#tcon fanfiction

[quecksilvereyes]

It isn't that Lucy doesn't know Helen is her mother. She remembers, in hazy, smudged colours, the shape of those lips upon her forehead. The feeling of those soft fingers in her hair, knotted at the back, greasy in the front. Dark eyes, in dots, as a painting that makes no sense at all when viewed up close.

Helen Pevensie is thick layers of paint, not yet dry. Not yet framed. Not yet hung, with instructions on where to stand. So when Lucy, with child-eyes and child-lungs, looks at her, she sees:

Susan's smile lines. Peter's nose. The blush of Edmund's lips. Her own freckles, faded and powdered. Smudged. When she smiles and cradles little eight year old Lucy in her arms, the paint flakes from her hair.

Greys and browns. Blues.

Susan's skin is smooth. There is a gap between her teeth, and her hair is too short by half. Lucy skims her knees running on a straight alley, and it's Susan who holds her in her lap, humming songs of home. Susan's small hands on her neck, Susan's eyes, no longer golden as the mid-day sun in a cloudless sky.

Peter's nose is missing the hump that came from breaking it when he was ten-and-seven. His cheeks are bare. His hands are steady when she presses against him, fevered and coughing and greying at the edges. His voice is too high when he reads to her, and his skin is too soft.

His eyes are just blue, now, nevermind the storm outside.

It isn't that Lucy doesn't know Helen is her mother. It is just that her lap isn't the one she folds herself into. It's just that it isn't her blouse she presses her tears into.

"Lucy, darling", says Helen Pevensie. Her eyes are grey. Her mouth is grey. Her hands are grey. "Come sit with your mother, hm?" Lucy turns her face into the crook of Susan's neck.

Helen Pevensie sighs.

[eds-gryff]

Dates Out of Duty

Edmund Pevensie x Gender-Neutral Reader

Okay, despite the pictures, Y/N is GENDER-NEUTRAL IN THIS FIC!! It is the first time I’ve written a gender neutral reader, and also I have been having horrific writer’s block for about two months, so this fic may not be the BEST. I tried very hard, though 😭😭 I’m sorry.

Also, I do have an Arranged-Marriage-with-Edmund-Pevensie fanfiction on Wattpad- it’s called ‘Alliance’ and it is a series of four books, so please do check that out!!

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Requested by @potatosdragon

‘Hi, could you please write an Edmund pevensie imagine x fem reader where it's about the types of dates he would take you on after an arranged marriage. Thank you sosososossososossosooskks much’

It’s not exactly a list of dates like most fics about this scenario are, I wanted to tell a story of the reader and Edmund’s development as well- plus, the date ideas come from both, not just from Ed. Hopefully it’ll be tolerable! 🥲

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Y/N= Your Name

Y/C/N= Your Country’s Name

Y/P/W= Your Preferred Weapon

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Riding Dates

It’s unfamiliar territory, romantic feelings for each other, but Edmund and Y/N both desperately need some semblance of comfort.

The first date, thus, is familiar territory.

He had learnt that they shared a love for horses very soon after the wedding- when he’d witnessed the delight in his then-affianced’s face upon learning that Y/N’s horse was going to come along as they returned to Narnia.

(Their wedding had taken place in Y/N’s kingdom, as per the agreement of the marriage alliance. Neither of them had smiled once during it. It had been their duty, and that was all. Neither had hoped or thought or even imagined that anything more would come out of doing their duty.)

The date is not the roaring success both hoped for- they had hoped, actually, that once they confessed their feelings for each other, things would get as easy as possible- but it’s not a devastating failure, either.

They have fun, playfully bantering with each other as they rode deeper into the woods- banter that Edmund’s horse, Philip, joined as well- and they attempt to, rather clumsily, kiss while on horseback as well. It makes them laugh, and then soon blush, once it turns out that they were quite good at kissing in even inopportune situations.

The problem comes when it is discovered that the path Edmund had chosen led them much further away than expected and when it is found that Y/N had forgotten to bring along the picnic basket.

Hunger and the fear of getting lost plays havoc on romance, and by the time they manage to return to Cair Paravel, the banter has turned to bickering, despite Philip’s most valiant efforts.

And by the time they return to their shared chambers after supper, anything more than a chaste good-night peck is unthinkable.

Bakery Dates

Y/N and Edmund are not very deterred by the less-than-ideal results of their date in the woods, especially since they wake up the next few mornings snuggled into each other.

It’s hard to stay annoyed when you wake up so comfortable and so warm and in each other’s arms- and, one of these mornings, the royals dawdle in bed for a good two hours before forcing themselves to get up.

They miss breakfast- something that’s usual for Y/N, perpetually a late sleeper, but not for Edmund, because although he loves to sleep in, he also enjoys having breakfast with his family- and so Y/N suggests going into town and to one of the bakeries, for the Just King is known to have quite the sweet tooth.

Edmund says yes, quite happily, and it’s hand-in-hand that the pair walk into the town closest to the castle.

They sample cakes and pastries and some things Y/N can’t pronounce but Edmund can with a funny accent- and the employees in the bakery are all aflutter at serving two Monarchs, and that, too, while they’re on a date!

They settle them in a large corner of the bakery, practically forcing every other customer into the opposite corner- despite repeated requests from the royal couple to treat them as regular folk- and they’re given so much sweet confections that Y/N’s tongue, unused to having such large amounts of desserts, goes numb in the middle of a sweet apple crumble. Edmund is having the time of his life, though, biting into a chocolate gateau and a rose parfait and blueberry cakes, and Y/N gazes at him quite contentedly the entire time- and then the gaze turns mutual and humorous and a bit alarmed, when the head baker packs them enough sweeties and desserts and chocolates to last a few decades.

They both are supposed have meetings that day- one with an envoy from Archenland and the other with a Tarkheena from Calormen- but the meetings are later in the day, and they know that the High King and the Queens of Narnia will happily keep the guests busy on the off-chance they are late.

His siblings are more invested in their relationship than they both are, the Just King feels.

As usual, he’s right, and it’s seen just how right he is at the next Ball.

Reading Dates

But before the Ball, comes winter, and with winter, comes the need to stay warm and cosy.

Especially for Edmund, since he does not deal well with the cold at all.

Y/N isn’t used to the cold, since Y/C/N is a warm country, and so they both have more reason than most to stay indoors during the most biting days of winter.

But they haven’t gone on a date in weeks, and Y/N is fearing that they could go back to the aloofness they had regarded each other with during the beginning of their marriage.

Neither of them wants that- Y/N and Edmund care for each other very deeply, and that’s something that even they, expert at denying feelings, cannot deny.

Hence, Y/N hauls candles and blankets and some of the bakery’s sweets in the middle of winter, in addition to asking the Kitchens to bring up some food and warm drinks.

