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radiantnatura · 16 days

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. CHARACTER INFORMATION : SUSAN PEVENSIE. l ᴺᴬᴿᴺᴵᴬ.

my portrayal of susan pevensie is set on mostly the golden age - timeline of narnia. however, as i've used to write susan for quite some time in the past, my portrayal is based on a lot of my own personal headcanons for her, &. different information i have gathered from the book &. the movies. i am however, quite critical what it comes to them both.

𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑.

NAME. : susan pevensie. OCCUPATION. : queen susan, the gentle. SPECIES. : human. AGE. : early twenties in my main, golden age - verse. ORIENTATION. : demisexual. HEIGHT. : 161 cm BUILD. : toned. SKIN COLOR. : fair. HAIR COLOR. : dark brunette / black. EYE COLOR. : light blue. PERSONALITY. : susan is a practical person. this practical &. intelligent nature is useful when it comes to planning &. tactics, however, she can sometimes come off as bossy. as an older sister, &. the second oldest overall, she adapted a motherly nature ever since she was a child. she is gentle at heart, which is evident in the title given to her at her coronation. she has a stubborness to her, but this can also come out of concern towards those she holds dear.

𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒.

susan is an expert markswoman. she is very fierce in battle with her aim, her signature weapon being the bow she was gifted when she, &. her siblings first arrived to narnia.

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒.

VERSE ONE. : based on the golden age of narnia. susan has ruled over narnia alongside with her siblings for many years now, &. is facing the challenges threatening the peace they achieved all those years ago. VERSE TWO. : susan is at her late teens, trying to find her foot again along with her siblings, her life in narnia now only a memory. set in the timeline before her &. her siblings returned to narnia. MORE AU VERSES WILL BE ADDED!

#⋄ ⊰ ism. susan pevensie. › she at the door between two worlds. ❜#⋄ ⊰ visage. susan pevensie. › she who radiates like the southern sun. ❜#⋄ ⊰ verse one. susan pevensie. › the golden age : watch over it radiant sun. ❜#⋄ ⊰ verse two. susan pevensie. › it is haunting you isn't it? the possible memory or a mere dream. ❜

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2usan · 1 year

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𝑺𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑻𝑰𝑫𝑬 - the southern seat in narnia. characterised by it’s sprawling, living gardens, queen susan was said to have hosted some of her most favoured suitors there ( away from the more prying eyes of cair paravel )

#she means away from nosy over-protective siblings #aesth ➛ to the radiant southern sun .#flashing gif tw

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always-a-king-or-queen · 7 months

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Miss Pevensie, they say, can you identify these bodies for us? And you try, gentlest sibling, you try your best. But the tears are thick in your throat and the grief is bitter on your tongue, and when you shut your eyes you see fire and steel, twisting together and crushing the breath from their bodies.

You look at your father, and mother, and cousin, still and silent on their backs, bruised and bloodied and unsmiling, and their faces are anything but familiar. Were their eyes open you would be looking into the face of a stranger. You press your hand over your mouth, and you do not cry, and you tell them what they want to know. These are my parents, you hear yourself say. This is my cousin. They nod, they thank you, they direct you forward. More, more, more corpses to identify. More losses to count.

You look at your eldest brother, golden blond hair spread across his forehead, thick like the mane of a lion. There is gravel in his skin and soot on his cheeks and his face is pale, hands folded over his chest and blood threaded into his yellow sweater. Red against gold. For a moment the combination brushes your brain, touches a distant memory of battle and clashing swords, but you blink and it is gone. This is my brother Peter, you say, in a voice choked with grief. The sky looks black outside the window, and your brother’s arm still feels warm when you touch it a final time.

You look to your younger brother, dark hair tousled, blood leaking between his lips. His skin is frost pale, like snow, so white he appears to be made of stone. Shrapnel cuts into his cheeks and sends crimson trails across his face. His hands are clenched, cap askew on hair smeared with blood. They tell you he died with his sister in his arms, body curled around her in a vain attempt to keep her safe. You stare at him with a lump in your throat, and for a moment you seem to see him, silver crown upon his head, smiling with quiet gentleness. It fades, and you whisper, This is my brother Edmund. The tree outside the window seems to wilt a little as you speak. Your brother’s cheek is like ice beneath your fingertips.

