#its the narnia in me coming out i guess

[raspberryzingaaa]

Me, constantly while reading Lord of the Rings: "why aren't yall praying right now?"

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

one of my batfam hot takes is that alfred having a very kind and understanding grandfather-like role is a boring spin on the character and lacks a lot of nuance around his backstory.

like he is a classically trained british butler which means he very likely comes from a working class family. and like, as a working class brit myself, i sometimes find the kindly, well-mannered grandfather thing grating because, a lot of white, working class men his age are unfortunately not nice people. some of them are like my great grandad was a really great guy, but hes really the only one i know who is or was not awful.

because their generation werent as exactly raised with ideals about mental health and emotional regulation. a lot of them were traumatised due to ww2 either because they saw it firsthand when they were like 15, they were old enough to remember things like rationing and the blitz, and a lot of them lost their dads in the war.

i dont expect american writers to understand how much ww2 affected britain (modern britain is still so steeped in it, its insane) and that generation specifically, BUT id love to see that explored more with alfred. like depending on where he grew up, he would likely have been separated from his family during the blitz and sent off to the countryside like most of the kids in cities were, (this is how narnia starts) and like, a lot of them were horrifically abused or used as free labour. a lot of them also lost parents and never got to say goodbye to them. many came back to destroyed homes. some kids also remained in the city or their parents requested them back so theyd experience the blitz first hand and would know the sign of air raid siren meant they might die that night.

you can see how a lot of that generation were permanently scarred. and for a few decades now, alfred would have been part of that generation.

plus he was also a secret service officer which is just like more opportunities to be traumatised and more reason for him to not be this gentle old man whos in touch with his emotions.

and like, as a classically trained butler, he would likely be more reserved because you know, thats how he was trained. also british men that age would also likely be very hands off in regards to emotions.

but the biggest reason as to why the gentle, kind grandfather take doesnt really make sense is that he raised bruce wayne.

like bruce has a whole slew of emotional issues and problems, and obviously some of that is going to come from alfred raising him because you know, thats kinda how that works. i know a lot of batfam folks want bruce to be this great dad, so i guess their take on alfred fits that, but canonically, bruce wayne is an emotional mess and not the best father figure at the best of times.

you cannot look at that bruce wayne and tell me alfred did a good job.

listen, this shouldn't even be a hot take. it's just an opinion that differs from the most popular interpretation of Alfred as an endlessly giving grandmotherly old man.

the thing about Alfred is that more than anything you have to recognize that he's an enabler. and I love the man to pieces, but at absolute best he was extremely negligent in Bruce's upbringing, if not actively encouraging the world's worst coping mechanisms.

I hate to give Gotham credit for anything, especially when it comes to Alfred since I hate their Alfred, but the show was bang on in its insistence from day one that Alfred should not have been Bruce's primary guardian. it's painful to watch how often Alfred encourages Bruce to tough it out and suck it up, and it never really stops. in one of the latter seasons (four, I think) he hits Bruce hard enough to give him a black eye during an argument, and this is ultimately written as a situation in which Bruce needs to apologize to Alfred for being a bratty teenager, rather than Alfred owing Bruce an apology for hitting him when he's a grief-stricken teenage boy cracking under stress.

and like, listen, I understand there are Watsonian and Doylist layers to this. Alfred fundamentally can't have been a good enough guardian to stop Bruce from channeling his trauma into fursuit vigilantism, because then there's no story. I get it.

but jesus christ.

I don't think characterizations of Alfred as a stoic caregiver are wrong, but I do think people don't want to think about how he got there. when I see the aged Alfred patching up Bruce's wounds and nagging him to eat, or doing his best to offer advice to the kids who have gotten mixed up in Bruce's crusade, I see a man who realized a long time ago that he dropped the fucking ball and has dedicated his life to doing as much damage control as possible. okay, so, completely failed step one (raise a well-adjusted child). can we at least make sure that this basket case adult man doesn't go completely over the edge? can we make sure he doesn't become a killer? can we encourage him to take off the mask and be Bruce Wayne sometimes? can we keep the children safe?

I do think Alfred loves all of them, for whatever its worth. his care for Bruce is real, that is his son, the Batgirls and Robins are his extended family. he'll cook their uneaten meals and clean the entire, massive house himself and stitch them up every night forever. he would die for them. hell, he'd kill for them. he loves them. but none of that means he raised Bruce right.

that's kind of the thing I like most about the Bats: they all care so, so much. but the way they love is terrible.

[where-dreamers-go]