Lastly, Y/N finds Edmund in his study, wrapped in a thick shawl his mother-in-law gave him, and they walk hand-in-hand to the destination.

In the Library, seated on a cosy couch, half-suffocated by thick blankets, Edmund and Y/N hardly talk. They read quietly in the candlelight, occasionally looking up to grin at each other or hold hands again, and even the meal is had in utterly comfortable silence, broken only at the end of it by Edmund’s declaration that they must have a sleepover in the Library.

Of course, both being the bibliophiles they are, they doubt much sleep will happen- it’s far more likely they’ll read and read and read until they fall asleep reading.

But neither will mind that- and so, Y/N climbs into Edmund’s lap, fishes a book from the pile next to them, and agrees.

Ballroom (And a Bit of Stargazing) Dates

Edmund dances well, and since he’s married, he knows that the one to dance with is his consort. He was the one to suggest they consider the Ball a date for he had no wish to spend the event with anyone apart from Y/N.

Y/N felt the same way, and his suggestion was met with an approving kiss.

Still, his siblings have some insane idea in their heads that the relationship between the two Monarchs needs meddling to grow- and their idea of meddling is to make sure no one else meddles.

And so the rest of the guests at the vibrant New Year’s Ball give the two Monarchs a wide berth throughout the event.

It suits Y/N just fine, because Edmund is easily the only one around who offers comfort as well as conversation, not to mention how fine a dancer he is, to make up for Y/N’s abysmal dancing skills. And even Edmund can’t mind, truly, not when he has his dear consort clasped in his arms, and he sees just how bright and soft Y/N’s smile, aimed at him throughout the night, is.

They spend the Ball dancing and laughing, and occasionally tripping, and they are not away from each other’s embrace for longer than a few minutes.

And then they steal away to the roof of Cair Paravel, and spend the rest of night staring up at the sky, with Edmund pointing out the different constellations in the sky, and Y/N speaking of the stories and fables of Y/C/N that were linked to the stars and the Heavens.

Y/N notices that Edmund’s freckles are like constellations. Edmund notices that Y/N’s eyes shine like the Moon. They gaze at each other more than they look at the celestial bodies.

And when the fireworks bloom into artificial stars in the sky, a few metres above them- the couple has their lips on each other’s, feeling something deep bloom in their hearts as well.

.

Things go sour not long after the Christmas Ball. It’s coming up on five years of marriage- Peter and Susan and Lucy and Y/N’s parents and both their countries were extremely frustrated by how long it’s taking for Y/N and Edmund to confess their love for each other.

But the couple is taking it slow. Neither are the type to fall in love quickly- rather, until each other, they hadn’t thought they would fall in love at all.

It is all wholly new and unexpected- for them- and they hadn’t quite believed what was happening when they’d quietly confessed to each other that they had feelings for the other. It was for that reason that there had been an unspoken agreement, after the confession, to do things slowly.

But the slowness was frustrating more than just the people around them- it was frustrating them, too!

Edmund regularly had to bite his tongue to keep from saying ‘my love’ in almost every single situation and at every moment of the day, but especially he’d come across Y/N be in the training field, eyes shining and sweaty skin glowing, perfecting the use of (Y/P/W).

The ‘I love you’ had been on the top of Y/N’s tongue every time the two Monarchs fell asleep while reading in the Royal Library, and then Y/N would be the one to wake up first, watching Edmund in peaceful slumber.

There are bets going on, in both Cair Paravel and in Y/N’s castle in (Y/C/N).

Peter said that Y/N would say it first, being the more impulsive of the pair.

Susan said that they’d both say it together, because underneath all their emotional unintelligence, there was some understanding and wisdom.

Lucy said it would be Edmund, because once he got over whatever fear was keeping from telling the three not-so-little words, he would surely want to be transparent with his consort, despite the possibility of his declaration being unrequited.

Y/N’s parents, for their part, thought that it would be another five years before the word ‘love’ would come into the conversation, and they said they’d announce their bet in three.

The sourness is not, however, Edmund and Y/N’s fault.

They’re doing quite well, actually, they feel, and they blush rather brightly every time the other’s name is brought up.

Then the Giants attacked.

Y/N spoke heatedly, looking with flashing eyes to the rest of the war council, “I’m going to fight!”

Edmund nodded, “Of course you are, darling, but you must stay here. It’s not safe to travel back to your country-”

No, Y/N wasn’t running back home! Of course not. That was what Peter had assumed for an awkward moment, and Y/N had almost thrown a scroll at his face.

“I need to get my army here, and I need to leave now. Narnia needs support, and it is part of our alliance treaty that our countries come to each other’s aid in the event of war.”

Peter stepped in here, “That’s right. Remember, Narnia has lent its troops to Y/C/N whenever minor scuffles at the border occur-”

“Of course I remember.” His younger brother said calmly, though not feeling calm at all.

His consort wanted to go out of Cair Paravel- which wasn’t safe in the least, as the Giants were camped practically just outside their walls. He couldn’t- he couldn’t risk losing someone he- someone he loved so much.

“We both signed the treaty, need I remind you. But then we can send a Raven to Y/N’s parents, they can-”

“I am the Monarch.” Y/N spoke, cutting across the Just King. There was no anger in Y/N’s voice, but it was simply firmness. “It is because of me that my country will be brought into this War, because I-”

Fell in love with you.

But the treaty had been signed long before that. And Edmund didn’t know that fact!

“Because I married you.”

Edmund swallowed. Y/N was right. There was no one else who could catch his tongue like that, or get him to change his mind.

“Very well.” He said stiffly, and looked to where Lucy was standing, already dressed in armour and looking fiercely warrior-like. “Lu, I’ll be going with Y/N, so I’ll ask Orieus if he may patrol with you instead-”

“No.” Y/N said, once against interrupting him. Somehow, Y/N’s hand was now on Edmund’s arm, and there sprung a need in both to clasp each other’s hand tight.

So, they did.

“Narnia needs you, dearest. I’ll be alright, and I’ll be back soon.”

Edmund gazed into Y/N’s eyes for a long moment, and Y/N gazed back.

The war council moved onto other matters soon, but Edmund and Y/N kept holding hands for the entirety of it- in fact, until they reached the Stables where Y/N’s horse was kept.

“Are you sure you want to leave now?” Edmund queried quietly, as his consort tied some necessities and supplies to end of the horse’s saddle. He’d been the one to have the sense to tell one of the servants to pack for a journey- Y/N was reckless enough to make the journey with nothing useful. “You could leave in the morning-”

“I don’t want to leave, but I have to. Sooner rather than later- you told me once they said that where you come from.” Y/N’s voice was just as quiet.

What if he was right? Well, of course he was right, he always was- but what if the Giants did attack Y/N on the way?

