ah yes, because that's always what Narnia has needed..."a new take"...and that's always what Narnia has suffered from...a lack of "Rock 'N' Roll." tweet | deadline interview

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ah yes, because that's always what Narnia has needed..."a new take"...and that's always what Narnia has suffered from...a lack of "Rock 'N' Roll." tweet | deadline interview
edmund, talking to aslan: stop forgiving my crimes i worked so hard on those !
edmund: if you don’t sin a little then jesus died for nothing
susan:
peter:
lucy: he’s got a point
Why does he look like Caspian caught by the paparazzi on vacation with his boyfriend? (The paparazzi were beavers)
there's definitely a narnian equivalent of sun tzu's "the art of war" and it was written by peter pevensie
sometimes i think about narnia and i vibrate out of my skin like...
you walk into a world you cannot understand, frozen and dying, and it is you who thaws it. you who kills the witch, you who breaks the stone table, you who slays the wolf. it is you who is crowned and it is you who wails for two worlds when the wardrobe doors shut behind you.
your skin never sits quite right and your teeth are too dull. there are wars in your bones and decades in your eyes before you can reach the telephone on the wall.
you are king. you are queen. they won't let you read the newspapers at breakfast.
it calls you back from beyond a train and from within paint. begs with bloody palms and salt-crusted cheeks. takes from you all that you can give - and sends you back.
you watch your sister fade.
you are a child twice and an adult once. and when you stand in your home again, with crushed bones and the smell of coal still in your nose, you watch them sneer at your sister.
your sister is the sun above you. she is, beautiful and stone-cast, alive in a world you could never stomach. she smiles, still, and stretches her skin over human bones.
she is no longer a friend of narnia. do you tell them it is her who has to bury you all and the stars that are falling from the skies in shards?
REPOSTED POLL
(Accidentally only set one of the narnia polls to one week so I had to delete them and start over 😔🙄)
Okay I’m super curious about how the general ranking of the Pevensie siblings is in the Narnia fandom, cause I think this fandom is pretty unique in that all of them seem to be pretty equally appreciated.
Putting all the ranking options in one poll will not fit so what I’m gonna do is make four separate polls, one to vote for your favorite, one to vote for your second favorite etc. etc.
So, if you HAD to pick, who would you say is your #1 favorite out of the Pevensie siblings
Lucy
Edmund
Susan
Peter
SECOND FAVORITE POLL
THIRD FAVORITE POLL
FOURTH FAVORITE POLL
The Pevensie children are too old for their age.
Their mom notices, at the dinner table. She sees no nagging children, no stupid fights. She sees Lucy eating and speaking with perfect manners, Edmund analysing the economy and war with concerning skill, Susan being gracious but poised, like a diplomat.
Their father sees it in Peters eyes the first time they get into a fight. When he moves to punish Edmund for speaking out of turn, Peter calls him out on it. When his gaze meet his eldest son's, he's leveled by the war he sees behind it, the tensed muscle in his arm, the knuckles white around his knife. He's seen that before, in other soldiers. He doesn't know how to react.
Other children notice, too. Talking to all the Pevensie kids at the same time is like being the only one left out of a secret, and the way they touch and tease each other speaks of a history far deeper than their polite demeneor lets on. And when they walk they fall in line, as if there is a natural hierarchy between them.
The first time anyone picks a fight with Edmund, Peter comes home with a three week suspension and blood around his mouth. He looks more alive than you've seen him in weeks.
When Susan gets back in the pool after Narnia, she wins all the contests. Coaches can't explain how to beat her, because they don't understand how she's doing it, either. She seems to almost disappear when underwater.
Lucy, always gay and golden-haired, starts dancing, and never misses a step. She moves with an elegance that no 10 year old should have, and all the girls want to be friends with her
Edmund soon becomes the best student in his faculty. He always seems to know the right thing to say, and teachers laud his ability to think through complex problems. His mouth does get him in trouble sometimes, but the boy seems uncatchable, always talking his way through the cracks. And if not?
No one actively fears Peter, but everyone is a little scared of him sometimes. He's tall for his age, sure, but there is something else, some other air that seems to give him an authority far beyond what's normal for a teenage boy. He's nice enough, but teachers can't stand it, and bullies learn very quickly that pissing him off means missing teeth and black eyes.
