#caspian “cloud” will

[radar-and-his-one-am-thoughts]

This is something I drew for @merlot-posts-about-transformers birthday! This was my first time drawing transformers so please forgive me if I got anything wrong 🙏

The characters featured are @merlot-posts-about-transformers oc Lockpick (the one on the right) and the one on the left is actually a D&D NPC/character of mine that I made a transformers AU for because silly funny haha moment (aka why not?). His name is Caspian but in the AU he is called Cloud.

[dreaml1fe]

[bubblesorbubbles]

Low clouds

Fujicolor Super HG v2

[forthedancingandthethriving]

I wanted to ramble about lore so.. yeah.

Remember how I've alluded/said Blotch and Tama were from a rhythm game that was eaten by Ozymandias? And how I've basically said it was Aire Village in The Cloud's Songbird?

Of course, that begs that question.. why isn't TCS destroyed? Why doesn't anyone have a memory of the giant snake?

Simple; Ozymandias consuming the Aire Village in the rhythm game affected the Aire Village in TCS. Since the two games were in a connected universe, his venom that he used affected the residents, therefore the venom passed onto the resident in TCS.

Now that brings up my next point..

Blotch and Tama are not the real versions of themselves, and the Muses are very aware of this (at least in Tama's case).

Tama tends to also have bouts of sickness from time to time. Nothing a small visit from Vitality can't fix, but it's something only Vitality can fix, meaning that it's code based. Tama's extremely simple code meant for the rhythm game isn't doing very well in the complex code of TCS. Vitality isn't really able to do anything about this, due to Tama being a kit at the moment.

In Blotch's case, this explains her 'curse'. It's not a curse in any way. It's just that her code is so simple and messed up that it can't handle being in complex games for more than a week.

Now with the Muses.. how do they know that Tama isn't the original Tama?

Aire Village used to be centered directly between the border of Ehtil and Luminos, and the kingdoms collaborated to take care of it. Caspian blessed the original sisters because he absolutely loved their creativity when it came to songs and dancing. So when they died in the extermination, he was deeply saddened yet understood.

So, his absolute shock when he sees Tama is, of course, understandable. But he knows that this isn't the original Tama, as necromancy is extremely difficult in TCS. (Intentionally so, all the Muses have a seal over the realm of the dead.)

They're all aware of the fact that Tama isn't the original, Caspian especially so, and they can't exactly bless her. They've noticed that something is wrong with her, and they're worried any blessings could harm her. So they do their best to just subtly help her whenever her hearing decides to act out. Zephyr typically messing with the winds to keep things relatively under control.

(As for why the rhythm came was so easily destroyed, Connected Cosmos Company and Jayin in general did not see it as a profitable game. Jayin's personal copy was the one that was affected by Ozy.)

[cat-arsenal]

Oh I love this one ! https://picrew.me/image_maker/1342558

[heliads]

Ok so I saw how you said you wanted to write for narnia in your request guidelines so, imagine if you will:

Reader and Caspian with a sort of rivals to friends to lovers. Charting the transition from "My prince" (Sarcastic) to "My prince" (playfull, joking) to eventually "MY prince" (loving). Hope this makes sense, lots of love <3

when people check the request guidelines <333 also this request was so good that i had the people vote upon it. soldier reader for the win

masterlist

You’re not sure what makes you more angry, the fact that you broke your sword or that the prince was there to see it. If it were not enough of a ruination to your day to have your blade break in half like a child’s wooden toy, if it were not enough to have to retreat through the storms of other fights and clashing metal and skulk to the background to get another, you were witnessed by the one person you detest most of all.

You should not be hating Prince Caspian. He just makes it rather easy to do so. He is the physical embodiment of this world, the crown on high, the savior of your every waking hour, all because he happened to be born into the right family at the right time. It is not his fault that he is one of the most powerful men in all of Narnia, but it is not the result of his labor, either. He is simply the prince, and there is nothing more to say on the matter.

That is quite different from you, then. You had to claw your way up through the ranks, sacrificing skin and sweat so you could eke out a win time and time again. Your trials served you well, gilding your brow with the title of captain of the guard, but it wasn’t like anything was handed to you. No, not at all. Yet, by virtue of his predestined position, Caspian technically has control over every soldier in Narnia. He outranks all of your efforts by the crown put on his head when he was just an infant.

This is the way of the world, and the way that it has always been. It makes no sense for you to hate him so fervently over something he cannot control. Caspian is an easy scapegoat, though, a figurehead for you to heap your regrets upon like laurels. It is not his fault that he was made prince. It is not his fault that you despise him for being one.

You’ve had time to grow accustomed to your life of blood and sweat, however, and today should have been no different. This morning was an amalgamation of at least a dozen different mistakes, though, and that ruined your day before it hardly even started. You woke up a little too late, you snapped at your friends then regretted it half a second later, and now you’ve gone and broken your blade, too.

It wasn’t your best weapon, at least that counts for something. Your finest sword is your most prized possession, and lies in careful hiding back in your quarters. This was merely your practice weapon, one designed to be battered and beaten all in the means of furthering the skills of you and your men.

Still, it stings to see it lying on the dusty ground of the training yard, shiny metal fragments already beginning to cloud over with grime. You sigh, signaling to your partner that you’ll have to abandon the match for now, and carefully pick up the pieces. When you stand, cradling the shards of your sword like a child, you look up and see Caspian of all people staring at you from across the training yard. Evidently he’s arrived just to see your sword fail.

Wonderful timing as always from him. You have to marvel at how he does it. You half think Caspian carefully plans his excursions into the swordsman's arenas when he believes you to be least ready to see him. You meet his gaze for a moment longer, then turn, heading back towards the rows of equipment on the far side of the yard.

You murmur at least half a dozen curses as you go, running them over your tongue like a prayer. The broken pieces of your sword can be turned into the armorer in the hopes that something will become of them, but you highly doubt that. In the meantime, you’ll have to dig up the coin to buy yourself a new sword, and risk damaging your primary weapon in the meantime. How splendid.

A voice sounds from behind you, one that makes you grit your teeth despite the soothing intonations. “You know, if you’re stabbing our own men so hard your weapon shatters, I’m afraid to see what you’ll do to our enemies.”

You grimace to yourself, then turn around to face Caspian, expression resolute. “Fear not, my prince, your men will be spared from me today. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to break swords when a battle arises.”

