, Althea stands speechless as she watches Alastor lose himself under Vexel's control. Her attention is broken only by a sudden whizzing above the alley. Following the sound, she notices a Voxtech drone, closely watching the events unfold. ~Fuck, Vox doesn't need to see this~

"Hey guys, this is super cool and all but it needs to stop. NOW!" she throws a needle at Vexel, hovering it just between his eyes to get his attention. "We have a less than welcome audience." she announces irritably, eyes pointed to the drone.

He releases Alastor at once, hearing the urgency in her voice. He extends his hand, focused on the roof tops. Althea watches a tiny bird-like skeleton fall from above, landing not so gracefully on his arm.

"I'll be in touch, Althea." Vexel opens a portal beneath him. His body disappears into it and swiftly closes behind him. He groans, plopping himself in his armchair. The small skeleton chicken, Heniffer as he so affectionately named her, scuttles away to fetch him a snack. Still in the alley, Alastor shakes his head trying to shake off Vexel's power. He looks up to see the drone, promptly grabbing Althea and shadowing back to the hotel. "The fuck happened to you!?" she gasps once they make it back to their room, still in disbelief of how easily Alastor fell under power. He looks to the floor, distraught and confused, "I - I don't know. But I am definitely going to find out." he growls. The feeling of defeat sparking a rage deep in his mind.

Back at V Tower, a deep chuckle rumbles in Vox's chest. Sitting in front of his many monitors, he all too much enjoyed watching the new face overtake Alastor with ease before summoning a portal.

'Ah...looks like the Radio Demon and his little bitch have finally met their match. I believe I need to meet this dark haired mystery man. He could be...quite an asset." he ponders out loud, devising a plan to obtain another ‘V’ to use for his advantage.

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hargrove-mayfields · 2 years

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Harringrove Harvest Week- Day 2

Prompt: Beetlejuice

Billy and Steve as Adam and Barbara, Max as Lydia, and the rest is pretty canon divergent.

Billy was driving too fast in his stupid car again. The papers say it was on purpose, because of his past and the rumors that followed him out of Hawkins, Indiana. The true story is something that shouldn't have been there smashed his windshield. He over-corrected, slipping into a panic attack, and lost control. Into the riverbank that beautiful Chevy went. In 1989, Billy Hargrove and his boyfriend of three years, going on four, drove off a bridge.

He and Steve had left as soon as they graduated, using combined resources from their combined summer jobs to score a shell of a house. A farmhouse, still too country for Billy’s California tastes, but cozy. They made it their home. Spent the years they had together thrifting furniture and putting up wallpaper and fixing new leaks that would pop up. And then…

Neil bought the house as soon as word got back to Old Cherry Road telling the Hargrove-Mayfields that Billy and Steve had kicked the bucket. Even in death he couldn’t let his son have anything nice.

The house they made was too frilly for Neil’s military tastes. Too comfortable maybe. Too reflective of everything Billy had earned in his short life once he finally got away from that asshole. Love, happiness, safety. Only to be holed up in the attic, where he and Steve have to watch while his father and Susan gleefully destroy the house they were supposed to get married in.

Max does too. Her whole life has turned into a dark room. One big dark room. And even though Billy is just a floor above her, he’s terrified to reach out to her when she’s like that. They didn’t leave things on the best of terms when he skipped out on Hawkins, but Steve convinces him that it’s the only way to do something about the destruction of the house.

He gets Billy to do the sheet ghost shtick to prove to Max they aren’t just a grief induced hallucination, and she starts spending a lot of time with them, scheming ways to scare Neil and Susan off so she can have the house since she’s almost eighteen. (They consider taking the easy route and murdering them but the idea is shot down when they realize they’ll have two more ghosts in the house they’ll never be able to get rid of.)

Neil catches wind that Max has been talking to her dead brother, and thinks she’s lost her mind. He steals the handbook from her room, there because she wanted to read it and this time understand what Billy was going through. But once Neil has his hands on it, he doesn’t mistake the séance actually, he does the exorcism on purpose to prove a point.

Max being scared out of her mind to lose Billy and Steve again summons Beetlejuice (Vecna?), the plan backfires, she’s only seventeen and she’s marrying a corpse? Ew.

Susan grows a heart when her daughter is imprisoned in a crimson red wedding dress, and her stepson is half decomposed in front of her. She defies Neil and closes the book, Billy and Steve are saved, so Billy can save his little sister and kill his dad in one go à la sand worm.

The end sequence of Max passing her test and dancing and floating and everyone finally being happy is the same, except Billy definitely plays angry rock music for her to float around to instead of Harry Belafonte, because that’s their mutual outlet.

#harringroveweek #harringrove #billy hargrove #billy x steve #billy & max #neil hargrove is his own warning #ej writer #moodboard #yesterdays piece was the only full length one #so the rest of the week will have moodboards!!

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piratesandexplorers · 1 year

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Well, some time last year I said I was going to watch the not-so-new-anymore Swallows and Amazons film on Netflix, but apparently it's taken a dose of Covid to lay me up in bed and actually get me to do it.

I have lots of thoughts, as I promised I would...

(Spoilers ahead I guess, but nothing big that's not fairly obvious from trailers etc., I don't think.)

There were a lot of little nitpicky things that annoyed me, but I could probably have got past those (actually, no I couldn't, but never mind) if the whole thing had been good enough to carry me through. I'm obviously biased, and it did have its good points, probably fun enough as a kids' film, but I genuinely just think it was poor storytelling, which is extra disappointing as it was based on such a good story. Some of the bigger things that I had problems with:

The Spy Plot. I don't really have that much to say on this one because it's obvious that the second they decided to go with this idea, it stopped being Swallows and Amazons. The modern thing is to believe everything needs Super High Stakes and Lots Of Action or kids will be bored. I think they're wrong, but there we go. (Sorry, Andrew Scott, I'd watch you in anything, but you didn't belong here.) But even accepting that for what it is, I just don't think they did what they were trying to do particularly well, so on that note...

Character development and relationships. So much went wrong here, I don't know where to start. Obviously they butchered both John and Susan (presumably because they lazily read them as boring and, rather than read any deeper, just changed them entirely), as well as Mrs Walker and her relationship with the children. Genuinely, what's wrong with writing families who like and trust each other? Captain Flint was already ruined by the spy plot, but his eventual switch to being the nice fun uncle didn't work well even in the context they gave him - it felt like they just went "and actually he turned out to be nice, which you should just accept and not question because it's just a kids' story so it's not that deep". Which does such an injustice to the original writing. Then there are the Blacketts, who need a third point all to themselves:

The Blacketts. I was so disappointed with Nancy and Peggy. I feel bad criticising children, but I didn't think the actors playing them were good at all (compared to the Walkers, who could all act). But the real issue I had with them was their lack of screentime?? They barely appeared, we had no time to get to know them, to care about them, or to see any sign of genuine friendship between them and the Swallows. There was no spark to them at all, no sign of Nancy's charisma, or sense of them as the wild rule-breakers. Mrs Blackett was a non-character too, which is forgivable as she was sort of a non-character in the first book, but given that they did give her extra screentime, they could at least have given her some characterisation?

The Pacing. I feel like this point wraps the previous ones together, because the cause is the spy plot and the result (or one of them) is the bad/non-existent character-dev. There's no time for the characters to unfold, no time for them to sit and talk to each other, no time for extra scenes that show relationships, no time for fireworks on the cabin roof or parleys around the campfire or Vicky/Bridget's birthday or fishing trips or Octopus Lagoons or Nancy bullying policemen on John's behalf. Even the Black Spot gets delivered in a moment at the dining table, with no explanation of what it means. And it's mainly because most of the time is taken up by the Big Plot, but it's not only that - those small but important scenes are also replaced by things like losing the food hamper, and John shouting at Roger, and Roger falling in the lake. Things they obviously decided were more Dramatic and Exciting, but actually do nothing meaningful at all. It all just feels completely rushed, which is the opposite of Ransome's vibes. And not only that, but the piling on of difficulties, and problems, and fights, and things going wrong, just makes the whole island camping expedition seem entirely depressing, rather than a taste of joyful freedom.

The Aesthetic. Related to the last point, but I did think that the one thing we would get from this film, since they filmed on location, would be the feel of the Lakelands and the scenery and rural Northern England in the 20s. I got almost none of that. Again, probably because the only things they cared about were spies with guns and ramping up the sense of danger and difficulty at every turn.

It sounds like I hated the film, and I didn't hate it. It was fun to watch, I thought the kids playing Tatty (whose name change I do get) and Roger were particularly good, and I liked the Billies (although less so the fact that Susan and Roger didn't even meet them, and Tatty screaming the place down over the adder).

I just didn't think it was particularly good as a film, let alone an adaptation of Swallows and Amazons. Which, as a Swallows and Amazons fan, is just really sad.

What's funny to me is that the Netflix synopsis says: "When four siblings camp on an island in the middle of a lake during their vacation, they fall into a whimsical turf war with two boisterous rivals." Which is... far more of a description of the original plot than of the plot of the film.

#swallows and amazons #swallows and amazons 2016

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rosemaryandarsenic · 2 years

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Hi! Can I request a platonic headcanons for camping with the Pevensie siblings? Thank you so much ✨

YES!!

I think that camping with all four of them would be amazing, I remember wanting to do it so badly when I first read Prince Caspian because it sounds so fun. Here's how I think it would be:

Peter:

he absolutely takes charge of setting up the campsite and is hellbent on making everything perfect. He's got like an entire sheet and stayed up all week planning things.

As you guys walk to the campsite he likes to point out anything he thinks is interesting, like trees or animals.

Always wants to know the weather ahead of time

Likes to read up on the war, and trains for just about everything. Brings books on it into the woods and tries to teach himself new skills.

He'd try to hunt instead of bringing all their pre-cooked food and probably get yelled at by Susan.

Always overpacks his bag because he insists on mapping areas.

Also ends up making Edmund carry some of the supplies back so he can collect nature samples.

Dresses like an absolute dork with full knee-high socks and a hat because "he needs to be prepared for everything."

Always forgets to bring flashlight batteries.

Once camp is all set up, he'll tell you all stories about the stars, and also any other stories you ask for.

Can cook anything over a fire.

Mockingly tucks everyone in and gives them kisses on the forehead like a dad.

Has a hard time sleeping because he constantly checks on Edmund and Lucy.

Susan:

Always carries a first aid kit.

Always remembers to bring flashlight batteries.

Has a particular way of packing that helps her carry less. Tried to teach everyone but Peter is the only one who ever bothered to try to learn.

Will bring non-fiction books on the trip and comes up with games to play along the way that are also educational.

Has a poetry notebook she keeps with her at all times to scribble into.

Gets sunburned easily and always has that little white patch of sunscreen on her nose.

Will bring a bow and arrow to practice with during downtime.

Makes everyone sing camp songs with her.

Planned the entire menu for the trip.

Constantly chasing Edmund to put sunscreen on him as well.

She and lucy will trade flowers with each other to build flower crowns.

Sleeps like a log, but struggles to actually fall asleep. Usually reads by the fire.

Acts like THE adult in any emergency and she's usually right.

Edmund:

Constantly stops bickering between everyone by making them all bicker with him.

Always has a flashlight and pocket blade.

Underpacks and will forget simple things like an extra shirt.

He prefers to walk behind everyone so he knows he's not losing them.

If he sees any type of snake he will pick it up or chase it lol.

Is the best at locating fresh water and streams.

Loves to swim.

Likes to take naps out in the sun.

Likes to carve, he always has his whittling knife and picks up wood along the way.

Picks up old rocks and fossils to polish and turn into jewelry of some kind.

He's always reading something random, like one day it's an adventure novel, and the next it's a botanist's guide to New Mexico.

