be soft and kind but take no shit
Keni
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Cosimo Galluzzi

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Peter Solarz
Claire Keane

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Not today Justin
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@giantdogcloud
be soft and kind but take no shit
clean your sword
i. Peter had thought many times about dying for his brother, killing for his sisters, as all oldest children do.
ii. He'd imagined it a hundred times: how if his mother and father were ever killed, he'd get some low-skill job and make sure Lucy's clothes still fit her as she grew. How he'd make fists and fight dirty if Susan was ever threatened. What he'd do if Edmund ever had to flee the country on a dark, windswept night.
iii. Yet when he heard Susan's horn that day, he still froze. Only for an instant, he thought, "this can't be my job, right?"
iv. The blood on his sword shone red when it was all over. When he wiped it on the grass, the stain it left was almost black.
v. They'd put Susan in his arms when he was two years old. Peter didn't remember it, but he knew he'd been waiting for her till then. He wasn't a real person until he was a brother.
vi. And when they walked back to the pavilion, Rhindon bumping Peter's hip, all he could say to his sisters was, "I'm sorry I didn't come faster."
vii. The High King was almost obsessive in the way he cared for Rhindon. When he grew older and required weapons larger than those made for a child, he obsessed over them too.
viii. He told the others, in no uncertain terms, that if it ever came to it in battle, they were to leave him and live. As their brother and high king, he commanded it.
ix. The first time Edmund risked himself for Peter's sake, Peter didn't speak to him for a week.
x. He was oiling his sword when Edmund found him. "See, the thing is, Peter, being brothers goes both ways. If you can love me enough to die for me, than I get to love you just the same."
xi. Peter agreed with him then, to avoid the argument. He was sick of not talking to his brother. Yet privately, he knew that Edmund was wrong. That sacrifice was Peter's special prerogative, as the first-born.
xii. Back in England, his mother noticed that Peter had become more fastidious. She didn't notice that his protective streak has grown - and maybe it hadn't, really.
xiii. It was uncanny, how Peter would always show up just when his siblings needed him. He'd round a corner, and there was Lucy stamping her feet and scowling at a bully. There was Susan, crying, and now his knuckles were bloody.
xiv. He cleaned the blood off in the sink so carefully. The water ran red for a second, and it almost seemed black.
xv. When Caspian asked for the High King's advice, looking so very young, Peter jerked his chin towards the sword a Caspian's hip. "Be ready to use that," he said. "Keep it clean, and close."
xvi. Susan forgot Narnia and she forgot Aslan. Yet selfishly, Peter still hoped that she would never forget how quickly he came when she called.
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
the pevensies discovering the treasure room in the ruins of cair paravel must have been like stepping into their own tomb. here is the ruin of what you were. here is the remnant. here is where they took what you left them with and laid it to rest. here is your funeral shroud, daughter of eve. the skirt is too long for you now. here is the cordial, half-full. they dared not use it to save anyone without your hand to do the saving. here is your bow, still strung, and your arrows, unshot. here is the sword your hand still remembers, and here is the face you have forgotten. you did not die here, and yet still you were buried. what is a legend but another kind of ghost?
stormy summer sunset š§”
caught up w after school lessons for unripe apples šš
Iāve bought the same soap my parents used when I was in my senior year of high school. Just the smell of it reminds me of spicy ramen noodles and all nighters, wary eyes, suspicious of those who are supposed to protect me. I breathe in the scent of the past and try to recall the time of peace, only to find restlessness.
The echo of myself, the younger, purer version does not live inside me. Instead she resides in the torn up floors and painted but chipped cabinets of my parents kitchen, planted at the table that bears the scars of my siblings touches, wearing her most brave outfit, her beloved pink ballet leotard. Out the window she gazes, imagining how one day she will be able to leave and take on the world.
I study the same spot she sat, wondering when I began to haunt my childhood home.
Sometimes a couple is a woman who had to kill her first and only love for all her life, who she had fought for dozens of times, killed for over and over, and afterwards she had all this love built up and spilling out, with no one to give it to, that she turns to a man just like her. A man who has loved her from the first time he met her, from the first glance, first exchanged words, who loved her so so much, all from the side, a supporting character to her, as she threw herself after another. He loved her so much, that when the castle of affection she had built for the now dead came tumbling down, scattering across her mind leaving no where for her love to stay, he was ready with open arms to welcome her into his own castle. He knew what he was to her, a replacement, the rebound, second choice, but he loved her so much, it didn't matter to him anymore. He just stayed, and welcomed her.
Sometimes a couple is a broken 'what-if' and a 'close but not the same' and that's okay, because eventually they don't become that to each other. Her love for another always remains, and he still has lingering thoughts of second best, but eventually, abruptly, finally, they become enough for each other.
posting tweets on TikTok is the equivalent of putting Tumblr posts on Pinterest
š
āItās too lateā
"we're friends, aren't we?"
ā mi-ae to cheol
theyre soooc cute
screaming and crying
I only have time for a quick doodle cuz finals stuff but i can absolutely see these kids fake crying on television and giving out gabes phone number to fuck with him, I absolutely can
Kaladin: *is reported dead*
Bridge Four: LOL. Better not be late for dinner, bitch.