You look last at your sister. She is peaceful, lips lifted in a smile, hair tangled beneath her head and shoulders. She grips something in one hand— a tiny wooden carving. A lion. Your throat clenches to see it, but you do not know why. Her skin is warm, like sunlight, but there is such coldness in her face. Such emptiness. Blood smears her sky blue dress, and you weep to see it. Blood does not belong on your baby sister. For a moment the red makes you remember her, dancing wild by a fire with berry juice smeared on her hands and mouth, but surely not. Surely such a thing never happened. This is my sister Lucy, you murmur, and are able to say no more. For a moment it seems as if a mist touches the window, and your sister’s skin is hot against your palms.

You turn away, raven-dark hair falling over your cheek, and stare out the window with tears burning your throat. There is no sun, and you think that perhaps there will never be sun again. It has been taken away forever.

(For a moment you seem to hear a voice, deep, gentle, loving. To the radiant southern sun. For a moment you feel the weight of a crown in your hair. Perhaps you are losing your sanity, bit by bit. Perhaps it was shattered the moment you heard the news).

They asked you to identify the bodies, and you did, because they are your family. They were your family. You loved each and every one of them. You loved your mother's soft fingers in your hair and your father's deep chuckle. You loved your older brother's fierce kindness and your little brother's quiet demeanor and your baby sister's merriment. You loved them all. And now you stare through the window at a sky that is heavy with rain and think of flames and twisted metal and the blood on your siblings' skin.

You close your eyes. For a brief moment you think you smell lilies, and salt, and Lucy is laughing and Edmund is smiling and Peter's arms are slung around their shoulders, and then they are looking at you and beckoning and there is a lion with golden eyes and the sun is rising into a damp new sky.

Your eyes open slowly, glazed over with tears that spill down your cheeks like rain.

And for a moment, just for a moment, you remember.

#susan pevensie #i am in the midst of writing a fix it fic for her #bc lewis encouraged it #and her story wasn't finished #and and and #also the premise of the story is super duper fun #but it will be sad too #but will end happy #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #ramblings from the void

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justsomedutchgirl · 1 year

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‘‘It’s such a shame they died so young, my condolences miss Pevensie.’’ Susan couldn’t remember how many people had said they were sorry for her loss even if she tried. Too many people pretending to know her and her siblings well enough to have an opinion about them. Too many people just saying what is expected of them to say. Because what to those words mean to her? Absolutely nothing.

It doesn’t matter what people say directly to her, she can hear them whisper; about how she’s all alone, about how she had to bury the rest of her family, about how it is such a shame for a young woman to navigate the world without her siblings. As if she hadn’t navigated a new world before, as if she didn’t rule a world before, as if she wasn’t crowned to the radiant southern sun before. Because what do they know? Absolutely nothing.

The sun, although it was not her sun, brought her some comfort by warming her cheeks, even if it was a only a little bit. She couldn’t help but compare herself to the sun, so, so, so far away and o so alone. But still the sun had a purpose, she had lost hers. How could she when the sky had fallen down, the woods all turned to dust and the sea had went dry? What purpose does the sun still have when there is nothing to give light to, nothing to give warmth to, nothing to shine for. Absolutely nothing.

The southern sun is not enough anymore, true north is gone, western woods make way for buildings to hide from the sun and sailors make there way across the eastern sea using the stars but more often than not a compass. What can the gentle do, when the valiant can’t encourage her, when the just can’t help her and the magnificent can’t protect her. Absolutely nothing.

But she still passes statues of lions, and something about them angers her but comforts her all the same. But there are still people that need to be protected; a lone boy walking past four older boys who look like they found their next target. But there are still people to help; an old man cleaning the graves of loved ones and strangers alike. But there are still people to encourage; the little girl determined to climb the tree just like her brothers did. The sky is still clear, the woods are still great, the sea is still glistening, therefore perhaps the sun can still be radiant. So that there is something left of kings and queens of old.

#narnia #susan pevensie #peter pevensie #lucy pevensie #edmund pevensie #The Last Battle #The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe #prince caspian

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bitchysouljellyfish · 1 year

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“El día que me quieras”

Rodolfo Parra/Reader

Inspired by this and the incredible writings of @yeyinde because God their writings are to die for! Title is inspired by the song of the same name by Carlos Gardel! The indented writing is done by yeyinde!