Makes snarky comments at EVERYTHING because he's trying to get people to laugh.

Loves ducks for some reason.

Lucy:

Makes Edmund carry flowers for her.

Likes singing camp songs with Susan.

Constantly wanders away from the group if she sees something that makes her curious.

Likes to wait until Peter and Susan are asleep, then she takes midnight walks wherever the campsite is. Sometimes it's her and Susan together.

Always makes sure they have items for tea packed because she insists on having it wherever they go.

Particularly enjoys climbing trees and collecting fruit from any sources nearby.

Always forgets to bring anything to tie her hair back.

Talks to the trees.

Brings her dagger everywhere.

Will stop to talk with anyone you meet along the way or at campgrounds.

Stops to pet every animal she finds.

#narnia #the pevensies #queen lucy the valiant #king peter the magnificent #queen susan the gentle #king edmund the just

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horizon-verizon · 1 year

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Here’s a bold, incisive, luminous excavation of the trauma plot, and its origins if you're interested. Trauma emptied of the social, the individual as a set of symptoms. It’s Alicent’s characterization. Trauma fetishism of the Western popular culture couldn’t have been laid out better.

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2022/01/03/the-case-against-the-trauma-plot

Read it, and thank you so much, anon! I wish I could quote everything I loved most about this article here, but that would make for a very boring and tedious ask, so I will only include 4:

In a world infatuated with victimhood, has trauma emerged as a passport to status—our red badge of courage? The question itself might offend: perhaps it’s grotesque to argue about the symbolic value attributed to suffering when so little restitution or remedy is available. So many laborious debates, all set aside when it’s time to be entertained. We settle in for more episodes of Marvel superheroes brooding brawnily over daddy issues, more sagas of enigmatic, obscurely injured literary heroines.

AND

Certainly the filmmakers of classical Hollywood cinema were quite able to bring characters to life without portentous flashbacks to formative torments. In contrast, characters are now created in order to be dispatched into the past, to truffle for trauma.

AND

My trauma, I’ve heard it said, with an odd note of caress and behind it something steely, protective. (Is it a dark little joke of Yanagihara’s that Jude is discovered reading Freud’s “On Narcissism”?) It often yields a story that can be easily diagrammed, a self that can be easily diagnosed. But in deft hands the trauma plot is taken only as a beginning—with a middle and an end to be sought elsewhere. With a wider aperture, we move out of the therapeutic register and into a generational, social, and political one. It becomes a portal into history and into a common language.

AND

To question the role of trauma, we are warned, is to oppress: it is “often nothing but a resistance to movements for social justice,” Melissa Febos writes in her forthcoming book, “Body Work: The Radical Power of Personal Narrative.” Those who look askance at trauma memoirs, she says, are replicating the “classic role of perpetrator: to deny, discredit and dismiss victims in order to avoid being implicated or losing power.” Trauma survivors and researchers who have testified about experiences or presented evidence that clashes with the preferred narrative often find their own stories denied and dismissed. In the nineties, the psychologist Susan A. Clancy conducted a study of adults who had been sexually abused as children. They described the grievous long-term suffering and harm of P.T.S.D., but, to her surprise, many said that the actual incidents of abuse were not themselves traumatic, characterized by force or fear—if only because so many subjects were too young to fully understand what was happening and because the abuse was disguised as affection, as a game. The anguish came later, with the realization of what had occurred. Merely for presenting these findings, Clancy was labelled an ally of pedophilia, a trauma denialist. During treatment for P.T.S.D. after serving as a war correspondent in Iraq, David Morris was discouraged from asking if his experience might yield any form of wisdom. Clinicians admonished him, he says, “for straying from the strictures of the therapeutic regime.” He was left wondering how the medicalization of trauma prevents veterans from expressing their moral outrage at war, siphoning it, instead, into a set of symptoms to be managed.

You guys should check it out!

#ask #not asoiaf #articles #ny times #trauma plot #still has to do with alicent hightower #alicent hightower #alicent's characterization #hotd characterization

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allthingsdarkanddirty · 9 months

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The Wanderer by Susan Warner is available now!

Will be available on all platforms

She had purpose and then it was taken away and with it her identity.

Kendra was the helping angel to her grandmother’s business. She watched over the foster children and cared for those who society often gave up on. She had dedicated her life to it. When her grandmother passed away and left the business to someone else Kendra was betrayed and lost. While she’s financially secure, Kendra’s career is now floundering. What will she do with the rest of her life?

He never settled down because she was always out of reach.

Josh was a nomad. He traveled the world and never had an address–only pickup P.O. Boxes. He wrote about his travels in books and had no need for money or a home. Until she called him. Long ago he thought he had reconciled that his true first love would never love him back. But when she called he had no choice but to answer. The only problem is that showing up in Inheritance Bay may reveal a secret he’s desperate to keep hidden.

Can Kendra and Josh realize that sometimes you have to lose it all to find yourself?

About the Author: Susan Warner was born in New Bern, North Carolina. These days she lives in the melting pot of the United States, New York. She writes about sweet small-town romance as a way to remember her roots. She has been blessed with four grown children and a man who cares about her enough to understand when the voices start-up in her head, it’s time for her to go to work.

She originally started telling stories to her kids to benefit from learning about country values even though they weren’t raised there. As time went on, she found others who wanted to hear her stories. Stories that believe in the goodness of people, the sanctity of love, and understand that forgiveness and compassion make us better human beings.

When Susan isn’t writing, she reads voraciously, volunteers to help the homeless and animals when she can, and is eternally trying to get the gauge right in her knitting.

#contemporaryromance #romancenovel #RomanceBook #Bookstagram #books #bookblog #BookNerd #AdultBooks #booklover #romancereader #SweetRomance #WholesomeRomance #SmallTownRomance #FeelGoodRomance

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dirtysouthlore · 1 year

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Continuing on the train of designing Dirty South neighbors and townsfolk, we've got two more folks that live in the trailer park, Edmund (81) and his great-grandson, Hunter (14). Ed and Hunter live with Ed's granddaughter, Susanna (who I didn't draw because she became canon after i finished this pic, whoops). Ed requires quite a bit of care, which Susanna helps out with during the day, but it becomes Hunter's responsibility in the evening. His mom works evenings when Hunter's home, so someone is always home with Ed. Their family has had a rocky history together, and Ed and Susan maintained the closest relationship as people started cutting ties with one another so, when Ed got sick, Susan was the one that stepped up to care for him, and she moved him into her home in the park. She, being a single mother, had to offload some of that responsibility onto Hunter, who also feels fondly about Ed. Because of that, even though it is a lot of work caring for him, Hunter really doesn't mind it. It can be a lot of work, but it's a responsibility he's accepted happily. Edmund is a quiet man, but he's retained his wits in his old age. He can still hold a conversation, and he loves to talk about books, and stories from when he was young. I imagine he was some sort of professor in his younger years, and thus was a very studied and knowledgeable man. He can still recall a lot from those days and, though he's prone to losing his thoughts in the middle of his sentences sometimes, he loves to talk. Reading has kept him sharp. Outside of reading, he likes his soap operas, and he loves game shows. He also loves to be wheeled around the park, and people tend to greet him and Susanna/Hunter when they take him around. He also loves a good nap. Despite his health issues from his age, he's remained happy. Hunter is a bit awkward. He's a good kid, and he's fairly level headed, but he's not very well socialized. His teenage years have involved him needing to come home and stay home to help care for Ed, so he doesn't really ever go anywhere. He doesn't go to friends' houses, he doesn't stay after school. He can have friends over, but he doesn't often do that. As a result, when Ed's asleep, he tends to either play on the computer or watch TV. He probably has a fair bit of online friends, and I can see him having forums or fandoms he's involved with. His social cues and skills, as a result, are stunted. He's not a good conversation, but he's a good listener, and he's fairly intelligent himself, learning from Edmund and sometimes picking up books himself. I imagine he has lofty aspirations one day, and he likes to discuss them with Edmund, who probably encourages him. Despite his intelligence, I imagine he's insecure, and craves a sense of connection outside of his mom and great-grandpa that notices him.

#dirty south lore #neighbors #edmund #hunter

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thestarkster1465 · 3 years

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Ok no, listen to this

We all know about the whole 7% solution thing in the Holmes books, right? No one missed that. (BBC Sherlock fans, no this is not about Sherlock. This is Holmes.)

And he states that he only uses it as a stimulant when he is out of work. Ok. But you can’t just give up on addiction that fast, even if your name is Sherlock Holmes. So how did he do it?

I have a theory: the man was on crack half the time.

I love the Holmes books, I’ve read them all at least a dozen times. And you can’t tell me they don’t read like a tumblr post 75% of the time. Or like an interaction between Will and Jem from The Infernal Devices. I mean in modern language, they would go something like this:

A Scandal in Bohemia

Watson: How are you going to find the photograph?

Holmes: Idk, probably set the house on fire

The Red Headed-League

Holmes: Hey, Watson, got a gun?

Watson: Yeah, you asked me to.

Holmes: Good.

Watson: You don’t? What did you bring with you?

Holmes: A whip.

The Speckled Band

Watson: So... there’s a leopard

Holmes: Yes.

Watson: What do we do then?

Holmes: Pray to God and run.

The Cardboard Box

Susan Cushing: That box has severed ears in it!

Holmes: Yeah, but look at that salt though.

The Naval Treaty

Percy Phelps: This is a very important letter, I can’t lose it, there will be a war if it gets out, I got brain fever and almost died when it was stolen-

Holmes: Sorry, I couldn’t find it.

Percy:...

Holmes: April Fools!!!

The Final Problem:

Moriarty: *threatens Holmes*

Moriarty: *follows him to Reichenbach to kill him*

Holmes: Cool, can I write a letter?

The Empty House

Holmes: I died... not really.

Holmes: Time to scare the shit out of Mrs. Hudson, I miss her.

Watson: I thought you were dead!

Holmes: It appears that the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated... by you.

The Priory School

Holmes: I sold my principles for 6000 pounds.

Watson: Whhaaatt??

Holmes: He’s just a rich white man, how much can it hurt?

Black Peter

Holmes: *enters with a harpoon*

Watson: Where the hell have you been roaming with that thing?

Holmes: I was trying to stab a pig.

Watson:...

Holmes: It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Charles Augustus Milverton

Watson: Okay, we’re supposed to steal this letter.

Holmes: Yup.

Watson: Except there’s this woman in front of the man we’re supposed to be stealing from, and she’s rambling about how he ruined her life.

Holmes: Yup.

Watson: Holmes, what do we do? Should we leave?

Holmes: No, let’s wait, I’m kinda curious how this is going to turn out.

Lestrade: Holmes, I need your help with this murder-

Holmes: Sounds like Watson did it.

Watson: 😶😶

The Second Stain

Lestrade: Look! The stain on the carpet doesn’t match the stain on the floor! Can you explain that, huh?

Holmes:...

Holmes: Bitch, someone rotated it.

The Bruce-Partington Plans

Holmes: Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Call 911!

Watson: Holmes? Everything all right? Did something bad happen?

Holmes: No, nothing bad happened.

Watson: Then what-

Holmes: My brother is coming here.

Watson: But what-

Holmes: MY BROTHER IS COMING HERE

The Dying Detective

Holmes: I was dying.

Holmes: And now I’m not.

Watson:..

Watson: I feel like murdering you myself right now, not gonna lie.

The Devil’s Foot

Holmes: I think this is a deadly poison.

Holmes: Let’s both of us try it.

His Las Bow

Watson: I thought you retired.

Holmes: I did. But the level of jackassery here pulled me out of it.

Watson: Well, that’s true, there’s a war...

Holmes: I leave for 5 minutes and it all goes to shit.

Three Garridebs

Watson: Holmes, don’t hurt him!

