#my favorite Narnia story

[titanicnerd-blog]

This is EXACTLY as I imagine her BTW. And Hwin, her beloved horse. ❤️

People of Narnia

Aravis Tarkheena Queen of Archenland

[doverstar]

can't express accurately how happy it makes me that c.s. lewis did not leave room for many interpretations in narnia. it's christian and you can't get around it. susan chose to care more about worldly things than what matters and he said what he said. the lion is Jesus. evil is evil and good is good and people have to choose. and that makes some readers angry because it's nearly impossible to ignore and they want to ignore it. they want it to be something else and they can't make it something else without making it not narnia. love that. that is doing it right

[e-louise-bates]

My mother brought my childhood set of The Chronicles of Narnia with her on this visit. As you can see from the spines, I literally read these books to pieces. They are getting a place of honor on my bookshelves now!

[metalandmagi]

me: You know, after all these years, I don't know if I want a Netflix reboot of Narnia anymore. I love the Disney movies, and I don't think I want another series that will inevitably let me down.

the media: It's going to be written and directed by Greta Gerwig

me, putting on a Barbie cowboy hat: IT'S TIME TO GO BACK TO NARNIA Y'ALL!

[queenlucythevaliant]

A Liturgy of Surviving

Scarlett always wanted to be like her mother, and maybe in another world she could have been. If the war never happened, she could have grown softer instead of sharper. She could have curbed her temper, married well, and been received in respectable homes all her days. Maybe, if it hadn’t been for the war, Scarlett O’Hara could have lived out her days in genteel artifice, just like Ellen before her.

Maybe. Maybe not. If you asked her, Scarlett would say that the question was irrelevant. “God’s nightgown!” she would exclaim. “Don’t ask me what could have been. The war happened and that’s that.”

          I won’t think about that now.  

The day after Scarlett’s world ended, she swore an oath that she would never be hungry again. 

She woke in pain. Her muscles ached and her joints creaked. She was nineteen, but she felt like she had a hundred years weighing her body down. Morning light slanted through the window and her head ached with the moonshine liquor that she’d downed the night before. From another room, she heard an infant crying. 

She passed through the dining room without eating, pausing only briefly beside her grief-ravaged father. She found Pork on the porch shelling nuts. The sun was up. Scarlett O'Hara drew herself tall and began to marshal her troops. 

Melly and her sisters were still infirm, so they were useless for now. Mammy could tend them, and Pork and Prissy were to round up the livestock. Dilcey to Macintosh, herself to Twelve Oaks; perhaps they’d find food. Yes, I know. I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Now get going. 

Those days as the war staggered to its end were some of the longest of her life. In between them, Scarlett would collapse into bed and rub the welts on her feet with clumsy fingers. Sometimes she’d picture Ellen and all her gentle admonitions to kindness and refinement, and she’d say aloud to the walls, “What happened to me? What am I doing?”

She didn’t dwell on the question, but somehow, she always knew the answer. “I’m doing what I must,” she would answer herself. “I’m surviving.”

People didn’t talk back to Scarlett anymore. They were all afraid of her sharp tongue, of the new person who walked in her body. This Scarlett bullied and cajoled until everyone obeyed her, and inevitably her orders were to work. She was all edges; any softness that she’d once possessed had been sanded away splitting rails and picking cotton. Good, she thought. Let them fear me, if it keeps us all standing. 

          I’ll think about it tomorrow. 

Scarlett was sixteen when the war began: sixteen in green muslin, fearless and unencumbered. She had her mother’s slim waist and her father’s square jaw, but her clear green eyes were her own.

She was sixteen when she married Charles Hamilton and lost him, seventeen when she bore his child and draped herself in black crepe. She got Melly and Wade in the bargain, but she didn’t want either of them. She wanted Ashley. She wanted to dance! She wanted, she wanted. She wanted Scarlett O’Hara back. 

At nineteen years old, Scarlett survived the destruction of her whole world. She could have cried for the loss of her girlhood, for her old self long gone with the soft hands and dancing slippers, but what good would it have done? Curled up in her childhood bed at Tara, Scarlett didn’t cry. Instead, she folded in on herself, knees tucked up to her chest, and tried not to feel her muscles aching. She would have to get up again tomorrow, no matter how badly her shoulders still hurt.

She had strong shoulders, Scarlett O’Hara. That was maybe the most important thing about her. At any time, at any age, her shoulders could bear whatever they were given. “I’m surviving,” she would say each morning when she rose. A stranger’s freckled face greeted her in the mirror, but Scarlett only squared her small thin shoulders, breathed in, took one step and then another.

          Tomorrow, when I can stand it.

Calluses form like this: repeated pressure or friction is applied to the skin, most often of the hand or the foot. The outer layer, which is made of dead cells, begins to be retained rather than flaking off normally. The dead cells accumulate, forming hard layers sometimes hundreds of cells thick. 

They form like this: you use your skin. The shell of hardness around it slowly thickens. 

          I can stand anything now. 

The day after Rhett left, Scarlett packed up Wade and Ella and she once again drove the long road home to Tara. She pushed her way past Suellen at the threshold, exchanged brief pleasantries with Will, and then fell into her old bed as she’d done so many times before.

The next morning found Scarlett basking in the slanting yellow light that struck the porch from the east. Her eyes were fixed on the fields beyond and there was a devilish look on her face. 

When Rhett came back—and he would come back, he had promised he would—he would find her here at Tara, where she was strongest. “He liked when I was strong,” Scarlett said to herself. That was something she’d always known, for all that she’d been blind to the true dimensions of it.

Day after day, Scarlett rose and moved through Tara’s halls. She ate her breakfasts in the place where she’d faced down the Yankee army, sorted through figures where she’d once debated with Melanie over whether they ought to risk sending Pork out on the horse to look for food. Twenty times a day, she walked past the place at the base of the stairs where she’d shot her deserter dead. Here, in these halls, she had made her greatest stands.

She’d stood more rigidly then, threadbare and starving and uncertain. She’d come to the end of herself, only to find that she had wells of strength hidden deeper than she knew. Her hands were calloused and dirty. What else could she do?

          I’ll never be hungry again.

It’s easy to view Scarlett as hard and amoral. Even those closest to her would not have contested that characterization. Perhaps Melly would have argued, but then, Melly always saw the good in everyone. Scarlett killed and she stole and she schemed and she cheated, and she did it all in cold blood. What a selfish, conniving bitch, you might say.

It’s easy to forget Scarlett’s compassion. When she beat that poor horse to keep it trudging the long road home to Tara, she regretted hurting a tired animal. Her concern for Melanie, her friendship for Will Benteen, her joy when Rhett made her laugh: these were all true and genuine.

Didn’t Scarlett love her father and mother? Didn’t she grieve to see her friends and neighbors ruined by war? Scarlett O’Hara risked her life to save Charlie’s sword for Wade to inherit, and she built her mills for him and Ella both.

None of this negates the ruthless things she did in the name of survival, but it does begin to explain them. Scarlett made herself hard when hard was what she needed to be. She determined to live without reservation, without softness and with little kindness. Rhett called her cruel, and maybe he was right. But Melly also called her sacrificial and devoted, and maybe she was right too. 

          No, nor any of my kin.

On that road home to Tara, Scarlett once said, “If the horse is dead, I will curse God and die too.” Someone in the Bible had done just that—cursed God and died. Scarlett remembered feeling like that person, a despair of Biblical magnitude.

But the horse was alive, and so Scarlett did not die. Later, she thanked God that her knees still had the strength to support her, that her neck was still strong enough to hold her head high. Scarlett was not Job’s wife, nor even Job himself. She was Rahab, who escaped the destruction of Jericho, who saved her whole household and survived.

“What a fast trick,” said the Old Guard when she stole Frank Kennedy away from Suellen. No, Scarlett could never be Job. She was Jacob, the trickster and supplanter.

          Just a few more days for to tote the weary load.

Scarlett was easily provoked into courage; that was one of the first things that Rhett learned about her. A few insults, a pointed comment, and Scarlett lifted her chin and flounced off to prove just how brave she could be. She shed her crepe years early, and to Halifax with anyone who objected.

Rhett did that same thing to her on the awful day that Atlanta burned. He insulted her and laughed at her, and when Scarlett spat, “I’m not afraid,” it was true. Her hands, which had moments ago been shaking too badly to hold anything, were steady now, and anger had crowded all the fear out of her voice.

Rhett kept needling her all the way out of the city, until they reached the Rough and Ready where he left her. The banter kept her sharp. As long as her eyes were flashing in indignation, she hardly noticed the fire.

Even after Rhett left, his jabs stayed with her. “What would Rhett say if he knew I couldn’t do this?” spurred her back into action more times than she would ever admit. It was a petty kind of courage, and it felt smaller than the great, soaring motivation that came with thoughts of Tara, of the O’Hara name and Irish pride and red earth, but sometimes petty courage was enough to bridge the gap between strength and exhaustion.

He gave her something to hold onto, something to ground her, and even Rhett only halfway understood what that meant. I want you at your best, he never told her, but he pulled her into it by taffeta ribbons and witticisms. As the years rolled by, she rose to meet him. They swapped sharp words and insults, him always claiming to know her and her shouting, “You don’t know half!”

One day on the jostling ride out to her mills, Scarlett told Rhett about the fire that the Yankees set in Tara’s kitchen. “I’m not afraid of fire anymore,” she declared with something like pride, and Rhett remembered goading her past the flames the night Atlanta burned. “I beat it out with my skirts, and then Melly had to beat me out when my back caught,” she went on. “Now I’m not afraid of anything but hunger.”

I don’t want you to fear anything in all the world, Rhett didn’t say. Once they were married, he laughed at her appetite and teased her, “Don’t scrape the plate, Scarlett. I’m sure there’s more in the kitchen.”

           No matter, ‘twill never be light.  