"Surprise" Edmund Pevensie x Reader

(A/N: Uh, I guess this is basically an insert reader now. I got carried away. Oops? Imagine: King Edmund finding you as you're creating art.)

~~~

A refreshing sea breeze and gorgeous weather had brought you to the shoreline of Cair Paravel. The creative need itching inside of yourself to capture the view of the Eastern Sea had not ceased.

So there you sat upon a small stool, its legs well-seated into the soft sand. A good sized canvas on your lap as you spread color across the surface.

Oh, to create and push emotions into an art piece. The flow of creativity that comes from diving into the details and motion of one's hands. One could almost lose themselves inside of their creation before it was complete. If a piece can ever be truly finished.

Hunched over a colored canvas with eyes darting back to the horizon was how King Edmund had found you.

"Hello, my dear friend."

"Your Majesty!" You jumped from your seat, fumbling with your art supplies.

"Be calm." Said he as a smile curved his lips. "I approached you because I had not seen you for many hours and I only just now spotted you from the balcony. Your solitude gave me slight alarm."

"I'm sorry to have worried you, my King." You inclined your head softly for a moment. "Time has eluded me if I have been out here so long."

His eyes glanced to your canvas and soon widened. "By the Lion's Mane, I know why!" He took a step forward and stated, "You are capturing details of Narnia on canvas as if you had plucked them out of the landscape itself. This is wonderful!"

"Thank you ever so much, your Majesty."

King Edmund's compliment sent your heart soaring to the blue skies above and beyond.

"I still have work to put into it before it is complete," you said.

"You will be out here longer?" King Edmund inquired with much less enthusiasm.

"Yes, I must capture the beauty of Narnia. It is not an easy feat."

"I should say not." He chuckled lightly. "Then I must leave you to snatch the colors you need for your art. I do not wish to interrupt more than I have done."

"Hardly an interruption." You gave him a smile.

Secretly, you wished he would stay. King and friend, you enjoyed his company.

Looking to your artwork once more, the king admired the colors and their forms that took shape.

"I should not be out here for too much longer."

"Then, I look forward to seeing you safe indoors, my friend." With a small smile, King Edmund turned and started walking towards the path he came.

Hope lingered that Edmund would gaze back or change his mind. To spend more time with your friend would easily keep you in high spirits.

But he did look back, steps slowing as he did.

For a moment, even at the distance he made, you locked eyes.

"Will you be all right? Alone?" The King called.

"I will be," you answered. "Unless . . ."

His dark eyebrows pinched together at your pause. "Unless?"

"Unless I become entirely distracted and engrossed into my art that the tide rushes up unnoticed by me until it's too late." You looked to your work and added, "I would officially put the waves into the piece."

"Say you would not."

"How am I to know what would happen?" You shrugged innocently.

He shook his head momentarily and made the walk back to you. "Then for your safety, I can not leave."

You smiled and settled back onto the stool with your canvas.

"I feel safe all ready," you beamed and started adding color once more to the canvas. You really did want to finish before all the light changed in front of you.

King Edmund stood quietly for a moment or two. That was until a question struck him. "What plans do you have for your art once you are satisfied with its completeness?"

You kept your lips closed.

"Why the sudden silence, my friend?" He leaned closer, trying to get a read on your expression. "Is it a secret?"

You nodded.

"A gift?"

Again, you nodded.

"I might guess."

"No," you said, "because then I must tell you who it is intended for and you shouldn't have seen it so early."

"My apologies."

You smiled despite it all and said happily, "I'm glad you like it."

"There was never a doubt I wouldn't. To see more of your art is a treat and honor. I look forward to seeing more."

"And if it was this very same piece, you would still like it?" You asked carefully.

"Yes."

Your smile widened.

At least you wouldn't worry of whether or not King Edmund would like his gift.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Tag Game: WIP Questionnaire

Thanks to @diabolical-blue and @paeliae-occasionally for the tags here and here!

Blank Questions:

1. What’s the first part of your WIP that you created? 2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be? 3. What are your favorite characters that you made? Why? 4. What other pieces of media do you think your fanbase would share? 5. What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP? 6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them! 7. How do your characters travel/get around? 8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now? 9. What aspects (tropes, maybe?) will you think draw your audience in? 10. What are your hopes for your WIP?

Gently tagging @faytelumos @thewritingautisticat @pluttskutt @illarian-rambling @somethingclevermahogony

@scaewolf @grimmdivinity @crwn-nrth and open tag! :D

Answering for The Legend of Orian Goldeneye under the cut:

1. What’s the first part of your WIP that you created?

I actually created Jas first. I fleshed out her design as a portal fantasy protagonist ages before I started thinking up the plot to TLoOG. It consisted of a character sheet with her name, appearance, and general sense of her personality, though that would get fleshed out later as I wrote the first draft.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

Oooooo I had to think long and hard about this, but I'd love for the song Ghosts That We Knew by Mumford & Sons to be the hypothetical intro. I think the lyrics reflect a lot of the characters' motivations, backstories and relationships.

3. What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

Killian because I like to whump him, Jas because she's me but slightly to the left, Orian because he's precious baby, Diana because she's a bard, Henrik because he means well but needs improvement, Azura because she is multifaceted.

4. What other pieces of media do you think your fanbase would share?

I suppose other works in the portal fantasy genre such as The Chronicles of Narnia, Beyonders, The Owl House or the Cosmere (I guess?? Worldhoppers are portal fantasy protagonists???) would have overlap. I would say amnesia trope as well but it might be surprising to learn that I haven't read very many books with it. While there are some Wheel of Time elements I don't think there'll be very much overlap compared to the rest.

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

This storming rewrite draft. I have a plan that I'm going for but I'm currently at a standstill because Diana didn't originally exist the way she does now and I'm trying to find a good way to introduce Azura that isn't just Orian talking about her. Seriously the first draft was very different than what I'm trying to do now and I'm having issues.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

Does Octavian count? Sure let's say his wolf form counts. Also Henrik's horse.

Octavian's wolf form doesn't come out very much, it tends to operate on instinct and its instincts usually are kill and maim and maul. But if Octavian's cornered he won't hesitate to call out to it and transform.

Henrik's horse's name is Swiftling, she's a powerful mare, former warhorse and as no-nonsense as a horse can possibly get. Asta's stallion learned early on that she won't tolerate anything she considers beneath her. A very fitting horse for Henrik.

7. How do your characters travel/get around?

Well Henrik obviously has his horse. Most of the story takes place in Saint's Shoal, so everyone just walks until they have to travel to Iron Hollow, a city some distance away. Then Diana hires a wagon and horse for the journey.

Some dreamshapers can warp space inside the dream, but only for themselves. Morpheus is one of these. Azura and Orian are not.

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I just got to Diana's introduction and am gearing up for Azura's. In the first draft Azura was introduced when kidnapping Jas, but I changed that because of reasons. I'm currently having a bad bought of writer's block in this scene though, and I'm considering trying to write it from a different POV instead. Orian's maybe? I'll have to decide soon.

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe?) will you think draw your audience in?

Portal fantasy

High Fantasy

Sarcastic female lead

Dreamcore magic system

Child of prophecy

Badass female villain

Lots and lots of whump

Minimal romance

Low/no spice or smut

10. What are your hopes for your WIP?

That I finish this rewrite draft hehe

[padfootagain]

You and the King (VI)

Chapter 6 : On a Journey

Hi lovelies! Here is a new chapter for my Caspian series!

I hope you like this new chapter! Let me know what you think!

****

Pairing: Caspian x reader

Warnings: one scene is a tiny bit spicy? Not very much though, you know me, I don't write smut. It's a rather light-hearted chapter!

Summary: Sequel to The King and You – After meeting Caspian in your own world, you decide to follow him to Narnia, your love for him too strong for you to keep your old life. But as you discover the magic of Narnia, you soon realise that this extraordinary world is as dangerous as it is magnificent. Will your love for Caspian be enough to defeat your new enemies?

Word Count: 2864

Masterlist for the series – Caspian’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Lord Baras, Lord Luis and Lady Dalia were to travel in the same carriage as you and Caspian. The three men were sitting next to each other, while you and Dalia sat on the opposite side. Outside of the carriage, the royal guard was in charge of your safety, both Ammos and Diego guiding the carriage themselves. It didn’t stop Caspian from wearing his sword and dagger.

It was a long trip to Cair Paravel, almost a week of journey, but you didn’t mind. It felt nice to walk out of the fortress, to look by the window at the colourful trees swinging gently in the sun and wind, to let your gaze graze over the fallen skeleton leaves. And even if Caspian and you were not alone, it was enough to be able to catch his gaze with yours whenever you wanted. To see his cheeks redden ever so slightly, the ghost of a smile turn the corners of his lips upwards, his long hair let loose falling over his eyes…

Yes… yes this sight was enough…

The conversation quickly drifted towards politics, and if you tried to follow for a long while, you couldn’t help but be reminded that you were not ready to deal with such complex issues. Instead, you picked up a book Doctor Cornelius gave you to learn about Narnian history and geography, and started studying. You didn’t notice Caspian’s fond smile at the sight of your focused frown, of your lips silently moving along the words you tried to memorize. The rest of the passengers in the carriage did notice though, even if they said nothing about it.

The weather was on your side for your journey eastward. The sun was high and warm despite the coming of winter, the wind gentle in its breezes. You would have enjoyed walking across the forests you passed through, you would have enjoyed listening to the crunching noise of broken leaves, the vivid smell of earth, the laziness of painting orange leaves…

Instead, your head was aching, you guessed it was because of your efforts to memorize the names of these bloody princes and princesses, the sound of conversations you were trying to ignore and the rhythmic creaking of the carriage. You rubbed your temples in an attempt to soothe the pain, but the words were mixed on the page when you tried to focus again. Instead, you lost yourself in your own thoughts, looking by the window.