Death was inevitable, it was known- but to die while on the way to help in a War? What sort of Monarch did that?

But the alternative was not helping Narnia. The alternative was letting Edmund and Peter and Lucy and Susan suffer the War on their own.

Y/N turned to Edmund, “Spare Oom, was it?”

He smiled a little, and they neared each other, their arms sliding around each other so they stayed in an embrace for as long as they could.

“Or War Drobe. I’ve heard it both ways.”

He bent his head, and their lips met in a slow, needy, passionate kiss.

“I’ll be safe.” Y/N whispered into the kiss, knowing full well what Edmund would murmur once the embrace broke. “As safe as I can.”

“That’s not very reassuring.” He tried to joke, but it fell flat. They were going to part. Not for long, if they had any luck- but it was war. How often was good fortune found in the middle of battle? “I’ll wait for you.”

“And you best fight in midst of the waiting.” Y/N said- deciding to not ask him to be safe, because he would be. He would. He was a warrior and he was wise- he’d stay alive. “And try to think of better date ideas.”

Edmund smiled in spite of himself, “I’m the one with the good ideas. Yours are more hit or miss.”

Y/N chuckled softly, “Maybe a battle will give me inspiration, then. I’ll think of you anyway- may as well have that thinking be productive.”

“We’ll go on that date the moment the War’s over.” His smile softened, and they kissed once more- one last time.

The kiss lasted another few moments, before they both pulled away- and Y/N climbed onto the horse.

“G-goodbye.” Y/N almost said ‘my love’. “I’ll see you soon.”

Edmund raised his hand in farewell, not trusting himself to speak.

And then, as the horse pulled out of the paddock and just as his consort was almost out of sight- he spoke.

Well, shouted.

“Y/N!” He said, and the horse and her rider both turned.

They weren’t too close to each other, but they were close enough to hear each other.

Steeling himself, and not entirely sure his sanity was intact, he said loudly, “I love you.”

He saw Y/N’s eyes widen, and- then he fancied he saw a smile. His heart was pounding so hard, he was aware of very little except for his heartbeat and his consort’s outline against the sunset.

No- he wasn’t imagining it. He was seeing a smile. Y/N was smiling at him.

But then Y/N tugged on the reins, and the horse galloped away, and Edmund was left alone in the paddock of the Stables.

But at least he had received a smile in exchange for his impulsive declaration of love. It was far better than the rejection he had thought he was sure to get.

Impromptu Dates

Y/N and Edmund did not see each other until the siege of the giants ended two months later. They had news of each other, of course- letters tied to Ravens’ legs and messages delivered by dryads kept them, as well as every regiment fighting the Giants in the north of Narnia informed of what was happening.

And then, in the spring, the Giants surrendered, and High King Peter declared the War won, and he sent Ravens to all corners of Narnia and to the neighbouring lands to inform them of the news.

Y/N had been with Peter during the battles, while Edmund was stationed away, in a part of the land where strategy would be important to win than force. Lucy was with him, but she regularly rode far away to fight other threats that took advantage of the War to attack Narnia as well- while Susan stayed at Cair Paravel, holding down the fort in case the Giants somehow breeched their defences.

But now that the War was over, the Pevensies were to be together again, soon. Very soon, the four hoped.

Sooner than that, though, it Edmund and Y/N that were fated to reunite.

The path that Y/N was to take on the return from Y/C/N to Narnia was, coincidentally, the path that led from the Western Woods to Cair Paravel.

Edmund hadn’t spent the War there, no, but he had gone to check on his domain after it, just in case any of the White Witch’s supporters had come out of the woodwork and had tried to capture the forests once more.

(There hadn’t been anyone in the Western Woods except for one very adorable family of rabbits, and some deer that complimented his choice of swords over a bow and arrow.)

There was a brook nearby, and Y/N had taken off the armour and had washed up in that- not bathing, of course- and had managed to get some drinking water, too, since the water was cool enough. After such strenuous fighting and the wounds afflicted because of it, cold water was a must.

Y/N had decided to keep wearing the soaked tunic, as the wet fabric gave extreme relief to the hot and bruised skin.

As the horse began away from the brook, walking along a path bordered with flowers, Y/N heard something else.

Someone else.

Someone that travelled frequently with the man who had said ‘I love you’ just before their parting- and the man whom Y/N wanted to tell the same to.

It came from a bit far ahead- nearer to the mouth of the brook, where it was more a stream.

Y/N’s eyesight wasn’t the best, but the hearing was- and Philip, Edmund’s horse, had a very loud voice.

“Your Majesty.” The sienna-hued horse’s voice spoke. “Why not a bathe?”

“It’s only half a day to Cair.” Came another voice, and Y/N’s heart soared so high an attack of dizziness came. “I’ll bathe there- and it won’t do to dirty such a clean, pure stream.”

“Edmund!” Y/N shouted, almost falling off the horse.

Climbing properly off her, Y/N ran towards the sounds of the two voices.

”Edmund- Edmund-”

Edmund had his top-armour off, clad in a wet long-sleeved under-shirt, much like Y/N’s, and he had been washing his face and attempting to fill some water into his flash, even though he’d cracked it and water poured out more than it poured in.

At the sound of his consort’s voice, he dropped the flask again, and turned quickly- in alarm and quite a bit of hope.

Y/N flew at him, and they collided together, falling down onto the grass. Their arms stayed around each other, and Edmund kept calling Y/N’s name and Y/N kept calling Edmund’s, though they were clasped tight together, and neither cared that they’d landed half in the water, too.

“You’re here!” Y/N spoke into Edmund’s shoulder, clutching him tight. “What are- how- this isn’t your route-”

“Had to check on the Woods.” Edmund answered, kissing his consort’s cheek.

He was on top, and there was a grin on Y/N's face at the position, and he felt himself blush.

“You’ve been to guide your armies back to Y/C/N, yes? I thought you’d stay home for a few weeks- to rest.”

“I wanted to.” Y/N admitted- as absolutely lovely and beloved as Narnia was, there was no place like home. “But I- I had something to do in Narnia.”

Here, Philip interjected, “Good to see you again, Your Majesty!”

Y/N waved happily at the sarcastic horse, before looking back at Edmund, who was looking curious as he asked, “Official work?”

“Well.” Y/N said, and rolled them around so that their positions revered and Edmund was under. “I had to make a declaration.”

Y/N’s heart was shaking. And there were palpitations. And anxiety. A lot of anxiety. And nerves. And nausea, if one squinted.

But so much love. So much of it. It overwhelmed all else.

“What?”

His question was ignored, and Y/N went on, “And before that, I had to suggest a date idea.”

And then they kissed, beginning too soft and careful- for neither was aware of the other’s injuries- and then ending with gasps and even tighter grips on each other.