After the war, Rhett had his millions. Ashley had his honor. Melly had the Association for the Beatification of the Graves of Our Glorious Dead. Scarlett held a ball of red clay in her fist and whispered, “I have this.”

Her father built Tara from nothing and he loved those acres like they could love him back. He had come to Georgia a poor immigrant boy and he had won that red earth. Whatever Gerald could do, his daughter could do too: of this she was certain. This land, this firm red clay on which she stood, was both her battlefield and her prize; her birthright and her hallowed ground. She gripped it tight with all the passion of a lover. She longed for its rolling fields on cold nights in Atlanta, sleeping beside Frank Kennedy.

“Yes, I have this,” and she let the dirt run between her fingers and lodge beneath her nails. Melly had Ashley and Ashley his senseless honor. Scarlett had Tara.

          I’ve still got this.

When she rode out in her buggy with her lap robe pulled up to her bosom, Scarlett heard how people whispered. She felt indignant about it the first time, and the second time she worried what Ellen would have thought. The third time, she decided not to care.

She still complained to Rhett about the whispering as he was holding the reins one afternoon. He didn’t laugh at her, just looked sideways from the road with his dark eyes and nodded like he understood. “Be different and be damned!” Rhett said, and his tone was like a soldier who’d heard the bugle. It was so strange, how Scarlett could tell him all the worst things about her and he would always answer back like they were medals instead of secret shames. 

Most of the city was in mourning, but Scarlett wore colors. She pilfered the store’s inventory in search of bright green, washed and mended her curtain dress as many times as it would stand, and when the money came she wore gowns of emerald, blush, indigo, and scarlet. Let them stare, she thought. See if I care.

At twenty-two, Scarlett rode up to Pittypat’s in the evenings, long after Frank had come home from the store, and she felt condemned. To the well-bred folks of Atlanta, she was as bad as a Scallawag. But sometimes, when she was alone, Scarlett ran her hands beneath the lap robe and hoped that Rhett was wrong about children and grandchildren, that the child she was carrying would understand one day. I hope you’re nothing like Frank, she thought. I hope you have shoulders like mine.

           I’ll never be hungry again.

“It’s no use, Scarlett. You can’t scrub out the past,” said Rhett when at last he came to Tara. “You can’t take back the last ten years, no matter how you’ve come — to appreciate my charms.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Scarlett snapped. “There’s never any going back. Not ever. But Rhett—” she reached for his hand. “I love you, and at last we understand each other. We can build something out of that.”

They argued about it until Rhett left again, fuming and bitter, his Panama hat pulled low over his face. Scarlett made an unannounced visit to Charleston the next month. “I was thinking,” she suggested, “That we might sell the Peachtree Street house.”

Scarlett knew all the words for making men love her, so long as she understood what it was that they wanted. The Tarleton twins had wanted merry excitement; Charles had wanted to feel important and Frank had wanted to feel like a strong, successful man. Ashley had wanted someone braver and better than he was, and he’d found it in Melanie without having to risk himself on Scarlett. Scarlett had never understood what it was Rhett wanted, but she did now. Why, it’s always been my love he wants! So Scarlett spoke the right words, and this time she meant them.

“You were right when you said that we’re alike. Only—you’ve always known about me, whereas I’m just starting to know you. Will you tell me about that knife fight in California again? About the sail boat you won at cards?”

“You know those stories,” clipped Rhett. “You don’t need to hear them again.” So Scarlett went downstairs and pried the stories out of his mother instead.

The house on Peachtree Street sold within the month, snatched up by some Carpetbagger who wanted it for a hotel. Rhett traveled to Mexico, and returned to find Scarlett back at Tara preparing for spring planting.

“What do the women wear in Mexico?” she asked him, leaning on the porch railing in the slanting light. “What is your favorite place you’ve ever traveled?”

Rhett indulged her in brief, but then abruptly he chuckled and shook his head. “I know what you’re doing, you little minx.”

“Yes,” said Scarlett. “Of course you do.”

           Tomorrow, oh tomorrow!

The clay soil of Georgia is red from iron oxides. It’s red the way rust is red, the way blood is red. If a blister splits open and your blood falls on the ground, that iron-red soil will just swallow it up. You can bleed and bleed, and the stuff in your blood will always be one with the stuff of the soil.

When cotton and vegetables sprout from the ground, it’s easy to believe they grew from your very own blood, and that your own sweat and tears watered them.

           Never look back.  

“We women were soldiers too,” Melanie said once. Scarlett didn’t respect her yet—at least, not consistently—but this might have been one of the moments where she first looked at Melly and thought not that her heart was soft and timid, but that it was a sword.

“We never expected to be – or at least I didn’t.” She looked around the circle of ladies, at India and Fanny, until her eyes came to rest on Scarlett at last. “We were children then. We all imagined the world far simpler than it was.”

Melly, India, Fanny, Scarlett. These women had all been girls together. They knew one another at seven, twelve, fifteen, swaddled in silks and trying to seem more grown-up than their playmates. They’d competed for beaus and Scarlett had mostly won, except where Ashley Wilkes was concerned. They had lived through the war together. Now, Scarlett sat among them on Melly’s front porch and tried to remember if she’d ever in her life felt like one of them.

For Christmas, Melanie gave Scarlett a small book of poetry. Scarlett never read it, except for the one verse which Melly had marked with a green ribbon. She bit back the urge to sigh when she undid the wrapping, but Melly pointed out the bookmark and said, “This one made me think of you, dear.”

Scarlett didn’t like to think of it now, but once she’d been sixteen in green muslin, confident that dimples and a clear complexion were the only weapons she’d ever need. She had been a child, but that child had not died when Atlanta burned. The belle of Clayton County was not in the grave with all the boys who’d never come riding home from war. Scarlett was alive. She was right here.

“What is a dead girl but a shadowy ghost/ Or a dead man's voice but a distant and vain affirmation/Like dream words most? / Therefore I will not speak of the undying glory of women. / I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair/ And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders/ And a leaf on your hair—"

Scarlett came home from her mills in the gray evening and she made her way back to the Wilkes’s ramshackle front porch. She left her buggy feeling condemned and she sat with the other ladies feeling alienated, but all the same she couldn’t bring herself not to go. The war was over, and these were the survivors. They were through fighting, hung up on glory, but Scarlett still hadn’t holstered her guns. 

“We were soldiers,” said Melanie, and in her heart Scarlett added, “Some of us still are.”

           I won’t let them lick me.

Supposing that Ashley had married her. Perhaps the sight of her in green makes him brave enough to shed his veneer of honor and say, “Yes, you’re right, I can’t live without you.” It’s a minor scandal when he casts Melanie off in her favor, but not for long. The war is beginning and besides, good men have made themselves fools for Scarlett O’Hara before. By the time the soldiers march away, the scandal is all but forgotten in favor of the fine figure they cut as they embrace at the depot: Ashley so brave in his uniform, his young wife radiant as she clutches him.

Ashley sends her long, meandering letters full of philosophical musings. Scarlett reads them uncomprehending and sends back missives full of I love yous. She kisses them when she mails them, sometimes with a Hail Mary for her husband’s safety.

Rhett doesn’t notice this Scarlett at Twelve Oaks, and so he’s caught off guard when he hears the young Mrs. Wilkes say something blunt and scathing at the Bazaar. He chuckles to himself in delight and later he asks her to dance, and of course Scarlett simpers and agrees, and it’s a merry night. But Rhett doesn’t come back to Atlanta for the rest of the war.

This Scarlett leaves for Macon with the rest of the women when the Yankees come to Atlanta; after all, she has no Melly to keep her in the city during the siege. She takes Ashley’s child with her, and it’s in Macon that he finds her after the war. He waxes poetic about the Old Days, the Horrors of War and Götterdämmerungs and the like. He looks at her with sad, tired eyes and Scarlett says yes, I heard you the first time. But what are we going to do?

Twelve Oaks is razed. They go to Tara. Ashley tries his hand at farming, but it’s Scarlett who manages to pick and plant and organize while Ashley’s fumbling attempts at working with his hands yield scant success. His heart isn’t in it, which infuriates Scarlett. C’mon, get up and fight! She looks into the tired face of the man she loved so ruinously at sixteen and wonders what she ever thought was so noble about him.

When taxes come due there’s no way to pay. What’s more, Ashley doesn’t even try. It’s here that Scarlett breaks with her husband. Between Ashley and Tara, it’s Tara every time.

So Scarlett bullies her husband into calling old debts in from a few impoverished friends and when that isn’t enough, she goes to see the tax assessor dressed in green velvet and makes some very personal insinuations about Mr. Jonas Wilkerson. From there, Scarlett bullies her one-time-beloved and does as she pleases, and Ashley has to live with the fact that it’s his wife who provides for the family. In every world, it is Scarlett O’Hara who keeps Ashley Wilkes alive after the war.

His pride lays down in the dirt and dies. Scarlett Wilkes shakes her head bitterly and plants more seed in her red, red earth.   

Supposing Scarlett could have imagined all this. What do you think she would say? Perhaps in her youth she would have cherished the idea, but the hard-eyed Scarlett who emerged after the war would have only leveled her small shoulders and said, “What does it matter what would have happened? I’ll think about it later.”

           There but for a lot of gumption am I.

The day after Bonnie died, Scarlett called for the buggy and went to her store. Rhett took this as proof that Scarlett had never really loved the little girl, that she was devoid of maternal affection as he’d always suspected, but Scarlett was grieving in her own way. She threw out two uncut bolts of blue velvet: expensive fabric over which she’d have upbraided a clerk to hell and back if he’d wasted even a few inches. 

It was true that Scarlett had never wanted any of her children when she’d carried them. She had not felt joy or love or any of the feelings that other women described when first she saw them. What she did feel, in the moments after Dr. Meade placed each child in her arms, was a fierce surge of protectiveness. She was certain that she would work and sacrifice and even die for her children, if need be. They were her blood, her flesh, her kin.