The light was too vivid as you passed through a valley, along the shores of a steady river. A wooden bridge allowed safe passage a few miles ahead, the area was like a long clearing crossed by a dusty road, with barely any tree, instead a field of lush grass and wildflowers. High hills, or perhaps short mountains, framed the valley, but did little to stop the warm sun. Your headache got worse under such bright lights, and despite the beauty of the scenery, you closed your eyes.

You had been travelling for almost five hours now without any real break, and all in the carriage must have thought that you had fallen asleep, as they started to talk in quieter tones. And you did doze off for a while, until you caught your name being spoken by Lord Baras.

“Lady Y/N seemed tired today, I hope the trip will not be too tiresome to her.”

You were about to open your eyes again to show everyone you were awake, when Caspian answered.

“Yes, these past few weeks have been difficult. But we will be both safer and more comfortable in Cair Paravel, it is worth the tiredness of the journey.”

“I have not talked many times with Lady Y/N, but she seemed… surprising.”

Caspian let out a chuckle.

“She most definitely is full of surprises, indeed.”

You could have opened your eyes and stopped the conversation, but you were too curious for that. Perhaps it was a little childish of you, to fake sleep when you could hear every word spoken. But then again, you wanted to know what the lords and Dalia thought of you. At the very least, the extent of their feelings they were ready to disclose to their king.

“I do hope that she will find the palace to her liking,” Luis said, his tone unreadable.

“Who would not?” replied Dalia.

“How are your studies with lady Y/N going?”

You guessed that the question was aimed at Dalia, although she took a moment before answering.

“Lady Y/N is a slow learner. But she does make a lot of effort.”

You were surprised by the rather positive feedback on your disastrous sessions with her…

That terrible book was still falling from your head after a few steps, after all.

“Many are still very much worried about how competent the lady will be as our Queen, as she was not raised in Narnia.”

“History has proven that our greatest leaders came from her world,” Baras argued, and you were surprised by him choosing your side.

“Of course, of course,” Luis answered with an audible nod.

“She is not alone in this task. She will not be alone to rule,” Caspian added. “She will be more than fine, I am sure of it.”

“Of course, you know her better than any of us,” Baras added. “We should trust your judgement.”

“Indeed, you should.”

“Many are still hesitant, though.”

“Many do not know what lady Y/N is capable of.”

“Echoes from Reepicheep’s lessons show that she will be of no use on a battlefield, that is for certain,” Dalia answered in a wry tone that matched better her feelings towards you, but Caspian laughed, you were surprised by the unexpected sound.

“I did not mean it in a threatening way. Y/N is… kind. And she is more than strong enough to stand her ground, if need be. She will be a just and gentle queen, once she has learned her ways.”

“Rumours are spreading more and more about the circumstances under which the two of you have met,” Luis said. “And some of the rumours are… bothersome, to say the least.”

“Oh, I am certain that some theories are as laughable as they are imaginative.”

Even if Caspian’s tone was still pleasant, his voice had tightened as well.

“Some say that you were kidnapped and forced into her world…”

“Well, I can assure you that I went there guided by my own recklessness and stupidity…”

“Some also say that your attachment to lady Y/N was called by a spell.”

“Magic does not exist in her world. At least, not in the form that we know of. I am perfectly sane of mind, thank you for your concern.”

“Of course, I merely share the rumours I have heard, I do not believe in them.”

“Of course.”

“So… you were not forced into this marriage? Some say that she might have manipulated you. Some say that she used magic to guide your heart.”

“There was no magic involved, outside of love.”

“It is hard to believe that you met her and fell in love out of pure luck, your Majesty.”

“Perhaps I did not. Perhaps Aslan guided my steps. Or perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was pure luck. Call it what you wish. The truth is that I stumbled on her path, and in a world where I was lost, Y/N saved me. We fell in love. She chose to come here so she could be with me. There is nothing more to tell.”

“You seem perfectly resolute in marrying her.”

“I am absolutely determined to marry the woman I love, indeed.”

Caspian heaved a sigh, you felt him shifting his weight, his boot gently touched yours as he straightened his legs a little.

“We should stop for a few minutes,” he commanded, before opening the small window behind him to shout his ordered to the soldiers. “I am growing numb sitting in this cage.”

“It is safer than riding,” Baras argued, but Caspian huffed, annoyed.

“Which is why I have agreed to travel in this carriage, but I am still allowed to complain about it.”

Baras chuckled.

“I apologize. I know your Majesty prefers the wilderness to closed spaces.”

“Indeed…”

The carriage stopped a few minutes later, and after checking the perimeter, Ammos’s voice rang to notify the passengers that it was safe for them to walk outside for a while.

All climbed out, but Caspian lingered inside for a moment longer. He took off his travelling cloak and covered your still frame. He was arranging the soft fabric to tuck you in properly when your fingers held on his.

He looked up, but your eyes were still closed.

“I love you too,” you whispered, a smile spreading across your features.

He grinned.

“For how long have you been awake?”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

He chuckled.

“That was sneaky.”

“I’m learning politics.”

“And you are becoming good at it.”

He bent to kiss your temple.

“You should rest. We’ll leave again in just a few minutes. Try to sleep, my love.”

He brushed a strand of your hair away from your face, kissed your temple once more, before walking out of the carriage, a smile on his lips that matched yours.

The first evening was spent on the road. You stopped for a few hours but remained in the carriage to sleep. At the second sunset though, you reached an inn that would offer your shelter for the night.

It was already night time when you arrived to the establishment, and there was little you could distinguish of it besides its stature cut against the ghostly shapes of tree trunks and a lantern before the door that shone on a sign where its name was written.

The Fire Horse

Caspian offered you his arm as you walked across the leaves to the door, and you held onto it a little too tightly perhaps, but the shadows of the forest were not reassuring, to say the least… the canopy above your heads cut off most of the light of the stars and moon, you could barely see where you were walking.

The owners of the establishment were a couple of badgers that fussed around a lot, clearly over-excited at the prospect of welcoming the King and mighty Lords in their inn. You found them a little too overzealous, but they seemed nice all the same.

You ate some stew with the Lords and Ladies that travelled with you, the soldiers and lower lords remaining in tents outside. In total, about sixty people were gathered in the room, scattered in little groups around packed tables. There was but one large fire-place, and a broken window let in the cold of the evening. You were grateful that Caspian had not taken his cloak back.

Conversations went smoothly that evening, as most were too preoccupied by being noticed by the king to be mean to you. Besides, the mockeries had diminished after a few meals spent with Baras and his friends, as you stood your ground. Caspian had worked on shutting down many rumours and criticism towards you as well.

You weren’t accepted yet, but the animosity towards you was bearable now.

Both you and Caspian were exhausted though, like most of the party. Outside, besides the guards on sentry, all had already gone to bed when you were guided to your bedroom, right next to Caspian’s. Diego would stand before your door all night, and you thanked him as he bid you a good night.

You were getting ready to go to bed when you heard something tapping on your windowpane. You stopped your movements as you were about to remove the long chemise you wore under your dress. But the sound came again, softened not by distance but by a fear of being heard.

Your mind raced, trying to decide what to do next…

Should you call for Diego? For Caspian? Was it a threat?

You wrapped Caspian’s cloak around you, seized a steel chandelier from the table set in the corner of the room, and decided to draw the curtains before calling for help.

You almost dropped your improvised weapon when you saw… Caspian’s face on the other side of the window.

Now, a little explanation is required to explain why Caspian was at your window, on the third floor of the inn, right above a certain death were he to fall. There was no other door to your room besides the one guarded by Diego, there was thus no way anyone could enter your room undetected. Which was needed to assure your safety. But it was also a problem for Caspian, who wanted desperately to see you.

The cause of this sudden urge of his was probably to be found in the third glass of wine he drank that night at dinner. If he was not drunk he was a little tipsy, with pink colouring his cheeks and his brain taking more foolish decisions than his usually-wise self did. Which was why Caspian decided that it would be a fabulous idea to climb his way from the window of his room to yours. He did not think of the deadly fall that awaited him was he to fall down (lucky for him, your dedicated narrator made sure there was no obstacles to his climb, thus fighting this bloody pigeon that nested in the small nook right above his window). He did not think either of the possibility of being seen by the people sleeping in the dozens of tents that had been set all around the inn (again, lucky for him, I was here to make sure everyone was looking in the opposite direction while Caspian was stupidly risking his life and you were wondering if you were about to be assassinated, you’re welcome).

Thus, when you opened your window, it was to let inside your room a slightly dishevelled and out of breath Caspian, who was grinning all the same.

You hurried to close the window again, draw the curtains to hide him.

“What are you doing here?” you asked in a whisper, afraid to be heard.

“I wanted to see you,” his grin doubled in size.

“That’s dangerous! Do you know how high this window is?!”

He rolled his eyes.

“I have done more dangerous things in my life…”

“I don’t want to know any details about that statement. Still, what are you doing here? Aren’t we supposed to not be caught alone together?”

“Diego is on sentry before your door, and it’s the only way in…”

“Besides the window, clearly. And Diego might hear us.”

“He will not.”

“He might.”

“Are you not happy to see me?”

“I am. I always am happy to see you.”

“Then, why are you standing so far away, instead of being in my arms?”

You chuckled at that, heaved a defeated sigh.

“What was your plan, then?” you asked, walking over to him, and a second later, you were tugged in his safe embrace.

“Climbing inside by your window, spending the night with you and going back to my bedroom before dawn.”

“What if someone sees you?”

“No one will see me.”

(For someone unaware he has an amazing narrator as a guardian angel, Caspian sure is overconfident tonight…)

You heaved a sigh, but couldn’t help but relax and believe him when he whispered in your ear that everything would be alright.

You looked up when he pulled away enough to look at you.

“By Aslan’s name, I’ve been dying to do this ever since we left the fortress…”