Holmes: But he shot you!

Watson: Yeah, but-

Holmes: He shot you!

The Illustrious Client

Watson: Holmes, I heard you almost died!

Holmes: Nah, I’m fine. What do you know about pottery?

Watson: What?

Holmes: Pottery, Watson. Specifically, Chinese Pottery. I want you to research on it.

The Blanched Soldier

Holmes: I want to write a story.

Holmes: And I don’t know how.

Holmes: *writes the story*

Holmes: This is a pile of horseshit. I miss Watson.

I’d write about the long stories too, but my fingers are hurting now.

#sherlock holmes #NOT SHERLOCK #that thing is a blasphemy #we stan only jeremy brett as Holmes in this house #john watson #the adventures of sherlock holmes #the memoirs of sherlock holmes #the return of sherlock holmes #the casebook of sherlock holmes #the last bow #im bad at tagging #drugs mention #granada sherlock holmes #sir arthur conan doyle #conan doyle

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tanadrin · 3 years

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Dev Patel and the Green Knight

I finally got around to seeing The Green Knight. Overall, I enjoyed it--David Lowery does a good job capturing the essential weirdness of the tale, which is very much about taking a mundane circumstance (a Christmas feast) and suddenly catapulting the reader into a mythic otherworld through the intrusion of the alien and monstrous, and the fantastical costumes, dramatic lighting, and dissonant score all contribute very well to a sense of otherness that permeates the original story.

But I find it interesting--and, I'll admit, a little frustrating--that no modern film adaptation of medieval literature is really capable of taking the story it's adapting on its own merits. This isn't an objection to modifying the source text, or taking it in new, non-literal direction. I can think of plenty of adaptations of work that play with the source material in interesting ways, and are better for it. Even very faithful adaptations like Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings are inevitably going to alter the source based on the need to adapt it for the screen and the whims of the director. But when it comes to medieval classics, texts like Beowulf or Gawain and the Green Knight are always held at arm's length. An ironic layer is always interpolated into the original story, and even in modified form the story is never allowed to stand on its own.

Contrast, for instance, modern retellings of Arthurian legend; or Wagner's Nibelungenleid; or something like Neil Gaiman's book of Norse mythology. These are all adaptations of much older stories, all medieval; and the authors typically happy to let the stories operate on their own terms. In fact, that is often a selling point: dipping into these tales is a way of sampling an alien culture, one that is remote from us in time rather than space, and part of the sense of heightened drama is the understanding that these stories do not necessarily depict the world in the same way that modern realist prose does. They are fairy-stories, in the Tolkienian sense, and something not quite even like "high fantasy," which, although it is a genre which owes much to the mythic tradition, is usually *told* in the same manner as other realist fiction. And you could take these stories and re-cast them in a realist mold--that's definitely been done with Arthurian legend, either via anachronism or trying to place them in an era-appropriate historical context, and even that yields something quite like the original in tenor, even if the language used to relate the story is often very different.

Watching this movie, I was *strongly* reminded of Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf, in that this did not feel like an attempt to adapt Gawain and the Green Knight for the screen. It felt like an attempt to tell a story *about* Gawain and the Green Knight (the text), a story which does not stand on its own. You don't have to have read the text to understand the movie (although I think some directorial decisions would be a bit mystifying if you hadn't), but the movie definitely situates itself *as a response* to the text. Which is an odd choice! Actually, another good point of comparison is Spike Jonze's Adaptation. It started life as an adaptation of Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief, but Charlie Kaufman sort of gave up writing that halfway through and wrote a movie about the difficulty he was having writing *that* movie, and the result is something very weird (and very good) that is full of metafictional elements that depend on the existence of this other work, in a way that a straight retelling of The Orchid Thief for the screen obviously would not. And while The Green Knight isn't that extreme, it is definitely playing on the structure of the medieval poem, and replying to it.

The core of the movie (as I understood it) is a tension between young Gawain's aspiration to knightliness, his ambition which is born at least in part from his mother's encouragement, and his own failure to live up to the heroic ideal of greatness. Not chivalric--this is a movie in which the ethos of chivalry makes not even the briefest of appearance, which is weird given that it's nominally an Arthurian romance, and that the chivalric ethos is extremely important to the original text. Instead we have a generic greatness being described, one which is associated with renown, with taking part in mythic events, and with achieving high rank and honor. In the service of seeing her son obtain all this, Gawain's mother seems to cast some kind of spell, whereupon the titular Green Knight appears at Arthur's Christmas-feast; and as in the poem, a game of beheadings is proffered. Gawain accepts the challenge, beheads the knight, and the knight rides away, promising he'll meet Gawain a year and a day hence at the Green Chapel. So far so straightforward. When Gawain sets off a year later to meet the knight, his mother gives him an enchanted belt to keep him safe from harm. Gawain goes on to have a couple of side-of-the-road adventures and mishaps, the kind of thing that's par for the course when you're telling an Arthurian romance, until he arrives at the house of a mysterious benefactor, just about a day away from the Chapel, who grants him hospitality until the day of his challenge.

Now, in the original story, this is where Gawain gets the magic belt, and it's hugely important: Gawain and his host promise to exchange anything they might receive at the end of each day, when the host has been out hunting all day and Gawain has been in the house recuperating from his travels. During this time, the host's wife repeatedly tries to seduce Gawain; and Gawain is trapped between the imperative not to sleep with his host's wife (a major violation of the rules of good chivalric conduct!) and the imperative not to offend the woman (also a violation of those rules). He succeeds, for the most part; he is forced at one point to give his host a kiss at the end of the day, since the wife kissed him; this is shown as him holding nothing back and acting in good faith on the vow he made to his host. When Gawain finally rebuffs the wife for good, she insists that, even if he won't sleep with her, he should at least take a magic belt she has woven that will keep him from harm. He does; but he does *not* give this to his host. When he finally goes to the Green Chapel, the Knight returns the original blow as promised--but only nicks Gawain lightly. He reveals himself to be none other than the host who was sheltering him; the nick was his reprimand for withholding that final gift, but because of his good conduct he is otherwise left unharmed. The whole thing was a test of sorts, one which Gawain passed. Despite flinching at first from the blow, and keeping the belt secret, he shows himself ultimately to be a man of good (albeit not perfect) conduct, and *that* is why he wins honor from the whole affair.

The movie takes this basic narrative and alters it in key places, completely changing the valence of the whole thing. First, Gawain gets the belt at the beginning of his quest, as mentioned; he loses it on the way, but when he reaches the castle, the wife of his host (who succeeds in seducing him with a handjob) presents it to him as if she had woven it herself. He does not actually engage in the game of exchanged with his host, who is *also* not the Green Knight. And we're treated to a monologue about the color green from the wife that feels beat for beat like it's been ripped off from someone's undergraduate essay about Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a little weird even in the context of the rest of the movie. Finally when Gawain reaches the chapel, the knight goes to return the blow--and Gawain completely chickens out and flees. We are then treated to an extended sequence of Gawain returning home; being feted as a hero; earning his knighthood (presumably by lying about what happened); succeeding Arthur as king; him abandoning his low-class beau once she bears him a son, and marrying a princess; going to war; his son dying in a war; and finally, as an old man, being trapped in his throne room as a besieging army breaks its way inside. Just before they do, he removes the magic belt from around his waist, his head fall off, and bam--we're shown this has been an Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge thing this whole time, and the Green Knight has not yet landed his blow.

Gawain finally takes off the belt, throws it aside, and tells the knight to go ahead--and the knight bends down and congratulates him. In context, the reading seems to be this: the belt is a talisman of Gawain's mother's influence, of external expectations for what kind of man he is. The Knight is Arthur or perhaps an agent of his, and the test in *this* case is whether Gawain can be his own person. All the events leading up to this point are perhaps a part of the original magic Gawain's mother cast, an effort to Lilith Weatherwax her kid to greatness by putting him into an epic story. Implicitly, then, the Gawain and the Green Knight we all know is the false version of the tale, the tale as Gawain's mother would have it told.

This is all very clever. But I'm afraid it's so clever it falls apart in the end. Because the structure of the original story that this depends on is dependent in turn on taking the whole notion of chivalric virtue seriously, which this movie plainly does not. Gawain is shown as irreverent and lustful and a bit of a party animal--lovable and good hearted fundamentally, but definitely not an Arthurian hero. That's fine, but that's a very modern sort of character, one that feels out of place in a movie that is trying very hard also to be tonally unmodern, firmly embedded in a mythic otherwhen of Arthurian legend. Moments of slice-of-life mundaneness, while charming, strain mightily against the epic tone the movie tries to take in other places, and strange events like a ghost seeking her lost head or immense giants striding the landscape. We are jostled: are we in the land of myth? Or are we in historical Britain? We cannot be in both!

And this is a movie that was definitely made by people who had read the original text; not just the original text, but also a great deal of criticism *about* the original text. The movie namechecks the theme of fivefold symmetry that's incredibly important to the structure of the poem; there's the aforementioned undergrad essay about colors about 3/4th of the way through; and there's the fact that the structure of the original plot (down to Morgan LeFay in disguise as an old woman in the host's castle) is present in altered form in every detail. But none of these details add up to much. There's a weird homoerotic kiss with the host that implies that in fact *he* wanted to sleep with Gawain, in addition to his wife; the ghost Gawain encounters early on tells him the Green Knight is in fact someone he knows (and therefore *can't* be the host; I think it's implied to be Arthur, like I said, but this is never quite confirmed), and while all these things *about* the original poem are shown, none of them ever get integrated thematically into the plot.

I think as a result, whatever Lowery was going for, the whole movie kind of falls apart in the end. And that's a pity, because somewhere in there is just a really weird, visually striking, really gripping, embellished-and-polished-for-modern-sensibilities-but-also-thematically-true-to-the-source retelling of Gawain and the Green Knight. And that would have been a much better movie! What are we to make of this, a movie that purports to be telling a story-behind-the-story, but one that leaves no room or context for the original? After all, Gawain in the end does *not* flee, does not return home a coward and a liar; presumably, he earns his honor, and can be honest about what happened. But if he is honest, none of the rest of what we have been shown makes a lick of sense, or has any point.

One feels a bit as if modern directors, when confronted with medieval texts being a bit weird, a bit alien in their worldview, instead of realizing that's actually something people like some of from time to time, feel like they have to construct an artificial bridge between the Middle Ages and the present day. But because it is invariably metafictional and self-referential, as if to say "don't worry, we know nobody REALLY wants to watch a bunch of boring medieval shit played straight," it comes off as cringing and ashamed of its source material. This isn't a plea for historicity! Gawain and the Green Knight is not history. But one does occasionally want to see an adaptation of one's favorite works without directors being ashamed of the text they are adapting! And since most people will not have read the original, I am rather confused about what the director intends for the audience to get out of all these references that are dependent on it, but don't stand on their own merits within the narrative of the movie itself.

The acting was good, the set design and costumes were terrific, I loved the slow and measured pacing and the weird score, and the design of the Knight himself, and the landscapes and almost everything else about the movie. So I don't think it's a waste of time, especially if you have read and enjoyed Gawain and the Green Knight, in the original or in translation. But it's definitely a pity to see a movie that was, well, *almost* great, but ended up merely OK.

#gotta put that undergraduate degree to work from time to time #we spent a *lot* of time on this poem

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calliopesstories · 3 years

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The Heart Of A King - Chapter 1

Relationship: Caspian X Susan, Caspian X Reader, Platonic!Susan and Platonic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut (I’ll try the best I can), historical inaccuracy, misogyny and belief of 16th century, mention of death and sex, arranged marriage, /!\ Not proof read and non-english speaker writter /!\

Summary: There are opportunities in life that you have to take but you were different tough. Since you were born you always had things given to you on a silver plate. Yet you decided to create your own opportunities the day you chose to follow your father in all of his travels. It was no surprise for your parent when you left them no choice but to take you with them to the court of Cair Paravel, heart of your homeland. Even in your wildest dream you would have never thought of what destiny had in store for you when you took that opportunity and stepped in the castle of King Caspian and Queen Susan.