Scarlett had hated pregnancy each time it happened to her. She hated feeling large and lumbering, hated the way that her tiny waist bloated and grew until even her modified dresses didn’t fit right. She hated the inconvenience of morning sickness, the limitations on what she could do, the necessity of seclusion as delivery drew near. It was nine months of hardship and frustration capped off with many long minutes of excruciating pain. 

Bonnie had died in an instant. She’d been flying towards the hurdle and then, half a breath later, she’d been gone. Standing in the back of the store with two bolts of blue velvet before her, Scarlett swallowed back tears that Rhett would never see. It wasn’t right that a child who’d taken her so much time and effort to bring into the world could be gone from it so quickly. 

When she returned to the house a few hours later, Rhett had locked himself in the bedroom with Bonnie’s tiny body. Scarlett paused for a moment outside the door, but then she squared her shoulders and kept walking. 

          Just a few more days for to tote the weary load. 

Scarlett had a habit of humming “My Old Kentucky Home” while she worked. Splitting wood, planting and picking cotton, driving between her mills, keeping the books—even sewing. The song was a thoughtless thing, an instinctual thing. She hummed it the same way a person might worry lips between teeth or tear at nails. 

She repeated the words again and again until her heart pulsed to their rhythm. Just a few more days for to tote the weary load. I’ll think about it tomorrow, when I can stand it. Tomorrow, tomorrow. No matter, ‘twill never be light. I’ll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my kin. I’ll never be hungry again. They were a mantra: something to hold onto when the whole breadth of her world had narrowed to a single point. A refrain. A liturgy of surviving.

          Just a few more steps

Rhett loved Scarlett and it was terrifying. He feared that she would treat him like one of her country beaus: a lovely toy to play with and to tear to ribbons when she was done. He was afraid, so he hid his heart behind his impressive poker face and said “I want you” instead of “I love you.” He called her “pet” instead of “sweetheart.”

Scarlett loved Rhett and it was slow. He brought her bonnets and bonbons and Scarlett thought, “Why, it’s almost like I was in love with him!” He came to help her the day Atlanta burned, and Scarlett thought that she’d like to stay in his arms forever. When he chauffeured her to the mills, she thought that he was the only person in the world to whom she could tell the truth.

"You never told me you loved me, you know," Scarlett said the next time she visited Charleston. "I never knew. That's not to say you were wrong about me - about what I would have done if you had said something. But you should have been brave enough to risk it all the same."

Rhett closed his eyes for a moment and his mask slipped away. It was doing that more and more these days.

"But I did tell you — once."

"I think I would have remembered that," said Scarlett, pursing her lips.

"Ah. ‘It is far off; and rather like a dream than an assurance that my remembrance warrants.’ I suppose my humble confession was the least of your worries that day."

Scarlett wrinkled her nose. "What?"

"The day Atlanta burned, my dear."

After a long moment, Scarlett gave a little gasp which turned into a sigh as it ended. "Oh. That's right, you did then, didn't you?" She shook her head. "Rhett, I do believe you have the worst timing of any person I know."

          As God is my witness

The day she married Charles, she wore Ellen’s cream-colored silk gown, aired out in a hurry from the chest where it had been sitting since the O’Haras married back in 1846. She couldn’t breathe for how tight her laces were —sixteen inches, like Ellen’s waist was when the dress was purchased— and perhaps that was a good thing. Scarlett was light-headed throughout the ceremony and she scarcely remembered it afterwards. 

The day she decided to have Frank, it was raining hard. Scarlett left the jail in sodden velvet and was grateful for the drops falling on her cheeks to disguise the tears. It was sunny the day of the wedding, but she scarcely noticed that. Afterwards, when she thought of marrying Frank, Scarlett would always remember the rain. 

There was a fine mist over everything the day she got Rhett back for good. Scarlett was wearing her work clothes when he came riding up to Tara; she’d been walking the cotton fields that day, overseeing the progress of the crop. They were both a little damp when he kissed her.

           I’ll never be hungry again.

O’Haras and Robillards had always known how to dig their nails in, and by God, Scarlett was both. Her namesakes had long ago fought for their own plots of Irish earth; had survived and died and been hanged fighting to hold onto it. All Scarlett’s forebears, her folk, had left crescent-moon imprints on all that was theirs when it was finally pried from her hands. Scarlett gripped her little ball of clay and felt her nails dig into the heels of her hands.

She was her father’s hot-tempered daughter, but she had her mother’s steel-hewn spine. All the years of her life, she never saw Ellen Robillard O’Hara rest her back against a chair.  When Scarlett’s own time came, she held herself every bit as straight as her mother: she didn’t rest or lean, just stood and stood.

Maybe this is what she was always made for. Her green eyes weren’t for charming young men, they were for seeing dresses in curtains. Her hands were never supposed to be soft; they were meant for digging in the red dirt. Even her lips—Rhett was wrong, they weren’t meant for kissing. Scarlett’s lips were as sharp as the words that she spoke when she wasn’t afraid what anyone thought. They were meant to draw blood.

She had been sharp all her life, even when her edges were carefully concealed in layers of satin. Scarlett was not made to be soft; her core held no gentleness. She could not pretend otherwise. All she could do was stand straight, and hold up her tired old shoulders like they were the strongest thing in the world.

           I’ll think about it tomorrow. 

One day, at the Butler home in Charleston, Rhett taught Scarlett how to play poker, and subsequently how to cheat. They were still playing hours later, counting cards and hiding them in sleeves and making all kinds of ridiculous bets on losing hands. Just as she was taking off her right earbob to call, the thought rose to Scarlett’s mind unbidden: “What on earth are we doing here?” And just as quickly, there was the answer. “We’re living.”

At the end of this most recent road home, weary and damp from running through the fog, Scarlett found her way back into Rhett’s arms. In the evenings she listened to his stories and witticisms, and late at night she listened to the sound of his breathing. I will not speak of undying glory, she thought. Rhett was still here, and so was she. They were both still here.

Scarlett took off her left earbob too, for good measure. “I’ll raise you,” she said. “I have a good feeling about this hand.” There was still an ace hidden up her sleeve, but if Rhett noticed it he didn’t say anything. 

They survived together. They built something new. There is always profit to be made in building things, and these two were nothing if not industrious.

           After all, tomorrow is another day.

[kurara-black-blog]

My favorite part of Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief is when Percy looks at the audience and says “the moral of the story is: stealing is wrong!"

“it sounds like you’re justifying their actions-“ i am. they’re a fictional character. i’m okay with anything they do all the time. hope this helps.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

to many more | s.r. x liaison!fem reader

“what’s your favorite book?”

spencer looked away from his open files to turn in his chair to see you standing behind him, a couple of manila folders held close to your baby blue long sleeve dress shirt. he had to keep his eyes from dropping lower to get a glance at the curves that hugged to your black pants.

he coughed as he blinked a few times behind his glasses, “uh, well there’s- there’s too many to choose from. if you’re asking about general literature i’d probably say-“

you held a hand out with a shaky smile, “sorry. don’t mean to interrupt. but um, i’m asking if there’s a book or story that’s very meaningful full for you.”

spencer straightened his mouth, feeling it form into that usual line. he let his mind scour for a moment, “uh maybe… alice in wonderland. my mom used to read it as a bed time story from time to time in between narnia and fifteenth century literature. she used to read me valentines poems.”

he saw your brows raise for a moment, “that’s sweet. which did she recite the most?” you readjusted the files.

spencer tapped his fingers over his thighs, “mostly chaucer’s parlement of foules. The poem, which is in the form of a dream vision in rhyme royal stanza, contains one of the earliest references to the idea that St. Valentine's Day is a special day for lovers…” he stopped short when he saw a bored expression draping your face. “sorry, rambling.”

your eyes widen and you took a step closer, “no, no. you’re fine. your voice soothes me, probably looked a bit drowsy.”

spencer scrunched his face, “most people would look tired cause i’m boring them to sleep.” he saw your face fall at his words, he didn’t like the sight.

“well i like hearing your information. i find what you know quite fascinating, like last week you told me that flamingos feathers are actually white or pale gray, but appear pink cause of algae and shrimp. i would’ve never know that.” your smile pushed your cheeks, pupils beaming alight as he felt them ghostly tracing his face.

bashful your eyes directed to your feet, “i enjoyed our date last week.” moving some fingers to run behind your ear, “i’ve always wanted to visit the planetarium, but never found the time.”

spencer smiled fondly, “i’m glad i was able to get you the chance. sometimes they do thirty minute segments on each zodiac sign, it’s when i see a lot of ‘psychics’.”

you chuckled lightly, spencer’s grin widened. “i should take you to one for fun. just to test how real they are.”

he couldn’t help rolling his eyes, “don’t waste your money.” you shrugged simply, “could be a fun third date. she can verify that we’re a match.” giving your upper body a slight twisting at the waist.

before spencer could say anything in reply, you both turned to see hotch calling you from his upper office. “shit, forgot i had to drop these off. i’ll see you later.” and you stepped into his space to lean in an leave a kiss to his forehead. he could feel the residue of your fading gloss. he was happy there wasn’t many people in the bullpen, he didn’t want to deal with morgan’s teasing right now.

the only possible person to have witnessed that display would be hotch. “reid, a word,” his stern voice causing him to flinch in his seat. he quickly made his way up the steps and into the office, closing the door behind him and standing beside you with his hands behind his back. he wasn’t planning to have this conversation a month early.

“is there something you both would like to inform me on?” hotch letting either of you confirm your new relationship instead of assuming.

“uh,” you started to say before spencer interrupted more confidently, “y/n and i are currently seeing each other. it’s only been about two months.” he turned to you, eyes locking and both of you smiled at each other, “but i’d like to believe this will last awhile.”

