#narina

[pershing100]

Port Edgar, South Queensferry

[nostalgicninjas]

Marina Nunier - In The End, Linkin Park

[kstarlitchaotics]

I got this on my trip to the bookstore a few months back and so glad I did cause according to the description it has all of Lewis's collection(along with side stories) of Narina and it was so worth it ✨

[anarkhe-bringer]

//Would you believe me if I said Arkhe and Narina are genuinely good friends

[kad-dala]

Beautiful design

Personal Beskar’gam

[mountkennedie]

Siren

Prince Caspian x mermaid!reader

Summary: Caspian goes on a late night stroll and gets intercepted by a mermaid

warnings: none

The reader has long hair, other than that, there aren't any character descriptions

A.N. I have been thinking about this so much over the past few months omg

Being a prince, Caspian had many responsibilities. But being a human, he needs to escape from those duties from time to time. What seemed to calm his mind the best was a late night stroll of the coast of Cair Paravel.

Due to the full moon, the sands glitter in a way no gem could ever replicate. He thought the only thing that could compliment the beauty of the sparkling sands was the illuminated water. Just standing there, Caspian felt the stress lifting off his body. The salty sea air was always something he was a fan of. The feeling of its breeze through his hair only made the entire scene that much better.

There were some rocks along the coastline. He would normally not pay them any mind. However, when an unusual sound emitted from them, his head whipped around. His eyes scanned to find a pair looking back at him.

He drew his sword immediately, pointing it at the creature. "Who are you," he questioned. All sorts of things can exist in the lands of Narnia, and anything that would be out at such an hour is one of suspicion. Especially one that already had its eyes set on him.

The creature shied behind the rock. From a different angle, she peered back at him. The moonlight glazed her skin in an ethereal glow, and before the prince realized, he had taken a few steps towards her. "Call me, Y/n."

Her voice was smooth and soft. He felt himself begin to drift away in it. He took yet another step closer, now only a yard or two from the rock she hid behind. With grace and caution, she climbed the large stone until she reached the top. She rested on her forearms, now at eye level with the prince.

Caspian's eyes took in the new view of her. She wore nothing on her upper half, relying solely on her flowing hair to cover her frame. His breath began to shallow, never in his life had the prince seen a woman in such an ease of wardrobe. He used his extensive self-control to bring his focus back to her eyes. And her eyes were another pool to fall into. Everything about this mysterious woman was holding him captive, and he could not figure out why. Nor did he want to put up any resistance.

"And yours?" She spoke once again in a voice of velvet. He almost didn't register that she said anything at all.

"Hmm?" He hummed. In any other context, he knew it would be rude to simply hum instead of coming up with the words to say what he meant. But in this moment, his brain was taking on more and more fog with every second he was near her. He was not focused on being the well-mannered prince as he always was.

The woman smiled, "Your name, dear sailor."

"Oh, yes," his voice was breathy. The smile she provided him only worsened his condition. The fog in his mind had crept to the rest of his body. He hadn't even realized he was up against her rock. "Caspian. And I'm not a sailor, I'm a prince." Every word that he could conjure came spilling from his lips. He wanted her to speak again, smile again, anything. It was astonishing how quickly she had gotten him under her finger.

"A prince." She maintained her smile as she reached a hand out and touched his chest. "I would have thought as much. You wear the finest of leathers." Her hand stayed on his chest. And he made no effort to remove it.

He hummed again in response. He wore a smile on his face that proved how removed he was from sanity. She moved her hand up over his heart, his hand came and met her there. The warmth of his palm sealed her to him.

"Would you like to see the rest of me, dear prince?" She spoke in a whisper. He only nodded in response. She smiled once again and lifted her tail out of the water. She allowed herself to wrap a bit around the rock to make sure the moon made her scales shimmer.

He gasped, and she looked back at him. At first, I was nervous that she had scared him off. But he only stared. His eyes soon traveled back up to hers, and his pupils were completely blown. She knew she had him.

"You are most beautiful," his voice was airy. His breath steadied, and his eyes were trained on hers. With her other hand, she placed it on the right side of his face. He leaned into the touch and, for a moment, allowed his eyes to shut.

"As are you, dear prince."

