#War Chronicles

[newsvistaarblog]

16 दिसंबर, संघर्ष में डूबी हुई क्रूरता: नैशविले की लड़ाई (1864)

Written By Shafeek Ahmad, Published On 16-December-2023. अमेरिकी गृहयुद्ध के दौरान दिसंबर 1864 में लड़ी गई नैशविले की लड़ाई, राष्ट्र को आकार देने वाले उथल-पुथल भरे संघर्षों के प्रमाण के रूप में खड़ी है। यह विस्तृत अन्वेषण इस महत्वपूर्ण संलग्नता की ओर ले जाने वाली घटनाओं, संघ और संघ दोनों सेनाओं द्वारा अपनाई गई रणनीतियों और युद्ध के प्रक्षेप पथ पर इसके स्थायी प्रभाव पर प्रकाश डालता…

[sapphia]

no you guys don't get it. the pevensies were always fated to die tragically early, these children whose childhoods were torn away by the brutality of world war i and then who died so early into adulthood, before they'd had a chance to live and to grow up -- in 1949, like so many who made it to early adulthood, just, only to be mowed down on the battlefields of europe. the most common age of death in wwii was 19. the siblings represent an entire generation of lost youth, and Narnia is the gift, the fantasy, the parable of heaven that told the survivors these children got to live out full lives in Narnia before perishing tragically young

susan didn’t get “kept out of narnia because she liked girly things.” she survived because she grew up

[cyrankaa]

[kingorqueenofnarnia]

Peter, fifteen and fresh out of a bloody and brutal war, sneaking out of Cair Paravel in the middle of the night and going to the river, sticking his head into ice-cold water to shock himself out of a nightmare riddled sleep. Narnia won, but at what cost?

Peter, lying in Susan's bed with his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her skirts, dried tear tracks on his face and Susan singing quietly in an effort to comfort him. Her fingers pick apart the strands of his hair and he falls asleep only to wake up an hour later with screams on his lips.

Peter, wrapping his arms around an Edmund who has returned from war and murmuring frantic thanks to the Gods for keeping him alive. He presses kisses on Edmund's forehead, cheeks, nose and eyelids, and considers the idea of never letting any of his siblings out of his sight ever again.

Peter, sitting on the High King's throne at the age of thirteen and wondering if he is worthy of this, if he deserves this, if he is capable of this. He is thirteen and barely knows anything about anything and he is High King who should know everything about everything is he worthy is he deserving is he capable he does not know—

Peter, in Lucy's room sitting on the floor with his back pressed to her bed, allowing her to braid flowers into his hair as he stares at the wall. The Victory Parade is in a few hours, but they lost many soldiers and people and Peter has lost sleep and sanity and good friends. Narnia has won but Peter has lost.

Peter, carrying a candle to the Castle Library at two in the morning and pulling out a book about children's fables. He cannot sleep, might as well distract himself. The candle dies down and the sun comes up, and Peter drags himself back to his quarters to get ready.

Peter, who locks himself in his chambers and does not come out for days and days, who refuses food and drink and buries himself under his blankets and stares out the window with blank eyes and slack eyebrows, who does not speak and does not cry and pushes his face into his pillow and screams for the nightmares to go away please I'll do better I just want to sleep please stop please—

Peter, who wants peace and contentment, but cannot help but go to war. Peter, who is quiet and introspective but needs to be loud and abrasive because he is High King. Peter, who wishes he could put down the sword that he wields as easily as he breathes.

Peter, who desires peace, but becomes a God of War

[caeliflammae]

anne rice said "erotica", the fans said "oh hm this is horror and abuse! let's turn this into a deeply upsetting character study about how abuse can create cruel people who perpetuate cycles."

iwtv (2022) writers said "this is a literal fucking saw trap" the fans said "but what if they were in love <3"

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

For the Star Wars Day (May the Fourth / May the Force Be With You) there was shared (with the permission of the Pratchett Estate ) a Terry Pratchett story from the Star Wars Universe that was only published in a newspaper 45 years ago! Very excited to read a new Terry's piece! :)❤ (tweet)

Also, Terry Pratchett writing fanfiction 45 years ago, can I hear a wahoo? :)

[rosewoodroad]

And the comm's still eating random stuff off the ground 10 years later.