“well,” hotch cleared his throat, “since you’ve probably read through the handbook spencer, there isn’t anything wrong with fraternization between employees. i would just need both of you to fill out some paperwork.”

you both nodded in agreement. “and please, try not to let this distract you in the field. otherwise you’ll have to be in separate rooms, hotel and assignments.”

“yes sir,” giving a playful salute as he dismissed you both. you decided to pull spencer by his hand in the direction of your, shared office, already knowing jj was busy elsewhere.

“i hope that was-“ you spun into spencer, palms on his cheeks as your lips pressed onto his. he went still for a moment, but you knew he just needed a second to process. his fingers curled along your hips, his warmth seeping through your fabric and onto your skin.

you sighed into his mouth as he worked your lips apart, taking the lead he moved both of you further into the office. your thighs hit the edge, a small gasping allowing for spencer to boldly slip his tongue into your mouth, your heart was pumping in your ears.

if you weren’t in the office you’d let your greedy fingers start to work at unbuttoning his shirt, but instead you were stopped short when someone groaned out, “holy shit!”

spencer was the first to jump away and you saw that penelope and jj were at the threshold with jaws dropped and bugged eyes. “you freaky love birds!” penelope screeched.

“i need to burn this room,” jj groaned as she turned on her heels.

[obssessivethorn]

More Yuu Headcanons

Here are some more TWST headcanons of our favorite little shrimpy prefect that I pulled from the depths of my mind which needed to be freed. This mainly builds off of my first Yuu hc, so take a look at that if you'd like!

[Yuu Makes Constant References No One Else Gets]

[Masterlist]

Yuu humming/singing Two of Hearts if they’re in a relationship w/ Ace or just hanging out with him as a friend

Yuu refers to the cast as handsome as a casual fact and is surprised when most of them are confused/surprised/flustered by this 

“What? The guys in this school are handsome. That’s kinda just a fact.” 

Yuu being nostalgic on their Birthday 

Deuce: “I bet your family’s celebrating your birthday even if you’re not there.”

Yuu: (hopeful) “yeah. Or, who knows, this could be a whole Narnia situation and no time has passed there at all.”

Ace: “Narnia?”

Yuu: (somber) “oh, just some popular story back home. Maybe I’ll tell you guys some time.”

Ace and Deuce always wanting to hear about stories from Yuu’s home world but being too scared that it will make them sad 

Fem!Yuu being really excited to meet Deuce’s mom because they’ve been surrounded by  only guys at an all boys school for months 

Bonus: Dylla absolutely adores fem!Yuu and is more than willing to help fashion some more feminine clothing for Yuu if they ever wanted.

Bonus +1: fem!Yuu wanting to meet the cast’s moms and sisters whenever the boys mention them.

Bonus +2: All the boys’ families just accepting Yuu as their child regardless of whether they’ve met or not simply because of how often the boys talk about them 

Yuu getting really giddy and excited when they’re able to travel to a new place in twisted wonderland other than Sage’s Island (i.e. cast’s hometowns, etc.)

Yuu asking Crewel for help whenever/if they want to dye their hair 

Based on a voiceline, Crewel canonically bleaches half his hair white and maintains that to keep with his style (the dedication of that man is inspiring)

The moment Yuu realizes they’ve fallen too far down the rabbit hole and are now attached to everyone in twisted wonderland, meaning their leaving will hurt more and more with each passing day. 

The feeling of being incredibly torn between their previous life they were forced to abandon, years of work they had put in to reach the goals they wanted to accomplish, and the new friends, experiences, and opportunities before them in this new world. So they push the feeling down further with each day. Force themself to ignore the inevitable. 

They don’t want to think about the idea of who will take care of Grim when they’re gone? Or how Ace will get his assignments done if they’re not there to force him to do it. Or or who will calm deuce down enough before he gets into a fight and ruins his goal of being a perfect honor student? 

Who will be there if someone else overblots?

This one I kinda stole from Private Thoughts of a Moray Eel by @mochinomnoms, but I love the idea of Yuu, Ace, and Deuce being so close and completely comfortable with each other. I mean, they’ve gone through literal life or death situations together from the start, so it makes sense that they would be closer than most. 

But not just the closeness we see in game with them being a main friend group who always hangs out. But close physically, in the sense that there are few boundaries left between the three. 

For a few examples, I like the idea that the three will commonly be seen cuddling together or leaning on one another when they’re lounging in the courtyard or around Heartslabyul/Ramshackle. 

Ace often times has his arm around the shoulders of Yuu or Deuce. Sometimes leaning in to whisper something stupid or gossipy in their ear. 

Yuu has taken to giving the Adeuce duo kisses on their foreheads and cheeks as thanks or as a goodbye when they head back to Ramshackle with Grim. 

Deuce grew a habit of holding Yuu or Ace’s hand when he gets ticked off by some oaf he wants to punch. The two will respond by giving his hand a squeeze or rubbing a comforting thumb across the back of his hand. It’s a silent thing, no one outright acknowledges it, because it’s become such a common practice for the three. 

Another habit Deuce has developed is that he’ll face-plant directly into the lap of whoever is sitting down after a long day. The first time he did it, it was Yuu’s lap and it spooked them so much they accidentally threw their phone at Ace’s face. Deuce felt horrible after that, but after some reassurance, he started doing it more often. Albet, making sure the landing was softer than the first time. 

In response to Deuce planting his face on their thighs, Ace and Yuu both took to immediately playing with his hair and massaging his scalp with their free hand. 

Yuu’s way of asking for comfort when they're stressed or scared (which they will always refuse to admit, they swear, they just need them as a human shield! It’s just for defense!) is by hugging one of the two around their torso and ducking their head into the crook of their neck to hide their face. Most times, the hug from the back so whoever they’re hugging can’t see what they’re feeling. But they of course still love hugging from the front because the two will always respond by immediately wrapping their arms around Yuu and rubbing their back. 

Because of this slightly abnormal friendship, (I failed to describe the abnormal part here but I can always write more) there have of course been some rumors started about them being in a romantic relationship. Are they polygamous? Are Ace and Deuce fighting over Yuu in an epic and dramatic love triangle? Is Yuu playing both of the boys? Are there hidden feelings between the three they all refuse to talk about? 

While most of the school and some of their friends wonder this, the trio completely ignores it. As if the rumors don’t exist at all. When asked about their relationship or if anything being said is true, all three of them look at each other, shrug, and say completely different things. 

Jack: So, are you guys in a relationship?  Epel: Yeah, you’re all awfully close for just friends.  Sebek: Please, the details of their relationship have nothing to do with us! But if you three are romantically involved in a relationship with each other then I will support you entirely as long as it does not affect my lord.  Ortho: Well, let’s hear them out first, are you three dating each other?  Ace, Deuce, and Yuu: *tangled in a cuddle pile on Ramshackle’s couch with Grim asleep on the arm of the couch next to them* [simultaneously] Ace: Maybe. Deuce: No? why? Yuu: Only on Tuesdays. 

The main part taken from Private Thoughts of a Moray Eel is the idea where Ace and Yuu visit Deuce’s home one summer and Deuce’s mom Dylla immediately believes the three are an adorable couple. 

Regardless of whether they are, aren’t, or are secretly pining, Dylla would decide in that moment that she had two new children she would die for. (Whether through adoption or as an in-law, should secretly hopes she can have Yuu as her child) 

AdeuceYuu is probably my favorite ship in all of Twst but this concept of them being physically affectionate and comfortable with each other transcends simply being a romantic headcanon and something I personally believe to be true as platonic and any other relationship dynamic you can imagine. Because let’s be honest, all three of them need comfort from others after going through so many overblots. And who better to comfort you than the ones who stood beside you through most of those experiences.  

Yuu being seen by the cast as a very passive and soft-spoken individual who couldn’t hurt a fly even if they tried. Only, the projected image of the protag they’ve come to accept is shattered when they witness Yuu tearing a random student a new one after said student had pushed them over the edge after a very stressful day. (Separate HC post for that concept coming soon) 

Yuu, who stood against beasts, overblots, and literal titans and gods, being too scared to ask for extra ketchup in Mostro Lounge. 

Additionally, Yuu who lives with a direbeast, being afraid of squirrels (don’t ask me why, this just feels correct, so we’re going with it)

The first idea that got me to start writing twst headcanons: Yuu having a very different way of speaking in Twisted Wonderland than they do back home. Because many of the references and slang they typically use in everyday speech doesn’t make sense to anyone but them in TW, they talk less and have a very plain way of speaking compared to most people their age. Here’s how I imagine this specific scenario goes:

When hanging out with Adeuce and Grim one day, Ace brings up (jokingly) how boring the prefect sounds when speaking. 

Yuu makes a comment about how they speak very differently from how they do back home.

This piques Ace and Deuce’s interest. 

While Deuce is more reluctant to ask, Ace begins asking questions and hounding Yuu for examples and for them to say things in ways they normally would. Deuce and Grim eventually join in on the barrage of questions. 

Finally, and a little hesitantly, Yuu decided to give them one day where they talk in the way they normally would back home. 

In this case, that means a lot of references, stupid internet jokes, and generational slang.

While the majority of it goes over the heads of Yuu’s friends, prompting more questions than it does answer, it’s still a day in which they see a whole new side of Yuu. One that’s evidently more relaxed and natural for the beloved prefect. 

It’s a confusing day for most, listening to Yuu speak as if they’ve lost their mind and started spewing nonsense, but it also became one of the highlights of the school year for the cast.

I have plenty more headcanons i can rip from the crevices of my mind, so if you would like to see more let me know! I love thinking of these silly little moments and dynamics and overall making the main character feel a little more real and personal for myself and hopefully others.

@thisisafish123 (you asked to be tagged for a part 2, not exactly sure if this counts for you but I hope you enjoy!)

