#2usan

[altarcup]

﹙   ＊   ﹚      &*  @2usan:      they tell me:  you should be kinder. you are somehow furious.  i used to be kind… it didn’t last long.

𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖.  caspian sometimes fears this ancience,  this legend might chip away at his compassion and understanding for her.  not now,  then   ‒‒‒‒‒   not here,  as susan confides in him an ugliness she cannot possibly claim as her own.  𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚜,  𝚑𝚎’𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗,  𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢.  could anyone have blamed him then,  young and star–blind?  she was of the golden times  ;   𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜.

he’s cured himself of it   ( it went naturally,  like snow in spring ),   but her humility still startles a laugh out of him.    ❛❛  i’m sorry,  ❜❜  defends the king,  showing his palm as an offering of peace.    ❛❛  i don’t mean to laugh.  you have only been kind.  ❜❜    𝚌𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝙸,  𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍,  𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚗.  caspian advances,  lightly touches the elbow of susan’s embroidered gown.  perhaps he loves her more now than he ever did when he arrogantly dared to picture her a bride.  all human,  and unnervingly so.  he glimmers with humour in the twilight,  brave enough to taunt her.    ❛❛  𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎?  point them out to me so that they may be punished.  ❜❜

[sanctamater]

❛ what happens to anything beautiful ? ❜

there is a chill in the air - some would call it divine omnipotence; for our lady can see far and wide, she can see into the shadows of a man's heart. some would call it a premonition; for our lady speaks with the prophet's voice, and surely god has blessed with the same gifts as he had our most earthly and heavenly father. our lady does not believe in blessings; nor can she see the soul of any laid bare - and if anyone were to ask our lady of mercy just what ailed her, she would have told them plainly that the winds before winter were always the harshest, thank you very much.

briefly, our lady glances up ( always up; be it prophet or saint or soldier or civilian ); her lips tugging upwards into what might have been a smile - might have been a twitch, too. might have been many things; but our lady is not one to fret and fuss with the specifics these days - and she is all too versed in the questions of young girls. no, not quite a girl - one on the threshold of womanhood; all too eager to lengthen her hems and pin up her hair. our lady had been like that, once - and now? she would give anything to go back. anything to change. but if there is always a door, then our lady must always open it.

" many things. " it's greyer now - murky shades of dishwater brown where the world once had been so green; lush and verdant - warm. winter could be many things; and did not always come with snow and ice and sleet. winter could be isolation - loneliness could rot anything. so could time. god knows it had for her - and our lady is nothing if not a mother to all. she is nothing if not whoever the prophet and all his apostles and disciples have made her into be - her table is always set; always full. the faces change, so do the names - our lady never leaves her table, and no one ever stays. this was how it was, this was how it would be, this was how it had been.

and when our lady looks at susan again - truly, really looks at her - she can almost see herself. that same confidence she'd had in her youth; so eager to be rid of childish notions and flights of fancy. they'd eaten her alive. they'd do the same to susan. even now, the cycle continues - and it is always filled with blood. " sometimes beautiful things are locked away until they are no longer beautiful. " she'd seen it before - a man marries a woman for her beauty, and then cannot stand it when she is praised for it still. it is an uncomfortable sensation, speaking like this - not so blunt as a kitchen knife, but just as dangerous. she'd been in susan's shoes, once. stood tall and proud while another had tried to warn her. god, she prayed susan would be wise where she had not been. " sometimes they are... destroyed. sometimes pretty things happen to pretty things, dear girl - but in my experience, beautiful things are left to rot. "

[joyuex]

❝ what do you desire? ❞ / @2usan

he is little more than a boy ... all eyes and ears, a body yet to be grown into. but he fights well, that much can be said of him, and when he fights it is hard to notice his youth. for on the battlefield he is a sword and not a boy, a faceless mass of muscle sheathed in metal and cloth. no heart and no soul, only one good arm and a body formed from skill, with no desire but to fight with honor. he twists under her gaze, an oddity turned more strange under careful inspection, not daring to meet her searching eyes. ❝ my desire ... ❞ he tests the words with a furrowed brow, staring down the curve of his nose as if they are laid out before him. his head tilts, his mouth twitches. thinking, examining, and at last speaking. ❝ my desire is to serve as a knight of your court. i think that i would like that very much. but i am not ready, not yet. first i must grow up. ❞ his eyes flash upwards, for the first time meeting hers, at once curious and reluctant. ❝ i will return, if you would save a spot for me. ❞

