#peter pevensie series

[zannolin]

to the clear northern skies (1/4)

[rainintheevening]

"Peter William Pevensie!"

There was more fear in the cry than anger, but the boy was too young to tell the difference, and he flinched, but did not hide his face.

"Oh, Peter!" Softer she spoke, as she crouched down to lightly brush cool fingers over the bloody cheek, and the boy relaxed, grinned gamely.

"I'm alright, Mummy. Was just James, got me with his sword."

*

Peter, from the Greek Petros/Petra, meaning rock, stone. The name bestowed by Jesus, who is called Christ, on His disciple Simon (bar Jonah).

"And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."

One of the first disciples of Christ, denied his Lord three times, saw the Christ after His resurrection, received forgiveness, lead the early church from Jerusalem, died a martyr's death upon an upside-down cross.

*

"And that explains why your shirtsleeve is gone, hmm? And this tear in your knickerbockers, I suppose."

Her hand was gentle on his hair, and he sighed, proud of the way his arms hurt, his knee ached, the taste of blood that still lingered on his tongue. He was a knight, after all, like King Arthur. He had friends to protect, and battles to fight. Wounds were things to be proud of.

"Did you fight honourably?"

He looked up into his mother's face, and her eyes told him this was important, even as her lips smiled.

Peter knew what 'honourable' meant; Daddy had told him. It meant not hitting a girl, and not hitting a boy when he was down, or hurt, or smaller than Peter. It meant being fair, and not cheating. It meant being kind, even to people he didn't like.

He nodded. "I think so. Least, I tried." He had almost taken an extra swing at Billy, after the other boy had lost his sword, but James had stepped in front of him, and made sure Billy got his wooden weapon back, before the fight continued.

"Good." Mummy's whole face looked happy then, and she stood up straight, took his hand. "Come along then, and we'll clean you up."

*

William, from the Germanic, will-helm, or more often rendered resolute protector. The name of England's first Norman king, 'William the Conquerer', as well as that of Scotland's guardian, William Wallace.

Of Wallace: "He was appointed Guardian of the kingdom not so much by election as by divine intervention..." — Walter Bower

Also the name of that prolific playwrite and poet, William Shakespere, and of England's passionate abolitionist, William Wilberforce.

*

Peter followed obediently, only slowing as they passed the baby's bassinet on the way to the kitchen.

"He's asleep," his mother said quietly, "Don't wake him."

Peter was quiet, glancing back as he stood by the table, while Mummy fetched a rag, wet it at the sink.

"Will Eddie be able to play with me soon?" he asked at last. "I know he's still small, but he'll get strong soon, won't he?"

There was a little pause, before his mother came toward him with the cloth, and with a smile, picked him up and seated him on the edge of the kitchen table. He dangled his legs, delighted, but not distracted.

"Won't he, Mummy?"

"Oh, I expect so." The rag brushed his cheek, and he couldn't help squeaking, just a little. "He'll be out there in the street with you before I can turn around." She stopped wiping away the blood for a moment, and looked him in the eye, quite serious. "You'll still need to watch out for him, you know. Even when he's bigger. You're already so sweet with him, but try to keep being kind, always. Try to remember that, alright?"

Peter looked back at her, feeling like he was a knight being told something very important by the queen. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good child." She kissed his forehead, and went back to the work of cleaning his cuts.

Peter sat as still as he could, only swinging his legs gently, careful not to kick his mother, going stiff whenever a fresh burst of pain came.

She was cleaning his knee when Susan started in roaring from the nursery upstairs, and almost at the same moment, Ed gave a little cry.

"Oh, dear." His mother made a face, something he didn't usually see grown-ups do, and she lifted him down to the floor. "Peter, dear. Try to keep the baby quiet while I fetch Susie?"

"Yes, Mummy."

Peter didn't mind being told to look after Eddie, he liked his baby brother. Peter was tall enough to rest his arms on the edge of the bassinet, and he leaned in, murmuring gentle things like Daddy did.