Enjoy!

The ocean is a distant roar beyond the sprawling green cut into the fells. The scent of heliotrope and sun-ripened tomatoes is heavy in the balmy air that pulses around you like a heartbeat.

Your finger taps the porcelain mug on the patio table, eyes soaking in the crystalline shore in the distance, basking in the sun. The warmth. The door slides open. Music from inside drifts out. Los Cojolites. He has a fondness for son jarocho. You can smell the sweet mole he's cooking waft through.

He comes up behind you, hands on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles on your bare skin. You lean back, head pressed to his tummy as you squint up at him. He's bathed in ochre from the sun: a halo around him that bleeds into your retinas until all you see his the shape of him. Your pulse quickens.

He smiles down at you, lunar white. Love in shades of vermillion leak from the curve of his mouth.

"Want some company, cariño?"

As if you'd ever say no.

Alejandro introduced you to him.

You were the medic, part of the Task Force 141 that had came to Las Almas to assist with El Sin Nombre. You were dwarfed by the other two men who accompanied you, El Fantasma and Soap who had you tucked into the middle of them, protecting you from harm as you protected them from the Reaper.

"This is Seargeant Major Rudolfo Parra, my right hand man. Ghost, Soap, and Bog." He points to you last, and you give him a smile and a nod and he feels the sun on his face like never before. You were radiant, the stress and trauma gracing your eyes but it didn't stop the rays of hope that shined through them. He almost didn't notice the strange call sign.

"Tengo miedo de los fantasmas." He attempted to joke but got nothing but a flat stare in return. "And...Bog?"

You sighed in exasperation, Soap chuckling and slapping his knee in glee. "Feel free to call me Doc instead, Sergeant Major. Soap is terrible with call signs." And that is where it ended, the conversation going serious as he drove through the streets of his home with the gradual realization that eyes were on him, but they were not vicious.

The name Bog stuck much more easily than Doc, to your dismay he could tell, but he had to admit. It fit you. You bounced back from injuries and stressful situations like the soft ground you were named after, yet you could spew acid at those deserving.

"You be safe huh, Darlin'? Can't be too careful with our good ol'doc." Graves's southern drawl cuts through the comms.

You sighed, irritation and anger apparent in your voice. "It's Doctor or Captain, Commander Graves. I give you respect you give me respect."

"What about Bog?"

"Friends can call me Bog."

"We aint-"

"No."

Soap snickered through the ear piece, Ghost telling them to stay focused before the comms went silent again. You were waiting at headquarters with Rudy and the other members of his unit on standby in case there was any medical emergencies while the others went through the cartel compound.

"Doctor?" He asked, because you certainly didn't look old enough to have one.

You turned with wide eyes, doe like he recalled, before smiling and showing your ID card. "Got it while I was enlisted, then I went to Officer Candidate School and the rest is history."

"Your family must be proud, as should your team to have such capable hands with them." He turned his chair so he was resting his arms on the back, one eye and ear out on the cameras.

"Gaz thinks differently, says I'm a torturer with a needle but that's just because he's afraid of them." Then you put a finger to your lips and pursed them, winking at him so slyly that it made his heart leap into his throat. "But I'm not supposed to tell anyone that."

He laughed, resting his head on his hand and tried to keep the admiration out of his eyes. "You have my word, bonita, I won't tell a soul."

You and him spoke like that for ages, only breaking when the on ground team needed something. Your chairs were significantly closer together than when you had started.

He had become so smitten with you in the small time he had known you that when they were relieved of duty he didn't want to end the conversation. He walked you back to a room just for you, female soldiers weren't common in Mexican Special Forces, talking low and walking slow as to prolong his time with you. You had told him about your home in America, somewhere cold that got snow every once in a while and he had watched as you spoke animated about what you would do with your family.

"What about you Rudy? Any experience with snow?"

"Enough to know I am not built for it," he laughed, "No, my home is by the coast, with plenty of warmth for the rest of my days."

"Oh a beach man huh? Am I gonna get the chance to see you in a speedo?" You smirked at him, stopping at your door and peering up at him through your lashes.