Caspian arches a brow, perhaps at the tone you direct towards his title. “If you speak with that much thrill over the thought of war, I’m beginning to fear that you may not be my best advisor regarding the maintenance of peace.” 

As if he’d ever listen to you long enough to consider you an advisor. The two of you snap at each other’s throats every time you get within shouting range. “Perhaps I just like a chance to fight.”

“I think I’ve noticed that,” Caspian murmurs, bemused.

It takes great strength to keep from glaring at him, strength that fails you by the second. “You’ll have to excuse me, I must go to the blacksmith for repairs.”

His face falls. “You won’t be continuing in the ring today? I had hoped to best you yet again.”

His lips quirk up as he says it, making the insult lose some of its barb, but it still makes your temper flare. “I’m afraid not. Blades are not as easily bought by soldiers as princes, I must see if I can salvage this one before going to the trouble of a purchase.”

Caspian seems half a second of self control from rolling his eyes. “There are more swords in the yard, L/N. Simply select another and we can go for a round or two.”

He gestures towards the training yard expectantly, and you feel the weight of your difference in stations come crashing down around you. Caspian will not stop asking until you fight him, that is his birthright. He does not know what it means to be disobeyed. And, as the captain of his guard, you cannot argue. This you know to be true, even if Caspian is unaware of just how he’s wielding his influence. There is nothing you can do to circumvent him.

You force your expression to go icily cold, devoid of any and all emotion. Even the anger, which was sparking through you so readily before, vanishes from your disposition. Caspian blinks in surprise at the sudden change, more so when you abruptly drop the pieces of your broken blade to the ground, where they send up a small storm of dust.

“Of course,” you say, even-syllabled, “how could I ever think to do anything else? Your word is my command, my prince.”

You pack as much loathing as possible into those syllables. Caspian flinches as if you’ve hit him, and then his confidence is gone, his eyes downcast. “If you don’t want to–” He begins in a whisper, but you’re already moving briskly towards the rows of extra blades.

“I most certainly want to,” you answer him, the borrowed blade seeming to cut into your hand despite the smooth leather grip, “you have asked, and that is all the motivation I should ever need.”

Caspian swallows hard, opens his mouth to say something, but you swing your blade at his head before he can manage it. This is utterly wrong behavior for a soldier towards a prince, but Caspian has never seemed to have a problem with your actions before, no matter how challenging. It’s as if both of your prides are so strong that they could overcome any class barrier set in your way.

Caspian barely parries your sword before it cuts into his head. Grunting with effort, he twists his weapon, forcing you to step back as he disengages, striking towards you in return. Seizing the opportunity, Caspian presses his advantage, taking a few quick steps and maneuvering the two of you further into the training yard and into the designated spaces for fighting.

Words are clearly still clinging to his tongue, begging to be spoken aloud, but this is no longer a place for conversation. It takes everything in you to counter his attacks, to spot when he’s off balance and lunge with piercing precision towards every gap in Caspian’s defense. You may hate the dark-haired prince with every fiber of your being, but you cannot deny that he is skilled. He might be the only one here capable of providing a challenge to you. You might hate him even more for that, or worse, not at all.

Caspian feints to his left, then his right. You ignore both distractions and plunge your weapon straight towards his heart. Expecting your belligerence in regards to his ploys, Caspian parries the strike and returns it with one of his own. You move to take a quick sidestep, but the ground is slick beneath your feet with mud from yesterday’s rain and you stumble. It’s the slightest of missteps, but for someone at Caspian’s level, it is enough.

He lunges forward, and you feel the shadow of the stone wall on your back before he pushes you into it. The rock is cold against your back, driving the air from your lungs. You try to force your way towards the center of the yard again, but Caspian has his sword at your throat, and any movement would lead to you cutting your own neck.

Unwilling to yield quite yet, you stay silent. You and Caspian breathe in and out, the deep gasps for air first discordant and then slowly, steadily, joining in a shared rhythm.

Caspian speaks first, you know he’s been waiting for it. “You hate me.”

You scoff. “You hate me. This is not an exclusive feeling.”

He exhales harshly, exasperated. “Stop deflecting everything onto me. We could have been friends.”

You laugh, tilting your head back to give him a better chance to slit your throat. “You are a prince. I would never have been anything but nothing to you.”

Caspian’s eyes widen. He moves away from you unsteadily, first closer than he’s ever been, then gone, halfway across the yard in what feels like just a second. You let your eyes shudder closed, exhausted from the intensity of the fight but perhaps something more as well. When you open your lids, he is gone. He had just arrived, but he is nowhere to be seen now. That could be no one’s fault but yours. He is not your friend. But. He could be so, so much more. 

Three days later, a gift arrives in your quarters. You unwrap the cloth bindings to reveal a sword nestled within the folds. You can tell at once that it has been perfectly selected for you– the heft is just right for your level of strength, the grip matches your hands exactly, and the edges are razor sharp, ideal for those slashes towards the forearms you’ve been so fond of as of late.

It comes swathed in a rich purple cloth, the sort of color you’ve only ever seen decorating Caspian’s frame as he walks with his troops or speaks to his nobles. An angrier, more bitter part of you wants to reject the gift entirely, to toss it from your room like refuse or return it back to him at once. Still, it is a fine blade, and you know that were you to just pick it up, it would feel exactly right, an extension of your arm into shining metal.

So, the sword joins the rest of your collections, and the purple linen ends up tucked away in your desk, carefully folded into a neat square of color and creases. You cannot explain why you do either, not even to yourself. 

The next time you’re called out with your regiment to guard the prince and some foreign powers on a diplomatic mission, the sword is on your belt, your hand resting on its hilt. Caspian sees and something changes in his expression; a deepening of a smile, a pleased spark in his eyes. For some reason, you cannot hate him for being proud. Not today.

He finds you later, once the crowds have dispersed and he doesn’t have to be a prince, just a man. “What a fine sword that is,” he remarks pleasantly.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t. Don’t even.”

Caspian spreads his hands, the picture of innocence. “I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about.”

“You had better not,” you grumble.

He nods solemnly. “Of course. Just a random thought, however, it really is a nice blade. It must have been picked out by an exceedingly good swordsman. Perhaps even the best in the castle.”