[foone]

whats your favourite narnia book if you have one

Since I grew up as an autistic christian, I have many Narnia Opinions!

So, my favorite book for it's own reasons is probably The Magician's Nephew. I'm always a slut for worldbuilding and backstory and that novel is basically just only that. Some guy we know from another book goes on an adventure and in the process gets to be involved with the creation of one world and the destruction of another? kick-ass.

Best book to adapt? The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. 1988 BBC version, 1979 Cartoon version, 2005 theatrical? All good, in their own ways. The BBC version is just perfectly 80s and the costumes are amazing (because they are costumes! they did all the monsters by sticking a guy in a big costume and I love it), the cartoon version captures the fucking whimsy of a story where SANTA SHOWS UP AND GIVES EVERYONE PRESENTS and the first person to offer any serious lore about the situation is named MR BEAVER. And the 2005 film has the big battles and CGI and Tilda Swinton as the White Witch which is... so much. I love them all.

But the best book adaptation is the 1990 BBC The Silver Chair. Hands down. It's got Tom Baker's Puddleglum, Warwick Davis playing an owl, 0£ BBC budget greenscreened giants (MULTIPLE TIMES), a group of people discovering IT'S A COOKBOOK and one of them being offended by the cookbook saying they don't taste very good, the bad guy turning into a giant rubber snake. a witch trying to gaslight some humans into believing the sun is a myth, and the ultimate salvation of Eustace Scrubb: a boy who almost deserved being named that.

And since I can't not list basically everything Narnia ever made, BBC's 1989 Prince Caspian and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is pretty good too. It's a fun "road movie", in that it's an odyssey into a fictional Mysterious Ocean of Here There Be Dragons.

Lotta hits in that one. It's also got a "collect the macguffins!" plot where they're trying to collect the Seven Lost Lords.

But yeah, it's like... the first Island gets them a lord and they get to end slavery. Next up, Dragon TF island (The dragon is Greed... but it's also just a literal fucking dragon). Next, Gold TF island. Gold, it turns out, makes you go insane in your lust for wealth, even if you're already a Prince of a whole country. The gold is Greed, but it will also just fucking kill you because you'll be turned into gold.

Then it's the island of the ugly invisible one-foot guys and it turns out they cast a spell to turn invisible so no one could see how they're ugly but they're not ugly, they just think they are? and then it goes "HEY LUCY COMPARE YOURSELF TO YOUR OLDER SISTER" and she's like "I'm ugly.... unlike her. Maybe I should use magic to STEAL HER BEAUTY?!" and it's like, wow. Is there maybe a theme here about self-esteem in your appearance? and Clive Officemax Lewis is over there going I'LL NEVER TELL.

Anyway it's got the good line about how the Wizard in charge of the ugly invisible one-footed pogo-idiots is that how he eagerly awaits the day that they can be ruled by wisdom, instead of magic. It's a fun approach to magic: it's something that is a shortcut, a crutch, and it's a poor replacement for Wisdom, even when used by "the good guys". Tell me, Mr. FedexKinkos-Lewis, do you have any opinions on the complicated relationship between Christianity and magic? oh, you do? I never would have guessed!

They also find The Island Where Dreams Come True. They don't land there, they just fish a screaming man out of the ocean who is trying to escape it. The sailors hear it's The Island Where Dreams Come True and are like "wow, I could have my own ship!" and he yells no, you fools, not dreams like your wishes and imaginations, your actual dreams come true on this island.

and everyone agrees: Get us the fuck away from this island and lets never return.

Anyway I'm not gonna talk about THE ENTIRE MOVIE/BOOK but it's got a great weirdness at the end where they reach the end of the world (which is flat. It's okay, this is Narnia, a completely different world with different physical rules than Earth), and it's a waterfall, but a waterfall going up?

It turns out Heaven is on the other side of it. They turn around, but the anthropomorphic mouse is like "ehh, I'll take that journey" and becomes the Elijah of Aslan's Country, their equivalent of heaven.

Narnia, won't you?

[aparticularbandit]

I remember when I was growing up they had a "new and improved" version of the series that was supposed to be roughly adapting them for a more modern audience.

In the version I read, I think Elsie and her dad got in a huge argument because she wouldn't bring him the newspaper on Sunday instead of the piano thing. And I think her dad or someone tried to say that in not obeying him she'd actually broken the commandment to honor your father and mother, but the book came around to no, Elsie was right to disobey her father because it ended up with him getting saved.

Which is very drastic BUT the idea that sometimes it's right, actually, to not do what your parent wants is...an interesting thing that I'm now realizing was in that.

I think the one where she married her dad's best friend was roughly around the time I stopped reading them.

BUT there were also children's Bible studies that were tied in with the repackaged series. And Wikipedia says the dolls were with that repackaged?

I...kind of want to see them again now. They were...weird, yeah.

Oh god it gets worse

Okay, before I go any further I should give a little disclaimer that there's nothing wrong with doing a Christian-themed line of dolls. Toys and stories as a way to teach faith are nothing new and can be perfectly appropriate ways for kids to learn.

However the Life of Faith dolls are a unique kind of fucking horrible because they are obviously American Girl knockoffs. Instead of meaningfully engaging with the difficult themes of history like the AG dolls did, they present a disgustingly white-washed, pretty, frilly, and pleasant view of history that straight up ignores the dark stuff.

So the Life of Faith dolls are based on the Elsie Dinsmore stories which were published between 1867 and 1905. They're about a deeply faithful little girl who grows up on a plantation. In the books, when Elsie turns 18, she marries HER FATHER'S BEST FRIEND, because, to quote Wikipedia, "He has been her knight in shining armor who constantly helps her when other people are cruel to her; he has loved her for a long time." Yeah we call that "grooming" today.

Yeah, that's pretty sickening. But there IS a girl who escapes slavery in this series lemme see how that gets addressed....

WAIT YOU'RE TELLING ME SHE ESCAPES FROM THE SAME BEAUTIFUL PLANTATION THE OTHER GIRL WAS RAISED ON?! So when Elsie came of age she would literally own Laylie. Seriously did no one see the conflict in this?! Did no one involved in all of this stop for a moment and think, maybe we're not presenting a fully accurate view of history?

What really galls me is the playing Robin Hood stuff. While enslaved children did find ways to play and have fun, their lived were still dominated by the grueling, demeaning work they had to do. And they would not be given luxurious playthings like bows and arrows and green silk capes. And they didn't have frilly pretty dresses and elaborate hairdos.

I know the dolls are Christian and they all come with a little Bible but like.... Are we just gonna ignore the whole "slaves weren't allowed to read" thing?

While all the other dolls come with lots of dresses and accessories, Laylie only has the one dress and her Robin Hood accessories.

So yeah we're just skipping over the whole Civil War and Reconstruction. Violet is Elsie's daughter still growing up on the plantation like always.

So moral of the story, when you're trying to teach kids about history, maybe try a book series that wasn't written by this lady:

Because you actually can write stories about faith and being Christian that DON'T involve romanticizing slavery.

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Making Up For Lost Time - Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Based on the following two requests:

can we get an enemies to lovers with edmund that has smut in it??

PLEASEE an edmund smut,, preferably something with a risk of getting caught? or not bb i don’t mind- but a lot of dirty talking too 🤭

It's not necessarily enemies to lovers? But I really hope you enjoy it, this is probably my favorite thing I've written thus far.

Summary: You and Edmund are definitely feeling the effects of your arranged marriage.

Warnings: Language, Smut, not proofed!

Female reader

You couldn't take much more of him, nor him you. The both of you knew why the marriage had to happen, Narnia couldn't risk another war, and Calormen was losing resources due to the Great Desert. As a compromise, Peter, Caspian, and Susan met with Prince Rabadash to secure a compromise. A truce between the kingdoms and a new way for the resources to be traded was sealed with the promise of a marriage between you and Edmund.

And neither of you was happy with it.

It didn't help that you had shared chambers either. You and Edmund had asked The High Kings and Queen about a switch in rooms but they only pushed further.

"Imagine what the people would think if the newlyweds weren't sharing a room?" So you were forced to live with him. Fall asleep next to him each night, and wake by his side every morning.

Granted, Edmund wasn't intolerable. He just wasn't tolerable either. He was a handsome man, sure, but that face also came with his quick wit and sharp tongue, two things you'd grown to loathe.

He'd challenge you, yes. But his tone of speech was never rude or condescending. But the biggest thing you hated about him, he was always so charming. So sweet. So fair.

He didn't earn the title of The Just King for nothing. But it just added fuel to the fire.

He'd always let you use the bath chambers first, and never complained or protested when you took longer baths.

He didn't pressure you to do anything on your wedding night. He simply kept to himself, offering you a smile and a "goodnight" from his side of the bed. You had been told what was to come, your mind was full of stories from other women in your life. Horror stories.

"It is ever so painful."

"Not pleasurable at all!"

"I can hardly wait until it's over!"

Needless to say, when your new husband had simply wished you a good night and went to sleep, you were surprised. The next morning you woke by his side, finding it odd that he had barely moved an inch. You were basically in the middle of the large bed, Edmund sleeping soundly on the edge, right where he was the night before. You were gone before he'd woken up.

Edmund never failed to greet you kindly, entering the room quietly just in case you had decided to take a nap. He never raised his voice to you either.

Was he snarky and sassy? Of course. But he had always treated you and your family with kindness and respect. It was insufferable. Sometimes you wished he'd just be rude so you would have a real reason to hate him, aside from the fact that he was your husband but you never seemed to communicate. You had gotten used to the fact that there would never be any sort of friendship, let alone a relationship, between you and Edmund, so you resorted to hating him.

The only time he'd gotten angry with you was when you hadn't returned to the bedroom one evening. Unbeknownst to you, he began searching frantically for you, creating quite a stir in the grand castle, only to find you asleep in the library. He cursed to himself before picking your sleeping form up in his arms and bringing you back to your room.