How it happened was simple. She held onto him as she descended the rock. Held his hand from the shallow water, deeper and deeper. Until the water was too high for his feet to hit the bottom. And before she dragged him to the depths, an idea of mercy came to mind. He was a prince and a handsome one at that. Maybe something could brew between them. So she kissed him and filled his lungs with the new ability to no longer rely on air. Then, drug him down underneath the waves.

[raina-at]

Weather

As those of you who follow my May ficlets surely know by now, I’ve set myself an unofficial goal to hit all of my AUs. So today I’m picking my quasi Narina AU called Lost Souls that, like, five people have read. This fic is what happens when I read Outlander, see Narnia, and read teenlock. (Tl,DR context for this ficlet: Sherlock and John are stuck in another dimension, that’s pretty much all you need to know. Also, they’re both about 18-20 in this ficlet, John is a medic, and Sherlock is working for local law enforcement)

--------

Weather, John thinks as he shakes out his umbrella, will never be a selling point of the British Isles, no matter in which dimension, no matter what they’re called. Sherlock gave him a long speech once about climate and sea levels and geology all being pretty much identical here, compared to the England they grew up in, so it stands to reason that the weather is equally rotten.

Well, since John has spent his entire life in England and then on the equivalent on Dera, he’s bloody well used to it.

Doesn’t mean he has to like it, though. 

He can handle rain and fog and everything in between. What he doesn’t like is when a day starts out beautiful and sunny and ends up in a deluge of truly epic proportions. He’s not that wet, because he was smart enough to stay at the clinic until the worst was over, but his coat will take ages to dry, and he dislikes the smell of drying wool. 

He’s just getting warm again, sitting on the sofa by the fire and enjoying a nice cuppa and the first chapter of a new novel Molly lent him when the door to their flat bangs open.

John turns around and starts laughing uncontrollably.

The thing about Sherlock is, he’s always gorgeous. But right now, soaked to the skin in his dark wool coat, hair wet and plastered to his head, dripping on the floor and wearing a pissy expression, he looks like nothing so much as a drowned cat. Specifically Toby, Molly’s black tomcat.

Sherlock glares at John, which makes the resemblance to a pissed off cat even greater. 

“I fail to see what’s so funny,” Sherlock grumps as he stalks into the sitting room, shedding his coat as he goes, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy splat.

“You look like Toby, that one time he fell into the suds bucket at the morgue,” John says between giggles. 

“I do not!” Sherlock all but hisses, which sets off John even more.

“Oh my god, now you sound like him too!”

Sherlock glares at him, then something in his eyes changes. He stalks over to John, who’s still on the sofa, and sits down straight in his lap.

“Oh my god, you’re cold!” John yelps, as the water dripping from Sherlock’s clothes start soaking through his trousers and shirt immediately.

“Warm me up, then,” Sherlock says, shaking his head so water droplets land all over John.

John laughs. “Great, now I’m getting wet because you don’t have the sense God gave small children to stay inside when it’s pouring outside.”

“Staying in just because it’s raining is boring, John,” Sherlock says, reeling John in and pressing his entire wet torso against John’s.  “You don’t want me catching cold, do you, Doctor?” Sherlock murmurs into John’s ear. Sherlock’s closeness, the whisper of breath against John’s ear, and Sherlock using his still very new title all together make John reconcile with the situation very quickly. The fact that he, the sofa, and the floor are getting soaked are of very minor importance compared to a wet, gorgeous and mischievous Sherlock Holmes in his lap.

He threads his fingers into Sherlock’s wet hair and pulls him in for a kiss. Sherlock tastes of rain and fresh air and pastries. “Mrs Hudson is baking?” John asks, pulling back a little.

“Very good,” Sherlock says, grinning at John, an obvious challenge sparking in his eyes and in the corner of his smile. “What else?”

John grins. Two can play this game, my friend, he thinks. He noses along Sherlock’s throat, smelling rain and traces of their soap and the faint trace of canal. He licks a few raindrops from Sherlock’s neck, and Sherlock gasps. “You went to see Billy.”

“Conjecture,” Sherlock murmurs, dipping his head back to give John better access to his neck.