"Hullo now, Eddie. It's alright, little fellow. I'm here. Big brother's here."

The thin mewing noise stopped, and dark eyes peered out of the pale face at him.

"Don't worry, Mummy will be back soon, she just has to get Susie."

Peter put out one hand, knuckles still scraped and red, dirt still under his fingernails, and stroked a gentle finger down the baby's cheek.

"That's right. Big brother's here. You're alright, Eddie."

He was surprised by the force with which the tiny fingers wrapped around his, but then he grinned, delighted.

"See, I knew you were getting stronger! It'll be just as Mummy said, you'll come playing with me in no time. And I'll let you have my best sword, I can make a new one. I'll teach you how to fight, don't worry."

The little blond boy was still talking when his mother came down the stairs, holding her now mollified second-born, and she stood for a moment, watching and smiling, a deep sudden gratefulness welling up in her heart. He would be well, Edmund would. How could he not with such a loving protector as Peter?

[siblingshowdown]

Sibling Showdown Quarter-Finals Bracket D

[theseekeroftruth]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝These are your presents and they are tools, not toys. The time to use them is perhaps near at hand. Bear them well. Merry Christmas and all hail Aslan!❞ ����

[confessions-of-a-bookworm]

Narnia Incorrect Quotes 700/?

Caspian, about Peter: The fate of my nation is in the hands of an idiot!

Peter, gesturing towards his siblings: No, no, no. FOUR idiots!

[thief-of-eggs]

Was anyone going to tell me how the Narnia books end, or was I just going to have to see a vague instagram post and learn it through the comments myself?

[tianmicons]

[cantheywinthehungergames]

Peter Pevensie from The Chronicles of Narnia

Age: 14 (Prince Caspian book)

Restrictions: (he canonically uses a sword but idk if that's allowed in the games) but other than that none i think.

Relevant Info: Expert swordsman and skilled strategist, good at physical combat including hand-to-hand. Resourceful.

Name: Peter Pevensie

Age: 14 (Prince Caspian)

Restrictions: Can only use weapons supplied in the Hunger Games arena (which do include swords, but not his sword)

[caramelcuppaccino]

me whenever i randomly remember how perfecly the actors that played the old pevensie siblings were chosen

[cantfuckbracket]

Can't Fuck Bracket - Group Stage. Group 15: Books Are NOT Better Than Sex

Jason Grace (Heroes of Olympus) versus Peter Pevensie (Chronicles of Narnia) versus Hardin Scott (After)

[ID: The unfuckable pride flag overlaid with the "no bitches" meme. Over it are pictures of the contestants. They are all young white men with light colored hair. Jason is shown from above, flipping a coin; Peter is shown screaming dramatically; and Hardin is shown with his face twisted in a grimace. Over them are sparkles and a heart with a butt, and in between them are peach emojis crossed out with the word "vs" in them. End ID]

Propaganda:

Jason Grace: "So many. Lame ass son of Jupiter (Zeus) who can’t use lightning. Flies like superman but like if superman had a stupid blond military haircut and hated fun. Cool goth lesbian sister who CAN fuck. Hit in the head with a brick too many times. His ex girlfriend is gay now. And his other ex girlfriend is either gay or ace (unclear). So when he DOES fuck it makes the women he dates realize they’re actually lesbians. Also he’s dead."

Peter Pevensie: "Literally a white british teenager whose sister stumbles ass backward into a “undiscovered” land with residents already in it but the prophecy from lion jesus says he’s got the divine right to rule or whatever. High King my ass. Has a stupid beard when he gets old. Spends the rest of his life in the real world moping around about how he’s not the king anymore until he dies and can go to Narnia heavy cuz he was a stupid lame who never stopped believing in the true power of christm— i mean a talking magic jesus lion."