"I am Mexican, Bonita, not European, but..." all of the confidence he had managed to keep throughout the night melted away suddenly. Shaking hands reached for your fingers, just enough for them to curl around your knuckles and you held them twice as tightly. "I could take you, some day, when this has calmed down. You would like it. I will make you so much food and drinks you would not know what to do with it all."

You stepped forward and kissed his cheek, feather light and petal soft but it was enough to knock him off his feet. "Its a date. Good night Rudy."

"Buenos noches, bonita."

He had watched you, passing glances through the time you spent with Los Vaqueros and became entranced. You were intelligent, witty, funny, beautiful, and strong, you had to be to carry wounded from the field but it did nothing to rough up the hands you had touched him so delicately with.

Yet those hands, oh those hands, were sculpted by angels he was sure.

You had patched him up after Hassan Zyani left him for dead and Alejandro, his brother in all but blood, saved him from the building, blood running down his head and barely able to walk he was so dazed. He remembered you laying him down, cold water on his face and you soft eyes and gentle hands on his skin and he thought it was heaven. You barked orders to get medical supplies, but made your voice soft and warm when you spoke to him. He noticed then that you always did that, when it was just the two of you or when the attention was away, you spoke to him as if he something soft and gentle to and by God he was.

He was clay in your hands, clay to be molded and shaped to fit into your shape so that your radiance could heat him and bring him back to life so that he may support you and hold you and keep you safe.

"I think a new call sign is in order, hermosa." He whispered, numb to the pain in his head as he raised a hand to hold your face.

"Shh, Rudy, hold still. I'm almost done." You caught his hand, squeezing it tightly as you wrapped the bandages around his head.

"I think Angel is much more fitting. Eres un ángel, esos suaves toques solo podrían pertenecer a una." You smiled and finished the bandages, looking down at him with fondness as you held his hand to your chest.

"I think you have a concussion."

"Perhaps," he shrugged and used his other hand to grasp your cheek. "Or perhaps I have died and the angels had no other choice but to use your face, although I hope that is not the case. I still have to take you to the coast." He struggled to keep his eyes open as the pain medication you gave him started to take effect.

Rodolfo felt something then, firmer but still soft as roses on his lips. "You better." He heard you say, another gentle touch on his forehead that he couldn't recognize before slipping unconscious.

The next time he would kiss you would be just before you left, Valeria in custody and the plane that would cart you away from him waiting behind you. You take his hand and press an envelope into it. "I'm a romantic." You explained, "Write to me?"

He cradled your face and pulled you close, kissing your lips with as much gusto and adoration he could fit into it before he could lose his nerve. The feeling of your arms wrapped around his neck would soon become a favorite of his.

"I will." One more kiss to your lips and you were away.

It would be another six months before he could hold you in his arms again, swinging you around once you came off the airport terminal and committing the sound of your laugh to memory. He wasted no time in taking you to his villa, one hand on your thigh as he drove and you resting against his arm.

And soon the ocean is a distant roar, muffled by the sounds of his Los Cojolites and the sizzling of breakfast he was cooking. The scent of heliotrope and sun-rippened tomatoes is heavy in the balmy air that pulses in time with his heart. His shirt open and revealing the marks you had given him the night before and that morning and he sees you, sitting on the veranda with a cup of coffee and tour own marks on display. Rodolfo smiles and walks out, settling behind you with a hand on your shoulder and another under your chin as he looks at you with nothing but love.

"Want some company, cariño?"

And he knows you could never say no.

#cod x you #rodolfo mw2 #rodolfo x reader #this is long as hell #not beta read #im obsessed with this man #fluff #so much fluff #love #waxing poetic #rodolfo parra x reader

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miriel-therindes · 2 years

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To the glistening eastern sea, I give you Queen Lucy the Valiant. To the great western woods, King Edmund the Just. To the radiant southern sun, Queen Susan the Gentle. And to the clear northern skies, I give you King Peter the Magnificent. Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia. May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens.

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totheglisteningeasternsea · 1 year

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I was rewatching lww today as you do and I got to this part:

“To the radiant southern sun, Queen Susan the Gentle.”