Before you could ask him what he meant, Caspian was pressing his lips to yours, holding your face in his palm while his other arm was drawing you closer. It took you barely a second to react and kiss him as well, messy and urgent and too passionate for your lungs and hearts…

“Are you very tired?” Caspian asked before moving his lips down the length of your jaw, and then pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck, right against your pulse.

“Not enough to ask you to stop, if that’s your question,” you answered with a playful smile on your lips, eyes closing as Caspian nipped at your soft skin.

He chuckled, pulling away completely. You raised a surprised eyebrow when he took off his shirt, leaving himself half-naked before you.

He grinned as he noticed your gaze roaming down the expanse of his chest, hitting the barrier of his belt, and then climbing all the way back up to his dark eyes, your gaze hungry now.

“Good, because I have plans for tonight.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

But Caspian’s smile softened.

“I want you. So badly. I’m ready to take the risk.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Do you want us to stop?”

But you shook your head.

“Absolutely not. I will kick your pretty arse if you don’t take off the rest of your clothes, actually.”

It was hard for Caspian not to laugh too loudly, after all, discretion was still an imperative. But a couple of seconds later, your lips were back on his, and they were most definitely effective in shutting him up…

[queenlucythevaliant]

When Lucy returned to school for the spring term, Peter sent a war poem. It dropped from the crease of his letter into her lap, as unexpected as a firebomb.

“On Receiving News of War,” the title read, and Lucy’s heart lurched. She was sixteen and Peter was twenty-one. The war had ended three years ago and he had only been a British soldier for a matter of months before he was discharged. Now, this poem came: words from the Last Lot, the 1914 war. Lucy picked up the loose page and read.

ON RECEIVING NEWS OF THE WAR

Snow is a strange white word;

No ice or frost

Have asked of bud or bird

For Winter's cost.

Yet ice and frost and snow

From earth to sky

This Summer land doth know,

No man knows why.

She looked up in shock. What did Peter mean in sending this? Was it only that it made him think of their first days in Narnia, white and frozen under the White Witch’s curse? He could not have missed the title. Lucy worried her lip between her teeth, considering. Her brother did not often use words idly.

Red fangs have torn His face.

God's blood is shed.

He mourns from His lone place

His children dead.

O! ancient crimson curse!

Corrode, consume.

Give back this universe

Its pristine bloom.

Oh. Yes, alright. That made a certain kind of sense. And there, at the bottom of the page, was a single line writ in Peter’s hand. “Variations on a theme,” he had written, “only I’m not yet certain what theme it is. Do you have an idea?”

Several, in fact. Lucy’s mind lit up in an instant, all a-whirl with memory and typology. She wasn’t a child any longer, and in small bits her many battles came back to her. Peter, she was sure, remembered even more of Narnia’s wars.

Yet Lucy remembered the ice of Lantern Waste on the first day as though no time had passed at all. She remembered the crimson of Aslan’s blood. She remembered the thaw. In her mind, those things had nothing and everything to do with Britain’s last war. Nothing: the two worlds were as different as King Arthur and Winston Churchill. Everything: because maybe Arthur and Churchill were not so different after all.

That night, after a trip to the library and with a book of poetry on her desk, Lucy composed her reply. “Another variation,” she wrote, and carefully copied out the lines.  

All the dead kings came to me

At Rosnaree, where I was dreaming,

A few stars glimmered through the morn,

And down the thorn the dews were streaming.

And every dead king had a story

Of ancient glory, sweetly told.

It was too early for the lark,

But the starry dark had tints of gold.

The poem was called “The Dead Kings.” Peter was not dead, but Lune was and Cor was. Caspian was. It was easy to imagine them appearing in the trenches and whispering their stories into the ears of British soldiers.

“Caspian would have liked the notion, I think,” Lucy said thoughtfully.

Peter leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Yes. Come to think of it, I rather like it myself. If I were the dead king, I mean.”

“It’s strange—I think these were meant to be sad poems, the way they were written. The world unwillingly cursed and the ancient kings dead. Yet when you apply it to Narnia, I don’t think it’s terribly sad at all. Maybe a little melancholy, but hopeful too. Like I know something that the poet doesn’t.”

“You do know something that the poet doesn’t,” answered Peter.

“I mean about war and dying and all. It’s all so distant for me, you know? And yet I often suspect that I know secrets that some men who actually fought couldn’t guess at. The hopeless men, maybe. In Narnia it was all more beautiful. Having lived there elevates even war and death, in this world.”

“We were, both of us, soldiers once.”

Lucy nodded.

“How about this one, then?” Peter shoved his book across the table, nearly upending the cream along the way.

The drab street stares to see them row on row

On the high tram-tops, singing like the lark.

Too careless-gay for courage, singing they go

Into the dark.

“Simple,” said Lucy. “Singing on the way to war is courage. Singing in the dark is just about the bravest thing a person can do. Just because these boys go into the battle without knowing what it’s really like doesn’t make them any less brave for going, or for singing.”

“You would know,” her brother smiled fondly.

With tin whistles, mouth-organs, any noise,

They pipe the way to glory and the grave;

Foolish and young, the gay and golden boys

Love cannot save...

“It makes me think of Susan,” Peter murmured.

“I can see that. Our love cannot save her, only Aslan’s.” Lucy frowned thoughtfully.

“No, no—I mean I wonder if that’s how Susan thinks of us: foolish children still playing games where singing in the dark means anything at all. Gay and golden, but naïve and careless by the same token. Too caught up in notions of courage and glory to realize that we live in a world where good people die.”

“Oh Peter, you don’t really think?”

“She told me once she’s afraid that we’ll never grow up, did you know? I wondered if she meant that we would always be like children, or if she worried we might die young. Sometimes I still wonder.”

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” said Lucy. “To always be child-like, or even to die young. Not by half.”

Peter snorted. “You might not mind dying young, but I’d certainly mind it. You’re my little sister, Lu. If you die young, it means I’ve done something wrong.”

“Well of course I’d mind! There are so many things I mean to do once I’m grown up. But I’ve always thought—ever since Father Christmas handed me that dagger—that I might. As long as I died for something, it wouldn’t bother me. I think I could be a rather good martyr.” She winked across the table.

“Don’t you dare. If Aslan has short lives in mind for either of us, we’ll drink what we’re given. In the meantime, let’s both of us focus on growing up well.”

The next week, Lucy went with Marjorie Preston to the mail room. It was Marjorie’s birthday and she was expecting a parcel from home, but Lucy was also privately hoping for another letter from Peter.

An abundance of riches awaited Marjorie: an enormous box that the two of them had to lift together. Thus, Lucy tucked Peter’s letter under one of the box’s flaps as they carried it, and it was Marjorie who tore open the envelope when they reached the dormitories.

“What in the world is this?” Marjorie exclaimed, waving a poem under Lucy’s nose. Lucy snatched it away and hungrily read the words, considering how this variation fit Peter’s theme. Then, she noticed that Marjorie was still beside her, tapping her foot impatiently.

“My brother sends me war poems,” Lucy explained hurriedly.

“That’s strange.”

“Do you think so?” Lucy considered. “Well, no matter.”

WAR GIRLS (here Peter had added “& VALIANT QUEENS”)

Strong, sensible, and fit,

     They're out to show their grit,

   And tackle jobs with energy and knack.

     No longer caged and penned up,

     They're going to keep their end up

   Till the khaki soldier boys come marching back.

"Does he mean you?" asked Marjorie, wrinkling her nose.

Lucy laughed, but didn't dispute it. She went to fetch some paper and a pen.

On they went for the next several months, passing poems back and forth in their letters. Some of them were hopeful and some despairing, some sad, some darkly funny. It was a dialogue in a war that Peter scarcely remembered, and Lucy even less. In time, Tennyson and others from before the Last Lot worked their way in. Even Shakespeare made an appearance with several selections from the Henriad. Spring lurched into summer which tumbled into fall. Peter turned twenty-two in August and Lucy was seventeen in November.

Then, at dinner at Professor Digory’s house one night, the specter of a Narnian king appeared before them. Before they left, Peter found the poem he was thinking of in the Professor’s study and gave it to Lucy.

Horror of wounds and anger at the foe,

And loss of things desired; all these must pass.

We are the happy legion, for we know

Time's but a golden wind that shakes the grass.

“Does it feel different this time?” he asked once she had read it.

“Yes,” replied his sister, “and no. It feels obscurely like it did the night Aslan died. Like something is hanging over us.”

“I think this is the end,” Peter said bluntly. “He said we wouldn’t ever go back to Narnia, yet here we are. It feels like the end. Do you remember what it was like the night before a battle?”

“Yes. I didn’t before, but I do now. Like we had to gather up everything inside ourselves and name it. Fear and courage, love and memory.”

Peter sighed. “We ought to get going. There might be ice on the roads tonight.”

Lucy went into the closet and fetched her coat. Peter followed, moving a fraction slower than usual.

“Peter?” Peter turned and looked at Lucy, who was standing in the doorway with her fur-trimmed collar turned up around her throat. “It was a good poem, Peter. The right poem. Time’s but a golden wind that shakes the grass…”

Golden. Golden like Aslan’s mane, which they both so dearly longed to touch once more. Lucy tossed the poem round and round in her mind all that evening.

Before he and Edmund left for London, Lucy slipped an envelope into Peter’s pocket. “Read it on the train,” she told him.

Peter nodded. “I have one for you too.”

It was the last conversation they shared in the Shadowlands, though neither knew it at the time.

When Lucy unfolded her poem, she recognized the words. It was her favorite war-poem, which she’d first sent to Peter months ago when their correspondence had begun.

Sombre the night is:

And, though we have our lives, we know

What sinister threat lurks there.

But hark! Joy—joy—strange joy.

Lo! Heights of night ringing with unseen larks:

Music showering on our upturned listening faces.

It almost made her want to giggle, how well Peter knew her. Lucy thought of him and Edmund together in London; she ached for Susan, who had chosen not to join her siblings in their last battle for Narnia. She breathed in deep and thought of music on the way to war.

Death could drop from the dark

As easily as song—

But song only dropped,

Like a blind man's dreams on the sand

By dangerous tides;

Like a girl's gold hair, for she dreams no ruin lies there,

Or her songs where a lion hides.

That last couplet was wrong. Peter had changed it. The poem ended with, A girl’s dark hair and kisses where a serpent hides, but Peter had written gold and lion instead.

When Peter unfolded his own poem on the train, he found only a single stanza, annotated on nearly every line.

It didn’t pass— (His will be done) it didn’t pass-  (His will be done)