Words: 3,027

Author’s Note: Narnia (and the islands as well as the surrounding countries) is located in the Atlantic sea next to the strait of Gibraltar. It’s a mix between Southern Spain in terms of architecture and temperature, UK/France in terms of landscape and of course what you can see in the movies and be described in the books.

Two days of sea then just as much by carriage to reach the most magnificent palace of Narnia. No need to say it was all worth it. Nothing could compare to the beauty of Cair Paravel, its garden viewing the ocean, its impeccable white walls made of marble and the stained glasses that was colouring the inside of the castle in various colours. Last time you had been within the walls of this palace you were a child no older than five and yet it felt like yesterday. Nothing was as breath-taking as the home of the kings of Narnia, not even your father’s castle at Narrowhaven which was praised for its uniqueness and atypic beauty. Anyone who would be away from their home would feel homesick quickly but not you, you had left Narrowhaven when you were nine and only came back last year.

Your father was the Grand Ambassador of King Caspian; he had started his duty under the rule of the king’s father and had sworn loyalty to his son. Thanks to his duty to the crown he had met your mother, he had married her and sired you, their one and only child. They had never needed more; you were everything they wanted and one day you would inherit the land and titles hold by your father. You were already marchioness of Narrowhaven however one day you would become the Duchess of the Lone Islands, courtesy of King Caspian IX. Not a lot of noble houses could brag about the fact that the king himself had gave them the right of female peerage. Just a few of you – daughters of high-ranking nobles – could take on the titles even with a male heir in the line of succession at the condition of the girl being born first. Not even the royal family had that right. Not that it made you feel particularly lucky, it was nice to think the castle you had grew up in would stay in your family forever even after marriage.

The carriage stops right in front of the palace entrance. A flight of stairs leads to wooden graved doors decorated with gold and silver. You remembered well the tree with two trunks engraved on the doors after an old legend of Narnia but your child mind must have deceived you as you thought the doors were so big that giants must have lived here before. Turns out the door were huge, but not that much. They were twice the size of a grow man. Behind you servants were taking your personal items in order to put them where you’ll be leaving from now on.

“You have the right to breath you know,” your father took your arm and patted gently your hand. “It’s not the first king you meet.”

“There is a huge difference between a foreign king and the one for whom your father is working.”

“Don’t worry Y/N, King Caspian is gentle and patient man. He knows you had never done this before that’s why Lady Prunaprismia will stay with you for a month then you will need no one’s help,” encouraged your mother.

She knew you by heart. Every look, every breath and every head tilting had a significance your mother had no difficulties to understand. So when she saw you biting your lower lip, she understood how unsure of her statement you were. She had no doubt you would do well on your job. There were a few prized places at court that a woman of your status could hope to have: lady-in-waiting to the women of the royal family or governess to the king’s children. Those were official jobs but there was one every noble woman craved to have: mistress to the king. You had seen how this works and from one country to another, things weren’t that different. all hoped to dethrone the queen, thinking the king who loved them enough to put an alliance forged for years into the dirt for the beauty of their smile or whatever prowess they were doing in the royal bed. Foolish girls with foolish dreams.

You were content with the place your mother had found you. What better way to learn the way of life than to help one grow? Prince Rilian wasn’t the son of Queen Susan yet she was the one who appointed you governess of the sole heir of the kingdom. This was thanks to your mother, the former governess of the queen. She had raised the Queen before she became your mother and by the way she was speaking of the queen you knew she was like a daughter to her although no one could take your place in her heart.

You finally arrived in the throne room. The glass roof and the stained glasses gave the place an ethereal look worth of kings and queens. At the end of the room was standing four thrones of marble in front of a golden stained glass. You knew only three of them were occupied because the two were for the king and his queen, one was for the crown prince and the last throne was for the royal advisor – who had been executed last year for treason. The royal couple was waiting, stoically in their throne. You had no chance to look at them as you kneeled in front of your king and your queen before your father did, he had the privilege to stand in front of the king he had seen grow up.

“His Grace Y/F/N, Duke of the Lone Islands, his wife Y/M/N, Duchess of the Lone Islands and their daughter the Lady Y/N,” announced a man on your right. “Welcome to the court of His Majesty King Caspian X and Her Majesty Queen Susan.”

“Thank you Trumpkin but I know Lord Y/F/N for long enough to need no introduction. Please stand up my ladies there is no need for that between us.”

You stood up and saw for the first time the king with your own eyes. You had heard stories about how handsome of a man he was and he truly was but more than that he had this glimmer in his eyes, something close to melancholia although well hidden behind a dazzling smile. You could lose yourself in his eyes. It was the voice of your mother that made you realised you were staring at the king for far too long. The queen had walk to your mother and the both of them exchanged some words before they turned to you. You bowed before the queen who wasn’t older than you.

“I heard so much about you,” said Susan taking your hands in hers. Her smile was infectious and bright, contrary to her husband she was glowing with joy. “I’m sure will become good friends you and I.”

“I hope so Your Majesty,” you really hoped to be in the queen’s good grace.

“Last time I saw you, you were unable to keep yourself still.”

“You remember Your Majesty?” asked your father. You had been told that the King and you had met when you were younger but you had no memories of such event. “Well, I must say Y/N has changed since.”

“I can only agree with you.”

You smiled at your father; you knew what he meant by this statement. You had become less impatient, more careful of your words and most importantly you were smart, street smart. You had helped him many times and he liked to think he was the reason why you were doing so good around people. But you were lacking the subtility to leave at court for a long time, which was a good thing when you were traveling around the globe with your father, staying at court for short periods but now you were to live at Cair Paravel for as long as the king would want you around, and unbeknown to you the king was thinking about the length of your stay.

A door opened at your right and a small child ran pass you to be catch by the king. The prince you were supposed to take care of and who look exactly like his father if it wasn’t for his light baby blue eyes that was surely from his mother’s side. The young prince laughed in his father’s arms; he tried to push away from his face from the beard his father bore and that was probably irritating his soft and sensitive skin. The prince was five years old – for what you’ve been told – but he was taller the average five years-old, something he must have got from his father. The woman with him was his great-aunt, the Lady Prunaprismia, wife of King Caspian’s former advisor and his aunt by marriage. Although he holds no grudge against the woman for her husband’s betrayal, she had been asked to leave court forever. The King was a kind man but he wasn’t a very forgiving one. Not when it concerned his father and by extension his mother.

“Rilian, this is Lady Y/N, she’s going to take care of you once aunt Prunaprismia will be gone,” informed Caspian. He put the child back on his feet and Rilian bowed before you. You imitated the prince, a huge smile on your face, won over by the child sweetness. The King kneeled next to his son and looked at him in the eyes. “I want you to behave with Lady Y/N like you’ll do with your aunt. Be nice, can you do that for me?”

The prince energetically nodded widening your smile even more. King Caspian planted a kiss on his forehead. You saw him saying something to his son but couldn’t quite hear what it was. The queen had reached a hand for the prince to take but he preferred to stay with his current governess. The hurt in Queen Susan’s eyes was left unnoticed by you. it was common knowledge that, after five years of marriage, the queen hadn’t been pregnant once. Some rumours said she was barren, others that she had been made queen for very political reasons – which was the case for most queens though – and others that the king was never sharing her bed, still mourning his first wife, the one that gave him his heir, the one he had been in love with. And, after all, with an heir alive did he truly needs another child if he doesn’t love his current queen?

Rilian and Prunaprismia left the group alone after the lady gave you a meeting point for the next day. Right after your mother and you were taken to your quarters while your father staid with the King to discuss important matter. It took you fifteen to arrive there. There were four separate rooms: two bedrooms, one for your parents and one for you, both at the opposite from one another and with separate entrance. A common room with a fire place, chairs, shelves filled with books and it was the room you entered first. Next to it there was a dining room big enough to fit ten people around the table and was only furnished with a sideboard to contain plates, forks, knives and the usual.

Your room had a view of the garden and the sea, although you had been assured it would be temporary – you were supposed to get the one next to the prince’s – it was provided with all the luxuries you could think of. The decoration was elegant and refined, suiting a woman of your age and status. You had everything you could need, even your ladies-in-waiting you were sure had stayed at Narrowhaven. Those ladies were from smaller houses, ranks below your high-birth but they were your closest friends. Your only friends for that matter. Marwen, Cora and Lyria had been in your life since you were four, they had been your friends before being at your family’s service. They had travelled the world with you and your father, not once had they complained. They were the most loyal people you knew. After your father that is. Just seeing them made you happy and ready to face whatever the future had in store for you.

Later that day Lady Prunaprismia’s servant had come to your door to take you to her quarters – which was supposed to become yours in a month. Lady Prunaprismia was in the middle of the room, waiting for you, the king by her side. On the table behind them was a book, both of them assumed you knew how to read and write, you were part of one of the great houses of Narnia, it would have been improper for you and your family to be illiterate. The king was the first to sit down, quickly followed by his aunt; again there were side by side while you were asked to sit across the table. You never liked being outnumbered and it was even more intimidating with the King right in front of you.

“You have the right to breath you know,” King Caspian had leaned on the table to comfort you. you let out a stressed laughed but it made you realised you had been holding your breath. You took a deep breath and felt better. “That’s more like it.”

“Lady Y/N, this book is the most important book in this castle. It holds all of the prince’s needs, medical events and so on. Until the day you’ll be left alone with him I am going to ask you to study this book to the point where you’ll know it by heart, words for words.”

You opened the book carefully and the first sentence you read spoke about the prince’s books preferences, one of them you knew well as your father used to read it to you when you were younger. That memory brought a smile on your face. The book was quite big, there was a lot of information about Rilian and one month seemed like a too short amount of time to memories it all.

“My aunt is a bit extreme; some information is dated and don’t suit Rilian anymore,” you continued to flip through the book as the king continued to speak. “Besides you are to be is governess, not his nurse, you are tasked to educate my son, to teach him basic knowledge until he’ll be old enough for a tutor.”

“I’m allowed to enter the prince’s chamber at any given time?” you were sure you just had thought that but your mouth had decided to actually put sound on it. “Without permission or schedule!” Wow, that’s what you call trust!

“You won’t be the only one taking care of Rilian. As I told you he has nurses who are supposed to bath, to feed and to generally take care of his physical health. Make sure he’s in good shape, if you prefer. You are in charge of making sure they do their job.”

The close the book. You had never realised it was that much trouble taking care of a child. well, you guessed it wasn’t all day long a joyful stroll through the garden but God! Did the child really needed someone dedicated to wipe his butt? You remembered your childhood quite well and, in your memory, your parent partook a huge part of raising you into the woman you were today. But you kept that for yourself, not all parents have the same parenting technics, maybe it was how the king had been raised and he was a fine man. Besides, who were you to tell him how to raise a child? You had no child!

“I know it’s a lot to take in one day. Don’t worry, you have time,” Prunaprismia took your hands, a kind smile provoking another on your face. “And from what I heard from your mother; you are more than capable.”

“But if it’s really too much for you, I…we will understand, the Queen and I know taking care of a child, especially one who isn’t yours, can be demanding and challenging. If you think you won’t be up to the task, say it now or never, I’d rather know now and don’t worry it doesn’t mean you are not allowed in court anymore. That would be too cruel.”

“You can count on me, Your Majesty. I won’t let you down.”