And as always an unhinged thought popped up:

If it’s the southern sun, would it like… rise in the south… or maybe set in the south?

Or what other criteria makes this sun southern?

We all know this world is flat and the lamppost is a tree, so really, anything could go

#i haven’t been posting much lately but if you’re new here this is exactly the type of post you should expect from this blog #narnia meme #narnia crack #narnia meta #lww #lww movie #the lion the witch and the wardrobe #narnia #chronicles of narnia #narnia shitpost #tcon

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ffxivxd · 3 months

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Phoibos is a facility in Labyrinthos that regulates the artificial sun. Its name comes from the term "radiant". Here, brightness levels are adjusted by time and season to correspond with the climate of southern Ilsabard.

#ff14 #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ffxivxd #final fantasy 14

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deathofthelastromantics-blog · 1 year

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" How long was it till you turned my life to folklore? "

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liminal-zone · 7 months

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courage, dear heart

i wrote a thing!

AO3 fic link: atomic blonde

fandom: Narnia/LOTR crossover | ship: Susan Pevensie/Éowyn, background Haladriel

rated: mature | tagged: crossover, canon compliant, pining, Gender Politics with Clive Staples and John Ronald Reuel, post The Horse and His Boy, bittersweet

Summary: It’s not the first time a power beyond understanding ripped Susan away from her home to fight in another world’s war. And in this strange country, she will find her courage.

Set as Frodo becomes the ringbearer, set after Susan returns from Tashbaan and the Battle of Anvard is won.

a/n: Written for @thenarniaficexchange 2023 for @syrena-of-the-lake. Is this fic just a string of references from all seven narnia books, at least five lotr books, various narnia and lotr films, a lotr tv show, Churchill’s “we shall fight on the beaches”, and Shakespeare? Maybe so.

Two canons in a blender, my favorite scene in this is when the Dark Lord Sauron comes to Queen Susan in her dreams to take her apart and finds something he didn’t expect. And my heart aches to answer an unanswered question in the fic about magicked memory loss and the Problem of Susan, perhaps in a sequel.

Excerpt:

Her hands are dirty from drawing the circle, fingers burned from the blue fire.

The bright magic ring she wears is cold, very cold; cold as the bottom of the sea. And it sings of power, not of the flesh, but over flesh. The power of the Unseen World.

In her mouth is the language spoken before the dawn of time. Before the Deep Magic was written. Before the Sun and the Moon were made. “Call her up.”

It’s quite sudden – the searing sound in her ears and then a great pop – and she’s no longer riding alongside her sister in the wilds of Galma but in a strange, alien land.

She stills her horse, and is surprised to find it not the dumb Galman beast who was a pleasure to ride along the sands of the ocean, but a great stallion fit for a warrior of renown. The shabby islander saddle is now richly ornate, covered in symbols she does not recognize. The windswept sea of grass smells sweet; rich earth beneath and a warm yellow sun in the endless blue sky above. Massive forests and towering mountains in the distance, and far off to the south, clouds of smoke. No recognizable landmark of any kind.

This curious little girl from Finchley has experienced travel between worlds before, but she does not quite remember the first time. Something about a mother who loved her and a great stairwell and the numbing horror of nonstop destruction; all faded in memory and deemed unimportant, lost. She is now queen of a great country; taller than her brother, the High King, and a remarkable beauty sought by highborns across the known world. Her raven-colored hair and red lips, haunting the dreams of many. Her gracious kindness, a balm to her loving subjects once subjugated by winter and a witch.

More importantly, she still remains curious.

For she is Susan, by the gift of Aslan, by election, by prescription, and by conquest, Queen over Narnia under the High King Peter, the Lady of Cair Paravel and Protector of the River Rush, Blessed by the Radiant Southern Sun, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, Daughter of Eve, the Gentle.

And this strange country, unknown to her, is Middle Earth.

Her magical horn came with her, tied to her belt. There is no hesitation as she raises it to her lips. Father Christmas had said “–wherever you are–,” so she blows it, calling for help in this alien place.

The full velvety sound rings out across the grassy plains, ringing up through the nearby mountains and reaching forests unknown and reaching foreign ears in their towers of stone. (Perhaps even reaching the power that brought her here.)