You should be irritated with him for being so bothersome again. Instead, you find yourself fighting a smile. “It’s a shame, then, that the only swordsman here worth his salt is me.”

Caspian’s mouth drops comically. “That cannot be true.”

“It is,” you reply as casually as you can, “I come to you with only the best information, my prince. Only the best.”

He starts to respond, but something stops him, something that makes him smile quietly. Your stomach flips with the unsettling feeling of having missed out on a joke, but for once, you don’t entirely mind it. Instead, the two of you walk all the way back to the castle, and only when the diplomats arrive again must you be parted. It is not the worst use of your time.

Caspian finds you again two nights later. You’re on a shift guarding a section of the castle walls, which gives you an excellent view of the foreign powers riding away into the darkness. They’ve been here for days now, testing Caspian’s patience like no one else, not even you.

He joins you soon enough, exhaustedly leaning his arms up against the stone battlements. “I think I hate politics,” he murmurs into the night air.

You chuckle, the quiet sound abnormally loud in the darkness. It should make you self conscious, and it does, but not as much as it would for anyone else. The hot prick of awareness in your stomach is both doubly strong and doubly weak because you are next to Caspian; why, you cannot explain, but it is true.

“You are a prince,” you point out, “politics was always something you would have to do.”

Caspian groans. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. That’s why I always envied you, you know. You got to carry the banner and fight the battles without any political conniving.”

You stare at him in shock. “That cannot be true. No future king could ever want to be a mere soldier.”

He laughs derisively. “As if you’ve ever been a mere soldier. Not to me,” he adds on afterthought, and you’re not sure that it was even meant for your ears, “no, not to me.”

You shake your head slowly. “But I thought you hated me. All this time, you’ve merely wanted to join me in fighting without a care?”

Caspian’s brow furrows. “Hate you? No, no. I never hated you. I never could hate you.”

He straightens up, slowly walking over to you. There is no one else on the castle wall to see you, no one below. Even still, your eyes feel like more than enough of an audience to find some reason to stop this before the pounding in your heart blocks out your ability to breathe properly.

“My prince,” you say, a warning. It doesn’t make him flinch like it used to, a blow grown familiar, worn down to the weight of a feather instead of that of a blade.

Caspian sighs, the listless air leaving him and vanishing just as quickly on the wind. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted this. That you’ve never thought about it.”

“I couldn’t,” you whisper, and something in you cracks in half when his face falls, “but you could.”

Caspian’s eyes dart cautiously up to you again. “Are you sure?”

Neither of you have to specify what he means for you to know. “Yes,” you breathe.

You did not anticipate this night to end with you kissing the crown prince of Narnia. That being said, you would not want to have it any other way. There may be foreign dignitaries out there plotting the end of his reign, or political turmoils present to claim most of his time, but tonight, Caspian is yours and yours alone. It makes you smile into him. It makes everything that much better.

narnia tag list: empty for now!

[pupsmailbox]

GOTH ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abby. ace. addam. alister. amelia. amoret. ange. angel. angelo. anubis. arch. archette. ash. aslan. aspen. astor. astoria. astrophel. atticus. axelle. azazel. azrael. bael. bat. batsy. bella. bellatrix. blade. blair. blanchette. brahms. branwen. cain. callan. calliope. cannibelle. caskeite. casketta. caskette. caspian. celeste. celestia. chaos. charlotte. cherry. chira. chiraelle. chiro. chiroptairre. chiroptelle. chiropteranne. choir. christian. cofette. coffin. coffine. constantine. corbin. corpse. crimson. crow. crowley. damian. damien. demonesse. divina. dorian. draven. edgar. elatha. elijah. elix. elwin, elwin. elwood. ember. emmaline. etienne. evan. evangeline. eve. faith. forest. forrest. frill. frille. frilleine. frilliette. frilly. genesis. ghost. gothita. gothitelle. gothitess. gothitesse. grey. gwen. gypsy. hades. hawthorne. hecate. hemlock. imortalle. imortella. iris. israel. jakob. jet. jett. johnas. josiah. judas. kain. kane. kedi. keir. lacey. laciene. laciette. lazarus. leo. lilith. lilithe. lolita. lucid. lucien. lucifer. lucius. luscious. lynx. maeve. malice. mana. martyr. max. melancholy. merle. micah. michael. misery. mordred. morris. mors. morte. mortis. mourge. mourgette. myrette. nightshade. noah. noctre. nocturne. noir. obsidian. oleander. omen. onyx. orion. orpheus. ozul. ozzy. prince. prophet. raven. ravenie. raveniette. rook. rowan. ruby. saber. saint. salem. samael. samuel. scarlet. secrette. seraph. serenity. shilo. shiloh. silas. silver. silvester. skelly. skulliene. skulliette. skully. sorrow. sylvester. syn. thorn. thorne. tobias. tommy. trix. umbriel. valkyrie. valo. vervain. vesper. victoria. ville. violetta. vito. vlad. woundie. zeon. zephyrine.

PRONOUNS ⌇　abby/abby. ae/aer. ash/ash. bat/bat. bleed/bleed. blood/blood. book/book. bug/bug. burn/burn. chain/chain. chap/chapel. chill/chill. claw/claw. cloud/cloud. cob/cobweb. cof/coffin. coffin/coffin. corps/corpse. creep/creep. cri/cross. cro/cros. cross/cross. cross/crosse. da/dark. dae/dae. dae/daem. dark/dark. decay/decay. dee/dark. des/despair. devout/devout. div/divine. dust/dust. echo/echo. edge/edgy. en/envie. fae/fang. fang/fang. fe/fear. fie/fiend. fog/fog. fri/frill. frill/frill. ghost/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. gore/gore. goth/goth. goth/gothic. gra/grave. grave/grave. ha/haunt. halo/halo. hie/hiem. ho/holy. holy/holy. horn/horn. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ink/ink. lace/lace. lae/lace. lost/lost. mist/mist. moon/moon. net/fishnet. ni/night. night/night. null/null. par/parasol. parasol/parasol. pray/pray. pray/prayer. proph/prophet. ro/rose. rose/rose. rot/rot. rust/rust. sac/sacrifice. saint/saint. scar/scar. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. si/sinister. sin/sin. sku/skull. skull/skull. snake/snake. spider/spider. spike/spike. sto/storm. stud/stud. thou/thorn. thron/thorn. thxy/thxm. vae/vaer. ve/ver. velvet/velvet. vo/void. whis/whisper. whisper/whisper. witch/witch. wood/wood. x/x. xae/xaer. × . ♠️ . ♣️ . ⚰️ . ⛓️ . 🌑 . 💀 . 🕯 . 🕷 . 🕸 . 🖤 . 🥀 . 🦇 .