You woke up that morning in bed, confused at first about your location, but relaxing when you saw Edmund's sleeping form next to you.

As you rolled out of bed and made your way to the bathroom you heard his voice.

"Don't do that again." You froze, turning around. His dark eyes were on yours and he was very much not asleep.

"Do what?" He sat up, giving you a view of his very shirtless torso. You averted your eyes immediately.

"Not come back." Your confusion brought your eyes to him again. His lanky, but well-built frame, was now sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What?" He rose from the bed, a hand running through his dark hair. You stare at him while he walks toward you, stopping less than a foot away from you.

"You didn't come back last night. Don't do that again." He brushed your cheek with his hand, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss there too. You could feel your cheeks heating at the proximity. The last time he'd been this close to you was your wedding. He hadn't touched you since then either.

He pulled away quickly, stepping around you.

"Did you bring me back?" You turned your head to face him.

"Yes."

...

That night, there was a ball between the great nations. Narnia was the gracious host to Archenland, the Conglomeration of Nations, Ettinsmoor, and of course, Calormen.

You hadn't seen Edmund since the morning. You had been whisked away by maids to get ready for the celebration. The ball was for you and Edmund, another party after the wedding you guessed.

You were dressed in a gorgeous light blue gown with intricate white floral stitching and lace along the neckline. It was gorgeous. The long sleeves were fitted and the back laced up like a corset. Your hair had been fixed down with small braids throughout as to not disrupt the crown you'd also be adorning for the evening.

Then, you were whisked away to the celebration, the guests awaiting the arrival of the newlyweds. Edmund was waiting in the corridor, dressed in the same light blue as you, his silver crown on top of his head. He looked very handsome, more so than usual, and suddenly your thoughts were filled with images of you and Edmund dancing together, of Edmund touching you, his large hand on your waist, maybe even his lips on yours.

"M'Lady?"

You blinked, eyes meeting his. What had he just called you?

"Y-yes?"

"I said are you ready to go in?" Your cheeks heated once again and you nodded, looking away from him. He chuckled and then he laced his fingers through yours, effectively making your heart stop.

...

As soon as your introductions were over, you slipped away from Edmund's side. The thoughts kept popping up in your brain. Why did you keep thinking these thoughts? Edmund didn't want to marry you, let alone consummate the marriage, so why did your brain keep doing this? You hid yourself well by the banquet table, keeping away from the crowds.

"Queen Y/N?" You turned at the use of your title, looking at the sheer opposite of your husband. A man with blonde hair and blue eyes was staring at you with a dazzling smile. You found yourself preferring Edmund's dark hair, brown eyes, and ever-present smirk.

"Hello..."

"I am Prince Cor of Archenland. It is very nice to meet you, M'Lady."

You had to stop yourself from reacting to the name Edmund had called you only an hour before. You'd much preferred it coming from his mouth than Prince Cor. Oh now you'd done it. This poor Prince was trying to make small talk with you and now you were thinking about your husband's mouth? The blush creeping over your cheeks and shoulders was enough for you to shake yourself out of your thoughts.

"It is nice to meet you too, your Highness."

As you and Cor began to make conversation, Edmund's wondering eyes found you. His hand tightened around the goblet he'd been holding and his gaze narrowed.

"Who is that?" He hadn't even noticed he was interrupting his brother.

"Who is who?" Peter replied.

"The bloke flirting with my wife, that's who." Peter held back a laugh.

"Ed, I hardly think Prince Cor would flirt with Y/N, this is your marriage celebration after all. Besides, she wouldn't flirt with someone else so shamelessly."

Edmund wasn't even listening and was halfway across the ballroom before his brother could finish speaking.

"I really do believe that astronomy is one of the most interesting subjects one can learn about-" The Just King interrupted the blonde prince, swiftly interjecting himself into the conversation.

"Hello, My Love." Your face burned at the new name. Then he turned your face to his and kisses your cheek. You could feel your heart in your ears and you looked down, suddenly interested in the floor. "May I ask what you and Prince Cor are talking about?" The blonde man looked uncomfortable.

"We were speaking-"

"I believe I asked my wife, not you." Cor lowered his head in a nod in return, quickly and quietly exiting the conversation. If looks could kill, Prince Cor would have been dead on the ballroom floor in mere seconds from Edmund's piercing glare.

You began to slip away from your husband before his strong hand wrapped around your arm and gently tugged you back. His front was lightly pressed against your back, his head lowered so he could speak into your ear.

"And where do you think you're going?" His voice sent shivers down your spine. His hand trailed up your arm, resting where your shoulder meets your collar bone, visible from the Sabrina neckline of your dress. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"

What? Were you dreaming?

"Because it's working, darling."

Edmund's hand grasps yours again and he begins to lead you out of the room, desperate to get you alone. It isn't until you are outside of the boisterous party that you speak.

"Where are we going?" Edmund stops to look around, before ushering you into a corridor adjacent to the party. "Edmund!"

"Shh!" His hand covers your mouth and he presses his front to yours, making sure you are silent and unseen as guests walk past the hall. He looks at you and almost melts at the beautiful, wide eyes looking up at him. He removes his hand from your mouth, placing it on the wall by your head. You don't even register that the other is on your waist.

You speak gently, making sure your voice is hushed.

"Edmund, why are you jealous?" Your husband takes a deep breath before glancing down the hallway. "Ed?" Your hand timidly reaches up to bring his face back to yours and his eyes widen at the contact.

"You were talking to another man. At the celebration of our wedding."

You had to stifle your shock.

"Edmund, you are my husband, you have no reason to be jealous of a prince from a neighboring kingdom." His lips quirk up a bit.

"How can I not be when you are showing more interest in anyone else but me? I am your husband and you are my wife. I should be by your side tonight." His words are so surprising and you are glad for the wall behind you, and the man in front of you, for the extra support to stand.

"I thought you would want your space."

"Why in Aslan's name would you think that?" You look at him again, taking him in completely, the way he looks in the blue fabric, his dark hair framing his face with that godforsaken crown making him look better than he had a few hours ago. "Y/N, why do you think I wouldn't want to be near you?" His eyes search yours and you blink away, far too flushed under his heavy gaze.

"You haven't ever wanted to before." The words hit him like bricks.

"What?"

The words begin to spill out before you can stop them.

"You always sleep on your side with your back to me, you are always gone when I wake up, I never see you except when you come to get ready for bed, and on our wedding night you didn't..." You push through the embarrassment. "You didn't even touch me. I know this marriage isn't what we had wanted but I thought that maybe we might have been friends-" Edmund cuts off your monologue with a kiss. Your first kiss since your wedding night.

His hand moves from the wall to your neck and the other pulls you to his body, needing to get closer to you.

Your body reacts immediately, melting into the kiss, hands resting on his waist.

It ends too soon, Edmund pulling away first, putting his hand back on the wall while he catches his breath, but the other remained on your waist.

"You think I don't want to be near you?" He stares at you with an incredulous look on his handsome face. The closeness of his face to yours is enough to make you blush, again. "Darling, I haven't..." He takes a moment to breathe, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I didn't touch you that night because I didn't want to hurt you. I'm so bloody drawn to you that I have to sleep on the opposite side of the bed turned away from you so I don't taint your virtue. I leave in the morning because-"

Your hand covers his mouth as another rowdy group of guests wanders by the corridor. You wait for them to leave before speaking again, keeping your hand plastered onto his face.

"So, you don't hate me?"

He shakes his head.

No.

"You never did?"

No.

You remove your hand from his mouth and the two of you just stare at each other. Unmoving. It feels like minutes pass before he covers your mouth with his again.

His hand returns to your neck, pulling you to him once more.

"I'm sorry I ever made you think I didn't want you. You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and I am the luckiest man alive to have you as my wife."

"Edmund..." The kind words hit you straight in the heart.

"And now, it seems I have something I have to make up for." His smirk appears and it sends your insides to mush.

"But Edmund I-"

"Shhhh." He smiles, his head dipping to yours. "Don't want to get caught, now do we?" He kisses you again, this one full of heat and passion, the lack of contact between you only adding fuel to the fire.,

Edmund pulls your body flush against his and groans into your mouth. You falter at the glorious sound but he is there to support you

His kisses travel down your neck to your collarbones.

"Edmund... What are you doing?"

"Making up for lost time, darling." He grins at you again. "Now be quiet." He kisses you again, his sneaky hands running down your sides to your skirt. He breaks the kiss to look down, his hands pulling the fabric up to your waist.

"Fuck." Your eyes went wide. You'd never heard Edmund use that kind of language before. His eyes lock on yours again.

He looks perfect. He's a king. Your king. Your husband.

"Are you ok with this?" You nod yes multiple times, making him smirk yet again, and then you gasp at the contact of his fingers against your womanhood. Your hands grip his shoulders for support, his muscles tensing at the fact that you are touching him. That he is touching you. His fingers find no resistance due to the effects of his words and his ego grows. You bury your face into his shirt when his fingers slip into you. Though foreign, it is an immensely pleasurable feeling and you can't help but want more.

Then he begins to move them. You push further into him to silence your mouth, the feeling far too wonderful to not have a vocal effect.

But then his thumb brushes on something that makes you let out a loud moan. Your face flushes in embarrassment.

"Do you want everyone to know that I'm defiling you in the hallway?"

Oh dear, you're afraid his words combined with whatever he is doing with his fingers are going to kill you.

He repeats the same action but kisses you once more, your moans muffled.

Edmund can tell you are getting close, you've begun to shake, you're gasping into his mouth, and you are practically rutting into his hand. He makes the conscious decision to break the kiss to suck on your neck, covering your mouth with his free hand to silence any escaping sounds. Then, his thumb presses up again and his fingers hook inside of you and you convulse around him.

He is in awe of how gorgeous you are and what he'd just done.