A rider appears in the distance. Susan narrows her eyes, considering if this is friend or foe. She only has a dagger and her wits, which may be enough.

It is a warrior with a shield on his arm. He rides a white steed and golden horse hair flows out of his helmet. He shines bright like the famed white stag and Susan feels an intense urge to chase this rider at once, to put an arrow in his heart and drag him to the ground.

To demand wishes? Perhaps. The urge is unknowable.

But no: this is no white stag, nor a magical creature of any sort.

And Susan does not yet know that this is no man.

Susan called for help, and help has arrived in the form of Éowyn, the Lady of Rohan.

It is a cautious meeting and neither dismount.

The rider’s gaze is appraising, obviously noting Susan’s foreign dress. There’s the uncommon length of her raven hair, adorned with the lush island flowers of Galma. The dagger and white horn at her side, and the ease in which Susan is managing a stallion. The queenly posture; a regal confidence undoubted. (This is learned behavior. Pevensies can trace their lineage to poor fishermen in East Sussex and poorer soldiers from Normandy.)

Susan’s assessment is this: the young rider is a dangerous warrior, lithe and well-knit in frame, made all the more queer with his open courtesy to a stranger.

“What country, friend, is this?” Susan asks.

The rider tilts his head. “This is Rohan, my lady.” His voice ringing out clear.

And what shall I do in Rohan? Susan thinks, miserably.

“Are you in need some assistance, my lady?” the rider continues, a look of concern in his gray eyes. A pause. “I am Dernhelm, at your service.”

Dernhelm listens to her tale and “strange sorcery” is his response. He thinks a moment before: “Have you experience with witches?”

Susan gives a smile, but it is a bitter one. She knows more than some about witches.

After Susan explains, Dernhelm nods. “The way I see it is this: you have appeared here through magic, for what reason, I cannot say. And you have appeared in Rohan, for what reason, I cannot say. You are no servant of the Dark Lord, there is something true and honorable about you.” He stops there for a moment before a continuing in a most peculiar tone. “The wizards have no interest in queens; what is a woman to the affairs of air and earth? So, the Lady of the Golden Wood, she must be behind this and her reasons could have promise in them.”

“The Lady?” Susan echoes quietly. There are hags that called Her “the White Lady.”

“She is a great sorceress. An elf-witch of terrible power who dwells in Dwimordene.” Dernhelm looks grave. “It is said that all who look upon her shall fall under her spell and are never seen again.”

Susan shivers, thinking of the horror of Jadis’ castle. Of Tumnus’ look of terror, frozen in stone.

Dernhelm continues. “My brother believes she is a myth, and–” he pauses as if pained by a memory unspoken. “My king’s advisor says webs of deceit were ever woven in Dwimordene.” He raises his chin, and his eyes are shining bright. “But I believe differently. There is an old, old tale of this elf-witch helping my annointed forebear, the first of our kings. I choose to believe that tale. I choose to believe that in our time of need, the Lady came to our aid. High honor to protect the king and his men, and dread magic too. And perhaps, perhaps if she is behind this, she can be reasoned with and you can return home. Should you have the courage, you seek her out.”

“Then I shall go to find this Lady of the Golden Wood,” Susan says. “If you will take me there, sir. For I do not know the way.”

The man sucks in air and holds it a moment before: “For this journey, you have my sword, your grace.”

#narnia #susan pevensie #eowyn #sauron #galadriel #susan x eowyn #haladriel #lizzen fic #narnia fic exchange #the horse and his boy #ww2 wildly waving its hands in the background saying notice me notice me

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altruists-reverie · 7 months

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6th of October

It’s been a year, And what a year it’s been.

Right now, there are no clever rhymes in me. Only the echoes of old goodbyes.

I lost you on this day, When the sun sang its radiant irony. And when the southern breeze just began to chill.

I feel a dread. I feel a dread like a scab. That scab itches and itches, And I have no choice but to scratch it. And to bleed.

Oblivion is what I suspect you face. Not darkness. Not light. Not anything.

The scar you gifted to me Is the only thing I have left of you. When you went up in flames, I think my hope did, too.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say. These stanzas are scribbled notes. But I hope you know that I still love you just as much as before, And that the 6th of October is forever carved in my skin.