[oneawkwardwriter]

prince caspian, inspired by 'I see the light' from tangled also imagine on the dawn threader at night under the moon and the stars

anything else is up to you

I See The Light

pairing: Dawn Treader!King Caspian x gn!reader warnings: a little bit of pining, very intense eye-contact, maybe perhaps some kissing... maybe even perhaps things getting just a little bit more heated... not quite nsfw, but there's some implying summary: you're staring at the moon and stars; Caspian is staring at you a/n: thank you so much for requesting this, I absolutely LOVE Tangled and I've recently come back into my King Caspian Narnia hyperfixation. Also, this is techically not the first time I've written something like this, but definitely one of the better things I've written wc: 1.3k

The only light, besides that of the moon, that illuminates your path to the railing of the Dawn Treader is the lantern at the helm, where a faint flame is dancing in its little cage.

For the first time since you've left the harbour, the midnight sky is fully clear, not a cloud that dares to blanket the twinkling stars or the silver glow of the moon. It's colder than usual, a light breeze blows against your cheek.

You lean down on the railing, resting your head in the palm of your hand as you look up at the sky. For some reason, there's something mesmerising about the way the moon casts a silver glow across the water, how the stars form constellations that only exist because someone decided to connect the dots to make some sense of it all.

You're too caught up in your own head to hear the door to below deck open. And so Caspian, King of Narnia, finds you staring out into the midnight sky. He leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed, a smile adorns his lips. His eyes skim over your figure, taking in every detail as the wind lightly ruffles your hair.

For a moment, he just stands there, not wanting to disturb you. After some time, he carefully approaches you. You hadn't noticed him at first, but after a while, you had felt his eyes burning in your back. So when he came to stand beside you, you weren't entirely startled.

"Can't sleep?" Caspian asks softly, not looking you in the eyes just yet and instead looks up at the sky as well.

"Oh, I'm sure I could if I bothered to try," You answer, "It's just that the sky hasn't been this clear ever since we sailed out of the harbour."

"It also hasn't been this cold ever since we sailed out of the harbour," He remarks, "A simple shirt won't keep you warm enough."

"Oh please, I'm fine," You say, even though you're unable to hide the shiver as it runs down your spine. "Besides, shouldn't you be fast asleep in your bed?"

The king lets out a dry chuckle and shakes his head. "Perhaps, but luckily for me, I don't have to follow orders," He says, his gaze drifting towards you now, "You, on the other hand, would be wise to do so. You should go to bed, get some rest."

You playfully roll your eyes. "I'll go to bed shortly," You say, looking back at him as well now. "You know, you're welcome to stay here for a while, Your Majesty."

"Oh, don't go calling me by my title now, we're past that," He says, finally being able to properly look you in the eyes. "Please, just call me Caspian. Also, thank you for allowing me to stay on my own ship."

"Alright, I didn't mean it like that," You respond as you lightly chuckle and shake your head, "I just didn't want you to think you couldn't be here because I was already here, even though it's your ship, which you said and... I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Caspian looked at you with a light smile on his lips, his eyes trained on yours. "You are, but please, don't stop on my account," He says, moving almost unnoticably closer. "Really, do continue, please."

"Oh, okay, uhm..." It didn't make sense why your mind suddenly went completely blank. There was no reason for your cheeks suddenly feeling warm and turning a bright red. "What... what did you want to talk about?"

"Oh, anything, really," Caspian answered, the silver light of the moon reflecting in his eyes. "That wasn't an order, by the way. I just... really love it when you talk."

"Good to know," You say softly, averting your eyes for a moment before looking back up at the midnight sky. "So... the sky is beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

"Yes, it truly is." If you had looked at him, you would've seen Caspian's eyes were still trained on you rather than the sky. "The way the moon and stars cast their silver glow is... truly mesmerising."

Despite the chilled breeze that glides over the ship and the silence between them, the atmosphere is strangely comfortable and relaxed. Time seems to stand still, stretching the minutes into an eternity as the two of you continue to gaze up at the midnight sky.

After Aslan knows how long, Caspian softly speaks up again. "Have I ever told you why I love being at sea so much?"

You avert your gaze from the stars to look at him. "No, but please, do tell."

"Back in the palace," He begins, "everyone and everything always seems to be in such a hurry. And despite all of that, I feel like I'm doing nothing but chasing down daydreams until the days just... blur together.

"But out here, everything is so peaceful. The gentle rocking of the ship, the glow of the starlight... suddenly, everything is crystal clear, like I've finally found what I'm supposed to do."

You softly smile as you listen intentively, resting your head on the palm of his hand. After a while, Caspian looks at you in slight confusion, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" He asks, letting out a soft chuckle.

"Oh, nothing," You say, your smile turning into the lightest of smirks as you continue, "I just... really love it when you talk."

Caspian let out another chuckle as he shakes his head. "Using my own words against me, are you now?" He comments teasingly, leaning in just a little bit closer. "Are you sure it's a good idea to challenge your king?"

"Didn't you say that we were past using your title?" You raise an eyebrow at him, daring enough to take a small step closer as well. "And if not, what will you do? Exile me?"

"Oh no, my dear, I wouldn't dream of it." The world seemed to somehow shift into a blur as the back of his fingers lightly brushes against your cheek, creating a contrast between the warmth of his touch and the chilled gusts of the wind. "Has anyone ever told you your eyes are as bright as the stars above?"

The light touch of his hand and his soothing words managed to knock the breath out of your lungs, the way he gazed into your eyes left you in a trance-like state. If your eyes were as bright as the stars, his were brighter than a thousand suns with the intensity he was looking at you.

Slowly, carefully, an invisble force seemed to push the two of you closer together until there were mere millimeters between your lips. And then, time seemed to freeze into a moment of uncertainty, even though the electricity could be sliced with a knife.

"Tell me to stop," Caspian breathed, his hand resting on your cheek as those brown eyes bored into yours. "My Starlight, tell me to stop. I won't be able to hold back."