[pevedsie]

@2usan​ said: ‘ don’t look at me like that. ’

{ its on my blog somewhere }

“Like what?” he asked in that voice that indicated he probably knew exactly what she was talking about, but he also wanted a little clarification because sometimes a look could set someone off. You could never be too sure with siblings if it was something like that or more serious. He then looked at her, this time a bit more serious, and less joking, trying to get across she could tell him if something beyond a subtle glance over the breakfast table was bothering her.

[rrhaena]

harrenhal was quiet, to one who did not fear the stories of the dead — and rhaena targaryen did not. she had not known harren's men, though the stone remained charred, serving as reminder despite some snaking, stubborn vines on the lower towers. the new growth around them served only to give credence to the rumors that the queen in the riverlands was a witch. if so, she had still chosen to lay down a rug in the shade, and sit upon it surrounded by berries and other samplings to eat, awaiting her guest. off, scurried her cook, leaving her to lean back on her hands until the aforementioned returned, queen in tow. "would you eat with me, susan?" she asked, gesturing next to her— hopeful.

limited edition hearteyed rhaena starters / @2usan

[pevedsie]

@2usan​ said: “ i'm glad that you're here. “

{ x }

He was sitting looking out over the land, towards the west because he was a bit ironic like that. He hadn’t necessarily tried to be scarce, but he had needed some time to himself to think in a time that wasn’t stressful. So he had been scarce, it was almost reminiscent of the game of hide and seek that more or less started all this.

He knew someone came up, but it wasn’t until Susan spoke that he realized who it was. Well of course he wouldn’t realize who it was til they spoke. Though he would put money on being able to guess out of his three siblings which one was Peter. He turned to face her, now he knew Aslan had said to not speak about it all to him.

Did this count? He wasn’t entirely sure. And while he knew the Lion was smart, he also knew that it was going to come up at some point in time. If this was Susan’s way of getting to the point he was actually quite grateful to her for that. It also could just be about the fact that he did very nearly die, honestly he may have if he ever wanted to think about it, but like many things that had happened to him recently he was still trying to figure out what he was ready to think about and what he wasn’t ready to think about. He gave a slight smile, “So am I.” He stood up, and moved closer to her, and solemnly, spoken like a promise of someone who was far older than Edmund was he said, “I wont leave again.”

[pevedsie]

@2usan​ said: please don’t drag me into this again

{ x }

His gaze softened, and it almost seemed like he was blanketed in a sadness, but you had to really look to be able to see it. It was barely their like the first flakes of snow on the ground. It would build over time, but for now he could shake it off, pretend. “Sorry, i guess some silly games just stuck with me,” he said to not dismiss her feelings, but not shut her out either. It could be easy to be frosty at not wanting to dwell on childhood, or really a whole different life that was lost and vastly felt. He couldn’t blame her, and he thought that at times he might think just like her, if not for how different their experiences were.

[pevedsie]

@2usan​ said: do you recognise your own reflection?

{ x }

Returning had been incredibly hard. He had fundamentally changed, they all had, and something told him they all felt it. Like strangers in their own bodies almost. He looked at his older sister, because based on her question she got it. He always had a hunch they all did, but it felt like it was something they never really talked about, more like he had never really engaged in the conversations because he found it incredibly sad to do so.

For him, there were many things he missed, there was a respect he had that while not entirely lost, because he had his siblings, it diminished. He had grown in ways that was more than just his age, and while he figured it stuck with all of them, it left a mark on him that never would be visible because of how awful he had been when it all started.

So did he recognize his own reflection, “No,” he answered quite succinctly, before he added, “I see stranger that I have no choice but to become acquainted with again.”

With another pause he looked at her and really looked at her, figuring something brought this on, surely. So instead of asking is something was wrong and presumptuous as he could be he took a more diplomatic route, “What do you see in your reflection?”