#poetry #tw grief #literature #chaotic academia #original writing #light academia #dark academia #academia #poem #poets on tumblr #poetrycommunity

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2usan · 1 year

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𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚜𝚞𝚗, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 / 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚒'𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎

#aesth ➛ to the radiant southern sun .#study ➛ i’ve been the archer i’ve been the prey .#this is ugly but i wanted to do something creative

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tahyal · 7 months

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Hi tahyal!

So I honestly hope this doesn't sound like a stupid question or anything but: since you're very knowledgeble on this kind of stuff I thought I might ask you: do you know any way to increase melanin on the skin? I'm southern european so I've always kind of had a tanned skin/olive skin. I wanted to ask you if you know anything that might help with the production of melanin as I've noticed as I get older, my skin has gotten more fair and I accept that but I've always preferred how I looked the darker my skin was. l don't want to tan under the sun too much because I want to avoid damaging my skin. Do you know if there's any supplement I could take?

Thank you!♡

Hi!

Eating carrots regularly helps to have that natural glow from within, thanks to the carotene, it also gives you a nicer tan if you do choose to do so at some point. (By the way : I’ve noticed that ever since removing/reducing seed oils from my diet, my skin has become much more resilient, and way less sensitive to the sun, so you might want to try that)

Also, consuming organic animal fats and proteins (not in excess) contributes to an overall more lively skin tone! Think grass fed ghee, free range eggs, and grass fed beef liver. Its also very good for your hormones.

As far as supplements, I have no idea if there are any to significantly increase your melanin production, and to be honest even if there are, id be weary.

You’re better off just eating well, truly nourishing your body from within so that your skin has all that it needs to be naturally radiant!

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isaut · 8 months

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𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒕 𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒊𝒔— part of of 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆. (a southern au)

kazuha falls in love with a new girl every week. he’s having a repeat week because venus is in retrograde. kazuha isn’t allowed to drink in this au either. just some fun with dialogue.

“i fear ive fallen in love again,” kazuha bemoans. he rests his head in his hands, shaking it slightly. “if only love would release her cruel grip on me.”

the evening is winding down, most have gone home from the lake party. only kazuha and beidou sit on the dock, the calmness of nature echoing.

beidou frowns slightly, reaching over and shaking his can of beer. it’s still mostly full. “who is it this time?”

“an old flame,” kazuha sighs, “im afraid not even the tears from our parting could quench the flame. nor a swim in the lake.”

“how about the rest of your beer?” beidou asks.

kazuha places his hand on his heart. he watches as the lightning bugs flicker in and out of the twilight. “it would only make it worse, and it will consume me.”

“who are you hung up on?” beidou asks.

“[first],” kazuha sighs, closing his eyes. he quickly opening them again. “i should call them, don��t you think?”

beidou speaks into the mouth of her own can of beer. “uh, no. i don’t think so. you really fucked her up.”

kazuha groans. “and would it not be a perfect moment to atone? to apologize for my wrong doings?”

“if you want to end the evening by being cussed out to hell and back, sure. but i don’t think you’ll win ‘em back that quickly.”

“i’ll remind her… that her eyes are like stars, her smile radiant like the sun, her aura confused with the moonlight—“

“kazuha,” beidou interrupts, placing a hand on his shoulder. “you know i love you right.”

kazuha slowly opens his eyes. “i’m aware. i, too, care deeply for you.”

“you tell every girl that spiel. d’ha think it’s going to work again.”

“but i mean it this time,” kazuha sighs. “if you really loved me, really cared for the well being of my love life, you’d grab my phone for me with their contact pulled up and ready to go.”

beidou laughs, withdrawing her hand. “let’s get inside. you need to eat somethin’ before bed.”

“what i really need to eat—“

“yeah, no. there are croissants and peanut butter inside and you can scavenge for something.”

beidou offers kazuha her hand to help him stand. only after a moment does he take it, swaying once before righting himself. “do you think there are leftover hot dogs?”

“i’m sure there are,” beidou says, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leading him indoors.

“i haven’t forgotten about [first], by the way,” kazuha says. “i’m going to make a hot dog and then call her.”

#for all my kazuha lovers x #library #southern au #kazuha x reader

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