"Don't stop... don't hold back."

And that was all he needed to hear before closing the distance between you. In his defense, he really intended on holding back on the intensity, but as soon as those words had fallen from your lips, he was done for.

One hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his body while his older hand held steadily onto your face. Your hands crept into his hair, your fingers softly running through the strands, earning yourself a soft groan falling from his lips.

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, the fervour in his kiss grows a little stronger. "Please," He whispers against your lips, nearly sounding like a desperate plea.

"Okay..." You respond breathlessly, letting him pull you towards the stairs leading to below deck.

© This work belongs to @oneawkwardwriter, please do not copy this work to any other site or claim it as your own. Reblogs are allowed and appreciated!

Taglist: @unofficialxmarvelfreak

(to join the taglist, simply leave a comment or message me!)

[lonicera-caprifolium]

They had fled from the party and into the grounds. Crowley's hand faintly chilly in his. Through the frost bitten air and their clouds of puffed breath, to the thunder and plash of the fountain. They had, both of them, partaken of rather too much Christmas spirit, but when Crowley had scrambled up onto the ledge Aziraphale had retained enough good sense to tell him no. He had said it whilst chuckling, however, and Crowley had grinned, and he'd known they were done for. The demon had reached out to seize him and missed, caught a handful of coat sleeve with nothing inside, and heaved himself into the water when it slipped from his grasp. Aziraphale remembered trying so hard not to laugh that it ached in the seams of his waistcoat. He recalled Crowley's head breaking surface, a sputter of water that speckled his best pair of trousers, and Crowley’s incoherent noises of annoyance, deficient in vowels.

A gift commission for Caspian and Jem's lovely fic, As Soon Go Kindle Fire With Snow

(link)

[onmyyan]

How would the delmont boys react to their s/o also being like a murder? I love your work and I just sent 2 dollars!!💕

Hello babes! I haven't gotten it yet but I loved this request so much so I decided to write it haha

Caspian is turned on and afraid at the same time, he doesn't consider himself a murderer so you being one openly and rather boldly coming home covered in blood one day throws him for a loop for a bit, he loves you all the same of course but he does watch his tone when y'all argue now

Gabe lives for his homicidal honeybun, absolutely adores your unsavory tendencies and will help you actively plan, commit and discard the evidence of any murders you want. He considers them dates.

Ricky loves this about you, he isn't particularly kill hungry like some of his siblings,but he can appreciate the smarts it takes to do what you do successfully. He thinks intelligence is sexy and correctly disposing of a body was prime time fine of you.

Marcos practically cums in his pants when he finds you hovering over a mutilated body, Soaked in blood and a crazed look in your eyes, he falls in love all over again. Another one way too excited about this, shows off his 'trophies' from past kills proudly, gives you a bouquet of bones.

Manny is on cloud nine when he catches you with some leftover blood under your nails, too much to be from a simple cut like you tried to say, he takes your fingers in his mouth, sucking the digits with vigor, "no need to hide anymore prescious."

[radar-and-his-one-am-thoughts]

That dark cycle, the one thing Lockpick had not been expecting was Bumblebee to come into their shared hab dragging a mech that was twice his size behind him like a felida with a maimed mecha-sparrow. Didn't help that said mech was also in a similar state of disrepair.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, me and my friend are writing a Transformers fanfic together, just as a warning it gets pretty dark so read the tags if you want to go read it!!! It's primarily OC POV

Have a great day/night! :D

@merlot-posts-about-transformers

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Focus - Edmund Pevensie Smut

MDNI!

Summary: You and Edmund haven't seen each other all day, making you two very touch starved.

Warnings: Language, smut

"Oh my lord."

You haven't seen Edmund all day. His side of the bed was empty when you had woken up, his morning meeting had gone into lunch, and you had a political affairs meeting with Susan during his break.

It's currently around 10pm and you are sitting in an armchair reading a book about Narnian history waiting for him to return from his evening meeting with Peter and Caspian. 

"Peter, how many bloody times have I told you? When I leave the meeting room, no work talk. It is ten bloody pm! We will handle it tomorrow!" Edmund's strong voice rings out in the hallway.

You don't hear Peter's reply as the door opens and closes. Edmund sighs as he removes his crown and cape, setting them on the dresser.

"Y/N you don't know how long of a day it has been. You look up at him, catching his flaring gaze already on yours.

Smiling, you set your book down before getting up and crossing to him. His hands immediately settle on your waist, bringing you closer before placing his lips on yours. Your hands travel up his chest, landing on his neck, deepening the kiss. You feel his hands glide up your back as he turns you around to pin you to the door. His mouth travels down your jaw to your neck as his arms dip down to pick you up. You mindlessly wrap your legs around his waist, bringing you to meet his height. 

He brings the two of you to your bed, setting you down and climbing on top of you. His lips sink to your neck, planting kisses from your jawline to your collarbone. The feeling gives you shivers and Edmund chuckles at your reaction to the simple gesture. His large hands find the bottom of your nightgown and bring it up over your head to pull it off. Even though you two had done this countless times, you never failed to feel embarrassed when he looks at you naked. His gaze meets yours, pure lust clouding his eyes. 

"You are the most fucking perfect person in the entire world." His kind words make you flush, covering your face with your hands. He guides them back down and kisses you. His hands travel up your bare torso, feeling every perfect curve and cherishing every ounce of skin he can touch.

His lips leave yours and find your neck once again, before traveling down to your chest. The anticipation causes a throb between your legs and you try and squeeze them together to obtain some sort of relief. Edmund catches this and quickly places his knee between your thighs, lightly brushing your core. 

You gasp at the sensation of his rough trousers rubbing the light cotton of your panties. His mouth finds your right breast, bringing the peak into his mouth, teeth grazing your nipple. You let out a strangled moan. Your hand clamps over your mouth, knowing Peter is in the next room. He rips your hand away from your face. 

"I don't fucking care if he hears. He kept you from me all day. He has to deal with the bloody consequences." He returns his attention to your chest, doing the same to your left breast.