The Pevensies are not quite inhuman, but not fully mortal, either
Susan did not see Peter in battle for years—arriving to his stand against Jadis almost too late, catching up while he picked himself up from the torn earth, on the other side of the conflict when the remnants of Jadis’ army tried their luck at the Cair. Sure, she knew he fought and killed, just as she did, just as Edmund and Lucy did—and oh, how Susan loathes that last part, but Lucy had been the one to find the first assassin in their halls and there was nothing to be done about it now. There was entirely too much death in their first year, Susan thinks, the fairytale shine of Narnia soon breaking apart and leaving a country and people in desperate need of rest and time behind. It took her days to get the blood out underneath her and Lucy’s fingernails, and she knew Peter had just as bad a time with Edmund next door. With a lump in her throat, Susan wondered often if this was to be the rest of their lives: washing themselves clean of battles that were forced upon them by a world far too big for their hands to hold. But even then, with the bloodied waters between them all, she never truly saw Peter in battle. A slain Maugrim who had about as much a part in his own death as Peter’s shaking sword did, a witch that Susan never saw die, assassins that ended up on the moth-eaten carpets she had found in old storage rooms; things that should give her pause but she simply couldn’t consider for long with all there was to do. They had killed to end up where they were, and Susan knew deep down that they would have to kill to stay, too. Now, standing with her bow held tight and a quiver empty of arrows, a sword at her side she has yet to finish learning how to swing, Susan finds herself in a pocket of tar-slow time. Here, she stands with a muddied hemline and their castle once more under siege—unknown foes, but foes all the same—and there, across the way, with his hair longer than Susan has ever known him to have, Peter lets out a roaring laugh. Rhindon is far out of sight, a glaive taking its place in Peter’s steady hands. Even from afar, Susan feels it in her bones when Peter’s swing launches an enemy’s torn body across the field. There are bodies, horror-frozen faces, the stench of blood and bile. The steps to the Cair will perhaps forever bear the stain of this assault. They have lost people they held dear. Susan has wept enough to fill an ocean. And Peter laughs. With storm-eyes, bloodied tongue, and bared teeth, her older brother wages joyous war.
edmund absolutely adored snowy weather. waking up to snow on the ground was his dream come true, and he rarely waited long enough to be bundled up before rushing outside and leaping into the fluffy, cold snow. it was his favorite weather, and that was one trait about him that always made his mother and father laugh.
but upon the pevensie's return home, their mother notices the shift in edmund.
one evening, as it gets closer to christmas, she notices the snowfall outside, and smiles, calling to edmund, announcing the snow with the expectation that he'll rush to the glass, press his nose up against it, and ask delightedly if they can go sledding in the morning.
instead of the joyful shine in her youngest son's eyes, however, she sees nothing but horror as he abandons his chess game with susan in favor of scrambling backwards, getting as far away from the window as possible, curling up into the tiniest ball, his face pressed into his knees.
she's left at a loss for words, and reaches out for him, but she's too slow compared to his siblings. immediately, lucy's at her brother's side, crouching in front of him and holding his hands tightly as she whispers soft things in a nonsensical language. peter's grabbing the warmest blanket from the couch, and sitting beside edmund, wrapping it around his shoulders and tucking his brother against his side. susan's returning from the kitchen where she had rushed off to as soon as her mother announced the snow, a steaming mug of tea (not hot chocolate, never hot chocolate. the taste makes edmund want to vomit, memories of cold touches burning his skin, and tempting whispers of power in his ears) held tightly in her hands before it's passed off to edmund.
their mother can only watch as edmund shakes, eyes firmly fixed on lucy's face as she holds his hands with a smile, as peter begins speaking softly, a whispered story only for his siblings' ears, as susan gently runs her fingers (warm and firm, never cold and frail like the ones that haunt edmund's dreams) through his hair.
edmund doesn't love snow anymore.
Edmund: Its so strange to see another human in Narnia that isnt my sibling, but im glad youre here
Caspian: I can imagine
Edmund: I mean, finally theres someone who understands all of the human culture who I can talk to without bickering, but still, when I saw those two Telmarine guys I was like "JESUS CHRIST THERES MORE", haha, you know?
Caspian: ... yeah...yeah I get it, I understand everything... everything human- just a quick question uh... whats a jesus christ?
Edmund: s-
Edmund: sorry what
-
Peter: oi mate could you pass me a bo'lo'wa'er please
Caspian, crying: SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT HES SAYING
-
Lucy (on the dawn treader): Well thats quite a storm, its raining cats and dogs out there!
Caspian: ... I...Im pretty sure its raining water
-
Susan, struggling to string her bow: *quietly* fuck
Caspian: whats a 'fuck'?
Susan, whos bared witness to all of his confusion and had to explain everything for the past 72 hours: I dont have time for this
man there’s something bout narnia that just burrows it’s way into your soul and never leaves
Caspian and co were like "gosh this duel idea is great and all, but how the heck are we gonna get Miraz, whos army is like three times bigger, to agree to it??"