Oh, how they wanted to peel off the remaining armour and the wet tunics and make love then and there, having missed each other so painfully much- but Philip was there. They didn’t want to scar him for life- more than they already had. The poor horse had been an unwitting witness to more than one ardent snogging sessions between the two Monarchs- and, in some of those sessions, they had not been very clothed.

It haunted Philip’s nightmares, but it also gave him a lot of material to tease his rider about.

“Was that the idea?” Edmund asked hoarsely, his hand curling into his consort’s hair. He wanted to say those three words again- so, so badly. “A kissing date?”

Y/N’s swollen lips curved into a smile, “Do you mind it?”

“Not at all.” He said, thinking that all the date ideas he had had might have already been beaten- before asking, “But what’s the declaration? If it’s got paperwork, I’ll have to handle it, you know.”

He was very tired. Fighting battles was difficult. Whatever it was, he wanted to get the work done as soon as possible.

“It is a declaration to the Just King. To my darling husband.” Y/N whispered.

Oh, how could a heart possibly feel like it was creeping so high into a throat!? The anxiety was getting unbearable. It was only Edmund’s proximity and his beautiful, dark eyes gazing into Y/N’s that kept an anxiety attack at bay.

“I declare that I am absolutely and besottedly in love with you.”

“Oh.” Well, he certainly didn’t want that over with as soon as possible.

Never, in fact. He wanted it to last forever.

He smiled again, his heart aglow and both their eyes shining, and they pressed their foreheads against each other’s.

“I love you. I love you so much.”

It was the best date ever.

Vow Renewal Dates

A vow renewal ceremony is not a date, Susan tells her brother and sister-in-law repeatedly- but as far as they’re concerned, that’s exactly what it is.

It takes in a lovely meadow of flowers, and they are together, looking radiant and lovely as they gaze at each other- and they hold hands through it all. They tell each other how much they loved each other, and they promise once again to forever be by each other’s side and be joined in the bond of marriage forevermore.

Well, dates usually didn’t have parents and siblings around, but one couldn’t have everything.

They are in love, though. A love they hope would last forever, and if there’s something after that, then even then.

And it may not be everything- but it certainly does feel like it.

-

Thank you for reading!

-

[an-angels-fury]

🌟 You Are My Destiny 🌟 - A Caspeter Playlist

A small tribute to @equixen's new fanfic "Our Hands Are Tied" 🫶

True Love - P!nk

Sometimes I hate every single stupid word you say / Sometimes I wanna slap you on your whole face / There's no one quite like you, you push all my buttons down / I know life would suck without you / At the same time I wanna hug you / I wanna wrap my hands around your neck / You're an asshole, but I love you / And you make me so mad, I ask myself / Why I'm still here? Or where could I go? / You're the only love I've ever known / But I hate you, I really hate you / So much I think it must be true love

I Found - Amber Run

And I'll use you as a warning sign / That if you talk enough sense, then you'll lose your mind / And I'll use you as a focal point / So I don't lose sight of what I want / Oh, and I found love where it wasn't supposed to be / Right in front of me / So talk some sense to me

Wicked Game (Cover) - Ursine Vulpine, Annaca

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you / It's strange what desire will make foolish people do / I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you / And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you / Oh I don't want to fall in love / Oh I don't want to fall in love with you

War of Hearts - Ruelle

I can't help but love you / Even though I try not to / I can't help but want you / I know that I would die without you

Neptune - Sleeping at Last

I'm only honest when it rains / If I time it right the thunder breaks / When I open my mouth / I wanna tell you but I don't know how / I'm only honest when it rains / An open book with a torn out page / And my inks run out / I wanna love you but I don't know how / I don't know how

Before You Go - Lewis Capaldi

So, before you go / Was there something I could've said to make your heart beat better? / If only I've known you had a storm to weather / So, before you go / Was there something I could've said to make it all stop hurting? / It kills me how your mind could make you feel so worthless

The Great War - Taylor Swift

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair / And we will never go back to that / Bloodshed, crimson clover / Uh-uh, the worst was over / My hand was the one you reached for / All throughout the Great War / Always remember, uh-uh / We're burned for better / I vowed I would always be yours / 'Cause we survived the Great War

Who Wants to Live Forever - Queen

There's no time for us / There's no place for us / What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us? / There's no chance for us / It's all decided for us / This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us

Arcade - Duncan Laurence

A broken heart is all that's left / I'm still fixing all the cracks / Lost a couple of pieces when / I carried it, carried it, carried home / I'm afraid of all I am / My mind feels like a foreign land / Silence ringin' inside my head / Please, carry me, carry me, carry me home / I've spent all of the love I saved / We were always a losing game / Small town boy in a big arcade / I got addicted to a losing game / Oh, all I know, all I know / Loving you is a losing game

In My Veins - Andrew Belle

Nothing goes as planned / Everything will break / People say goodbye, in their own special way / All that you rely on and all that you can fake / Will leave you in the morning but find you in the day / Oh, you're in my veins and I cannot get you out / Oh, you're all I taste at night inside of my mouth / Oh, you run away 'cause I am not what you found / Oh, you're in my veins and I cannot get you out

Dynasty - MIIA

The scar I can't reverse / The more it heals, the worse it hurts / Gave you every piece of me / No wonder it's missing / Don't know how to be so close to someone so distant / And all I gave is gone / Tumbled like it was stone / Thought we built a dynasty that Heaven couldn't shake / Thought we built a dynasty like nothing ever made / Thought we built a dynasty forever couldn't break up

All I Want - Kodaline

All I want is nothing more / To hear you knocking at my door / 'Cause if I could see your face once more / I could die a happy man, I'm sure / When you said your last goodbye / I died a little bit inside / I lay in tears in bed all night / Alone, without you by my side / But if you love me / Why would you leave me?

Rewrite the Stars - Zac Efron, Zendaya

How do we rewrite the stars? / Say you were made to be mine / Nothing can keep us apart / 'Cause you are the one I was meant to find / It's up to you, and it's up to me / No can say what we get to be / Why don't we rewrite the stars / Changing the world to be ours / You know I want you / It's not a secret I try to hide / But I can't have you / We're bound to break and my hands are tied

Fire on Fire - Sam Smith

When we fight, we fight like lions / But then we love and feel the truth / We lose our minds in a city of roses / We won't abide by any rules / I don't say a word / But still you take my breath and steal the things I know / There you go, saving me from out of the cold / Fire on fire, would normally kill us / But with this much desire, together, we're winners / They say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners / But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms / 'Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me / And look in my eyes / You are perfection, my only direction / It's fire on fire

King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men

Howling ghosts, they reappear / In mountains that are stacked with fear / But you're a king and I'm a lionheart / And in the sea that's painted black / Creatures lurk below the deck / But you're a king and I'm a lionheart / As the world comes to an end / I'll be here to hold your hand / 'Cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart

Two Men in Love - The Irrepressibles

If I asked you now / Will you be my prince? / Will you lay down your armor / And be with me forever? / When you open me / All the power in me moves / How you want to see / All the depths of me real / When you open me / All the power in me moves / I feel real / I love you

Turning Page - Sleeping at Last

I've waited a hundred years / But I'd wait a million more for you / Nothing prepared me for / What the privilege of being yours would do / If I had only felt the warmth within your touch / If I had only seen how you smiled when you blushed / Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough / I would have known what I was living for all along / What I've been living for / Your love is my turning page / Only the sweetest words remain / Every kiss is a cursive line / Every touch is a redefined phrase

Saturn - Sleeping at Last

You taught me the courage of stars before you left / How light carries on endlessly even after death / With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite / How rare and beautiful it is to even exist / I couldn't help but ask / For you to say it all again / I tried to write it down / But I could never find a pen / I'd give anything to hear / You say it one more time / That the universe was made / Just to be seen by my eyes

You - Keaton Henson

If you must leave / Leave as though fire burns under your feet / If you must speak / Speak every word as though it were unique / If you must die, sweetheart / Die knowing your life was my life's best part / If you must die / Remember your life

A Time for Us - Barratt Waugh

A time for us someday there'll be / When chains are torn by courage born / Of love that's free / A time when dreams so long denied / Will flourish as we unveil / The love we now must hide / A time for us at last to see / A time worthwhile for you and me / And with our love through tears and thorns / We will endure as we pass surely / Through every storm / A time for us someday there'll be / A new world, a world of shining hope for you and me

[pariahsparadise]

warm ii | e. p.

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requested by @aphroditelxver : hey!! i just saw your edmund one shot "warm" and fell in love with the way you write!!<3 so may i request one were edmund is jealous of reader talking to some prince from other country and he confess his love for her? it could also be a part two from "warm"!

wc: 1.6k

pairings: edmund pevensie x gn!feminine!reader

warnings: unedited work, idk if i swear but i probably did, badly written writing as usual, alcohol

a/n: i am so sorry. it was only after i had finished writing this that i realised i was supposed to keep the reader gender neutral. i did give them a dress, so i'm genuinely sorry about that, but i've tried to avoid using pronouns/anything else that indicates gender. and now that it's written like this, i can't think of any other way for it to go. this story can be read as a part 2 to warm or a standalone.

read part 1 here

Edmund Pevensie was an idiot.

Anyone who glanced at the Just King was immediately taken aback by the vicious glare cemented across his face. It was starkly out of place, for Edmund was surrounded by the finest refinery and culture that Narnia’s neighbouring kingdoms had to offer. Trades and alliances had already been forged with an impressive total of three nations, and the ball wasn’t even in full swing yet. Not to mention, this gala had all been Edmund’s idea. And everything had been going exactly according to his plan.

Except for the part where you twirled around the dance floor, beaming at a tall blonde prince whose hand was placed dangerously low on your back.

Edmund really couldn’t blame him, he supposed. You were easily the most beautiful person in the hall. Your dress was well-fitting, the skirts various shades of blue that shimmered when you moved, akin to a sparkling waterfall. All words that he could ever have spoken wilted and died on his tongue the second he laid eyes on you, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth when he spotted the royal accompanying you. 

He decided he couldn’t watch any more when your dance partner twirled you away and quickly into his arms again, earning a delighted shriek from you. Turning around and walking away abruptly, Edmund headed towards his new best friend, the bartender. 

Not long after he had drained two glasses of glittery red wine, he felt a rough swat on his head.

“Ouch,” he said dryly, not deigning to acknowledge his little sister with a proper greeting.

“What’s wrong with you?” Lucy asked, scowling at him fiercely, “You’re scaring away every chance we have of forming a treaty with the Archenlanders. Can you stop glaring at their prince?”

“Who’s their prince?” Edmund said, his hand reaching to grab his third glass of wine, but Lucy swatted at it in a rather unqueenly manner until he pulled it back again.

“Prince Anthony, remember? The one Y/N’s entertaining.”

“Ah,” Edmund said, diving forward for the glass again at the reminder, too quick for Lucy to stop him, “The prick.” 

Lucy frowned disapprovingly at his words, “Maybe don’t call him that. A treaty with Archenland is invaluable, so keep your jealousy hidden, alright? And not,” she added, signalling to the bartender that she was cutting Edmund off, “In wine.”

Edmund didn’t bother denying what Lucy said. Being the Just King meant he had to be fair, even when confronting his own emotions, even when he’d rather stick forks in his eyes. Heaving a sigh, he stood up from the barstool he had previously sat on, his expression carefully neutralised as he walked up to Peter, joining him in offering greetings to new monarchs who had just arrived. 

You stumbled out behind the billowing curtains into the balcony, heaving a large sigh. It was exhausting having to accompany Prince Anthony around, considering that the man would not stop talking about himself. You really didn’t need to know all of his sword-fighting feats, and privately, you thought that a certain dark-haired individual could trump him in a matter of seconds. And although he kept commenting about how your blue dress matched the hue of his eyes, you couldn’t help but think that you’d compliment a brown-eyed King better. Having disguised your departure from Anthony’s side as a visit to the lavatory, you gripped the balcony railings and took a deep breath of fresh air, grateful for the break from the stuffiness.

“Wow. Is the ball I’m throwing that bad?”

You startled, head whipping around quick, only for your shoulders to slump in relief once you recognised Edmund. 

“It is,” you said, walking closer to the man, trying to keep your eyes fixed on his face so he couldn’t tell just how much you liked his suit, “The company makes it a little more bearable, though.”

Edmund shucked a laugh at the implicit compliment, leaning against the railing as you came to stand next to him, his body tilted to face you, “I’m glad you think so highly of me.”

“Who said I was talking about you?” you asked teasingly, your mouth quirking up to the side. Rather than responding to the playful banter, though, Edmund’s smile dropped, eyes leaving yours to stare out at the gates surrounding the castle instead. You frowned at the lack of reception your comment got, lapsing into the tense silence Pevensie was already partaking in. 

“How’s it going with Anthony?” Edmund eventually asked, breaching the stillness.

You groaned at the name, earning a half-hearted chuckle from Edmund as you tried to explain your exasperation, “It’s going well enough. He’s so airheaded, as long as I keep the flattery coming, I’m sure he’d sign anything I ask him to. Even the deed to his kingdom, if I wished so.”

“That’s no surprise,” Edmund said, “I’m sure I’d sign anything if someone like you asked me to.”

You stilled, unsure if he was flirting with you when he added, “That is, if it was possible for anyone to be as bossy as you.”