His right-hand dips down to your inner thigh, bringing it up, closer to your core, his knuckles brushing up your covered folds. Your hips lift off the bed and he places his forearm down on your hips, keeping you still. His mouth retreats from your chest, placing a trail of kisses down your stomach and to your thighs. As he resettles himself between your legs, he kisses up and down your inner thighs. His nose brushes right over your core, the slick there dampening your undergarment. He brings his hands to the sides of your panties, guiding them down your legs before returning back to your throbbing heat.

His arm returns to your hips, placing just enough pressure to keep you still. His eyes meet yours and bloody hell. The site is erotic. His hungry gaze sends more shivers through your body as you feel his heavy breaths on you.

"If you cover up your pretty little sounds I will stop immediately and edge you until you beg me to let you come." The words shock you, sending another round of wetness to your core. His eyes glaze over at the sight. "Grab on to the headboard my darling." 

You obey as his perfect mouth makes contact with your slit, devouring you. You cannot help the animalistic sounds coming out of you. You know Peter is screaming into his pillow in the next room over but to you two? It's part of the fun.

Edmunds's tongue finds your clit, bringing it into his mouth and sucking. You let out a wild moan and despite the arm on your waist, your hips buck off of the bed before he slams them back down. His eyes flash to yours as he growls into your core, the vibrations sending a new sensation into your sex. You throw your head back, a long scream ripping from your body and your hand leaves the headboard, landing in his hair, shoving him further into your arousal. His tongue makes small, delectable circles on your clit, dipping down to your entrance to taste you. You feel your orgasm building as his tongue sinks inside of you. You scream as you come all the while Edmund is licking you clean, showing no signs of mercy or stopping. 

The hand not holding you down works its way between your legs. As his mouth continues to devour you, his thumb works its way to your slit, slipping into you for a millisecond. 

Another string of moans leaves your mouth, pushing Edmund's head even further into you. He pushes his index finger into you, the wonderful feeling doubling. 

"Ah- Edmund, please-." A smile creeps on his face as he continues to push his fingers into you.

Suddenly, the sensation you felt moments before disappears as Edmund draws his hand back.

"Wha- why did you stop?" Panting, you look at Edmund with flushed cheeks. His dark figure towers over you, his hair damp with sweat. He's beautiful, and the desire on his face sends a fresh wave of heat in between your thighs. Edmund smirks before leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Are you ready for something a little bigger, my love?"

Your cheeks flush and he grins wickedly.

"Don't tell me you're nervous." He unfastens his pants, maintaining eye contact with you. You wait with bated breath as he climbs on top of you.

He lines himself up with your entrance, pushing in the tiniest bit, wanting to make you wait even more.

"Edmund..." You whisper, pleading with him to just do it already.

"Yes?" It is hard to focus when his strong arms are by your head, his toned body hovering over you, his handsome face is above you, and of course when his dick is just barely inside you.

You glare at him.

He laughs, pushing into you, coaxing a long moan out of you. Edmund groans into your neck, loving the feeling of you around him. He starts pumping into you, his arm muscles flexing by your head, and for a moment you are grateful for all of the training he does.

"Focus, M'Lady." The nickname brings you back to reality and you find him smirking at you, the sheen of sweat across his forehead making him look devilishly handsome. His head falls into your shoulder, moaning into your skin. "Tell me you were thinking about me just now." As if he were jealous, his pace quickens, making you whine and grasp for him more. His pace is brutal, you can't form coherent sentences.

"Yes- fuck Edmund. Oh my god. Only... You. Only you." His teeth sink into your neck. "Fuck!" Your hands tangle into his hair, pulling him closer to you.

He brings his mouth to yours, capturing you in a kiss. You both moan into the kiss, nearing your highs.

Edmund's thrusts become sloppy as he loses control.

With a final push into you, you both come, a wave of pleasure washing over the two of you. He pulls away from your mouth, grinning at you.

"Bloody brilliant." You laugh as he rolls off of your body, pulling you to him. "You're so bloody brilliant."

:)

[queenlucythevaliant]

Northern Lights

.

I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!” 

.

Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it? 

Jill could.

It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her. 

.

The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern. 

It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious. 

On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.

She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at the edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky. 

.

And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.

.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise. 

The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over. 

The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything. 

“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over. 

Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all. 

.

And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood! 

She thought of grief. Of freedom. 

The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…

.

When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him. 

When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison. 

Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short. 

.

They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.

.

Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t. 

“Would you like to take that with you?”

“...Please.”

.

It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 

.

They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.

Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked. 

The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.

.

Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!

.

The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end. 

The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely. 

They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters. 

In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.

The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two. 

In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth. 

Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.

Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile. 

“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”

.

And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"

.

“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest. 

Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above. 

Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance. 

“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”

She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!

Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face. 

.

I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.

.

“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”

He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”

They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.

Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight. 

.

They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.

The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks. 

“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave. 

.

So perish the old Gods!

.

The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.

The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.

The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.

Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute. 

The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 

.

“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”

“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.” 

“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured. 

“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”

A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.

.

Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.

.

The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways. 

.

Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!

[itsslivernotsilver]

hi guys does anyone wanna hear about the dichotomy that mist and maddie form in reference to that god damn tomato from the og short stories. ok great here i go

pantheon definitely expands a LOT on the differences between the two sisters but ken liu’s bit about the tomato has always stood out to me and i’m kinda sad they didn’t keep it in the show but whatEVER!!!!!! anyways it’s such a perfect symbol for the glaring differences between mist and maddie and i’ve been thinking about this for almost a year now so i gotta get it out there

like. it’s so simple. it’s just a tomato.