Hardin Scott: "He's based on Harry Styles and is British. also he's a massive bellend innit"

[lapseinrecs]

National Service

By burntcopper

On Archives of Our Own

Dead Collection; 63541 words

Summary: Soldiering is soldiering, even when you're using a gun rather than a sword. And they're underestimating you because of your age. (post-PC)

My Thoughts: A great series of the Pevensies had they lived. While burntcopper’s idea is very original and I thoroughly enjoyed it, I personally didn’t find anything quite outstanding about the writing style itself. Still, loads of people are appropriately terrified of the Pevensies, which I find very entertaining. The last two works have a small crossover with Torchwood and Good Omens respectively, but I’ve never read/heard of either and understood it, so all the works can be read without an in-depth knowledge of them.

[rainintheevening]

Part I – Part II ... Part XI – Part XII

The stars are bright when he finds Edmund at last, high up on the seaward battlements.

They sit for some time in silence, swinging bare feet in the soft summer breeze, high above it all, sniffing at the salt sea and pines under the great vault of the heavens.

Peter shifts closer at last, presses his shoulder into his brother's, and a sigh gusts out of the other man's lungs.

“You are sure, dear brother?” Peter doesn't need an explanation, he has heard enough in fragments of conversation over the last several days, but he needs to hear Edmund say it, to listen for conviction. “It is not too late to speak; they do not leave till the morrow.”

“No.” Edmund's voice is soft and sad. “I am sure.” He spares Peter a quick glance. “There is no spirit of meanness in her, and… you know I have come to love her dearly. She will always be precious to me.”

In the ensuing hush, Peter closes his eyes, tilts his head to catch the distant strain of a merfolk’s song.

“But,” Ed says at last, “I cannot accept so close a union as marriage with one who does not, or can not, or perhaps will not, understand about Aslan.”

There be the heart of it, Peter thinks, and the heart of my brother most of all.

Edmund's devotion to the Lion is deep, stronger even than his loyalty to Peter, and Peter has always admired his brother's steadfast trust, knowing it is rooted in the knowledge of the Lion's sacrifice for him.

“And the hope of thy heart, in bringing her here, was that her own heart might be changed,” Peter murmurs. “But it was not so.”

Edmund bows his head, shoulders rounded, and though Peter has never yet found his own heart won by any fair lady—has wedded himself to his country first, and loved his siblings dearest—he knows pain, knows the sting of broken dreams and hope cut off. He circles one arm round Edmund's back, pulls his brother close.

“Ah, brother, there is no shame in mourning this loss.”

A sigh of release, before Edmund's head settles on Peter's shoulder, soft hair catching in Peter's beard, and he smiles, anoints his brother with a gentle kiss.

Edmund is one to keep his own griefs quietly, with few tears and long silences, but he has always accepted Peter's comfort, and Peter is always glad to give it. Peter has also learned over the years when to fill silences with a ramble of quiet conversation, and when to let the silence be and be with it. Tonight, he settles into the quiet, only snatches of a song tugging at his throat so he hums a line or two, before the melody deserts him, while far below the waves beat a soothing rhythm, steady and unrelenting as a heart.

The wee sliver of a moon has risen above the eastern horizon, when Peter drops another kiss into his brother's hair, sits straighter to shift his stiffened muscles and chilled bones, hugs Edmund's warmth closer into his side.

“Do you wish to sleep out here on the wall?” he inquires gravely, though he knows Edmund enjoys the comforts of a soft bed too well to rest elsewhere, save by necessity.

Edmund gives a rusty chuckle, but does not lift his head from Peter's shoulder just yet. “Nay, brother, I will not worry our sisters any further. Do not think I have missed their passing forms in the tower doorway.”

“Indeed.” Peter smiles fondly at the thought of what drinks Susan will no doubt be keeping warm, or how Lucy will be waiting, likely sitting on the end of Edmund's bed with a book.

“But you,” Edmund says lower, as if in thought. “No one could love me as you have, as you do. I will never find a heart as true as thine, my brother.”