[bloodybigwardrobe]

Susan did not see Peter in battle for years—arriving to his stand against Jadis almost too late, catching up while he picked himself up from the torn earth, on the other side of the conflict when the remnants of Jadis’ army tried their luck at the Cair. Sure, she knew he fought and killed, just as she did, just as Edmund and Lucy did—and oh, how Susan loathes that last part, but Lucy had been the one to find the first assassin in their halls and there was nothing to be done about it now. There was entirely too much death in their first year, Susan thinks, the fairytale shine of Narnia soon breaking apart and leaving a country and people in desperate need of rest and time behind. It took her days to get the blood out underneath her and Lucy’s fingernails, and she knew Peter had just as bad a time with Edmund next door. With a lump in her throat, Susan wondered often if this was to be the rest of their lives: washing themselves clean of battles that were forced upon them by a world far too big for their hands to hold. But even then, with the bloodied waters between them all, she never truly saw Peter in battle. A slain Maugrim who had about as much a part in his own death as Peter’s shaking sword did, a witch that Susan never saw die, assassins that ended up on the moth-eaten carpets she had found in old storage rooms; things that should give her pause but she simply couldn’t consider for long with all there was to do. They had killed to end up where they were, and Susan knew deep down that they would have to kill to stay, too. Now, standing with her bow held tight and a quiver empty of arrows, a sword at her side she has yet to finish learning how to swing, Susan finds herself in a pocket of tar-slow time. Here, she stands with a muddied hemline and their castle once more under siege—unknown foes, but foes all the same—and there, across the way, with his hair longer than Susan has ever known him to have, Peter lets out a roaring laugh. Rhindon is far out of sight, a glaive taking its place in Peter’s steady hands. Even from afar, Susan feels it in her bones when Peter’s swing launches an enemy’s torn body across the field. There are bodies, horror-frozen faces, the stench of blood and bile. The steps to the Cair will perhaps forever bear the stain of this assault. They have lost people they held dear. Susan has wept enough to fill an ocean. And Peter laughs. With storm-eyes, bloodied tongue, and bared teeth, her older brother wages joyous war.

[boatswainscall]

I had a profoundly stupid idea

[illustratinghan]

the sweetest couple on the whole of tattooine 🪐

jedi simon was absolutely thrilled when izzy agreed to go to the comic book convention with him dressed up like princess leia! 🫶

characters by @cassandraclare 🤍

[angelhht]

🌌

[cappyjara]

[call-me-noa]

The new Star Wars suburbs show or whatever reminded me of something.

[panevanbuckley]

mutuals who share multiple fandoms with you are like rare gems

[kingorqueenofnarnia]

High King Peter is Magnificent.

They say that his hair is spun from the purest gold from the holy lands of the Emperor Beyond the Sea, that his eyes are a brighter, more potent blue than any sapphire ever mined and polished, that his lips are soft and pink like the first rosebud of True Spring. They whisper of the ribbons and flowers woven into his hair and the delicate golden crown on an equally golden head, of the gentle smiles that curl over his plush lips and the crinkles around his eyes when he laughs loud and joyful.

They talk of his beauty in reverent tones, sing praises and erect shrines to honour him, and they call him Magnificent.

They don't speak of how the roses and ribbons in his hair are the exact colour of spilled blood, dark red like the paint he smears across his eyes when riding to war. They don't speak of how his gaze carries the weight of the Great Ocean— a vast, open, endless sea that swallows everything in its path, ruthless and without mercy. They don't speak of how his lips are bitten and chapped, curved up into smiles that should appear soft but are more a baring of sharp fangs teeth than anything else. They don't speak of his battle cries, loud enough to make the very earth beneath their feet tremble.

They deliberately don't speak of how Beauty is sometimes described as Terrifying, how Angels are feared by all that lay eyes upon them, about how Celestials are the farthest from Human one can get without losing the human form.

Long Live High King Peter the Magnificent, God amongst Mortals.

[emiko-matsui]

not zac oyama my beloved. zac oyama THE beloved. of all time.