You rose from your chair, taking the book in your arms and confidently walk away. That was the plan and, in your head, it was the perfect plan to show both of them how serious you were. Of course the cat didn’t agree with your plan and you tripped over him, falling on the ground. You heard Prunaprismia and King Caspian gasped before joining you, asking how you were doing. You felt humiliated. You just had fall on your ass in front of the king! God must have serious grudges over you! As you got back on your feet you swear you could see your pride and dignity staying on the floor by the devilish Shame. Hello you, you’re back again? You thought, sure to have left shame on the continent, somewhere in England or France.

You assured the King and Lady Prunaprismia that you were fine and – carefully – get out of the chamber. You had a month to learn everything about the prince and to create a bound with him strong enough to hold against the child losing one of the few people he had entire trust and love to. One single month for something that took five years for the Lady Prunaprismia to achieve. That was so you, accepting a challenge when you perfectly knew it would difficult and completely impossible. But ever since you had dared yourself to do things no one would have thought a girl of your birth would do, it had always opened a door to something interesting and bigger than you thought. If you think about it, what would have happened if you had stayed with your mother at Narrowhaven all your damn life? For sure you would have never met the Royal Couple and have a full conversation with the king.

Taglist:

@aleksanderwh0r3 @learisa @hxrgreeves @blackst0nes7077

#narnia imagine #the chronicles of narnia imagine #chronicles of narnia imagine #caspian x reader #caspian x y/n #king caspian x reader #king caspian x you #susan x caspian #suspian #pevensie siblings

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shelobussy · 3 years

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what are ur thoughts on edmund pevensie

aah I'm so glad someone asked!! thank uuu <3

My thoughts on Edmund Pevensie? Mr. redemption arc boy? My sassy bean? Sulky little shit boy? Oh my god where do I start.

(putting under the cut because this gets unnecessarily long and my mutuals are tired of me)

Edmund Pevensie is a horrible little gremlin who turns into a delightful little gremlin over the course of one book/movie and ends up being one of the best characters in the series. I don't know whether to rant about book!Edmund or Movie!Edmund, but I supposed I could do both?

So pre-redemption, Edmund is a generally awful person. I really like that. Whenever we get a redemption arc in modern media, it's usually 70% defending why Character A is actually a sad emo child who was neglected and actually you know what? It's everyone else's fault that this person does shitty things (i.e. k*lo ren, vanya hargreeves, mcu wanda, etc).

Edmund is a truly hateful person and canon DOES NOT APOLOGIZE OR VALIDATE IT. Even in the movies (where they make him more sympathetic by drawing attention to the fact that Edmund is a child being manipulated by an abuser) they recognize the fact that he was a nasty person before the White Witch ever came into play.

I LOVE that. I love a redemption arc. And the only way a redemption arc really, truly works is when the character being redeemed is a Bad Person. It makes it so, so much more satisfying when the character finally comes to their senses and Does The Thing that starts/completes their arc.

AND EDMUND'S IS TOP TIER. In the books, it's a bit less explicit, but by the time he finally reaches Aslan's camp and talks to Aslan, he's pretty much made a full 180. He is immediately forgiven by his siblings and the Narnians and when the White Witch turns up, he is unafraid. He has full confidence that Aslan knows what he's doing. In the Battle of Beruna, he's the only person smart enough to realize that going after the White Witch's wand is the best tactical move. There is no clear "heroes redeemed journey" (as i'm calling it). Edmund realizes that he was wrong, accepts Aslan, and helps defeat the White Witch.

The movie makes Edmund work a bit more. He's forgiven by his sisters', but not quite by his brother. It's vague whether or not the rest of Narnia has forgiven him. When the White Witch arrives, he shows visible fear. It's only after he breaks the White Witch's wand and dies/nearly dies doing so, that he's allowed to be fully redeemed and forgiven by his brother.

I have conflicting feelings about how both of these narratives are different and the indicators thereof of said differences, but that's a whole other meta post I don't have room for. What I can definitely say I do love about Movie!Edmund's redemption arc is how they conclude it. In the book, you don't actually see the moment where Edmund breaks the White Witch's wand and it's more inferred than directly stated that she's the one who wounded him. He also doesn't come as close to actual death in the books.

In the movie everything is absolutely fucking perfect. They start out the battle with Edmund looking unsure of anything except Peter and they end it with Edmund dying (?) in front of him. The moment where Edmund decides to defy Peter one last time and break the wand? 14 year old me was losing her SHIT. They literally could not have concluded his arc better. 10/10 Disney.

Prince Caspian--books and films--gives us a clearer picture of who Edmund is after his redemption arc. He's still kind of snarky, but 100% a ride or die for his siblings. He believes Lucy when she says she sees Aslan, supports Peter and Caspian in their quest to get Caspian on the throne, and is the most level-headed character in the book. He is also incredibly sulky in the books and 1000% done with Trumpkin's shit. It's delightful. They translate this in movieverse for him being 1000% done with Peter's shit which is even better. He does not really have an arc or plotline, but as a supportive character he's a 10/10.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader has my favorite Edmund. This is an Edmund without his older siblings. This is an Edmund who gets to bond with Lucy, Caspian, and Eustace and have wacky sea adventures. The Lucy/Edmund dynamic is STRONG and I am living for it. Both of them banding together to hate Eustace for half the book? 11/10. Both of them banding together to love Eustace for the other half of the book? 14/10.

Also, this is the book where we find out Edmund reads detective novels. Which is adorable and so in character for him.

Oh my god let's talk about Eustace and Edmund. After Eustace tells Edmund about what happened with him and Aslan and apologizes for being a dick? Edmund is immediately there to reassure him that all is forgiven, and actually? Edmund was a worse person his first visit to Narnia. (Pls get some self esteem Edmund.) Let's talk about Eustace and Edmund being protective over Lucy (who doesn't really appreciate it, but it's adorable just the same).

Movie!Edmund in this story is also a snarky delight, but the main thing that jumps out to me is HE AND CASPIAN ARE SO GAY FOR EACH OTHER HOLY SHIT. LIKE THEY TRIED TO PUSH LUCY/CASPIAN FOR A HOT SECOND AND THEN GAVE UP BECAUSE CASSMUND IS LIVING THEIR BEST GAY PIRATE LIFE.

Oh we should probably talk about Edmund in the Horse and His Boy. Yeah, this one is a real delight because we actually get to see grown up Edmund. There are so really awesome moments here, especially with him and Susan. My favorite is where he basically tells her, "yeah if you married that dick prince I would have totally hated you for it. thanks for making a good choice on that." Lmao. It's really interesting to see him more measured and mature in this book.

So anyway, to cut this rambling reply short. Edmund Pevensie has been my favorite character since I was 11 and first read the Narnia books and he continues to be in each adaption of the series. Can't wait for the Netflix adaption.

(ask me about book vs. movie meta, cassmund analysis, the problem of susan, or anything else narnia related for more ramblings <3)

#ash does fandom #ash does meta #ash rambles #narnia #edmund pevensie #the chronicles of narnia

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narniagiftexchange · 3 years

Text

THE WINTER NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

for: @lukejulies from @teenagedpevensies.

my best friend, my sibling.

for @lukejulies from @teenagedpevensies

“Why your Majesty it’s such an honor to run into you here,” Lucy curtsied deeply, giggling.

“Oh yes your Majesty, simply divine, what have you done with your hair?” Edmund bowed, keeping a serious expression fixed to his face.

“Brushed it, for once, your Majesty, and I must say where has your famous body odor gone this evening?”

“You mean you aren’t accessorizing with leaves and dirt anymore? Fascinating. You’re quite the trend setter, your Majesty, and if you must know my dearest sister I’ve taken the liberty of bathing today.”

“First time all week! Daring of you.”

“I thought so, yes.”

“Oh your Majesties! What an honor to run into you!” A noble from Archenland walked out into the hall. She was lady something or other, Edmund couldn’t quite remember which made him a little guilty. A little. To be fair, there were a lot of nobles here, and he was only twelve and had many many kingly duties. Like hiding out from the celebration with his little sister because if either of them went into the ballroom, they’d have to meet approximately 80 guests and then be expected to remember all of them. Very serious business, hiding from festivities.

Cair Paravel had finally gotten all fixed up, so they were hosting a huge celebration. It had taken about a year and a half to finish repairs and cleaning and furnishing, and it was good that the work was over and good to celebrate! But being in a room full of stuffy adults wasn’t Lucy or Edmund’s idea of a celebration. It wasn’t the first gathering the kings and queens had hosted since being crowned, but dear god it WAS the largest by a lot. Edmund had snuck out of the great hall and found Lucy sitting by the door making flower crowns, also having escaped from the chaos.

“Yes, good to see you again, madam,” Edmund said politely.

“Oh, your Majesty! Where did you get those divine flowers?” The lady motioned to the crown Lucy had placed haphazardly on her head.

Lucy and her quickly got into a lovely conversation about the flowers until the lady went to go find the gardens for herself. Lucy sent her off with a flower crown of her own and a brilliant smile.

“How do you do that?” Edmund asked.

“Do what, Ed?”

“Make friends with- well with everyone?”

“It’s not everyone, Tumnus’s nephew still hates me.”

“Impossible.” Edmund dismissed the statement with a wave. “Everyone likes you.”

“I’m just nice, I guess.”

“Well, I’m nice!”

“No, you’re polite, Ed. It’s different.” She took a seat next to one of the heavy wood doors.

“Is it really that different?” He sat next to her.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just cuter and sweeter and funnier than you and everyone thinks I’m an angel. It comes with being the youngest.”

Edmund shoved her, she laughed, the door opened, and Mr. Beaver stepped out.

“There you are! You can’t just disappear like that, Susan thinks you’ve been kidnapped. Or assassinated.”

“Oh Mr. Beaver, don’t make us go back in,” Lucy begged. “It’s lasted hours already, and I’m so tired.”

“Who said anything about going back in? Scoot over, I think I can hide away for ten minutes. It’s every creature for themselves at these things. The others can hold their own.”

The summer air in Narnia was heavy and warm, like the mantle of some great beast had been draped over them while they sat in front of a roaring fire. On days when there were no responsibilities to attend to, the teenaged kings and queens would often ride down to the river and swim there for hours, until their whole bodies shivered with the ice of the water. Susan and Edmund started the game of climbing the trees that trailed branches over the water and jumping in, and Peter and Lucy turned it into a competition to see who could make the biggest splash.

Sometimes the river turned their toes to prunes, or they began to fear catching a cold, and then they’d run around the forest, befriending squirrels and tree nymphs, climbing trees and rocks, and dancing and singing in clearings.

“Race you to the top of this tree,” Edmund shouted to Lucy, as she raced to catch up with him.

“No fair! We all know you’re the best at climbing!”

“Sounds like an excuse!” He was the best at climbing and demonstrated this with his graceful ascent into the tree’s lower branches.

“Edmund!”

“Better hurry up then if you want to win!”

Lucy reached the base of the tree, huffing and puffing, with a twig caught on the hem of her dress and dirt caking her bare feet. She jumped up to reach the lowest branch, caught hold of it, and promptly lost her hold. Edmund was seated on one of the middle branches of the tree by this point, watching with amusement.

“You’re the worst!” She called up, but she was grinning.

“Yes, but the best climber.”

“You have to race me later on foot, to make it up to me.”

“Actually Lucy, I don’t have to do anything.”

She caught hold of the branch and pulled herself up.

“One down!” He started climbing again, “only about twenty to go!”

She huffed in response.

They were quiet for a minute, both focusing on not losing their grip as they climbed higher and higher. Narnian trees, even the ones not inhabited by dryads, are particularly lovely. They are exactly the right height, always. They touch the sky or are as short as Peter and either way it’s right. They feel genuine; they make you think, this is a tree that knows, a tree that thinks, and feels. This tree has seen so much and is so beautiful, and being near it feels like being young. Each leaf is its own kind of beautiful, a tiny art piece. And each branch is strong and healthy, and holding onto it feels safe. Or maybe the trees back in England are like this, too. Neither Lucy nor Edmund could quite remember.