It didn’t pass from me.

I drank it when we met the gas  (His will be done)

Beyond Gethsemane! (His will be done)

The train halted and the whistle blew. Peter shook Edmund awake beside him, and together they went to unbury the rings.

 .

 Poems referenced: “On Receiving News of the War,” Isaac Rosenberg; “The Dead Kings,” Francis Ledwidge; “Joining the Colours,” Katharine Tynan; “War Girls,” Jessie Pope; “Absolution,” Siegfried Sassoon; “Returning, We Hear Larks,” Isaac Rosenberg; “Gethsemane,” Rudyard Kipling

[afniel]

Great (?) news: the sequel is long enough that it is now beginning to break the Google Docs Android app ever so slightly.

If the last one is any indication, this will continue and has a few phases:

65,000-80,000 words: The app crashes more and will frequently claim it can't open the file upon trying to come back to it after looking at other apps. It doesn't actually lose any data, though, it's just nerve-wracking. (<- You Are Here and by you, I mean me. Me are here)

80,000-95,000 words: The app will open the file VERY slowly, and may in fact simply crash on attempting. It can lag so hard it borks my entire phone for a few moments and it will just stop accepting input universally until it sorts its shit.

95,000+ words: The file will load super quickly! Somehow! Even though it just lagged the app to death literally fifteen minutes ago! After some magic threshold it just stops doing that. However, the ability to swipe-backspace via GBoard is COMPLETELY broken forever at this point. Attempting will not delete anything...visibly, anyway. It may or may not be invisibly deleted, and the predictive text will behave as if it is, but trying to type or otherwise enter anything is a total roll of the dice as to what will happen. It might enter the text as requested, but not delete anything. It might delete way more than intended and not enter any text. It might delete a single letter and enter a random chunk of the newly entered text. Who knows! Not me.

So...uh...exciting that it's longer than every Narnia book already! Kind of ass that I am back in Crashing My Goddamn Phone territory. I told myself that THIS time, I was going to format it into individual chapters and avoid having this happen, and guess who has two thumbs and did not do that. It's me. I did not do that and also as of yet have two thumbs.

I could still do that, but also, I spend so much time reading back that it would actually make things kind of dick to deal with, so honestly I'll probably just deal with the crashy app and carry on. I have debilitating chronic pain and difficulty walking but one of my main hobbies is still taking miles-long hikes. I taught junior high for a couple of years and not even in my native language. I play retro SaGa games. I manually uninstalled a virus once because my antivirus found it but couldn't kill it. You cannot comprehend what kind of patience I have for stupid bullshit. This is like nothing to me.

(What I really need to do is slap it all into Scrivener, but check me out forgetting to do that, and then I couldn't get to it from my phone anyway if I did.)

[tickledpink31]

Mari/Xiaodie Headcanons Part 3

Age

This is a category of its own.

Mari was 19 when she first landed in the Tang Dynasty and lost her memories. During the events of LMK, she was 21–22 as it took time for her to finish college while carefully planning to leave for China.

Because of the 14-year journey she went through, she's mentally in her early thirties. Time loops mixed with eating life-extending fruit are weird

My heart says that MK is 19, but my head says he's at least 20 (well, I guess he's 19 at heart even when he's well into adulthood). A storyboard artist sees Mei as 23, and I am apt to believe that Red Son is at the physical age of 24. I'm making this comparison because, it's truly a mystery on whether Mari is the second oldest or second youngest of the four because the journey is still something she experienced, albeit while in a coma.

It's like Narnia all over again when the adult Pevensie siblings get out of the closet and go back into their childhood bodies.

It gets even funnier when you consider that Red Son was physically and mentally younger than Mari/Xiaodie the last time she saw him (although Red was probably already biologically older than her regardless). Now, he's physically older than his aunt in the modern day.

Onstage

Mari has the voice of an angel. As Xiaodie, she has attracted demons and humans alike many a time with how enchanting she sounded much to Wukong's chagrin.

I think it'd be funny that Macaque and Mari both do well performing in front of crowds, but Sun Wukong does not.

Mari is used to performing in front of her large nuclear and extended family during events as well as singing in a choir at her school.

Past Wukong believed that there was a meaning to the songs she sang. There were no such meanings. Xiaodie was just regaining memories from singing. She sang "My Jolly Sailor Bold" often causing Wukong to get all huffy and jealous about his supposed "rival" whose name was William lmao.

Leaving Home

It was a difficult feat.

Mari left home without her phone, and therefore no GPS. She couldn't take it with her in order to prevent being tracked down. The layout of modern China differs greatly, so finding Flower Fruit Mountain was difficult.

On top of that, she gets caught in heavy rain hours after she took off from her balcony, rendering her wings too wet to fly. At the very least, she landed herself in a coastal area of China before she fell into the sea and relived her trauma of drowning.

8:00 AM, Mari is dead tired and wet, she finds shelter in a payphone and calls home to tell everyone that she's alright.

On a funnier side to this story, this is Mari's running away from home note.

Despair

There was a slight misunderstanding when Mari first heard about MK being a successor, and it caused Mari to lose courage in hoping to rekindle her relationship with Wukong for a bit.

She came to the conclusion that Wukong might have moved on from her and found someone else and then had MK. There's no way he would wait so long for her. She shouldn't have expected him to.

(Wrong! He did. He waited. Since she was born, Wukong would buy gifts for her on her birthday, thinking that "maybe this would be the year she comes back to me." Those gifts are still collecting dust on his mountain and in the Shame Temple.)

Mari cries in her hotel room that night. She considers going back to Singapore and apologizing to her family for leaving, making this trip a lost cause.

It takes a few days for her to get better, but then she hears something about a shame temple in the Monkey Village, which isn't too far away.

She decides that maybe she should go there, shed some light on the situation, and find out if Wukong found someone else. If he has moved on, Mari will accept forfeit and go back home.

And then the Lady Bone Demon sneaked up on her in the dead of night.

(Tbh, if it turns out Wukong and MK are related, I'm hoping that they're brothers. I don't mind Wukong acting like a dad, I just prefer MK and Wukong being bros. It's cuter imo.)

Marriage

I saw this tiktok of Wukong singing 'Get this Right,' a deleted song from Frozen 2, and I'm like this is how he would propose for the second time when they finally reunite after season 3:

Ahem, go on and guess what the picture below means for them:

Other Random Headcanons

Mari owns a 10-foot caterpillar plushie that she had since she was 7. It's a comfort item to her. During her time as a pilgrim, Xiaodie made herself a small stuffed caterpillar to prevent any more sleepless nights.

Along with not aging because she was in a two-week coma for the journey, Xiaodie's hair only grew an inch after chopping it off and her pink hair dye barely faded away.

In a situation where Xiaodie is angry, it's arguably scarier than Wukong's temper because there is hardly any solution for the problem other than waiting for time to pass until she has cooled off. Xiaodie generally knows how to tame Wukong's rampages, but she stubbornly sticks to whatever mood she's in.

[wander-wren]

oc game: i was tempted to just send you all the emojis but 🧠🌼✨ those are in reverse order from how they appear in the game i think oops anyway these are ones we dont usually get in character questions i genuinely dont think I know their ages soooo enjoy

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

inari- she's very, very attached to her home country of skalmere, even though it's illegal for her to exist there and she'd likely be killed if she ever went back. she has a little skalian flag sewn on the inside of her jacket, over her heart. idk, something about it is really compelling, i guess i connect it to being a minority in a conservative area but not wanting to leave.

daci- okay, i love her bc she's a sweetheart, but i think what i like most is that her magic (empathy, literally) is very sensory-based, so if she chooses to use it around a lot of people she gets sensory overload, and sometimes there's so much she can't fully turn her magic off, and idk, i like angst, i like magic drawbacks, i like people who refuse to let their friends know their magic has drawbacks.

cas- he projects this image of himself as really dark and edgy and scary but he actually has the lowest self-esteem known to man (well, second to inari) and if ollie so much as looks at him sternly he will fold and walk back his most recent bad decision. he's so funny to me for that.

ollie- they're literally just this happy-go-lucky artist kid from the backcountry that you would never expect to be the right hand of mr edgy up there ^^ its a really fun character type to play with

eira- she's this small, babyfaced, anxious girl that literally everyone estimates, kind of rightfully bc she's very out of her depth, but from the first page she's got this undercurrent of strength and ambition and i really love balancing those two things (or unbalancing them and causing her problems)

tyrian- he's the most Some Guy ever, the ken to eira's barbie if you will, and he's the only one without magic or a significant amount of trauma, so he's even more out of his depth than eira is but doing his best. and i love him.

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

in age order: cas (19), ollie (18), daci (18), tyrian (17), inari (17), eira (16)

i started this story when i was 15 and younger than them all, and in 8 months i'll be older than all of them. which is insane.

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

there's a forum on the nanowrimo website, where i was spending most of my time back in 2019 (you know this, lexi), and there's a category in there to adopt character names. someone made a list of fantasy names and their meanings, which i went back and found just now:

inari, daciana, eira, and cassian (cas's full name) are all up there. i actually almost named him caspian, bc it means sea, but i had an inkling that "hollow" would be more fitting. also, there's narnia.

fun fact: isleen and isleen wer taken for tyrian's older sister & younger brother, dyah (which i'm now tweaking to either dyha or dyja, but it was dyah for four years) was taken for inari's little sister, and valens was taken for eira's father.

i don't remember where tyrian came from at all, except that two posts above that post someone suggested "tyr?" hm. also, i pulled several names from other posts for the eight gods of daci's religion, as well as alarik for her dog and kiver for a kid who will be important near the end. no one needed to know all of that, i'm just realizing now that this thread was absolutely instrumental to olt's beginnings, lol.

oh, also ollie/oleander isn't from there! they came when i sent a picrew to some friends on a discord server and asked for naming help. i'm no longer in that server, nor do i remember who suggested the name, but i am forever in their debt bc it is incredible.