You punched his shoulder lightly as he grinned at you, his hand coming up to clasp your wrist. The sound of violins fluttered through the flowing curtains, and Edmund looked down at you, raising his eyebrow in a silent question. When you tipped your chin in a silent answer, his hand found your waist as your free hand lifted to rest on his shoulder. 

The two of you danced around the balcony floor, Edmund swaying you this way and that, knowing just when to pull his foot away from yours, out of danger in the nick of time. You sent him an apologetic smile each time, knowing the clumsy dancer you were. The only reason you hadn’t tripped over your own feet yet were the dance lessons Edmund had insisted on giving you earlier on, and, more honestly, the solid warmth of his arm, looped around your back, keeping you upright. It felt natural to you, unlike the way your body stiffened when it had been Prince Anthony in front of you, subliminally fighting alongside your instincts.

“You know,” Edmund said as he spun you around easily, “You were supposed to be my date to this dance.”

“Was I?” you asked, scrunching up your nose as you tried to remember.

“Yes,” Edmund assured you, “You promised me, in the library last winter.”

“I was half asleep, Ed,” you chuckled, “I didn’t even respond, forget promise. Besides, you didn’t actually ask me, you know. You assumed.”

“Was I wrong to?” Edmund demanded, “Was it so much of a stretch, considering how much time we spend together, how much we care about each other? Or rather, how much I care about you?”

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, your feet slowing until they eventually reached a stop.

Edmund’s arm pulled away from your waist to hold both of your hands in his, thumbs splaying across your palms.

“I’m saying I hated watching you dance with Anthony, the Prin- the Prick. And I think it should have been me with you instead.”

There. He had done it now. His confession was out in the open, a weight off his chest, and now the ball was in your park. Edmund’s eyes flew wildly over your face, scanning for your reaction, for any response, when your mouth broke into a beaming grin, dazzling with contagious happiness.

“Wow,” you said, smiling so wide the corners of Edmund’s lips upturned, too, an unconscious reaction from looking at you. “Wow,” you said again, hands abandoning Edmund’s to fist into his shirt, “It’s totally not like I’ve waited years to hear that.”

And before the flustered boy could even think about forming words to respond, you tugged him down, close, to meet your waiting lips.

“Pay up,” was the first thing Lucy said when you and Edmund announced your new relationship to his siblings.

You and Edmund exchanged wide-eyed looks as Peter and Susan grumbled, their hands fumbling for their wallets.

“Wait, you guys bet on us?” Edmund asked, astounded.

“Yes,” Susan said primly. Lucy explained it further, “These two didn’t have any faith in you. I was the only one who said you’d confess first.”

“Wow,” Edmund said sarcastically as you laughed, “Betrayed by my own family.”

“Sorry, Ed, but with all the blushing and stuttering, I thought it’d be a miracle if you’d even be able to get out a single word,” Peter explained, earning laughs from all the women in the room.

“Oh!” Susan spoke up suddenly, cutting off her own chuckle, “Wait! Who initiated the first kiss?”

“That would be me,” you said, raising your hand, and winking at Edmund. Lucy and Peter groaned in unison, Peter throwing his entire wallet at Susan in exasperation while Lucy forked over half her treasure. 

“You’re joking,” Edmund said, watching the interaction. “What else have you bet on?”

“Lots of things, little brother,” Peter said, leaning over to ruffle Ed’s dark hair. Lowering his voice so he was only audible to Edmund, he continued, “You better be the one to propose. I’ve got a lot of money riding on that one.”

“Don’t worry,” Ed said back in a low voice, watching as you spoke to Lucy and Susan animatedly, mentally capturing the small smile on your face, “I have every intention to.”

[confessions-of-a-bookworm]

Anonymous asked: oh for your ficlets I would love if you wrote one about Susan & Edmund! on how well and easily they get along and understand each other with no words

no pressure though, of course! happy writing either way 🌷

Thank you for the ask and forgive me for taking so long to post this! I hope you enjoy reading :)

(I would really appreciate reblogs)

Warnings: None, but do let me know I should mention something here

* * * * *

Another bright morning dawned on Narnia as the first sunrays hit the glistening waters of the sea shore and rushed over the marbles of Cair Paravel. Inside its walls, people had already begun working- the stoves in the kitchen had ben lit, the drapes had been opened, maids and servants were devoting their time to maintain the pristine look of the palace. In the sprawling fields, a few soldiers could be seen training with the High King in their midst. Some feet away, in a small, wild garden, the youngest Queen was busy admiring blue star flowers that bloomed at her smile. Three storeys up, curtains were drawn and the windows were opened by a boy in his late teens. King Edmund let sunshine into the palace’s grand library. On the small circular table closest to the window, his older sister lay asleep over a pile of open books.

“Su,” Edmund nudged her gently. “Su, wake up.”

Queen Susan awoke with a start. Taking a deep breath, she brushed hair off her eyes, squinting at the light.

“You fell asleep in the library again. Here, I brought you coffee.” Edmund handed her a mug and joined her at the table.

“Thanks,” she murmured, drawing the blanket on her shoulders closer.

“What was it this time?”

“The world.”

“You have to be more specific.”

“You know how everyone says the world is flat. Do you believe that?”

“It could be true.”

“If that’s true, one might simply fall off the world’s edge. That doesn’t sound right.”

“Unless Aslan’s country is there.”

“Maybe so. But I find it hard to believe. There must be something more to it, a cause, a reason.”

“And you plan on finding it by falling asleep on books?”

“I don’t always fall asleep.”

“But this is hardly the first time.”

Both siblings took a sip from their mugs.

The morning was spent discussing the ramifications of a flat world as opposed to a round one. The pair sat in the library until they were shooed away for talking too much.

A full court convened later that morning in the presence of the four royals. A messenger from Calormen had arrived. Tensions were increasing among the people of the two nations.

Narnia’s general Oreius, the centaur, announced the direness of the situation, “The giants of the north are wreaking havoc on our citizens. If our relations with Calormen are not improved, we face the danger of the two joining forces.”

A silence swept the court as the rulers were deep in thought.

“The giants pose an immediate threat to our people,” King Peter broke the silence. “Prepare the troops, general. I shall not let any more of our citizens be harmed by them.”

“Your Majesty,” spoke a noble, “with all due respect, we cannot face the giants. Their power and stature give them a huge advantage. One of them is worth a hundred of us. If we give in to their demands, they will stop destroying our villages.”

“We can’t accept their demands!” exclaimed Queen Lucy. “They want us to sacrifice ten people every month for their feasts- how is that acceptable?”

“Lucy is right,” spoke the younger King. “It is not a fair deal. Brother, give me your orders and I shall take my troops to the north immediately. I will put an end to this.”

A look of concern passed over the High King’s face. “No,” he said after a moment of consideration. “This is far too dangerous. I shall accompany the troops myself.”