“I think I’ve gotten as high as the tree will hold me” Edmund called down after a bit.

“What do you-” Lucy stopped to catch her breath after heaving herself onto a particularly difficult branch, “what do you see Ed?”

“The forest, what do you think?”

“Oh whatever,” Lucy scowled up at him.

“Well, the trees all look plenty green up here. Like a sea of its own. The sky is lovely, it must be about noon, the sun looks to be straight up from here. The clouds look particularly alive today. Oh, is that-?” Edmund carefully stood, clinging tightly to the trunk of the tree, craning his neck to see something closer.

“What is it?”

“It’s a birds nest! Lucy get up here!”

“I’ve been trying! Don’t touch the eggs!”

“I’m not going to touch them, I’m not stupid.”

It was a phoenix nest, the eggs were red and looked hot to the touch. Lucy finally got to the top branch, Edmund giving her a little help by calling directions on where to put her feet for the last few branches, and the siblings stood on the branch together, overlooking the forest.

“We should name them,” Lucy said reverently, studying the three eggs.

“They have parents, you know.”

“Sure, but these can be special names that only we know. Then when they hatch, we’ll see phoenixes flying around and say to ourselves, I wonder if that’s little-” Lucy looked at him expectantly.

“Bartholomew?” He laughed at her scowl.

“You’re the worst. Pick a serious name,” she demanded.

“We should be climbing down, Susan and Peter are probably ready to head home about now.”

“Right.”

“Lucy?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, looked down at her hands instead as she picked at her fingernails. “It’s a bad night.”

It was late; most of the castle was asleep. Edmund hadn’t been, he was finishing the last chapter of the book he’d been reading. And clearly, since she was here, Lucy wasn’t sleeping either.

“Come on in.”

They sat on the floor, beside the mural on Edmund’s wall. They’d painted it for him when he turned 13. It turned out Mr. Tumnus had quite the artistic talent. Trees, tall and strong, the sun shining through the leaves. They’d all helped, and Susan said her favorite part was Lucy’s little squirrel she’d painted in the top left corner.

“What’s bugging you?” Edmund asked her, solemnly.

“Well not- Not bugging me so much as it’s just…” she paused. “No, I guess it is bugging me. We love it here, right?”

“Right.” They’d been over this conversation before, the two of them, and they’d both talked to Peter about it, and Susan, and many times all four of them had spoken about it in tearful tones.

“There’s no place I’d rather be, and it’s home, and we’ve been here for five years, and I’ve never truly really wanted to leave but. Do you ever think about it?”

“The professor’s house?”

“No, bigger.”

“Where our parents are.”

Neither acknowledged that they hadn’t said its name. Neither admitted that they no longer remembered.

“Do you remember what dad was like?” Lucy asked. She looked just as small as she had been, that very first day when they’d found Tumnus’s house empty.

“Brave. Funny. He told us stories.”

“I remember those. Do you remember what mom was like?”

“Worried.”

“And?”

“Kind. She loved us. She used to sing us lullabies.”

“I don’t remember the lullabies anymore.”

“I do. One of them at least. Do you remember anything?”

“A little. Nothing solid. It feels like that place was a dream. Like we were always meant to belong to here instead.”

“We do. We belong there too, but we do belong here.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Do you think they miss us?” Lucy asked.

“Of course they do.” Edmund sighed. He laced his fingers together, remembering being a very small boy and holding his father’s hand to cross the street.

“Do we miss them?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you’d like.” After a minute, he picked up his book again, and Lucy sat quietly, staring off into the middle distance.

“Edmund?”

“Yeah, Lu?”

“Will you sing one of mom’s lullabies for me?”

Edmund hated singing. ”Sure.”

She scooted over to sit next to him, and he hugged her.

“Um, the only one I really remember is this,” he cleared his throat and began to sing, resting his chin on Lucy’s head. “Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye, four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. When the pie was opened the birds began to sing— Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king?”

He sang that song, and remembered another so he sang that one too, and another, and another. When he finally looked down at Lucy, he noticed that she’d been crying.

“I don’t remember any of them,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry, Lucy.” He felt close to tears himself.

She was quiet for a long time, sniffling.

“Do you need to talk any more?” He asked gently.

“No. I think I’m going to go back to bed.”

“Probably a good plan.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

When she left he set to work writing down as many songs as he could remember. He wanted them to always have them.

It’d taken teamwork and dedication and a week of trying but Lucy and Edmund had finally figured out how to scale the pillars of the throne room to perch in the rafters. And they were taking full advantage of it.

“Lucy! Edmund!!” Peter called from somewhere a few hallways away.

“Should we go see what he’s after?” Lucy asked, munching on a scone.

“Of course not, he either wants us to do some chore or other, or he found out about the scones.” They were Peter’s scones, he’d baked them yesterday.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have stolen them?”

“Hey, he bakes a whole batch every week and never finishes them before they go stale. We’re helping.”

“Fair enough.”

“Plus he’s being a jerk.”

“That too.”

Peter had been training all week for a tournament with some important noble. It was supposed to just be a friendly match, but Peter treated it like he did any of his other kingly duties, far too seriously. He was tired from training and tired from still keeping up with all his other work, and he’d been far more snappish than he normally was. This was agreed to be, by the two younger Pevensies, completely justified payback for the way he’d been behaving all week. Plus, his scones were delicious.

“LUCY! EDMUND!”

Peter was in the throne room now, stomping around. Magnificent though he was, and extremely kind most days, their brother acted like a toddler when he lost his temper over something petty. Lucy and Edmund exchanged looks. When Peter was below the rafter they were situated on, Edmund drew something from his pocket. Making a shushing gesture toward Lucy, he daintily dropped the acorn in his hand onto their brothers regal head. Both of them gathered themselves, hiding any trailing sleeves and dangling legs from Peter’s line of sight as he looked up. Lucy muffled giggles into her elbow, and Edmund hid his smile behind his hand. The door to the throne room opened and shut. Peeking over the side of the rafter and verifying that Peter wasn’t there anymore, they allowed themselves to burst out into laughter.

“Glad you find it so funny, now what HAVE you done with my armor?”

And there was Peter, leaning by the door. It had been a ruse.

“Armor? Why brother dear, I haven’t the slightest notion of what you’re talking about,” Lucy said sweetly.

“Get down here.”

“Come up and get us,” Lucy challenged, and there it was. Peter was hiding a grin, and soon trying and failing to climb the pillars of the throne room while they alternatively cheered him on and said he would never catch them, and his missing armor was completely forgotten in their laughter.

A good thing too because the smiley face they’d painted on the armor was still in the process of drying.

“I don’t know, Lu, doesn’t it seem a little. Well, risky?” Peter asked, moving a pawn.

“And how is it risky? It’s just a stag.”

“Yes, a magical stag. One that no one knows much about. I don’t think we should risk it.” Susan said, scribbling away on the paper that rested on the arm of her chair. She was writing a letter to someone, had been writing letters almost constantly for months, and no amount of pestering from Lucy or sleuthing from Edmund or curious looks from Peter had gotten answers as to who it was.

“Risk what? A few days away from the palace? Tumnus and the beavers and Oreius are perfectly capable of looking after things, they always have been before, and there’s nothing too pressing going on! Catching the stag could be big!” Lucy kicked her feet against the legs of her throne as she always did when she was excited. She was already dressed in her riding outfit as if she expected to go out and hunt right then.

“I think we should listen to Lucy,” Edmund spoke up from his game of chess with Peter, one that he was about to win by the looks of it.

“And why is that?” Susan sighed, casting an irritated look at her little brother.

“Because she’s never been wrong before,” he answered easily. “Well, other than thinking Tumnus is a good cook.”

“Is this still about finding Narnia?” Susan asked crossly.

“It’s always about finding Narnia. Lucy found our home, Susan, and we didn’t believe her, and she was right. That has to count for something.”

“I’d nearly forgotten about that,” Peter said thoughtfully.

“Me too,” Lucy said, a soft look crossing her face as she looked out the window at the people outside. Their home.

“Well just because she’s been right in the past doesn’t mean she’s always right,” Susan said, but her scowl had softened considerably. She smiled at Lucy. “No offence Lucy.”

“Still, she’s right about this. And who knows, we haven’t gone hunting well… hardly ever, it could be fun,” Edmund moved a piece on the board. “Checkmate! What does that bring our score to, Pete?”

“You’ve won nearly every game for the past year. I’m pretty sure our score is ‘I am solidly losing’” Peter looked at Susan. “What do you think?”

She sighed, fingers playing with the ends of her dark hair. “Fine. Let’s go hunt the white stag. Why not?” Her eyes glittered. She was excited about this even if she didn’t say so.

Lucy shouted with joy, stood right up and did a jig on the spot. “You won’t be sorry! Edmund! What should we ask it for when we catch it?”

“Well, we have to catch it first! I’m going to go to the library to research it.”

“I’ll come with!” Lucy looked out the window again, to the sea, to the people on the shore. She was glad that they were there. She looked at her siblings, the furrow in Susan’s brow as she thought of what to write next, the twinkle in Edmund’s eye as he headed off towards the library, the grin Peter donned as he tried to read over Susan’s shoulder. Yes, it was good that they were there. Very good.

#tcon #tconedit #lucy pevensie #edmund pevensie #narnia #narnia gift exchange #narniagiftexchange #winterexchange: 2 #type: fanfiction #for lukejulies #from teenagedpevensies

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

Text

And This Is How It Starts | Susan Pevensie x Reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: Slight homophobia, shitty friends???

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Everything your soulmate loses, you receive. Turns out, Y/N’s soulmate is very forgetful.

Request: helloo. can you write a sapphic susan fic please! take it whatever way you'd like :)

A/N: I’m not sure how many people read Susan fics, but I really like this one :D

masterlist | narnia playlist | read on ao3

“Gross, can you guys please cut it out?” Y/N stated, watching her best friend suck faces with her soulmate. She was on his lap and their make out session was starting to grow more intense than Y/N was comfortable with. Hannah pulls away from Alex with an exaggerated groan.

“You’re just jealous you’re still stuck in the ‘lose it and receive it’ phase. Not my fault you haven’t found him yet.” Her voice was light and teasing, but Y/N couldn’t help but fell her heart rip.

“I’ll find her eventually,” Y/N sighed, taking a book out of her schoolbag. It was a small, very beat-up copy of The Hunger Games.

“Her?” Alex responded, tearing his gaze from Hannah’s face. “How do you know it’s a her?”

Y/N opened the book delicately to reveal “Susan Pevensie” written in perfect cursive on the back of the front cover. The book had multiple stains on it, most likely tea judging by the color, and the same perfect cursive riddled the pages. Whoever Susan was, she adored this book with her life. Y/N’s fingertips lightly traced the writing before turning the book for her friends to see. Hannah scrunches her face at it.

“It could be his friends, you know. Like she lent it to him and he lost it,” Alex kisses Hannah’s cheek.

“Or this Susan girl is his girlfriend,” Hannah smirks.

“Or,” Y/N was growing frustrated. Whenever she hinted that her soulmate might be a girl, everyone dismissed her suspicions. “My soulmate is Susan Pevensie and she keeps losing her things. And besides, this book is really loved, she wouldn’t just give it to someone.”

Hannah scoffed, tossing her hair in a very I know everything, and you don’t kind of way. “Fine, believe what you want. Not sure why you would want a girl soulmate anyway, I know I wouldn’t.”