oh, and last names i just COMPLETELY made up based on vibes, except for gatien. i remember googling for that one, i don't remember what, and i selected it bc it means "watchman," tho i'm not sure what i was going for there anymore. also inari and daci's last names have been nixed bc i grew to hate them, so....i still need to replace those.

[takostacos]

Its been about 5ish years since i finally broke through the mental block about being transgender. I started to make progress with a lot of help and calm understanding from my partner, who has been so incredibly patient with me. I love them so much.

This post is about setbacks.

In October 2018, I lost a very good friend.

Her name was Luna. She was the closest thing i had to a sister or best girl friend. She was so supportive while I was going through my initial coming out. I initially came out as gay. But that wasn't quite right. I had a lot of suppressed memories and feelings. I'd spent so much time cramming them into the back of my Narnia sized closet. I was trying to chip through decades of walls put up due to abuse and repression.

I moved to Washington state from Missouri. I'm not originally from there, but I finished highschool and college in Missouri. So I guess its close enough to 'home' for me.

Moving to washington involved bringing with me only what I could carry on to a flight and a single checked bag. My work paid to fly me up for initial incoming employee medical and training. They said they wouldn't pay for moving me. But jokes on them, I didnt own much.

I found a large share-house in a Navy town, owned by a sailors' wife. She rented rooms out on short term basis while her husband came and went for deployments. Super nice family. I moved in, traveled for work for about 6 months, then came back. I was offered my old room, but was cautioned "theres a small family with kids in the rooms across the hall" well, I come downstairs wearing some fisherman pants I had picked up in Thailand and a Beer Chang shirt.

This new person recognizes them immediately, they'd traveled to many of the same areas i had traveled to. We'd been there in similar times, probably passed each other on buses or trains at least once.

We became instant friends. Which only got closer once her autistic son pretty much attached himself to me.

"Well, if he thinks youre safe. Youre safe."

Then her husband came home with other kiddo and we all became a nearly instant found family.

It was the first time I'd felt like I had a real family that cared about each other more than just surface level. Other than my brothers, that is. But this was so much closer.

Well, over time, we went to seattle pride a couple times, unpacked a lot of the things I had crammed into that closet of my mind. Peeled away the layers of masks and denial-of-self I'd built over the years.

I didn't have to hide anymore.

I always felt like I was on the edge of breaking through that last barrier. But couldn't nail down what it was. I'd spent so many years convincing myself that I definitely wasn't trans, so it couldn't be that. Right? Oh you egg. You absolute egg, you.

I eventually traveled more with work. Met my current partner, and while we spent time together on work travel, I had my big breakthrough. That will make it into a future post. This one is about Luna.

I came home and met up with Luna and her family, and told them what i had figured out. Of course she immediately accepted me. She pulled out her diary and had a page from a year or more back that said she thought I might come out as trans and how much she wanted to help me. But knew it couldn't be rushed.

We laughed, cried, and had a small party. I had always liked the name Ellie or something similar. I was still working out what root name to use (I now lean towards Amelia. For Mellie, Mel, or Ellie).

Well, once again. I got busy with work, but eventually, Luna and I made plans for some 'girl time' and then a game day with the rest of the family.

I met up with them at their work on thursday, then planned to hang out friday night for a late night girls night. Movies, popcorn, mostly talking and maybe some makeup practice.

Then Friday came. While out for dinner with my partner and their family, I get a phone call from Luna's stepdaughter's mom. Asking if I had heard from them. They hadnt shown up for the usual weekend kiddo pickup. She called since I was an alternate, but there wasnt any plan that I knew of.

One increasingly panicked drive later (after finding out theyd not been at work either) and I'm greeted by a large police response at their home.

TW: domestic violence and death

After being questioned, assisting in making contact with other necessary parties (other family members and friends to establish timelines) and eventually meeting with everyone while we were assuming it was a missing person case. We were informed it was a probable murder-suicide.

Luna passed on October 19th 2018. She was killed by her husband. I don't know why, but have my suspicions. Her husband had always joked "oh i'd kill ya" in a cartoony way when she joked that she'd leave. Looking back, we now know it wasn't a joke.

That loss took the wind out of my sails. I packed all the things back up along with processing her death. It took me a long time to start feeling closer to normal again.

So I dove into my work. It involved a lot of overseas travel, so I could be away from all the things that reminded me of them.

I cut my hair, stopped shaving, grew my beard back out. Any therapy sessions didn't broach the subject of gender identity because I'd lost my best friend. My depression was spiraling due to the political climate, rise of fascism, anti-trans legislation, and everything to do with covid.

I returned from an overseas trip and decided to stay home for a year. I'd spent 5 years with 75% of the time spent in Japan. Only to find out my therapist had suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth. And now I need to start at square one again..

And thats where I am today.

[chappell-roans]

ive felt similarly bad about emerald fennel because on one hand its great were getting more high profile female writers and directors i just wish they were better 🙃. people already critiqued saltburn for how empty it was and how it lacked depth and promising young women was a mixed bag and was carried by how topical and flashy it was.

I don't think greta is capable of putting out a bad movie but it might just have a lot of highs and lows. Id really love if she payed homage to the og movies and maybe had some cameos but im just hoping for something distinctly stylistic. im not sure what books they're exactly planning on adapting but we might end up getting a lot of unique movies set in the same universe which could be extremely interesting. I love franchises and connected universes I just think it fails when the execs start interfering too much like always lol.

Oh, I feel the same way about Emerald, I didn't really enjoy Saltburn much myself and PYW is... what it is. It had shock-factor more than anything. I agree about Greta, I think she's just idk how to say it but smarter and has more story sense than Emerald does. (Even with Barbie being messy, and I do think there was some interference, given the doll and major motion picture of it all, but who the hell knows and cares at this point tbh.) I feel like Greta already has a really interesting career but it's going to continue being interesting bc I don't think she's going to do just one thing. I mean I guess she's proven that already, her movies are all basically coming of age, but set in different times and even like fictional worlds. Trueee I always forget how many Narnia books there are. That could be very cool! I'm excited to see her dive more into fantasy tbh. Her stories so far have been quite grounded -- even Barbie. So it'll be interesting to see that translate into an actual magical world. (Barbie was, yes, but the real world and satire blah blah idk.)

But yeah. We shall see I guess.

Also can I note that it's interesting that both of these female directors we're talking about started as actors? And then Zoe Kravitz just wrote and directed a movie (Blink Twice). I know there are plenty from non-acting backgrounds, and there are plenty of male actors turned directors, but idk. I'd be curious if that continues to be a trend, whether they return to acting (Emerald has and I know Zoe will; TBD about Greta), because I feel like most do (Jodie Foster directs occasionally, for example). IDK. It just struck me.

[happytapirstudio]

April 2024 Book Log

(bold means new this month)

The Balkan Wars: Conquest, Revolution and Retribution from the Ottoman Era to the Twentieth Century and Beyond by André Gerolymatos

Bosnia: A Short History by Noel Malcolm (finished)

The Chronicles of Prydain Book 1: The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander (half-reread)

Dinosaur Summer by Greg Bear

Graceling by Kristin Cashore

Orochi Volume 2 by Kazou Umezz

Pegasus Book 1: The Flame of Olympus by Kate O'Hearn

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi (reread)

Ranger’s Apprentice Book 2: The Burning Bridge by John Flanagan (finished)

Safe Area Goražde: The War in Eastern Bosnia 1992-95 by Joe Sacco (reread)

Guess who kept going back to the library and getting new books before the old ones were finished.

Like Graceling and (from last month's log) Ranger's Apprentice, the Pegasus series was one I always saw hanging around shelves and in other kids' book piles. It's a thick volume, so it definitely stands out. I'm enjoying it so far, but I must confess that I cringed when I read that our main character's dad is a cop. Funny how that would've gone straight over my head if I'd read it as a kid. What probably wouldn't have gone over my head, even back then: the soldier who's serving in Iraq. What a way to date your book.

I'm gonna be honest I would not have guessed there'd be such a strong mythological component to this book? I thought I remembered reading the backs of one of these books--though it might've been another series, come to think of it--and getting the impression that it was its own universe, and a pretty mature one at that. But it's not, and that only makes sense...Pegasus is a mythological figure, after all! Not just some horse with wings! It's still giving Horse Girl, though, and I appreciate that.

One little detail I love is the fact that Pegasus, as an Olympian, subsists on ambrosia in his home world, but the best we have on earth is ice cream and sugary cereal. So he just chows down on that. Completely disregards normal horse food. Reading that made me cackle.

You'll notice Goražde is back on the list. I finished Malcolm's Bosnia and wanted to reread Goražde immediately now that I had clearer historical context.

Another graphic novel nonfiction reread up there...Persepolis! I think I initially read this when I was in high school, so I really didn't know nothing. Like nothing, nothing. Still, it left a really big impression on me. Originally I started rereading it on a whim when I was in Baltimore--just picked it up at a library and read a few chapters before I had to leave--but then after we got home we made a dedicated trip to a special branch to get The Book of Three, and Persepolis was there, so I grabbed it, too.

As for The Book of Three...let's just say checking out books and needing to return them before I finished reading them is one of my oldest and strongest talents. I had just gotten my rats when I first tried reading this, and they were still quite scared of and aggressive towards me, so I read part of this out loud to them in hopes of trying to bridge that gap. I guess it's no surprise that I didn't finish it.

Well the scene in the barrow has haunted me ever since, so I've been meaning to get back to it for a while now. Already halfway through in only a couple days, well past the point I originally stopped at, so I'd say we're doing good! I keep wondering how many of the authors whose work I read as a kid had read this book when they were kids. Everyone in fantasy always cites Lord of the Rings or maybe Narnia, but The Chronicles of Prydain (from the 60's) must've been right up there. There's something sort of ubiquitous about this story. I'm not even at The Black Cauldron, but already I can say the Disney adaptation did not do this series justice.