As you catch your breath, your trembling hands find the waistband of his trousers and gently begin unbuttoning them, eager for more. His eyes avert to what you're doing and he curses again. You falter.

"Do-do you want me to stop?" His head shakes back and forth.

"I think I'd die if you did, love."

Edmund begins kissing your neck once again while you free him from the confinement of his tight pants and you gasp. He laughs into your neck, sending goosebumps throughout your entire body.

"Don't get shy on me now, darling. You wanted this, right?" You nod and feel him smile into your skin.

He makes quick work of your undergarments, tossing them to the side, lining himself up with your lower half.

He halts and you look into his eyes, body shaking in need and anticipation for what you had been so scared of on your wedding night.

With your eyes on his, he pushes into you, stopping when you push against him.

"Are you alright?" His voice is next to your ear.

"Just one second." Edmund waits, trying to distract himself from the way your body is clenching around him. Your small voice brings him back to reality. "Edmund."

"Yes?" You notice the rasp in his voice, the strain in his muscles. To ease him, you follow your instincts and roll your hips against his and his hands grip your hips in response, stifling the moan wanting to leave his throat.

"Fuck. Y/N. You can't do that." It's your turn to smirk. You do it again and he presses your body back into the wall. The soft grip on your hips tightens and his eyes meet yours, blown with lust. Then, they narrow at the smirk on your lips. "Oh, so you think that's funny do you?" He begins to slide out of you and your eyes roll backwards. Then he slams back in.

The moan that escapes your lips sets a fire in him and his hand claps back over your mouth.

"How many times do I need to tell you to be quiet?" He begins to move his hips again, the feeling ten times more wonderful than just his fingers. "Is this what you wanted?" You can barely comprehend his hushed words. "Is that why you were flirting with him? To make me jealous so I'd finally touch you?" His free hand worms its way back to the apex of your thighs, finding that place that made you squirm in no time. "You're lucky I love you." You don't even register his words as you come undone.

Edmund follows behind, pushing into you one last time before falling into you. His breathing is labored and the two of you don't speak while you catch your breath.

"Edmund!" Your heads snap toward the sound of Peter yelling his name.

"Dammnit!" He quickly makes himself presentable and you follow suit, making sure your hair isn't wild and your skirts are back in place. He takes your hand, smiling at you, before leading you back out of the hallway.

"Edmund!" Peter's back was to you.

"Peter, stop yelling, I'm right here!" The High King turns around, a glare present on his face.

"Your guests are wondering where the two of you have been! You disappeared thirty minutes ago! Get back inside, now."

Edmund doesn't reply to his bother, opting for an eye roll instead. Then he turns to you offering you a bow.

"Shall we get back to the celebration, my queen?" You giggle.

"Let's."

...

Peter may have overreacted just a bit because the only people wondering where the two of you had gone was him.

Edmund pulled you to the ballroom floor, his arms draped around your waist. You settled yours around his shoulders with a smile. The rest of the party seemed to disappear as he bent down to place a soft kiss against your lips.

You rest your head against his shoulder and whisper into his ear.

"I love you too."

AHHHHH! Y'all I'm really proud of this and hope you enjoy it. :)

[rwrbficrecs]

The Monarch Haven by @redlightsandicedtea (book-verse)

@na-dineee: I found this fic through @lieselsart's wonderful illustration. Alex isn't the First Son, but his parents are high-ranking politicians. Due to serious mental health issues, he lives secluded in Texas, where he runs a mental health refuge for teens— the Monarch Haven. Secluded, until a real prince seeks refuge there. Alex isn't thrilled but still wants to help. What follows is 76k words of slow burn and domesticity! It's beautifully angsty, with a gradual and moving development. A total comfort read !!

Whiteout by HarmonyWhitlock (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Snowboarder Alex and skier Henry almost collide on the slopes, followed by a heated exchange of words. At the end of the day though, they meet at the bar and, well... This story is part of a series which is all about the CMQ-influenced trope 'In every universe'. I got all giddy with every beautiful story I read: So carefully composed and very well crafted, the emotions and attraction swept me away. Hopefully many more to come !!

I Want Candy by @vanillahigh00 (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Alex as a dad and Henry's house being his daughter's first stop on her quest for Halloween candy are the ingredients to this very sweet fic!

Tiempo de Vals by @14carrotghoul (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Authentic Hispanic details (that are always one of my favorite things about this author's writing), a high school AU, and firstprince dancing- what's not to love?

Workin' On My Fitness by bananamilks (book-verse)

@na-dineee: After gushing to Pez about how hot fitness trainer Alex on Instagram is, he is actually indignant when Pez gives him a gift certificate for a training package to reach his (decidedly not) fitness goal: to be able to lift hot men onto countertops. As always, these two have the hots for each other. And the story around it is really sweet, two seconds angsty, also funny, and just delightful.

If U Seek Amy by @14carrotghoul (book-verse)

@dot524: Such a cute and meaningful 5+1 centering on Amy Chen and how she views the different members of the First Family. Love an outsider PoV and the sweet moments in this one.

Adrift by @milowren29 (book-verse)

@read-and-write-: An addicting pacific rim AU. I don't even go here and I fully enjoyed it, packed with action, life-threatening monsters and alex-and-henry typical obliviousness and refusal to talk about their feelings which is y'know, canon. Everyone needs to give an opportunity to this one.

In Plain Sight You Hid by @nontoxic-writes (movie-verse)

@dot524: Ever reflect deeply on why everyone hates Miguel? This story fleshes out what he did to Alex and expands on what happened during that hookup and what it had to do with Henry. This is also a study of Alex’s relationship with Henry and what made it special. An insightful and angsty (and sexy) addition to the movie canon.

the beagle, the ghost, and the wardrobe by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@suseagull04: I was immediately intrigued by this fic title's Chronicles of Narnia inspiration, and the fic itself didn't disappoint! Ghost Alex, star-crossed lovers- what more could you ask for?

Jump in with your heart first by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This is a blind date that, despite a hiccup or two along the way, will make you believe in soulmates!

Foxden Park by @myheartalivewrites (book-verse)

@dot524: Really enjoyed the slow burn of this one as the story unfolded. So many fun scenes - horse riding, canoeing, sneaky rendezvous in the library. An addicting, enjoyable read!

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️

[coco-loco-nut]

Peter

pairing: George Russel x Reader

summary: George broke his promise to you, never coming back

a/n: no Carmen hate, I couldn't bring myself to write another sad ending

requests open masterlist ttpd masterlist

_____________

George Russell was everything to you. Your childhood best friend, first and only love, and first heartbreak. You used to follow him around like a lost puppy, him your fearless leader as you made up adventures. You look at the old cedar closet in your childhood bedroom, the one the two of you believed would lead to Narnia one day.

"Y/n, you okay?" your friend nudges you, noticing you not paying attention to the race. The two of you lay in your bed with snacks, as tradition dictates between you and her. Even after all these years, George still holds the place of your best friend, even after he's hurt you.

"Was it something I did? Why doesn't George call anymore?" you ask the question that has been on your mind for the past could years. Your mind travels back to the last time you saw him.

"Y/n, please don't cry, It's just goodbye for now, not forever," George says before leaving for another race. He just said that the two of you need to take a break while he focuses on his racing for the next couple months and you go to university.

"You'll come and find me?" you sniffle, not wanting him to leave, knowing the truth deep down.

"Of course, I promise, just have some growing up to do," George references your favorite book, wiping the tears from your eyes. You were just babes, barely 18.

"Cheer up, I got us tickets to Silverstone next weekend, my job even threw in paddock passes," your friend throws a piece of popcorn at you. She was there when you realized George wasn't coming back to you anytime soon. She made you promise not to let the lamp burn waiting up for him.

"Can't wait," your stomach churns at the thought of getting a glimpse of him and his new girlfriend. You will never admit that you stalked her socials and professional life. It always hurts more when people mention to you how well he's doing when you can't seem to move on.

As you enter the paddock with your overexcited friend, you can't help but let your thoughts be filled with George. Is he still a mind reader like he was for you? Did he still steal the scene in every room he walked in, always attracting your gaze?

"He looks good," your friend says saltily, in solidarity with you, as you look at the video of him playing on the video board.

"Life was always easier on him," you hum, shaking him from your mind. You scan the crowd, noticing the fellow Brit not far from you, but you don't realize he also notices you before his attention is brought back to his girlfriend. It's like you exist under the same moon but live in different galaxies now, a hurtful realization for both of you.

"Can we go explore another place, I don't want to hang here any longer," you don't need to provide any more explanation before your friend pulls you to another area, unknowingly causing the two of you to cross George's path. He says nothing, only staring at the both of you as you don't notice him. The last memory he has of you popping into his mind.

"It's just goodbye for now," George mutters under his breath, kicking himself mentally for unintentionally forgetting about his best friend.

"What was that, George?" Carmen asks, utterly confused.

"Nothing," he brushes the question off. I grew up, I can still find her. George toys with the thought before the guilt of thinking about you while he is with his girlfriend makes him stop. The guilt of the promise he never kept adds to the pit in his stomach.

"George, are you okay? There's something off about you today?" Lewis asks.

"I'm not sure," George says before telling Lewis all about you, the closet that you two thought led to Narnia, your first kiss, your first 'I love you', your last goodbye, and his broken promise.

"Sounds like you really messed up, so what are you going to do?" Lewis processes the story told to him by his teammate, vowing to look you up later.

"I don't know," George sighs, leaning back in his chair. He imagines you waiting at home after the racing season and your first year at Uni.

You never told your friend how you spent your first semester waiting for George, letting the lamp burn at night. You turned down countless guys asking for dates in the hope that you'd return, standing outside your dorm, ready to tell you all that he learned.