Peter sits perfectly still, his view of the starlit waters blurred, feeling Ed’s back rise and fall under his arm, his brother's hand suddenly pressed warm to his chest, and he can barely breathe.

“Must I warn thee not to let that go to thy head?” Edmund asks lightly, pulling away to look his brother in the face, but he is smiling, and now he reaches out to draw Peter's head low enough to kiss his brow.

Such displays of affection are rare for Edmund, and Peter tries in vain to hold back tears; he had come up here to comfort Edmund, after all, not the reverse.

I have tried, Peter thinks. I have tried to be the brother you need. And it means more than he can say to know he has been seen, recognized, that Edmund knows.

“No, brother,” he answers hoarsely, drawing a quick sleeve over his cheeks. “No warning is necessary.”

Another smile from Ed, before the dark-haired man leaps nimbly to his feet, stands above Peter, bare feet steady on the stone, and offers a hand, pale in the starlight.

Peter takes it, lets himself be pulled up, joints creaking faintly, all the echoes of wars and battles and the time he’d tried leaping from one tree to another only to fail spectacularly.

He clears his throat a few times, slings an arm around Ed’s shoulders as they turn away from endless rolling ocean. “Hungry, brother?”

They leap from the battlements to the lower walkway in tandem, and move to collect their boots.

“I noted you ate rather less than usual at supper, though that is understandable,” Peter adds.

“Rather,” Edmund says, with some spirit.

There is still sorrow in his brother's eyes, a depth the little moonlight catches on, like water at the bottom of a well, but Peter lets himself smile.

“Then let us venture forth to see what Ariane may have left in the kitchens.”

They make their way down from the walls of Cair Paravel, arm in arm, sea breeze at their backs, Peter singing softly:

So the hounds, they came down

And they cornered him there

The White Stag all flashing

And shining so fair

In the leaves’ dancing shadows

His eyes were like stars

Said the lead hound ‘Now stand,

And let the wishes be ours’

Edmund joins in on the chorus, unable to resist the catchy tune.

‘Let the sunshine be soft

In the spring of the year

Let our noses be strong

And our vision be clear

Let the land that we course through

Be ever a place

Where our singing may echo

And our children are safe’

It is not really a serious song, but it is best sung with vigour, and Peter loves the sound of his and Ed's voices drifting over their castle, their home, lifting to the stars, and he cannot but think his own wishes would be not so very different, should he ever catch the White Stag. Light, health, and safety for the ones he holds dear—what more could a king ask for?

There have been rumors lately, Peter remembers, mostly from the little creatures, the flighty ones, rumors of a flash of white among the oaks. Perhaps something will come of it, perhaps nothing.

He follows Edmund down into their castle, still humming.

The stars are bright, and the crescent moon rides high into the Narnian sky before they sleep.

Next

[always-a-king-or-queen]

C 👏 S 👏 LEWIS 👏 WAS 👏 NOT 👏 MISOGYNISTIC

IM SO SICK OF THIS TAKE

“But he said girls shouldn’t fight in battles—" No, actually. What he said was “Battles are ugly when women fight.” Which literally translates to “in a war where women are required to fight to help win it, it means the war itself is really bad.” And this literally just means that the war has gotten so bad that women have to fight, not that women shouldn’t fight. Just that they shouldn’t be forced to. Anyway, remember Lucy?? Lucy who rode to battle in The Horse and His Boy?? Lucy who fought as an archer?? “But Susan didn’t—" Yeah. Because she didn’t want to. No one was forcing her not to fight. She had free will to fight or to not fight, and she chose not to because she didn’t want to, not because a man made her stay home.