[onlinealiasnu]

music in narnia - pt. 3

what is music to me now? although i have fallen out of the constant obsession with music i had a few years ago when all i could do was listen to music, i still immensely appreciate what it can do for me. even though my minutes of listening have dropped down from over 99,000 minutes a year to around 85,000 a year (thank you to spotify wrapped for these statistics), the roles my favorite artists and songs play in my life have never been diminished.

even still, i can track my growth through the music i listen to and have listened to over the years. from obsessively looping mitski songs to playing old 2010s and rnb songs now, i’ve realized that i’ve matured and stopped caring about other people’s opinions. i’ve let myself become who i am and listen to the songs i want to, disregarding the popular opinions from everyone else of my generation. 

music not only signifies my growth, but still contributes to my everyday life in a way that makes each day more meaningful that the next. i think one of my favorite hobbies over the summer has been talking long walks from 30 minutes to an hour long each, while listening to my favorite songs. this was something that i started doing after all my closest friends started moving away to attend college and there was no one to hang out with or busy myself with anymore. during that time—being one of the last to leave the neighborhood—i spent time by myself. i painted more and read more and walked more and did some more walking, all while listening to music. it’s almost like music occupied its own little section in my brain.

through music, i learned to listen more closely to what people said—at first being through lyrics, then through actual words that came out of people’s mouths. i learned to be more emotional, something i’ve had trouble with for a long time, and more empathetic, which has served me well in understanding the world and making friends. i learned how to appreciate the people i love as well as seek people that i know are important to me. i learned to appreciate the little things, to admire the beauty of small things that people don’t normally pay attention to. i learned to be more observant, picking up smaller details that no one else notices. i learned to forge strong bonds with people, finding friends that i will have for a lifetime. i learned of a vast world that i’ve barely stepped foot into, barely had any experience in. most importantly, i learned to appreciate myself and be confident in what i know i can do without overlooking my own talents.

so when i say i love music, i don’t mean i’m a musician in any way. i most certainly am not—i can’t play any instrument and my singing is subpar at most. but even with those technicalities, music is still vital to my being and something i love with my whole heart. i mean, i guess it would be nice to learn an actual instrument. if i had to choose one, it would have to be bass or guitar. who knows? maybe one day, i’ll be up on that stage performing songs either solo or with a band, singing my heart out to songs that i create with mountains of meaning associated with them. or maybe, i’ll just be an ordinary office worker coming home from a nine to five, easing into the evening with a glass of wine and a slow ballad before making dinner for myself. i guess the only way to end this off is to say i’m both completely uncertain where life takes me and certain i’ll do fine whatever happens in the end. so thank you to music for making me self-assurant enough to believe that whatever happens will happen and that in the end, everything will be okay.

because seriously, everything will be okay.

[dark-horse76]

Sacrament #1

Just noticed that this one is bound a bit wonkily, as the cover isn’t as wide as the rest of the pages. Alas xd.

Called it on the sci-fi/futuristic thing! Hehe (I know y’all are probably like ‘...that’s very obvious’ but let me have my wins okay xd)

It’s not as simple a comic as That Texas Blood, but not as ‘bad’ as the modern superhero ones I’ve read.

"Mankind has escaped Earth - but it hasn't escaped its demons"

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Also, I really like this page. I can't help but compare it to a similar-ish one in We Only Find Them When They're Dead, which I like a bit more, but also that style is different to this and this one fits this story better, so.

That's probably the case most of the time xd.

I mean... They did that, because that's what the Bible says to do xd. I guess they have either re-written the Bible by 2999, perhaps to include whatever this drug...technology...thing is, or lost some/all of it. (Also, it's not called 'administering transubstantiation'... but I can also write that off as it's meant to be 2999 and they've possibly forgotten/shifted the name. But it does bug me a bit xd)

Love me some mentions of priest holes. I'd love to one day live in a house where I discover a long-lost priest hole - that would be so cool. If you can't find Narnia, a forgotten priest hole will do xd.

I do, however, get a little bit nervous around stories where Christians (if they're even calling themselves that now, not really sure) are persecuted. Because while that may be the case in some places, white Western Christians are most definitely not persecuted, but they really like to think they are. So it does make me a bit wary of the author's intentions. But in this case, I think it's just convenient - Catholicism has a lot of heavy symbolism that's easy to lift for a story like this - and I think that's what's going on here.

IDK. Pretty sure Dean Winchester's initial answer to that was no xd.

I really enjoyed the beginning of this story, and I'm eager to find out what happens next. I do really like the idea that humans brought their demons with them when they fled the Earth they destroyed and that it's an actual demon. That's pretty cool xd. So, yeah, Sacrament TPB here I come! xd

[depressedbagpipe]

Silver (Prince Caspian x female!reader)

Chapter X - The Call

Words: 2588 Warnings: I made myself cry a little so yeah, a very sad goodbye :( also peter threatens caspian but in a good way i guess A/N: i can't believe this is it :( thank you so so much to y'all for reading and engaging, i had so much fun writing this, and i can't believe i actually finished my first fic ever 😭 listen to 'the call' by regina spektor if you wanna feel the vibes too. i love y'all so much 💜 PS an epilogue will be coming soon

Series Masterlist Previous chapter <> Epilogue

Chapter X - The Call

“Narnia belongs to the Narnians, just as it does to man. Any Telmarines who want to stay and live in peace are welcome to. But for any of you who wish, Aslan will return you to the home of our forefathers,” Caspian stood in front of his kingdom.

He was at the center of a small stage overlooking a cliff, the Pevensies on his left, Aslan behind him, and me, together with other warrior Narnians, on his right. 

“It’s been generations since we left Telmar,” a man spoke in the audience, but Aslan was quick to explain. 

“We’re not referring to Telmar. Your ancestors were seafaring brigands. Pirates run aground on an island. There they found a cave, a rare chasm that brought them here from their world. The same world as our kings and queens,” he paused as we all looked at each other. The shock was evident on our faces. “It is to that island I can return you. It is a good place for any who wish to make a new start.”

Silence filled the place until a voice was heard. “I will go,” Lord Glozelle walked forward. I raised my eyebrows in wonder, having not seen him after Caspian’s official pardon to all the soldiers who fought on Miraz’s side. “I will accept the offer,” he looked at Caspian, who bowed his head in both appreciation and goodbye at his uncle’s closest companion who had also pardoned his life during the battle.  

Prunaprismia, with Caspian’s baby cousin in her hands, quickly stepped forward too. “So will we,” with her father’s protective hand on her back, they too walked next to Lord Glozelle, standing before Aslan.

“Because you have spoken first, your future in that world shall be good.”

Aslan softly blew on their faces, bidding them farewell and motioning them to the tree that stood at the far back of the stage. Its branches uncurled before everybody’s awed faces, and a portal opened in between. The four of them walked through the branches, disappearing once and for all. 

The crowd murmured in terror before such a display of magic. “How do we know he is not leading us to our death?” A man asked loudly over everybody’s bewilderment. I glared at him, not enjoying the way he was questioning Aslan.

Reepicheep walked forward. “Sire, if my example can be of any service, I will take eleven mice through with no delay,” I frowned at him, not knowing how the lack of magic could affect them there.

Almost as a reflex, I looked at Peter, feeling my heart beat loudly in my chest as I realized this was the moment I had been fearing for weeks.

“We’ll go,” he looked at his siblings, who stared at him back with shocked expressions, minus Susan.

“We will?” Edmund was lost.

Peter was trying to reason with them, his jaw straight, but I knew he too was hurting. “Come on. Our time’s up,” yet he only looked at his siblings. “After all… we’re not really needed here anymore,” he said as he stood before Caspian.

He too looked at Peter with a broken glance, looking at each of the siblings individually before turning around to face me. Peter grabbed Rhindon in its sheath, holding it out for Caspian to grab. The raven-haired stared at it before taking it, almost shyly, in his hand.

“I will look after it until you return,” Caspian said.

Susan shook her head from her place. “ I’m afraid that’s just it. We’re not coming back,” I lowered my head, fighting the tears. For some reason, hearing those words from Susan made them real. 

I could feel Caspian’s burning eyes on me, and I raised my head to look at him back. His eyes were desperate, yet my heart was thumping loud enough to block any other sound in my head. This moment would be decisive for me, whether I stayed or left was something I still was having trouble accepting. 

“We’re not?” Lucy asked, making my heart break for the young girl. She looked at Susan.

“You two are. At least, I think he means you two,” Peter returned to his sisters’ side, looking at her and Edmund. 

Lucy was shaking her head, looking at Aslan. “But why? Did they do something wrong?”

“Quite the opposite, dear one. But all things have their time. Your brother and sister have learned what they can from this world. Now it’s time for them to live in their own,” Aslan answered, but it didn’t reassure Lucy any less. 

Peter took her hands in his. “It’s alright, Lu. It’s not how I thought it would be… but it’s all right. One day you’ll see it too. Come on,” he walked with her to where I and the Narnians stood, and I was fully crying at this point. Edmund and Susan followed closely, ready to say their goodbyes. I stood at the end of the line, a thousand thoughts hovering over my brain, and a million reasons displayed before my eyes. 

Peter shook Glenstorm’s hand, thanking him for his service. Lucy tightly hugged Trumpkin, the grumpy dwarf desperately trying to contain his tears. Susan talked to Dr. Cornellius, thanking him for the lessons he shared with her during our stay at the castle. Caspian simply stood at the front of the stage, watching our interactions, too frozen in place to move. But he quickly recovered and with big strides he stood before me, grabbing my hands in his.

“I wish we had more time together,” he stroke my hands softly, gazing into my eyes. 

It had been our first interaction since the night before when I so desperately tried to run away from him and my feelings. But now I realized the only place I wanted to run away to was him.