He spoke with such a determined voice that no one dared oppose him. But Susan and Edmund exchanged glances, how did their brother expect them to send him off alone into what could possibly be a suicide mission? As siblings, they couldn’t let him go but as rulers, they understood his duty. They decided to leave that particular conversation for private chambers.

“What must we do about the Calormenes?”

Queen Lucy proposed to invite a delegation from the neighbouring country. “We can appeal to their Prince,” she reasoned.

King Edmund exchanged a look with his older sister. They had talked about Prince Rabadash before, an unpleasant conversation. The look in Susan’s eyes revealed what she wanted to do. Edmund pleaded her to not say it out loud.

“It is not feasible to invite a foreign delegation when a part of our army is away at war,” Orieus voiced his concerns.

An hour passed as the court discussed what could be done. Neither of the two options possible- war or submission- was acceptable. Finally, Queen Susan spoke her mind. “I have a proposal.” King Edmund’s jaw tightened; he knew what was about to come. On seeing the defiant look his sister gave him, he decided not to object.

“Since we cannot invite a Calormene delegation to Narnia, I propose we send a delegation ourselves. I will lead the said delegation. I believe I can convince Prince Rabadash to smoothen things out between our nations.”

A discussion followed in which King Edmund did not participate. Queen Susan presented her plans to the court which finally muttered its approval.

“What do you think, Edmund?” asked the Queen, clearly noticing her brother’s disapproval.

“While I would have preferred any other option had it been available, I suppose this is our best shot. All I ask, Sister, is that you allow me to accompany you as part of the delegation. In the unfortunate case that things don’t go quite as planned, I do not want you to be trapped alone in an enemy country.”

Queen Susan knew that this was the best reaction she could expect and agreed. Plans were finalised for the coming month. The High King chose the troops with whom he would fight the giants, Queen Lucy laid out plans on how to fulfil her siblings’ royal duties while they were away. Queen Susan and King Edmund put together the delegation that would accompany them to Tashban. They did not speak their opinions on the matter, merely discussed the journey that lay ahead.

Three weeks later, they wished High King Peter good luck as they hugged him. May the Great Lion watch over you and bring you safely back to us, they said. That night, King Edmund couldn’t sleep, far too worried about his brother. He wandered about the castle aimlessly till he came across the library doors. The doors were shut but he could see faint candlelight through the slit near the floor. He sighed and gently opened the door, slipping in without making a noise. As expected, Queen Susan sat poring over books at her favourite table.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.

She passed him a grave smile.

“Mind if I join you?”

Queen Susan nodded and cleared some space for him.

They did not talk, but simply sat next to each other as each read their own book.

* * * * *

[beaststhattalk]

You Gave Me Reason

3,132 words | Post-The Last Battle | Find content warnings on ao3

Professor Digory Kirke had a short will. He had no children, no siblings, and was his parents’ only child. He’d had an aunt and an uncle, neither of whom spread the branches of their family tree. That is how Susan Pevensie finds herself with stacks of old books on God and history and art. They’d been meant to go to Peter, which spared them from the museum donations and auctions that swallowed up the rest of the contents of that mysterious house.

The funeral was a year ago. And what a funeral it was: so many guests. The young Scrubb and five Pevensies were all bid goodbye and buried in the same ceremony. Susan had agreed on it with her aunt and uncle. None of them wanted to drag things out with one funeral after another, especially when most of the attendees would be the same. It would’ve begun to get difficult in terms of preserving the bodies, as well, and Susan refused to let that become something she had to consider.

The priest had asked Susan if she’d like to speak. For each person, she spoke as truthfully as she could.

Six is too many, Susan thought, to waste time recounting happy memories. More than that, she was not inclined to wring her hands over which smiles to include—which hugs mattered, which inside jokes represented them all best. How was she supposed to take a family and whittle it down to a single moment? Who could sum up a life in a handful of stories?

Nor was Susan eager to weed through the memories she and her siblings argued about to find the ones they might agree on. It’s my chance to get the last word in, she’d thought one night, eating bread in the dark on the kitchen floor (she couldn’t bring herself to eat all day, and the hunger pangs sent her stumbling out of bed). Susan wanted her siblings’ side of things to be what people remembered. Since she didn’t understand their side of things, it was best to leave memories out entirely.

Instead, Susan stuck to what she was certain of. Things that everyone in attendance—her aunts, uncles, and grandparents; Peter’s, Edmund’s, Lucy’s, and Eustace’s school friends; her parents’ work friends; Father’s war friends—ought to know:

Lucy was a kind and hopeful girl who never let anyone suffer alone.

Edmund was clever as a whip and wise beyond his years.

Peter was studious and responsible and would’ve done so much with the years ahead of him. Whatever he would’ve accomplished, though, he deserves the credit for bringing three children through a war.

Mother loved people so dearly that she still had tea with friends she’d made when she was only three years old. And she loved her children well enough to send them away when, more than ever, she wanted them close to her.

Father built toys for his children, homes for families in England and America, and risked his life for all the people in the world during the war. If any of Susan’s siblings put others before themselves, it was because their father taught them how.

Susan only saw Eustace in visits every few years, and every time she saw him, he was taller, and smarter, and wiser than his old self. No one will ever be able to say what a wonderful man he would’ve become, given the time.

These were the words she scrawled in her journal a week before the funeral. After hours of crying, each blink felt like scraping gritty, dried mud off of one’s skin. It hurt like hell to swallow. However, she’d dried her face with rough hands, sat at her desk, and written one word after the other like climbing a hill. Over the following days, Susan did what she could to be more sentimental, more eloquent, more fair. She finished Edmund and Lucy’s last. She couldn’t even bear to say their names aloud, those first few days.

A year later, it is dreadful still. But in a quieter, duller way. The days are gray and slow. The sun feels either cold or loathsomely humid. Every Friday at 3pm, if not more often, Susan goes out with friends. They don’t ask about her life. Susan suspects that they are nervous to get a sad answer and turn the whole moment awkward. She thinks this is the best course of action for everyone. She sits with them at cafes, listening to them talk about their schoolwork and boyfriends and summer plans (none of which Susan has anymore). She asks questions and makes comments and teases them, as she’s always done. These visits go as they always have. Susan doesn’t laugh as often or as brightly as she used to, to be sure, but it’s the best remnant she has of a normal life.

When they all say goodbye, Susan’s four friends head off in separate directions, their sheets of silky hair bouncing as they walk away. Susan usually walks home feeling empty and cold. However, the days don’t bleed together quite so much, afterwards.