🍅<—tomato. round and red 👍 (also i love that little interaction so much holy shit)

anyways it’s so simple in it’s design but the connections that each sister has with such basic object like this are so drastically different it’s crazy

maddie approaches it from a deeply emotional and human perspective. to her, a tomato means the taste of one, her grandma, her family’s garden, her family’s dog, and just like. general childhood memories. in the show, she represents the side of humanity that wants to stay physically in the real world. she’s obviously friendly with UIs and CIs given that like. yk. and she expresses curiosity in mist and her whole deal!!!!!

but she clearly has her biases and those are shown through her wants for her son and how upset she gets when he advocates for uploading (even though mist practically raised him too but whatever i’m not gonna get into that rn). anyways my point is that she’s approaching this tomato conversation with her experiences regarding physicality, nostalgia, and other “human” feelings

but mist doesn’t have any of those!!!!!! she doesn’t have any human experience at all. she approaches a tomato from an extremely technical and factual perspective. she brings up the species categorization, court cases, genome info, etc. she even decides to mention that, logically speaking, she knows more about tomatoes than maddie does (which is like??? girl????? a little unnecessary but true)

in the show there’s the conversation about nostalgia and her line about having the code for nostalgia but not being able to execute it because of a lack of memories fucks me up sooo bad

she loves maddie and everyone around her because she’s kinda just an actual embodiment of love but she can’t help but feel alone in a world where everyone moves so slow and nobody really gets that she can’t understand a lot of “human” emotions. it’s why she’s so ecstatic to introduce caspian to the cloud and why she’s so passionate about the drive with all the CIs who are just like her. but in this moment she tries her best to connect with maddie but ultimately can’t because of the sheer lack of similar experiences

they just can’t understand each other fully and they never will. they’re forced to agree to disagree over something as simple as a tomato and god that tension keeps me up at night

another thing that i thought was super interesting was how the maddie’s interest in mist was flipped in the show if that makes sense???? like in the stories, it’s clearly maddie who wants to learn more about mist. she tries her best to bridge the gap and it’s her idea to give mist a body. but in the show, it’s mist that seems “more obsessed” (heavy on the quotes) with maddie. she’s reaching out more and she asked for a body herself and maddie lashes out when mist does something while trying to help (don’t even get me started on caspian and his whole deal this season i’ll fucking kill someone)

ALSO i feel like this post is getting too long now but i wanna at least mention the quote at the beginning of the chapter cause holy shit man

anyways that’s it for now i think. i might make another post about the quote and the other stories and some other details i really liked for the nonexistent people who’ve seen this show 👍

[arcanusarchieves-if]

Can you share a snippet of your writing please? It doesn't have to be from the game but I'm just a bit curious!

Sure! Here's a (very short and completely unedited) flashback scene that I wrote that didn't end up making the final cut. It takes place back when MC was at school so it has a few characters that you won't recognize!

It begins with pain and ends with darkness.

You came back into reality just as you had left it (“Well not exactly as you had left it” the ache in your bones reminds you softly), unsure and exhausted, with the light blinding your unopened eyes. The urge to open them briefly crosses your mind but the thought of having to put actual energy towards anything quickly turned that desire into nothing more than a passing thought.

“You still alive, mate? I don’t have a eulogy written up quite yet so if you could hold out just a bit longer I’d really appreciate it.”

Alistair’s teasing words fall over you like a soothing balm, the familiar sound of his voice sinking into your skin like a long-lost friend. It was admittedly an overdramatic thought if not a ridiculous one - most of the time you and the rest of your friends couldn’t get him to shut the hell up. Still, there was something comforting about the fact that he stayed despite…everything (“despite you” says someone that sounds very much like yourself).

“It happened again, didn’t it?”

A beat passes after your words. Then another one. And one soon after that. Eventually though…

“…yeah, it did. It wasn’t that bad this time though. Nothing got destroyed - nothing that can’t be replaced, that is.”

So you didn’t hurt anyone. That’s always a bonus. Still there were some lingering questions.

“…where’d we end up?”

Another beat, then another voice. Soft and Uncertain. Fearful but Unwaveringly Fond.

“Not too far from the academy, thank the lord. Erm we’ll still need to use a teleportation spell though. One of us can do it for you if you’re not up to it.”

The thought of casting any magicae after what just happened was a (“terrifying” the voice mocks) miserable thought. Still you give a swift shake of your head, forcing your eyes open as you do so. The blue of the sky meets your gaze but a quick series of blinks reveals it to just be Lena's eyes - you knew if you turned to the other side you’d meet the familiar green of Alistair’s. You push yourself up pretending it isn’t odd to think about your friends’ eyes with such intensity.

Lena offers you a shaky but not uncertain (and never ever fearful) hand, and with strength that you’re surprised you still have, you take it gratefully, pulling yourself to your feet - stretching out aching bones and wobbly knees. Alistair grins at you from where he sits nearby, his expression a mix of relief and amusement.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he says, reaching out to clap you on the shoulder. "Or whatever passes for it, considering the circumstances."

You scoff and then snort. A lurking shadow in the background catches your eye and something like amusement and annoyance stumbles into your bones and out of your lips. Some would call it a laugh. You’d call it an experienced reaction to the person in front of you.

“What, you're not happy to see me? Here I am, spending my very precious time making sure you don’t destroy anything during one of your little fits, and you go ahead and laugh at me. Honestly, where’s the appreciation I deserve?”

Caspian’s voice is arrogant. It’s snarky. It’s even cruel in some ways. But it’s also so loyal. So fond. (“Of you” a voice says softly. It’s the same one as before but it’s also so so different).

You try to think of a witty response but eventually give up, deciding to focus your energy on leaning against Lena for support, the memories of the recent blackout begin to flood back. It was a close call this time, with your magicae threatening to spiral out of control once again. The fear of causing irreversible damage always looms over you like a dark cloud, but having your friends by your side eases the burden, if only slightly. (“But how long can this really last?” the thing you're trying to ignore asks).

[sunny-mercya]

Feverish Dance

Edmund Pevensie x Male Reader

Masterlist

On your voyage to find Aslan again and help Caspian dethroning his Uncle and bringing peace to Narnia—freeing the land from Miraz clutches—you had come across an abandoned Castle. By the looks of the size from it, it probably has once belonged to an Earl or Duke. Now for the time being, how ever long this will be and take. this would be your new provisional home.

Susan, Lucy and you ventured through another section of the castle. Long empty hallways and corridors, forgotten and dusty. Most of the rooms had been barricaded or locked, making it hard to find a open one—a one for use.

When sunset had begun every so slowly, dunking the lands with an orange hue—kissing it good night—you three had found another room, which was unlocked. A ballroom, a grand one—where all dreams of the nights could come true—once a magnificent place, but now filled with cobwebs lingering over the furniture with it's muddy, decaying and damp spots. Signs of being not used over the centuries, decades perhaps even.

«Imagine all the grand grandiose banquets which had been held in here!» mused Lucy with excitement out, skipping further into room and touching one of the silk like robes—now shredded with holes in it by moths—and swings it around with a twirl.

«Don't touch too much in here Lu, you might could get sick.»