“I think we might,” I whispered. I smiled softly at him, watching how his confused frown turned into a broad smile, protocol, and modesty thrown away as he quickly took me in his arms and hugged me, laughing softly into my ear.

“Are you sure?” he asked when he put me down, his eyes sparkling with hope. He looked at Aslan as if wanting to confirm my words. The lion only nodded at us.

“I am,” I answered. 

For one second, it was just us. For one second, his presence was the only thing in the entire universe. So it did make sense for me to jump head first into the water and kiss him. And I knew I wasn’t dreaming. His lips were indeed soft, but the warmth in them made me feel the most alive I had ever been. My hand gripped the base of his head, keeping him close to me as his hands rested on my back, also keeping me in place. Nothing else really mattered now, suddenly the prospect of a future shining brightly as warmth filled my entire body. My other hand lay flat against his chest, and his erratic heartbeat was an indication enough to know that I did belong somewhere –with him. I didn’t care that we had an entire kingdom looking at us. All I cared about was that I finally had a home. 

We slowly drew our lips apart, gasping for air. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, returning Caspian’s loving gaze as he stood next to me, a hand behind my back as we both faced the Pevensies.

“I’m sure when I’m older I’ll understand,” Lucy was staring at us in disgust, making me laugh at her expression.

“I’m older and don’t think I want to understand,” Edmund answered, but even I could see the ghost of a smirk on his face. 

I winked at him as the four siblings came closer. 

Edmund reached me first. “I knew you’d be staying,” he stated. 

A tear fell off my eye, and he quickly brushed it away. I nodded at him. “Am I that predictable?” 

He grinned at me, yet sadness circled his irises. “Only because I know you well.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds before we both collided in a tight hug. 

“I can’t wait for you to get back,” I whispered in his ear.

He squeezed me even tighter. “Me neither.”

We remained in our embrace for a few minutes, not any words needed. I relished knowing it wouldn’t be the last time I saw him, but I couldn’t shake the sadness out of my body. He had once again grown a bit taller than me, but in my heart, he would always be the annoying kid in a woman’s fur coat who almost got all of us killed by a witch.

Lucy came next. Her eyes were red, filled with tears. I kneeled before her, took her head in my hands, and kissed her forehead. “We will see each other again. I know it,” I told her, hugging her close.

“But it won’t be the same,” she cried into my neck. I couldn’t help but cry with her. For the first time, I wouldn’t be by her side, watching her become the valiant queen she would turn into. We too stood in our warm embrace for a few minutes.

It was now Susan who stood before me. “I will miss you,” said she. I smiled at her, not feeling ready for our goodbye, refusing to believe it would be the last time I saw her. I too brought her to my arms, all the words stuck in my throat as I hiccupped into her shoulder. I felt her tears stain my shoulders, but I didn’t care. All it mattered was that we were never seeing each other again.

“I will miss you more,” I cried. She rubbed my back comfortingly, always so gentle.

“It’s now your turn to be a queen,” she whispered into my ear. I could feel her smile.

I blushed despite the tears. “I don’t think I’m ready,” I confessed.

Susan broke the hug, looking into my eyes. “It’s for the very reason I know you are,” she copied Aslan’s words, making me blush even harder. “You’ll be perfect. Trust me,” she too winked at me as she stepped away, bringing a tear-stained Lucy into her arms.

Peter came last. I felt my heart break once more at the sight of my best friend, containing his tears as he stood in front of me, his hands messing with the fabric on his shirt instead of resting on the sword he always carried. As I stared at him, I only saw Peter, the blond big brother who took care of his family during a war. A saw the boy that had taken me in, at first sight, welcoming me into his family, keeping me close by his side. I saw the best friend I have ever had, gazing at me with the same realization in his eyes. I couldn’t say goodbye to him.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” I told him. I shrugged my shoulders as the tears fell freely. 

Peter mirrored my actions. “Then don’t,” he took a step closer. “We can always call it a ‘see-you-later,’” he continued.

I laughed at him, although it hurt. “I don’t want to lose you, Pete,” I cried as I crashed into him. He too wrapped his arms around me, hugging me close.

“You’ll never lose me,” he reassured, even though we both knew it was a lie. 

“I can’t believe it all ends like this. I can’t believe I’ll never see you again,” I told him after a few minutes of silence. I breathed deeply, embedding his scent into my brain, hopefully forever.

“We will see each other again. Someday,” he briefly moved his head in Aslan’s direction, and although the prospect was terrifying, I felt a slight relief wash over me. 

“Then, I’m looking forward to that day. In the best way possible,” I corrected myself, still managing to make Peter laugh one last time.

“Me too,” he smiled at me. “In the meantime, have fun. You deserve it,” he quickly looked at Caspian before returning his eyes to me. 

I grinned at him, bowing appreciatively. “You need to chill, too,” I told him.

He nodded at me and looked at Caspian.

“Promise me you’ll look after her. Or else I’ll come back and kill you,” Peter’s face was hard, almost a reminiscence of their first encounter.

“She’ll be safe with me. I swear it on Aslan himself,” Caspian came closer, taking my hand in his. 

Peter nodded at him, taking one step back and a big breath. 

Love you, he mouthed at me as he stood next to his siblings.

Love you too, I mouthed back at him, bowing my head at the four of them as they, one by one, stepped into the portal into our world.

None of them reappeared from the other side, even though part of me hoped they would. I stared at the tree, already feeling a hole burn its way through my chest, the place the Kings and Queens of Old had occupied in my heart for so long. 

I sighed heavily, shaking in place, the truth setting in. Caspian wrapped his arm around me, comfortingly stroking my arm as I cried and mourned the loss of my family. 

Nobody dared say anything. A couple of Telmarines made their way into the tree, silently bowing at Caspian and Aslan before disappearing, them too wishing to start a new life. It hurt, but with Caspian’s warmth next to me, I felt my new life begin right before my eyes.

Little by little, everybody returned to their homes. With the tree back to its normal shape and the villagers back to their usual affairs, it was only Caspian, Aslan, and me on that stage. I was sitting on Caspian’s lap, my back to his chest as I calmed down. Aslan stood nearby, giving us space. I was no longer crying, but my gaze was still fixed on the tree, lost.

A soft kiss on my temple woke me up from my pain. “It’s getting cold, maybe we should head back to the castle,” he spoke quietly, clearly not wanting to startle me. 

I wordlessly nodded, letting him move me around until my feet started walking in the castle’s direction.

“Peter was right, dear one,” Aslan spoke, walking with us. “You will see each other again. It is now your turn to discover who you are, away from their shadow,” he continued.

I nodded again, looking at him. Hope returned to my bones, shaking me out of my state. “Thank you,” my voice was hoarse, but Aslan didn’t care. I patted him on the head affectionately as we reached the castle’s entrance. He didn’t come in. “Where will you go?” I asked him, knowing we wouldn’t stay.

“Wherever I’m needed,” he answered.

I frowned slightly, his about-to-be absence already filling me with despair. “I need you,” I almost begged.

Aslan smiled knowingly. “We both know that’s not true,” he winked before turning around. 

I stared at his retreating figure until it was no longer visible. My heart beat loudly in my chest, yet before I could even dwell on it, I turned around to face Caspian.

The butterflies had turned into fireworks. The heat in my chest was not of pain, but from hope, faith, yearning. Love.

I took his outstretched hand, inviting me forward.

With a smile, the door closed behind me, my own future standing before me, smiling just as bright.

Epilogue

[funkymbtifiction]

hi Charity, I've just started on Pride and Prejudice and I read that you typed Jane as an ISFJ. I wouldn't say she isn't, since I'm just at the first few pages, but she seemed to me like a high Ne + Fi user, the way she has such pleasant opinions on everyone that seem unaffected by the opinions of others, and the way she is so 'positive thinking' about others (which does make me think of enneagram 9 and 7). though she is described to smile a lot so I guess that's a sign of Fe? I would like to ask if you typed her as an ISFJ because of her tendency to stick to social norms, and her agreeableness and proper-ness? is seeing things on surface level and believing the best in people a low Ne thing? as I thought sometimes, xNFPs are described to be like that as well. I'm only asking this because I relate to her, after a bit of religious teaching, I realised I tended to believe the best of people I met, and I tended to see things in a very positive way, and coupled with me mostly being in my own world, I only realised later that I was wrong.

I'm just starting the book though, and Jane hasn't appeared enough times for me to make a solid judgement on her personality. her agreeableness makes me think enneagram 279 currently, would you agree?

or perhaps I need to come back after finishing the book, but alas, I was so excited to talk about it. I hope you don't mind my questions.

Ha, ha. Cute gif. I am really not that scary, am I? ;)

I am open to her being an INFP. I even had her typed that way for a while when I started doing this, but I overall felt she seemed more "appropriate"-minded than she cares about being authentic to herself in a Fi way. She is pleasant and agreeable and everyone loves her (which happens more with Fe users, since they adapt themselves to fit the situation). She does not theorize about anything and seems to want a simple life -- to be a wife and mother. She also lacks some discernment in terms of assuming the best of everyone and that it will all work out happily in the end (which is admittedly, all 9).

Much of what you suggest for Ne and Fi can be true of Ne and Fi, but it's also just... being a 9. She accepts everyone and assumes the best of them, she doesn't want to think of anyone as being hurtful to anyone else or out to get them, she is giddy with delight when things work out pleasantly, and it is hard for her to say anything negative or mean about anyone else. She is a 927 for sure! (And Bingley is a 972, which means, as her father says, "you will always get cheated by your servants!")

I don't see inferior Te in her, or any Te at all, even though Lizzie does say that Jane is so private, she doesn't even share her feelings with Lizzie, when she's confronting Mr. Darcy about calling Jane a gold-digger ("I saw no evidence of her being in love with him). The bluntest thing she says is that Bingley's sisters are mean -- which is true but not cutting. Low Te has a way of being blunt semi-regularly, not out of any meanness but because FiTe is disconnected from other people and their feelings and absorbed in its own emotions.

ISFJ 9s can be quiet about what they want and their feelings, for fear of being inappropriate, rejected, or condemned; that is different from IFP 9s mulling over their feelings deep inside them and never expressing them except through gestures. With an ISFJ 9, there is just pure sweetness. With an INFP 9, there is also self-soothing through telling stories / getting lost in fantasies and/or being eager to explore the unknown (like Lucy in Narnia).