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inkskinned
happy birthday, dorian!! it’s been really nice having you as a friend and it’s really fun to talk with you about everything and nothing in particular- on that note, we should really play among us sometime! i hope you have a wonderful birthday!!
the devoted, for @calormen
But even a traitor may mend. I have known one that did.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY @calormen !!
those were beautiful dreams
happy birthday @calormen!!! i hope u enjoy this angst fic and have a really nice bday!!
this is also on ao3 for easier reading! . . .
The air in England feels heavy. There’s a smog always hanging over the skyline, settling into his chest as an unbearable weight, like a stone pressed over his ribs. The ever present noise of chatter and movement stifles everything else and without anything to focus on, it’s dizzying. He remembers this; it’s always been like this, buzzing with energy and loud and heavy. He remembers how he’s missed it those first few weeks in the countryside where they were safe from the bombings.
Now, Edmund desperately wishes to leave England.
It’s not the world’s that’s changed, but him, through three lifetimes of joy and heartbreak. And though he longs to leave and settle somewhere familiar, nowhere resembles Narnia. Even the countryside and the manor felt wrong; a stillness in the air that set his nerves on edge, always a sign of some oncoming danger that never revealed itself.
Edmund, now and again and again, is just a boy trapped in the wrong everything.
It would hurt more if he was alone. It still hurts.
Peter and Lucy turn to each other; they’ve always been a pair. Peter looking out for Lucy and Lucy looking up to Peter. They speak of Narnia in fond tones, always when no one else is there to hear what they speak of, and the memories they have only become stronger when shared.
He used to have that bond with Susan. Used to.
The first time they came back to England, Susan had found him unable to sleep and took his hand in hers. She said, “It’s alright. We can do this again. We’ll help each other through it all until we learn how to live again.”
After a lifetime of sharing fears and nightmares, defending each other against those who refused to accept who they were, shared in the delight of a world that let them be who they are. The despair of coming back to world that only wanted to hurt them, one where hiding was survival and honesty was condemnation, Edmund couldn’t understand how he would live knowing something better was possible.
But Susan was there, just as she always was. She was there until Aslan told her and Peter they would never return, and she walked out into that train station and left him behind.
Edmund looks at Susan and desperately wishes to go back in time to a place where they stuck together and shared stories of Narnia just to find hope in this world. Susan keeps her door closed and never comes down to the kitchen in the middle of the night. It’s only Edmund who cannot sleep.
And so he remembers, but he remembers alone.
historyofnarnia >> narniachronicles
I have had this url a little while, waiting for netflix narnia but seeing this blog isn’t achieving what I hoped and the blog i feel like has a bad rep I decided to change it up a bit.
Gods and Monsters: Satya, the Mata Rani
moth·er/ˈməT͟Hər/
noun
a woman in relation to her child or children
verb
1. bring up (a child) with care and affection
2. give birth to
(insp.)
I'm going to take a chance, and say my dash is very lacking at the moment so I'd love to find some new blogs, so if mutuals could boost this and people who are interested could reblog I'd be grateful.
BIG YES'S:
CREATIONS (if you create I want to support you, creators don't get the love they deserve)
I prefer colour to pale/bw - but I reblog both.
Marvel
DC (the movies because the only show i have seen is Titans)
Star Trek (any but I do prefer stuff that isn't typically posted if you get what I mean)
Star Wars (to an extent but ships are a no go zone)
Narnia (not that I expect anyone for this because it's not the biggest fandom and I think I know everyone at this point...)