“Fact,” John answers, sinking his teeth playfully into the taut muscle of Sherlock’s enticing throat. “You smell like the river,” he whispers, as he dips his tongue into Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock moans, and John grins into Sherlock’s skin. It took them a good while to find their stride, physically speaking, given that neither of them had an inkling of an idea what they were doing. But by now John knows Sherlock’s body so well, he knows exactly which strings to pluck.

“What else?” Sherlock asks, his voice no longer quite steady.

John draws back, surveying Sherlock like he’s a crime scene, knowing that this sort of scrutiny will turn Sherlock on even more. He kisses Sherlock again, licking deep into his mouth, chasing taste and sensation. He licks the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, and Sherlock moans around John’s tongue, drawing him closer to deepen the kiss, but John moves back, putting a finger over Sherlock’s mouth. “Moff’s bakery. Powdered birch sugar, you were at the doughnuts again.”

Sherlock nods, pulling at John for more kisses. John happily obliges.

“One more,” Sherlock whispers against John’s lips.

John grins and draws back a little. He runs his hands under Sherlock’s sopping wet suit jacket, pushing it off Sherlock’s shoulders as he fleeces the pockets. Nothing of interest. Then he unbuttons Sherlock’s waistcoat, one button at the time. Sherlock’s shirt is sticking to his skin, almost translucent, and John can’t resist mouthing at the taut nipple outlined under the fabric, even as he deftly checks the pockets of Sherlock’s waistcoat for clues. The rain-soaked shirt and Sherlock’s warm skin beneath, Sherlock’s hands carding through his hair, holding his head to Sherlock’s chest, and the encouraging noises Sherlock is making are almost enough to drive the game from John’s mind.

But only almost. Because Sherlock’s shirt smells of beeswax and dusty shelves. “Library,” he murmurs around Sherlock’s nipple, grazing the delectable nub with his teeth.

Sherlock gasps and pulls John up for a searing kiss. John grins against Sherlock’s lips.

Game over, then, he thinks. I won. “Are you getting warmer, love?”

“Shut up,” Sherlock says, dipping them back to the sofa, trapping John under himself, pressing his entire wet, warm, enticing body against John’s.

John grins. “Make me.”

Sherlock’s eyes darken. “Not a problem.”

As Sherlock moves in to kiss the very thoughts out of John’s head, John thinks, Oh, I definitely won, before he surrenders entirely to the force of nature that is Sherlock unleashed. Thank god for rain. 

------

Tags under the cut as usual, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[surtomtenisse]

Love this tv-trope about Bodies (2023):

Uptight Loves Wild: Alfred Hillinghead, the very picture of a married middle-class Victorian, who is so far in the closet that he could probably find Narnia, falls in love with Henry Ashe, an outspoken, lower class journalist, who is so outrageous by Victorian standards that he doesn't even wear a hat.

[stardust948]

There should be an "All of the Above" option

[kay-oh-al-tea-sea]

why are there so many christians in this fandom? this is the queerest book series of all time, and them being here with "Christian" in their bios make me really uncomfortable

[birdstudies]

March 27, 2023 - Narina Trogon (Apaloderma narina) These trogons are found in a variety of habitats including rainforests and savanna woodlands in central and southern Africa. They feed primarily on insects, especially caterpillars, cicadas, and stick insects, as well as small lizards and frogs. Breeding throughout the year, depending on the area of their range, they nest in tree cavities. Both parents incubate the eggs and feed the chicks.

[podartists]

Narina, Hapaloderma narina | Die Vögel (1913) | Alfred Edmund Brehm (1829-1884) | Biodiversity Heritage Library

[nostalgicninjas]

Elite Dynamics: Marina Nunier Osuna & Nano García Domínguez

That’s the number we were given in the clinic when she went to have an abortion. We left before they called us. Do you know why? Because we were so in love, we thought we could have a kid together. What a pair of idiots. I was so madly in love with your daughter that I kept this shitty little piece of paper as a keepsake. It’s the only thing I have of hers. The only thing I can touch. Do you really think I could have been capable of hurting your daughter? Do you really think that?

[kstarlitchaotics]

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Tolkien and Lewis

[descendantofthesparrow]

OUAD - someone holds me safe and warm

(y/n) and her phantom(reference to a deleted scene from ouad)

@sessediz

[ocpotluck]

Happy New Year @noratilney [P1]