“He punished Susan for growing up—" S i g h. This is the one I see the most often. “He did Susan dirty” “he made her suffer because she liked lipstick” “etc etc blah blah blah” First of all Narnia is a children’s book series. For CS Lewis to delve into why Susan forgot Narnia, talk about her dealing with the death of her entire family, discuss her grief, and write about her eventual return to Narnia (more on that in a second), it would’ve made for a pretty dark and heavy children’s book, and Lewis said that he didn’t think that was something he wanted to write. But he also encouraged people to finish Susan’s story themselves, and said she might eventually make her own way back to Narnia. Not only this, but Susan’s name means lily, and the waters around Aslan’s country are covered in lilies. Coincidence? I think not. I think it symbolizes she was going to go back. (Especially considering I think Lewis was very careful in choosing each of the Pevensie’s names, since they all relate to their character).

Also, Lewis did not condemn Susan simply for growing up and liking makeup and clothing and boys. If so why would he have written about Aravis and Shasta/Cor, or Caspian and Liliandil? Why would he have written about Susan and Lucy being beautiful and having many suitors? So no, he wasn’t condemning her for that, and in fact he wasn’t condemning her at all. It’s extremely probable that her family’s death would have brought Susan back to her senses. Because here’s the thing: she forgot. She threw herself so much into the world and approval and convinced herself that her life as a queen and her acquaintance with Aslan was all a silly game they played as children, that it wasn’t real. But, she very well could remember again, and I 1000% believe she did.

“All his female characters were weak and did nothing—" My friend. Lucy Pevensie was a female. She discovered Narnia. It was because of her. Her siblings would never have found it without her. Lucy is one of THE most important characters in the entire series. And her title? The Valiant. Lucy’s very title as queen denoted her bravery and fortitude without one even knowing her. As for Susan, she was not any weaker for being “The Gentle.” I would say gentleness is honestly one of the strongest traits a person can have, because it takes a lot to live and be gentle. Also remember Aravis? A major character in The Horse and His Boy and future wife of Shasta, Aravis literally nearly killed herself to escape an arranged marriage. She was not someone to be dictated to; she made her own choices and escaped rather than submitting. And in the end, she’s still fiery, just a little more humble and with less of a chip on her shoulder. Then there’s Polly, who is the more logical person in The Magician’s Nephew and tries to stop Digory from ringing the bell that wakes the White Witch. A boy causes her to awaken, not a girl. It was Digory’s fault she woke up, not Polly’s!!

Also, Peter and Edmund do not ignore their sisters because they’re girls. They listen to what they have to say and speak to them as equals. They don’t forbid them from fighting; Susan chooses not to, but Lucy goes straight into the heart of the battle with them! So don’t even say Lewis made his female characters weak. They were the backbone of much of the series and without them much of the plot would never have happened!!

So don’t you ever say to me that CS Lewis was misogynistic because it’s the furthest thing from the truth

[amalthiaph]

✨ Redesigning Some Costumes in Narnia ✨

Okay, I'm not saying I can do it better, Isis Mussenden will always be better at this than me, but this draw series (which I probably won't finish again) is something like a Narnia-In-My-Style.

And I started with this because this is one of the scenes that bugged me since 2009. I knew that the coronation sequence in Prince Caspian only lasted for a minute but I kinda wished I could redesign their outfit based on what I headcanon.

So my headcanon is that their goal is for humans and Narnians to coexist, so the Kings and Queens of Old demonstrated that by blending both cultures starting with the clothing. This is basically the challenge I set for myself for this series: I blended the Pre-Raphaelite inspirations with Mediterranean Fashion while keeping the original colors Mussenden had used.

For this one, I decided to let Lucy keep her 'happy' look by leaving her hair down.

Other Pevensies (coming soon): Peter, Susan, Edmund

[pinievsev]

+ Pjo ( Percy Jackson)

Decided I want to write for something different for a change so reqs are open for the following(from most prioritised to least):

1. The Chronicles of Narnia (priority) (begging on my knees for reqs)

2. Marauders era

3. The hobbit

4. Lord of the rings

(please make sure to read request guidelines pinned on my blog before requesting thank you<3!)