And the Pevensies were all like: "No yeah we'll just send this little shit right here, he can provoke anyone into doing anything, trust us"
While Edmund so-you-bravely-refuse-to-fight-a-swordsman-half-your-age Pevensie just raised an eyebrow, grinning.
inspired by this post
i know the books are lighthearted children's stories but gods i would love a grown up version of the pevensie siblings' experience with narnia.
it's a fairytale the way c.s lewis wrote it, and i adore his story (though i have some gripes with it as well), but if you put yourself in their shoes ? it's traumatizing.
being ripped away from england, thrust into this other world and told you're meant to save it from a great evil as a child. lucy was (almost) kidnapped, edmund was manipulated, drugged and nearly killed. they all fought a war that should not have been theirs. then they grew up in this world, separated completely from all the people they ever knew in england. and then that is ripped away.
a year later, finally starting to adjust to living in england again, being children again, they are once again called to narnia. they are happy, at first. but then reality hits. their dear cair paravel has become ruins. everyone they knew and loved in narnia are gone. they no longer recognize this narnia, and the new narnians do not recognize them. they only know the legends.
funny story: learning about that opening line was what convinced me to actually go read the narnia books after absolutely adoring the movies for as long as i can remember lol
The Pevensies are foreign when they return home.
The streets no longer know them. They do not seem to fit in their own bodies as they stroll the cobbles, Lucy’s hand tucked carefully into Peter’s, Edmund trailing watchfully behind Susan like a shadow. Their eyes are sharp, their smiles crooked, and those who see them cross to the opposite side of the road, afraid of the ancient gleam they see reflected back at them that does not belong in the eyes of a child.
Water murmurs to Lucy when she flits past, and lamplight follows her wherever she goes, even in broad daylight when the lamps are unlit. Their flames sputter into existence when she walks by, flickering at her in a way that seems to whisper I know you. Lucy looks at them with feral teeth and smiles, and vines twist from the cobbles at her feet. She laughs like a wild thing, eyes glowing, but a moment later she blinks and it is gone. Her feet hardly seem to touch the ground at all as she darts through the alleys.
The sky is clearer when Peter walks the streets, clouds vanishing like they were never there at all. His eyes are too much like a lion’s, struck through with gold and filled with a brooding fierceness, yet he laughs as he twirls Lucy around, and claps Edmund on the back as they share a stupid joke, and smiles with Susan when she tells him of the bow she plans to carve. He is all warmth and friendliness, but there is something about his eyes. There is something about all of their eyes.
The sun caresses Susan as she moves about, and she is graceful, too graceful, her hair seeming to be alive of its own accord as she steps lightly along the streets. Her skin is pale like ice, and sometimes her gaze appears almost silver as she stands by the river, gazing into its depths with a distant, siren-cold smile. She is gentle, but her fingers look a little too long sometimes. Her laugh is a little too unsettling.
Trees lean towards Edmund when he walks past, branches scraping his clothing, leaves showering around him. Books and journals and pages covered in notes perpetually fill his arms, spilling from his grasp but never quite falling. His voice is even-keeled, quiet, but there is something wild about it, something unhinged. He speaks of things none have ever heard before, dark hair falling into his eyes, mouth unsmiling and hands perfectly still, and for a moment he seems to be someone else, fangs beneath his lips, dirt on his tongue. He tilts his head just a little too far, sometimes.
The Pevensies are foreign when they return home. They do not fit their bodies. They do not fit the streets. People who encounter them cross to the other side of the road to avoid them, terrified of the oldness they see in the children’s faces. Such depth does not belong in the gaze of a child.
And yet four sets of eyes, ancient and deep and flickering like candlelight, stare out from the children’s faces, and their smiles are sharp, too sharp. Their laughter is a little too wild as they walk, the oldest and youngest hand-in-hand, the middle children trailing each other like shadows.
There is something about those children’s eyes.
There is something about those children.
Can we talk about how chaotic Narnian battles would feel?? Especially in Prince Caspian. Like, imagine you’re a little Telmarine soldier waiting for the catapults to go and you’ve got all your regiments in nice orderly rows and these two 16 year olds suddenly yell “charge” and the ground opens up beneath you, a mouse with a sword the size of a large pencil takes out your bestie, a griffin drops a dwarf 5 ft away from you and he comes up swinging. As you try to rationalize this, you’re stabbed by a twelve year old with a British accent. Finally, a really freaking big lion shows up, roars, and your entire army collectively pees their pants. At one point in the movie (yes I know the movies aren’t quite the same as the book but they’re still good) Peter says like “we have the element of surprise” like dude, you have drafted the trees I’m pretty sure everyone’s gonna be surprised no matter what.
you have drafted the trees