“Well, yeah, of course you don’t. You’re straight,” Y/N flipped to a random page and read the gorgeous handwriting that was scrawled in the margins. Her mouth twitched slightly at how perfect the script was.

“What? And you aren’t?”

“No, I’m not.” Y/N’s eyes didn’t move from the page as she spoke. The teens sat in silence. “Is there a problem?”

“No! No, of course not,” Alex answered quickly. ‘I guess we just, uh, didn’t expect it… I guess.”

“Well, surprise. Now that that’s out of the way, do you guys like The Hunger Games?”

The two grew even more uncomfortable at the sudden tension they were feeling. “No, not necessarily.”

“She seems to. A lot. And there’s a cute little strawberry bookmark on page 47,” Y/N sighed dreamily picturing what Susan must look like. Based on her cursive alone, she must be absolutely jaw-dropping.

“Has, er, Susan lost anything else recently?” Alex asked. Y/N nodded excitedly, digging in her bag again. She pulled out a set of keys with a feather pendant keychain, a light pink lipstick, a glass water bottle, and a small fabric coin purse. Y/N grinned down at the items then looked back towards her friends.

“Oh, she must be quite forgetful. Do you have any other stuff?” Y/N’s grin brightened even more.

“Oh, loads, this is just what she’s lost within the past week,” The keys jingled as she moved her hands. “The keys must’ve really ruined her day. I wonder what they’re to.”

“Hopefully somewhere in England. Where’s the money from?” Hannah gestured to the yellow coin purse. Y/N shrugged and tossed it towards her friends. It was rather small, barely the size of Y/N’s palm, and it had a gorgeous diamond quilt pattern.

“No clue. I haven’t opened it if I’m being quite honest.” Alex’s noble fingers undid the clasp and looked inside.

“Well, it’s definitely British currency, which is helpful.” He tipped the pouch and emptied the contents into his hand. As expected, a variety of different coins came toppling out, along with a folded piece of paper and various pins. “Can I have this?”

“No, you cannot have my soulmate’s belongings. Give me that,” Y/N grabs ahold of all the bag and its contents. With her hand cupped like a funnel, the pins and money fall smoothly into the coin purse. Y/N discards the pouch into her bag and begins to unfold the paper.

She had expected the paper to be riddled with text, like a to-do list or a small reminder. Instead, it appeared to be a little photograph of a family. The paper itself seemed to be fragile as if it had been handled a lot or had gotten wet, so Y/N handled the photo with care.

The scene depicted the smallest of the group, a little girl, giggling up at the oldest as the other two looked on with large smiles. Y/N turned the photo to look at the back, just in case any date was included with the photo. In the same gorgeous script as the book, Lucy laughing at Peter because Ed insulted him “in the name of justice.” June 15 was written in black ink. Y/N turned the picture over frantically and scanned the faces of the family.

Susan was absolutely beautiful; her dark brown hair was styled in effortless waves and her lips were painted with a cherry red color. Her eyes were wrinkled in the corners, due to her contagious smile, and she looked like she was filled to the brim with happiness. Y/N had never seen such gorgeous baby blue eyes.

The poor girl was speechless, her mind running a mile a second and vision focusing on only Susan’s portrait.

“She’s gorgeous,” Y/N murmured breathlessly.

“Who is?”

Y/N looked up at her friends, turning the photo to show them.

“Susan, my soulmate.”

Susan read over the essay that sat in her lap, taking in every detail of the writing. It wasn’t hers, but it was her soulmate’s misplaced homework. The topic wasn’t overly exciting, an analysis of a book Susan hasn’t read, but just the way her soulmate wrote captivated her. Y/N L/N, which was the name written on the top of the paper, had such a poetic way of writing. It was as if she was telling Susan a story, rather than writing about an 18th century novel.

“Reading the essay again, are we?” Peter snickered from next to her. Susan would have hit him with the paper, but she didn’t want to risk damaging it.

“Yes, what’s the problem with that?”

“Nothing, Su, I just don’t think rereading missing homework is going to bring Y/N any closer to you. It’s over a year old.” Peter had found his soulmate when he was young, so he didn’t quite understand his siblings’ desire to find their other halves so quickly.

“Not physically, but I already know a lot about her from this one paper. I know her handwriting, how she talks, the way she feels about some things…”

“Yeah, how she feels about classic literature. Not exactly groundbreaking.” Peter sunk deeper into the couch cushion in an attempt to get comfortable.

“Maybe not to you, but to me it is. You don’t have to be such a happiness drain, you know.” Susan was growing more frustrated by the minute. She didn’t want her older brother to snatch the paper away from her, so she gently creased it and placed it into her notebook.

“I’m just taking the piss.”

“Well, it’s not funny. And shouldn’t you be doing your wash? We leave for school tomorrow.” Susan stood up, lifting her bag off of the floor and onto her shoulder.

“Yes, alright mother.”

“Y/N! Are you coming?” Hannah hollered over her shoulder. She was walking towards the train station with a large group of her friends. Y/N waved her off.

“I’ll meet you there! Save me a seat, yeah?” Hannah shrugged her off and continued the conversion she was more invested in.

Y/N sighed, watching their backs disappear into the distance. She never quite liked the group Hannah was friends with, so them leaving her out never quite bothered her. Especially when she could get sandwiches for the train ride.

The teen was waiting at a crosswalk when she spotted her. Susan was stood at the newspaper stand outside of the corner store Y/N was going to. She looked stunning as she flipped idly through a Vogue magazine. The sun shone across her hair and Y/N thought she looked similar to an angel.

When the light turned green, Y/N scurried across the street in order to meet her love. However, she paused a few paces away to steady her breathing.

“Excuse me, are you Susan Pevensie?” Y/N spoke, voice shaking. Susan turned around, utterly confused. Y/N was right in her assumption; Susan was in fact an angel. An angel that looked even more heavenly in person.

“Yes, and may I ask who you are? And how you know my name?”

“Oh, right, um I’m Y/N L/N. I’m not sure if you know who-” Susan’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help but cut Y/N off.

“You’re my soulmate.” Her red lips were slightly agape as she took in Y/N’s appearance. “Excuse my bluntness, but you’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Y/N’s cheeks grew hot and her fingers fumbled with the buckles on her bag. She was much more nervous than she had hoped, but Y/N couldn’t help it. Once the bag was open, she gripped Susan’s possessions and held them out.

“You need to keep better track of your things, love.” Susan’s perfectly manicured fingers brushed Y/N’s as she took back her book and keys. Y/N’s legs felt like jelly.

“How could you possibly know what I looked like?”

“You lost a picture of your family. Well, I suppose a coin purse with a picture folded inside. Still, a picture was lost and I saw it.” Y/N rambled, making Susan giggle. “I’ve been looking for you for ages,”

“And I you, darling.” Susan placed her belongings into her bag and embraced Y/N. Y/N didn’t quite know what to do; Susan smelt of rose petals and honey and her hair was so soft as it brushed against Y/N’s cheek. All the same, Y/N wrapped her arms loosely around Susan’s waist.

“Am I allowed to kiss you?” She whispered into Y/N’s ear. Y/N could have fainted on the spot, but she squeaked out a small yes.

Susan kept her arms wrapped around Y/N’s neck as she kissed her gently. Y/N’s thumbs danced across the floral patterned fabric that covered her hips as she kissed back. It was light and fleeting, but it still made Y/N feel like she was going to burst. The pair pulled away and looked into each other’s eyes. Susan’s were even bluer in person.

“Can I buy you a sandwich?” Y/N croaked, cutting the tension. Susan giggled happily.

“As long as you let me cover the dessert.”

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wiseabsol · 4 years

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Let’s talk about why it’s a bad idea if Karrin Murphy’s fate is final.

Some quotes to consider:

pg. 217: “See that this warrior is laid in state,” [Mab] said, and moved her head in a curt gesture toward the Bean. “She has shared our enemies and earned our respect, and so shall it be known amongst my vassals and to the furthest reaches of my kingdom.”

pg. 366: “You tell Odin that Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden says, upon his Name, that if he doesn’t treat Murph better than I would myself, I’m going to kick down his door, pluck his fucking ravens, knock him down, kick his guts out, drag him to the island, and lock him up in a cell with Ethniu [ . . . ] I beat a divine being once [ . . . ] If I have to build a nation to get it done, I’ll do it again.”

pg. 366: Gard shook her head. “Not until the memory of her has faded from the minds of those who knew her. That is the limit not even the All-father may cross.”

So what points can we draw from this?

- According to Gard, Murphy cannot return to Earth until her memory has faded from the minds of those who knew her. This, presumably, includes immortals, whose memories last for a very long time. If this is truly the case, then Murphy cannot participate in the BAT. She and Hendricks will be benched for Ragnarok. In short: Murphy is fucked.

- Dresden has sealed away a Titan and is willing to do the same to a god. He is currently planning to build his own magical community. Would it really be that surprising if he is willing and able to do something that a god cannot in a future book? Especially when, as mentioned above, Murphy is fucked?

But let’s unpack this more:

First, let’s look at this from a writing standpoint. Why does this rule need to be in place? The short answer is that Butcher is covering his bases. Once we, the readers, learn that Odin has snatched Murphy’s body and is making her into an einherjar, we feel a burst of hope and relief. After all, we’ve seen einherjar before, so doesn’t that mean that we can look forward to Murphy returning at a later date?

Butcher doesn’t want us to think that, though. He wants us to feel as though she’s gone forever...even though we know that the BAT, aka Ragnarok, is coming up, and the einherjar are destined to fight in it. So how does he try to throw us off? He comes up with something that feels...contrived. Something that isn’t a part of the einherjar myth. “She can’t come back! Because--because everyone has to forget about her first! Yes, that’s it! Her fate is final because of this rule I’m only just now saying is a thing!”

But why should we buy this? This is a series in which Dresden is constantly pushing past his own limitations and the roadblocks placed in front of him, and where other characters aren’t afraid to do the same. It’s a series in which the rules are set up to be broken in creative ways (zombie T-Rex, anyone?). Even reality itself can be shattered (and why set that up in Battle Ground if you’re not going to do it in the BAT?).

Aside from that, though, if Murphy really is gone, then we’re left with some problems:

1. Murphy’s death is pointless. As much as Butcher tries to have the characters say that she died fighting a Jotun, she didn’t. She was killed on accident by a scared cop. That’s not satisfying. It could have been if it had more set-up across multiple books, and if Murphy had spent some time grappling with poorly trained officers and cases of police brutality (maybe even cases in which she’d gone too far). But the Dresden Files is stuck in the 90′s in a lot of ways, complete with valourizing “good cops” like Murphy and chalking up “bad cops” like Rudolph to a weakness of character, rather than admitting that there’s a problem with the institution as a whole. In short: This isn’t even political commentary on Butcher’s part. It adds absolutely nothing to the series.

2. Odin making Murphy into an einherjar is arguably a Fate Worse Than Death for her, rather than a reward. Why? First, her Catholic faith has been ignored. Her soul is not going to the god she chose (did Odin even ask her if she wanted to go to Valhalla? Did Murphy consider it an honor?). Second, everyone she knows and loves will have to die before she can fight again--and what’s the point of her fighting then? Third, she will be forced to sit out of Ragnarok/the BAT. So Odin, in addition to doing a disservice to Murphy, would be benching a warrior during the End Times. How does that make strategic sense? Also, if he’s not going to use his shiny new einherjar, why make her into one at all? Why not just let her be buried and let her soul go to her own god?

3. How much agency does Murphy have in this scenario? Would she really accept the above rule and choose to not help her friends with her new powers? Does that sound like her?