Doctor Who
Gaming (mostly Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts but I am 230 hours into my Fire Emblem: Three Houses run so that's my jam at the moment)
Literature (you know the usual, hp, pjo, the lunar chronicles. I am not super versed in this but I like variety)
Comedies (like b99, the good place, one day at a time, and British comedies - because I will have seen them)
Just general film and tv (if I have seen it then I'll probably reblog it because I cannot be as fussy with the lack of content nowadays)
BIG NO NOs:
Negativity (specifically fandom stuff, if you are mad about lack of representation or say you just don't like something that's fine because I get that)
Abusive/inc*st ships (I mean it's a given but I see it too much, and I am not a big shipper anyway)
Prejudice (again a given. No terfs or antis or anyone opposed to someone just because of ethnicity, religion, gender or nb, or orientation)
i. nylons Your chainmail is gone now, turned to rust and withered away, replaced by black stockings with a black heart to match that pumps anger and hate and defiance through every inch of your, now, unmarred skin, despite the wars you’ve lived despite the life you had. The gowns are gone now and blouses and skirts are all that remain, are all the rage and fashion of modern days, precariously protecting you from the wandering hands in the light when you walk though this land, the Shadow Land, built on deception and deceit with the Lion that stalks your every move in the shadows of glass buildings and still trees, with it’s claws and teeth drawn, waiting patiently, tail swinging, to sink them quick and deep in your flesh in the shadows of sleep once more. You don’t give Him the chance, there are no openings for Him, not anymore. ii. lipsticks Your eyes are painted black sharp and wicked as you paralyze any who dare step in your way. You smile with lips the colour of blood, as deep and dark as the arrows you once unleashed, teeth drawn, sharp and white and pointed, -Unnatural, you hear from behind. Deadly, you think to yourself.- waiting and waiting for any fools to open their mouths, wanting to feel the satisfaction when you rip them into shreds (like you have been, time and time again). You are more monster than girl now, more dark and wild than the gentle and obedient servant you were moulded to be. You know better than to give a knife to your friends and think you are safe. Not after He showed you the error of your ways, with body piled on body of your family, broken and bloody and beaten and gone, left behind for only you to claim. Even the little lioness, the favoured one. Brave and free and valiant, but left as cold and dead as the Witch you were called to fight, once upon a time, a lifetime ago, when He was done. Called upon like puppets dangling from strings, that you once believed reached the sky but opened your eyes only to discover they were being pulled taut into His bloodied and open red maw as he reeled you in, one by one, feeding off of your Trust and Devotion and Loyalty and Faith. Only you noticed, the blood that dripped from your skin from the teeth that bit and the claws that scratched under the guise of Affection and Love. Only you noticed, and only you found the Courage to break free of the strings that bound and cut at you, tearing yourself into pieces in the process. iii. invitations You face them now, a warrior, a goddess, a slayer of monsters and demons and Deception, going to battle any naysayers and disbelievers who tremble at your power, at your transformation, at your ressurection. You reach inside yourself to destroy the Lion that feeds on you, a parasite, tearing it out just as it tore you open when it settled itself inside your breast and dug its way into your heart, feeding off of your Youth and Naivety, insatiable. You pray to Gods, but Him no longer, not the beast hiding in the lion skin it wears, a trophy of an old conquest. You pray to the Gods, ones who take and take, just as you do in return. A circle of balance and peace and power, of beginning and end. Night watches over you, offering solace and anonymity in Her arms, taking, in return, your pain and tears and nightmares. Day peeks through every now and then, with Her warmth and protection and fire, taking your demons and feeding off of your despair. To Sorrow, who sits silently by your side in your grief, who provides comfort and companionship, you give your future to do with it what She will. Anger walks with you, side by side, Thrumming and flighty, giving you the ability to give a painful sting, to all the ones who have wronged you, taking, in return, the peace and calm of forgotten days. To Life and Death, the Ones who you’ve conquered time and time again, you give all that’s left without care. When He will see you again, you will grin, fierce and sharp and deadly, with a mouth painted red, a parody of the day He took them from you. He is forgotten now, just as you were. It’s time, my dear. To rise like the girl we know you to be, to shed that last life, another past life, and breathe again as you soar higher than any before you, higher than even He has dared to go.
— no longer a friend | m.g.
This is the start of how it all ends
"If I have read the chronicles aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?" | "My sister Susan, is no longer a friend of Narnia." | "Whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'" | "Oh Susan! She's interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up." | "Grown-up, indeed, I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."
"Well, don't let's talk about that now," said Peter. —
No, Peter, how about we do talk about that now.