«Oh Susan, where would all the fun be, when we don't and risk a bit,»

You snickered a bit at Lucy's reply. Deciding to explore the room like her too. You had to agree with Lucy, this ballroom here had probably witness a endless festival night after night, when the castle—perhaps even the years itself—had been in its glory.

~~~

The last bit of Sun-rays peeked through the cloud filled sky, through the windows and into the room. The natural light was still enough to see without any extra light source, though Susan had already begun to lit up some torches.

Despite your excitement, your adventurous rush of curiosity you had—while rummaging through the chests and the mostly covered furniture, getting more than once off track distracted by Lucy—who started at one point to play pretend, telling possible stories of how festive the nights in here could've been—you felt a constant pull of exhaustion tugging at your body.

Like a demanding child the exhaustion keeps tugging at you and bringing your body into a sluggish waving. Feeling heavy with muscles aching, ready to take a nap everywhere and anywhere even when it would be on the hard ground.

A lingering feeling, one of the kinds you couldn't describe, deep down in the core—the far back—of your body and mind, like a minimal headache—which pounds on your skull as if it was a door and till it feels like your skull would crack apart, splitting into two like bread but with crunch to it.

Lucy watches you with concern, once you stopped in your tracks with whatever you were about to do. Standing completely still like a statue, looking off into empty spaces.

Your complexion, perhaps it was because of the torchlights flickering flames and the last few sun ray's, looked more pale—ashen even—than it should be. The way you rubbed over your face, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes, were clear signs for Lucy that you weren't feeling all that well at all.

«Are you feeling alright [Name]?» Lucy asked with concern, a bit hesitantly. She didn't got a answer right away, not verbal at least. Susan gave her sister a questionable eyebrow raise, not sure herself if she would wait the situation out or get Edmund—preferable, since the two of you has a close connection—and the others.

«I'm fine, Luce. Just a bit of a headache» you mumbled it more, incoherently, than you intended to, but your mouth and tongue felt like cotton.

A groan left your lips, dry they felt now and no amount of licking over them would help it. Goosebumps racked through your body, tingling your spine, as flashes of cold and warmth at the same came over you.

«You should sit down [Nickname],» Lucy feared it might have been the small wound, which you have acquired on the way, being infected now. Though the last time they checked over it, mere hours ago at the crack of dawn, it seemed nothing to worrisome. Trying to persuade you to sit down, to take a break.

Lucy couldn't comprehend the next minutes within. Standing there and the next you twirled and spun her through the room.

«Do you hear this Lucy?»

«No? What do you hear?»

«The music! Oh, Lucy! Those wonderful music, I haven't heard in so long!»

Your eyes brimmed with tears, laughing carefree, having longed to hear such wonderful music and brought your heart into a joyful burst.

Ever since the start of the War, ever since Great Britain is been targeted of German bombing, you weren't able to listen to the music—from a long forgotten decades—you loved so much in so long and at all. A rarity it had been.

Missed to dance to it, as your practices had been cut short to the bare minimum, twirling through the room like there was no tomorrow, to their fast—sometimes slow—uplifting, joyfully—romanticisation, theatrical and deeply sorrow filled—sonority.

Oh, this was Mozart's Alla Turca. Offenbachs Overture to Orpheus next and then, Tchaikovskys Trépak.

You loved them all, loved every single piece.

~~~

When Susan had come to get him, telling him that you weren't feeling well, Edmund hadn't expected it to be like this. He once had read, in one of the history books out of boredom, about the Dance Plague from 1518 and somehow this reminds Edmund of you—your current doing as if you had this ominous mysterious plague caught yourself.

Edmund saw you dance more than once. He knew every single steps of the waltzes and choreographies you had done, had went to every practices, recitals and performance you did. Had been your partner for these every so often.

There were only a few, handful of people—Edmund being one of them—which could keep up with your fast-spacing dashing of dancing—like a lightning you could and would twirl around, jumping high like stars in the night sky and being a hurricane like storm and yet, so gentle and delicately at the same time—and catching you seemed a impossible task.

You had letting go of Lucy, who felt nauseous from so much dancing—even though she loved it as much as you—long ago and she watches you with still presenting amaze, even though she too had been to your practices more than once.

«Ed! Ed! Come and dance with me! Brahms Hungarian Dance had always been one of my favourite» you had taken hold of your boyfriends hands, waltzing with him through the room and getting faster with the passing seconds.

Perhaps you were getting sick, having catch a possible flu. Perhaps it is the nervousness and stress or perhaps, you finally have lost your mind all at once—like one of your distant aunts.

But the music is so wonderful and magnificent. You couldn't stop, wouldn't, even when your muscles were aching so painful and burning like fire.

To dance was like the blood in your veins. Needed to make your body function, to keep you alive.

Then, the above, seemed to tip and darkness crashed over you.

~~~

Edmund daps the sweat from you forehead, keeping your face cool with a cold dunked cloths. A high fever you had, making you squirming uncomfortable on the bed.

In your moments of being wake, you mumbled incoherently gibberish, smiling and telling Edmund about moon and stars before dozing off again.

A relief it was that your wound didn't infected itself, as far as they could tell. So you being current bedridden with a fever was indeed, probably, because of nothing but stress.

Funny, just—in sense of earth time, since Narnia's time goes and pass differently—hours ago you had treated one of Edmunds scraps, which he had gotten during his and Peter's small fight with others boys and now it was him to take care of you.

A groan came over your lips, turning more onto your side, bleary open your eyes and glancing at Edmund.

«Tea Time........noon......Tchaikovsky....»

«Sure love, after some naps»

«....with em...?»

«If you want,»

Edmund laid next to you on the bed, taking you in his arms. For someone with a high fever, you felt icy cold. He pulls you even closer, humming a bit of a tune—one of the nursery ones—hand racking through your hair, ever so softly—like you would do to him, when he has one of his anger bursting days—when you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

«When you feel better,» a kiss to the crown of your hair he gives you,

«we could dance one of those waltzes you like so much, just you and me love» Edmund gave you another kiss, this time on the lips. Closing his eyes and slowly he too, drifts into the world of dreams.

~~~

«Ed's soo smitten with [Nickname], I told you he has a soft spot» snickers Lucy—leaving the part "for him" out and keeping it for herself—quietly closing the door and walking away.

«Luce, they're both are.» corrects Peter, walking with her.