You will never say anything because you never lost the love, it just changes with your perspective. You learned from your broken heart. You stopped sitting by the window waiting for his return, realizing George was lost to the racing part of his life. His Instagram post of him not even 30 kilometers away from you partying with other drivers during your first year of Uni, captioned 'the Lost Boys' solidified that for you.

Now you both were 25, and you grew up. The shelf-life of those fantasies had expired long ago, and despite your heart wanting him, it was time for you to move on. You tried to hold onto those days when you had each other, but there is only so much oil in a lamp to burn, and it is time to turn out the light. As you turn it out, there is a knock on your door.

"Y/n?" George's voice calls out as your hand reaches the handle. You cautiously open the door.

"George?" You say, utterly confused. His heart sinks a little, expecting you to call him Georgie.

"I grew up, I'm sorry, but I'm here now, please forgive me," George pleads, and you invite him in.

"You broke your promise," is all you say as you sit in a chair across from him in your living room.

"I know, and I'm so sorry, seeing you at Silverstone reminded me how stupid I am," George says, moving closer to you. Your head snaps up.

"Silverstone? George that was months ago. I'm sorry, the woman who waited by the window turned out the light. You have a girlfriend now and after everything I don't think I can be just your friend," you say, trying to figure out why he's here.

"Had. I had a girlfriend. When I saw you all I could remember was that last conversation, and I realized I was trying to fill the hole in my heart where you were," George says and you stay silent for a moment, taking his words in.

"I don't think I could take another heartbreak like that," you whisper. George and Lewis social media stalked you and old friends. George noticed that you never moved on from him, staying single. When his mind wouldn't leave the idea of you, he very gently broke it off with Carmen. She deserved better than someone who was filling the spot of someone else. "You forgot about me," you accuse, even if it is the truth.

"I never will again, please, I finally finished growing up, I finally came to get you," his eyes fill with tears, putting the ball in your court.

"One week. You get one week to prove your case, I'll make up my mind from there," you relent slightly, keeping the ball in your court so you get the final say in what happens. No more promises that are oceans deep.

two endings

[truths33k3r4]

Hey everyone! :) Sooo I don’t usually do this, but I thought it would be a fun thing to try for Mothers Day. :)

In the comments below, ( or reblog this and write a new post), tell me your favorite story of your mum. :) It could be when she was a kid, a teenager, or even more recent as a mother now! I think it’s important to remember the lives of our mums, past and present. :)

I suppose I’ll start~

My Mum loves to read. And ever since I can remember, she would always pull me and my sisters into the living room as kids, ( and even as adults now), and she would read to us. Narnia, In Freedoms Cause, Aesops Fables, Brothers Grimm, and many more! In her spare time she loves to garden, as well as take long walks in the fresh air. She’s also begun learning to knit!

Alright now it’s your guys’ turns! :)

~ Melissa

[chaotic-starlight24]

darry and pony OR darry and soda

@forgthetheaterkid also asked for Darry and Pony :) So this post is for Darry and Pony’s friendship

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of trauma, Mention of one or two of my ocs

Darry is really strong and he has always been. So to mess with Pony he likes to pick him up by his ankle and pretend to inspect his shoes. He’s done it ever since Pony was little and Pony always giggles and yells at Darry to put him down. Soda is usually nearby laughing as well.

Pony is nefarious for being a great liar. But Darry is the only one who can see the signs of him lying.

Pony can be really quiet around other people, so Darry doesn’t really realize that his brother is comfortable around him when Pony talks to him. 

Darry and Pony were so similar at the same age. Their parents were always laughing when they heard Pony’s snark because Darry was THE EXACT SAME WAY. Darry could be real shy sometimes until you asked about football or books with a lot of hidden meaning. Then he could yap for hours. Darry also had similar colored hair to Pony until he turned 14ish. 

Darry and Paul were best friends up until their big fight in senior year, so Pony grew up honestly not seeing Darry too often. They were still pretty close ofc, but Darry was often at practice or hanging out on the west side. But on the days Darry wasn’t doing that, he would usually bring Pony along for stuff. Whether him and Two-Bit were running down to the soda fountain to grab milkshakes or just trying to play catch with him. He wanted to make sure Pony was looked after and felt loved.

Every night, the brothers would sit together on one of the beds and Darry would read to them. He knew Pony loved stories and Soda struggled with reading on his own so he decided it’d be a nice little thing for them to do. Pony’s favorite was The Chronicles of Narnia and Soda really liked Charlotte’s Web.

I’ve mentioned before that Darry has bad anxiety about Pony and Soda after the events of the book so let me get a bit more into that. Pony still swims after it all goes down but for the most part he stays in the shallows. If the rest of the gang goes out into the deep Pony jumps onto Darry’s back so he feels more safe. Darry also knows that Pony gets rather triggered by trains chugging by (And honestly so does he) so he finds a way to either get ear muffs for him or just ways to make Pony and Soda’s room quieter. 

Throwing one of my ocs in here, whenever Rosemary and Darry are hanging out together or cuddling Pony is always there gagging or rolling his eyes. Whenever it's around the entire gang Johnny or Tessa always tells him “Bro you can just leave or like, look the other way.” But Pony is stubborn.

After the Curtis parents died, Pony noticed the change in Darry immediately. Darry was no longer happily guiding Pony through math questions, now he was sitting there with his head in his hands because why couldn’t Pony just wrap his mind around this?! There was no more of Darry slipping a couple bucks into Pony’s pocket when he walked out, now there was Darry sifting through unpaid bills as Pony watched him from afar. Darry still had some happy days but they were a lot more scarce.

As Darry got a bit older, he was more embarrassed by the greaser reputation. He tried to fit more into the soc mold. One afternoon, Darry was going to walk with Pony home afterschool and as Pony came out of the school he saw Darry talking to Paul. So he hid behind the wall so he could eavesdrop. Paul had started to gain more of that “Greasers are bad” mindset so he was dragging different greasers through the mud or making mean jokes about the east side. And to Pony’s dismay, Darry was just laughing with him and making comments of his own! Pony had felt tears in his eyes as he heard his own brother snicker about how ugly the long, greasy hair was and the raggedy tank-tops that were so on the rage were. Pony wiped his eyes and pretended to walk out the building and Darry’s mood changed immediately to being all smiley and happy. Darry said his goodbyes and they started their walk home. Pony could barely look at him, “Dar, I don’t like when you wear that jacket…” “Why? It’s real handsome!” “You get mean… I heard that stuff you said.” “I didn’t mean a single word of that, Pone. We were just horsing around.” “Then why did you say that?” “Oh Pony, you don’t need to worry about me and my buddies!” Pony just simply nodded and Darry noticed the hurt in his eyes. It knocked Darry back to reality and he had a sorta “Oh crap” moment. After that Darry tried to stay away from those kinds of jokes.

The first few months after the parents’ deaths, Darry was hardly there. He was mainly focused on jobs, food, and bills. So though at night he was at home, Pony and Soda didn’t see him too much. So they were dealing with their grief together but Darry was keeping all that in himself. Which eventually led up to their first major fight. They were eating together for the first time in a while and Pony made a comment on how they never see Darry. Which led to some more passive-aggressive comments getting thrown. Soda could notice the tension rising and tried to calm them down but then it became too much on Darry. Months of knowing he couldn’t go back. Months of knowing he couldn’t ask his dad for advice or his mom for comfort. No more peaceful family dinners where his concern was whether or not he would have to eat the green beans. Now it was a matter of did they have enough money to have them. So Darry stood up with tears forming in his eyes and he screamed about how alone he was now and there was no hope for him. All because of them and their parents! Pony immediately shot back how it was partially Darry’s fault because of his cake. And Darry yelled how it was Pony’s for forgetting to go to the store. They ended up with Darry slamming his door shut and screaming and crying into their parents’ bed. Pony sitting in him and Soda’s room with his arms crossed and full of anger. And Soda sitting stunned at the dinner table with tears streaming down his face, the weight settling on him that he was the one who now had to keep the peace.

After a week of Pony and Darry avoiding each other, they eventually confronted each other. They hugged and made-up. Since then they never used their parents’ deaths against each other. But they have had many hurtful arguments.

[the-pirate-captain]

I had the honor of speaking with Michael Flaherty a few months back, who was a production executive for the three Narnia movies. He said the first one came from a place of love and appreciation for the books, but it was so successful that the other two went off the rails. It became another money grab, cramming more people into the decision making processes who didn’t actually care about Lewis’ work. And that was very sad to hear. 

A little nitpicky thing that drives me crazy about Disney's Narnia movies: Oreius the centaur. His name doesn't follow Narnia's centaur naming convention at all. (And I see this as symptomatic of other, larger issues that I have with these films.)

There are three named centuars in the series: Glenstorm in PC, Cloudbirth in SC, and Roonwit in LB. All of them basically have compound names made from alliding common words together to create something inductive of the centaur's skills/disposition (which makes sense given that Narnian centuars deal with prophecy). Two syllables, mostly nouns.

Fauns get Latin names and obviously characters pulled directly from mythology (Bacchus, for example) do too, but beyond that naming convention for Narnian creatures tends to be descriptive (Farsight, Bricklethumb), phonetic (Reepicheep, Bree), or follow some invented culture-specific pattern (the dwarves and most of the humans fall into this category). Oreius is not a centaur name that Jack ever would have come up with.

This may be a bit tinfoil hat-y, but I kind of suspect that because Narnia has a more eclectic style of worldbuilding than, say, LotR, the filmmakers just kinda pulled sorta generic stuff out of thin air? But just because Narnia doesn't have any conlangs doesn't mean that Jack didn't establish patterns in the way he uses words. He's actually remarkably consistant about names throughout the series, and it adds a lot!

Narnia is a rich world and it's very much its own thing. One of the big stylistic failings across the board with the Disney movies is that they just kinda treated it as "generic children's fantasy/knock-off Middle Earth." I find that approach really insulting tbh.