4. If Murphy stays gone, it means that yet another woman has been written out of the story to give Dresden manpain. That’s exhausting, especially considering how poorly Butcher has treated his female characters in the past. Losing Murphy, who is arguably our main female character, feels like adding insult to injury after what happened with Susan, Molly, Lash, and so many others. Why should female readers keep reading a series in which almost every woman character is tortured, killed, or transformed against their will?

5. Murphy and Marcone were the last important vanilla mortals. If she’s gone for good, then between that and Marcone now being magical, we are left with a series in which normal people--including those with disablilites--can’t survive and make a difference in the fight between magical forces. They’re victims to be protected by Dresden--and thus don’t have agency--or canon fodder if they do get involved. While I suspect that Randy will act as their voice in future books, losing both Murphy and the non-magical Marcone is a blow that I’m not sure the series can recover from. As one reader put it, it’s hard for us to see ourselves in this world anymore, considering that there are no characters like us left in it. Granted, this is a problem even if Murphy returns as an einherjar. But Murphy didn’t have to die in this book, so this problem could have been avoided.

6. And on a more petty note: Teasing a Dresden and Murphy relationship for ten+ books, and then throwing it away in one, is a nasty thing to do to the readers who were invested in that subplot. “Characters in happy relationships aren’t compelling” is also a weak excuse for doing it, considering that those characters have more to fight for when the world is ending. Finally, just to point out something small: Murphy had sex with Dresden for the first time on the evening of Day 1 of the peace talks, then died on the morning of Day 4. That’s not cool. Butcher can do better.

#Karrin Murphy #The Dresden Files

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passivenovember · 3 years

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@liglitterbug asked:

Has anyone asked for 53? (crawling through your window to go get ice cream) yet? Because that screams Harringrove to me and I would LOVE to see your take on it, please! (if you have time/inspiration) <3

a Friend for the End of the World.

Billy’s, like. Halfway through Little Women when Max knocks on his door, and. Okay. It’s not like he slammed his way through the house with a fire itching under his skin and believed for even a second, that.

The world could be his. Just for while.

He settles roughly, at first, into the Alcott novel. Like a brick hitting the bottom of the sea--slowly, heavy and thick with the inertia of words that ignite something that feels.

Pink.

Inside his belly. Billy doesn’t have the wherewithal to make sense of it so he, just. Clamps his eyebrows around the liquid sunshine in his veins and loses himself in the story.

After Starcourt the world ends, but.

It doesn’t sound like the poems said it would. The bang and the whimper and the conclusion that, after things catch on fire and smoke rises with the sun, silence will fall over the Earth.

Billy remembers waiting for Hawkins to sleep.

Watching Max and Mrs. Byers and. Steve. Landslide all around them to fix what had been swept away by a misjudgment in the Earth’s ability to keep itself from cracking open.

And Billy, he feels like an exposed wire. The center of the universe molding itself around the breath before the curtain falls and the audience leaves, and.

He waits for night to fall.

It never does. The overture is played out of tune, again and again, and the world turns faster than before, the sounds leak from everywhere. All at once, and.

Billy feels. Doesn’t know how to...

It’s never as simple as asking for silence. For peace. When his mind makes too much noise, or. When he can’t get the sound of Neil coughing up smoke to stop bouncing off the walls.

The ambiance that comes with. Sharing space, sharing your life with someone, used to be Billy’s favorite in all the world. Back when the incandescence of his mother folding laundry could be heard through the crack in his door while pirate ships bled past the boundary of the page and took him somewhere new.

Billy likes to think of his life as intermissions between lovers. Before Starcourt he was asleep and now. He’s never waking up again.

Max reading to El, or.

Susan making dinner.

Even Neil flipping through the channels, it. Reminds him of burning cities.

Billy wears earmuffs. Everywhere. The ones that block out the sounds of the earth crying, but. Do nothing at all for the reprise burying itself in his bones.

Steve brought them to the hospital when Billy wouldn’t stop asking about the end of the world.

So Max knocks on the door.

And Billy thought he made himself clear. With the nonverbal shit, like. Slamming the front door open and brushing past the dinner table and slamming his door shut.

Locking himself in. He thought it was crystal clear, that. You can’t keep shoveling dirt into the grave without stopping to pray for rain. She pounds on the door again but it’s too loud. Always too much.

“What, Max?” And his voice is softer, these days. To balance out the symphony playing all around him.

“Steve’s here.” She says, and.

The earmuffs don’t actually block anything out. Billy can hear the battery die in the car down the street, and. He can hear Max shuffling on the other side of the door one-two-three, one-two-one, like a waltz. A tiny dancer.

She has the most. Distinct footprints in the sand. Billy held onto that when he was bleeding on the floor.

He pads over to the door and tugs it open, wincing at the sharp sting of.

Soundsoundsound

Hammering against the walls in his head. Billy squints, shielding his eyes. To block the noise as if it were rain.

“Tell him I’m not home.”

“Your car’s in the driveway, dumb dumb.”

“Well, tell him I’m busy.” Billy moves to close the door, but. Max sticks her foot in the jam.

Folds her arms and gives him this look, like. He’s supposed to have a big realization about something. About the way he’s acting. Hiding in his room all the time with the blinds pulled taught against the sun.

You’re acting weird.

He knows. He thinks it’s okay.

Billy shrugs like. Spit it the fuck out. And Max rolls her eyes. Billy can hear the shift of muscle, he can--

“Too busy to see Steve?” She says.

And okay.

Billy picks up on why that might be weird. He shrugs again--there’s a throbbing, like. The beat of a drum. Just outside, on the lawn, or right at the back of his skull.

Billy can’t tell and he doesn’t want to know, so.

The door falls shut once more.

Being with Steve is like getting the instruments to play a song instead of just. Wailing out of tune for the audience to throw tomatoes.

He makes everything quiet. Just by running his fingers through Billy’s hair the world is made new. Starts over with a whimper instead of the rest, but.

Sometimes Billy can’t breathe.

Or his eyes will close when they’re wide open, and he can’t see anything but snow twirling against a gray sky, or like.

Veins turning black and smoky with rot. Disease and Ice. Barren fields the end--

Steve says the Earth has healed itself once more. That the cracks have been mended, and the ground isn’t coming apart under their feet.

So it’s summer.

That’s what Steve says. “It’s summer, baby.” let’s go to the lake.

Billy looks up from his book. Fifty pages left in Little Women--at least an entire afternoon, once he picks up the second, and. “You want to go to the lake?”

Steve sort of. Rolls onto his side, next to Billy on the quilt Mrs. Harrington made when he was in the hospital. He looks up to the sky, the clouds and the sun.

Steve has a daisy between his fingers. Billy doesn’t know where it came from, but then Steve is smiling. All soft, like. A stretch of grass just before sunset. He sticks the daisy between the pages of Billy’s book, and. Closes it., takes it away. He sits criss-cross-applesauce until his knees are pressed against Billy’s leg.

Steve tugs the headphones off, so.

The sun hits Billy. Burns every part of him.

“You seem like you need water.” Steve says.

And he is the only person who makes the Earth contract, So Billy tucks his hair behind his ears with shaky fingers. Keeps his hands there, holding his own face until things quiet down.

He breathes in, sharp and then slow, when the tears start to fall. When Steve reminds him to be gentle with yourself, baby. That’s it.

It takes five minutes for Billy to figure it out.

He needs water, like. A flower whose roots have gone frail. Or a boy who longs for home. Billy opens his eyes to Steve watching him, counting breaths on the watch he had made special.

For Billy, and his.

Bullshit. The panic attacks and the sensory bullshit, and. It’s summer. Billy feels the air get choked from his lungs when Steve takes his pulse, because.

“You go.” He whispers.

Steve looks up from the watch and then back down again. “You still have ten more breaths, come on.”

“I’m fine.”

“Ten more big ones, okay. Just to be safe.”

“Steve, I’m fine.” Billy smacks the watch down. Away, so. He can. Think. Billy scrubs at his face just the wrong side of too hard. Too abrasive, and there’s a drum beating somewhere down the hill when Steve tries to grab his wrist.

Again, to. Play nurse Maid. Steve kisses his palm once--twice, and.

“It’s summer.” Billy says.

Steve winks. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

It. Is, Billy thinks. With the smell of Lilac and Honeysuckle. Afternoons that give way to skies full of fireflies and Steve’s hair turning blonde in the afternoon light, it looks. Like a work art, like. A page from a book.

His favorite in all the world. Billy tugs his hand away from Steve’s lips, tucks his hair behind his ears again, and. Steve looks worried.

Always worried, like. He’s waiting Billy will snap in two.

“I want you to go to the lake.” He says. Because he’s tired of seeing that look.

Steve blinks wide, owlish eyes at him. “I want us to go, Bills, that’s why--”

Billy shakes his head. Suddenly the drum falls. Silent. Steve sits frozen, suspended in time and space while the symphonies play out of tune.

“You aren’t my doctor.” Billy says.

“I know--”

“And you aren’t my therapist.”

He expects Steve to. Say something, or stop looking like the ground is splitting open between them, when Billy charges on.

“Or my housekeeper, or any of that shit, Steve. You’re. A twenty year old boy, you should be. Out with your friends for the fourth of July not taking care of your invalid partner who can’t make it through the day without breaking down in tears.”

“I don’t want to be with anyone else.” Steve says, and.

It means now. And it means always.

Billy stands to grab his book.

He leaves his earmuffs on the blanket in the grass.

Thinks about calling and. Begging Steve to bring them over, drop them off because his head is spiraling rock formations and earthquakes let loose in the heartland.

After dinner it hurts.

When the fireworks start to explode. Bright light and heat burning a wound into his chest, or a breaking his bones to crumbling dust. Each explosion is like child birth and pulled teeth and gunshot wounds playing a libretto behind his right eyebrow. He tries to read but the snow falls all around him--

“Hey dipshit, we’re going to watch the--”

Billy doesn’t try to hide the tears, and.

Max doesn’t bring them up. She presses an ice pack to his forehead and wonders if. She should call Steve. Call him home.

Billy wants to say yes.

Wants to call Steve himself, but. “Go have fun, kid.”

And the wound only grows.

He has four pillows on his head when the window slides open. That’s why he doesn’t hear the scattered footfall until there’s a weight on his bed, and a pair of hands rubbing his back.

One hot, one cold.

He frowns. “Hands are cold as dick.”

Steve chuckles, fingers digging into the muscle of Billy’s neck in a way that has him soft. Huffing against the sheets. “Sorry, I brought Ice cream.”

Billy peeks out from under his fortress to Steve peppering kisses along the base of his skull.

“What time is it?” He grumbles.

“8:30. Go to sleep.” Steve muffles against Billy’s hair, and.

“How come you’re here?”

Steve holds out the earmuffs, cherub face scruffy and apologetic and so, so beautiful. “Sorry it took so long, I wanted to give you space, you seemed like. You needed space.”

He pulls the blanket up around Billy’s shoulders, even as he worms around to sit up. Get a better look, and. Apologize.

“Look, Stevie--”

“You shouldn’t be sitting with a migraine like that,” He says firmly. “Doc says three glasses of water, two Tylenol, and--”

“Rest, yeah, I.” Billy feels like smiling. For the first time in days, he. Wants to smile. “Thank you.”

Steve nods. Like he’s disappointed. Eyebrows wrinkling as he fiddles with the cracked leather headband.

Billy looks at the pint of cherry crunch leaking a puddle onto the mattress. “So you brought ice cream, huh?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, I mean. What else do you bring after a break up?”

And.

Billy feels like shit. “Steve I didn’t mean that--”

“I know.” He says. Soft, like a confession. “I’ll always dream of you, you know that?” Billy’s heart kicks into overdrive when Steve leans forward, slipping the earmuffs against his head, and.

Putting the world to sleep.

#harringrove #aah I wrote this in literally two hours #I love u sm cherr #Happy new year!#tw: sensory overload

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