You’re right Tirian. There are two sisters. Lucy and Susan. Susan is not done. She is alive and breathing. She is living. She is a young woman who is still growing.
Can the same be said for you Peter? How about you, Lucy and Edmund? How old are you now? How old will you be tomorrow? Or the day after? How old will you be when she is two years, ten years, fifty years older? Here’s the bitter truth: you won’t change. You’re dead. You don’t age. You don’t grow or live or breathe. Your time is done like it will be tomorrow and the day after. How it will be when she is two years, ten years, fifty years older. She grows, but you? You’re dead.
Lucy, you’re a child gone before you should be. Edmund a young boy only a bit older. Peter you’re a young man who had a whole future ahead. How will you be tomorrow? You’ll be the same. A child gone, a young boy only a bit older, a young man with a whole future ahead behind. You won’t change. You’re done.
Eustace do you remember when she smiled? Do you remember when she laughed? Narnia was not everything she was. It’s not everything you should have been either. You were a child who only knew Narnia. You did not grow or live. You’re dead too. Do you ever think about what you could have done? You’re potential is all that’s left now. The potential that died with you.
Jill, oh Jill. Yes, Susan was to keen on being grown up but...did you grow? Did you age and wither as life went on? Did you dream and become? Do you breathe and live? No. You’re dead. A young girl on the cusp of becoming a woman, gone. Do you regret it? Do you cry? Do you wonder where your parents are? Oh Jill, are you sad?
Professor, professor! Digory, do you remember her? Do you remember the child that came to your house? Do you remember the one who cried when she returned from out of a wardrobe? Do you remember the Queen who would gaze back with old eyes? Do you remember the Queen the woman the girl who looked at the world and decided ‘Yes, this will do.' upon her final return?
Polly dear. You’re a woman with a life fully lived. You’ve grown and changed and breathed. Is it fair? There are two young girls who listen as you speak, three young boys who follow. Is it fair? Tell me my dear, is it fair? They are dead. They will not grow. They will not age or live or change the world...but you did. Is that fair?
When do we talk about it, Peter? When do we talk about the Queen left behind? When will you say her name? Do you fear it? When do we talk about the woman alive and breaking and mending and aging? Are you jealous? When do we talk about how you all left her on her own? Are you angry at yourself? Angry at the others? Angry at the Lion? When will you speak of her? When will the Narnians hear her stories? When will they hear about how she and Lucy sat by the dead Lion’s side throughout the whole night? When will they hear about how she saved Edmund with an arrow notched and loosened before you even arrived? Will you tell them about how she cried when you all thought you’d lost him? When will they hear about her crowning? Will you ever tell them how she laughed and danced with everyone who asked? Will you tell them about how she always was the last to sleep and first to wake? When will you speak about how she’d fight blood-covered and clothes shredded to keep peace? When will they hear about the hands she’d stain each time without question in their names? When will they hear about the days where her fingers refused to unbend from her bow with how long she held it loosening arrows left and right? Will you tell them about Rabadash and how she was almost taken from all of you and them? Will you tell them how she cried each night for the soldiers lost in her name? When will they hear about the Gentle Queen who did not want to follow when you chased the stag? When will you tell them that she did not want to leave, but that she had become a mother to your younger siblings in the absence of your mother, had the urge to protect and thus followed? When will they hear about the young girl who’d speak to you in quiet in an understanding voice when you all returned through the wardrobe? When will you speak about the girl who'd stay awake through each night until she could not stay awake anymore only to fall asleep on the couch before the fireplace, realizing all of you wouldn’t be returning? When will you speak about how you did return and she laughed the brightest laugh you’d heard in so long? How she looked at Lucy and Lucy looked at her before they bolted unashamedly to the clear blue water that lay before you? How she dressed in her old gown and slung her bow over a shoulder and donned her armour without question because Narnia needed her again? Will you tell them how Aslan told you you wouldn’t return and she nodded her head and moved on? How she listened to the Lion’s words to the latter? Will you tell them how she will change your world for the better? Even in the absence of you and Lucy and Edmund and Mum and Dad?
When will you say her name?