Her school offered her a year off, and with aunt Alberta’s firm support, Susan accepted. On the days she leaves the house, whether to do shopping for Eustace’s parents (who have taken her in) or to go to town with her friends, Susan dresses well. She puts on lipstick, curls her hair, and meticulously chooses shoes and nylons and clothes. She does it solemnly, always with the sharp light of dawn. More often than not she is observed by a cup of tea growing cold on the vanity. Making the tea is essential: another pattern for her body to learn and inhabit. Pouring whatever is left in the bushes below her window seems only appropriate. Susan feels that every morning, with everything she does, something is forsaken—put down, given to the earth, forgotten. Only after this is done can she walk out of the house, silently announcing to the gray sky or humid sun that her life still has somewhere left to go.

The Scrubbs go to church every Sunday. They go on Saturday and Friday evenings, too, when they have the time. They have become quite close with the priest—Alberta knows his sister by first name. Susan tried for a month or two, but gave it up. Sitting in a pew and hearing songs about beauty only served to agitate her.

Once, fairly early on in the big picture of things, the priest invited Susan for a walk. She accepted. She hadn’t yet heard anything from her friends except for condolences, and was ready to speak to anyone about anything.

They walked from the city into a park, where flowers were crawling with bees and flocks of birds turned bushes into chimes. The priest talked to her about peace and heaven. Susan politely agreed. He asked her, quite knowingly, if she believed a word he said. She responded that they were beautiful words, and she admired him for coming up with them. She admitted that that’s how she saw all the holy books, too: beautiful words, written with great skill and imagination. The priest agreed with her. He urged her, though, to consider them with an open mind. If she indulged the chance of their reality, they might speak to her more than she imagined they could.

So, Susan spent a lot of time—all those days that she didn’t put on her lipstick or her nylons or curl her hair—sipping tea and reading. Her uncle joined her on the weekends. They sat in silence, Susan with a bible or one of the Professor’s old books, her uncle with a newspaper. He always used his big chair near the window, but Susan moved about: sometimes the couch, sometimes the dining room, sometimes the small tea table by the window to the backyard. After all, this house was not quite home to her, yet.

Whether or not her uncle was home, reading was when Susan felt as if she were really speaking to someone. She never spoke truthfully to her friends or neighbors. She was rarely honest with her aunt and uncle. And, even then, it didn’t seem to strike anything true. Susan would tell them what was on her mind, yes. But all the meaning seemed to die as her thoughts left her mouth in the shape of chosen words.

Indeed, for the past few years, she didn’t feel like she’d even been speaking to her family.

Mother and father thought her interest in clothes and makeup was silly. Father insisted—always as if he were dealing with a fool and not his oldest daughter—that Susan was pretty enough without red coloring on her lips and cheeks. Peter and Edmund teased her, as Susan figured any boys would tease their sister, but it seemed to be more than just that. Really, it was the time they didn’t spend teasing Susan that troubled her. If she counted the hours, her siblings spoke in pairs or in a group so often that Susan barely factored into their lives at all. Even when she was in the room, they talked about fairy tales and childhood games with great seriousness, all without a glance at Susan. Eustace, surprisingly, seemed to be a part of it when he visited. Even without the particular silliness of fantasies, none of them seemed all that interested in practical matters. Peter and Edmund spent hours on end debating the fine details of philosophical texts. Whenever Susan tried to spark up a conversation about the goings on of Europe or Parliament, or even the local farms, her brothers looked at her with solemn eyes. As if they were sad she cared about things that had a tangible place in their lives.

Edmund was more blunt than Peter.

“Can we not spend all day talking about this?” Edmund complained one afternoon at their aunt and uncle’s. Susan and Eustace had been discussing an article about advancements in radio technology.

“I guess you’d rather talk about useful things, Ed,” Susan replied, “like how best to polish a unicorn’s horn.”

Edmund rolled his eyes. Then, Susan could’ve sworn he muttered: As if a unicorn can’t polish its own horn.

Lucy was not nearly so rude about it all, but Susan had felt furthest from her. Lucy spent nearly all her time outside of school at church or on walking paths. Susan could at least join in with Peter and Ed in discussing those old authors they loved, though she preferred to focus on how the writers’ real lives shone through their texts. Lucy, though, was beyond Susan’s reach.

They took a walk together at the beginning of summer, just a month before the accident. The two had been having a simple, meaningless chat about Lucy’s upcoming visit to the Professor's when Lucy spotted a rabbit at the edge of the path. Susan had hummed in acknowledgement, but Lucy stopped dead in her tracks. They spent minutes standing there, watching the rabbit nibble the grass. With each small shuffle of its paws Lucy had gasped with wonder.

After one of many moments of silence, Susan commented: “He must be used to humans. That’s the trouble with towns growing out into the wilderness, I suppose.”

Lucy had nodded, not taking her eyes away from the little animal. “It is, it really is. I wonder how it all shall end up.”

Finally, Lucy seemed to have had enough, and the sisters kept walking. “Goodbye, little fellow,” Lucy had whispered excitedly to the rabbit, and—this was what Susan found quite unbearably silly—waved at it as they passed by.

“Hmm,” Lucy had smiled when she at last looked away from the creature. “I hope he has a good life ahead of him, whatever it is he will do.”

The only thing Susan had genuinely thought when she saw the creature was, Oh, it’s only a rabbit.

So, Susan reads. She doesn’t enjoy the Professor’s books, but she is determined to understand. She will find out what it was that Edmund and Peter loved to talk about, what Lucy was thinking about when she gazed star-struck at the creatures of ordinary life. Susan reads the bible, and the annotations at the bottoms of the pages, and the difficult, stuffy translations of Plotinus and Boethius and Aquinas. She does what the priest told her and looks past the lack of scientific basis, the lack of practical knowledge. She opens her heart to the idea that Goodness is a specific thing that exists and the human soul is something higher than the human body. Susan gets frustrated and angry at every turn. It feels quite as if she is in conversation with a man who won’t let her get a word in. But, at the very least, she is finally in on the conversation.

Susan sits at the tea table by the window to the backyard, a full cup of cold tea next to her, Augustine’s The Confessions on the table before her. The window is at the end of a hallway on the second floor. On her left, bedroom doors interrupt the vine patterns on the wallpaper. The staircase, marking the other end of the hallway, lets in light from the living room below. Susan has a pen in one hand. The margins of the book are filled with her words, though not her opinions. The neat, black cursive contains her attempts to track down what this man meant. She knew a little more about this one going in, which helped her feel a lot less like a castaway at sea. Edmund had been quite fond of The Confessions.

“It’s because he can’t do it alone,” her younger brother had said one afternoon.

Ed was sitting in a reading chair. Peter was opposite to him, lying down on their family’s green flower-print couch, his feet on Susan’s lap.

“His will is divided,” Edmund said. “His desire for God is there, and he’s used his reason to discover that God is the ultimate good. But he still has his bodily desires. He’s not strong enough to bring those two parts of his will together. That’s why reading the book is the moment that he is changed—God’s strength unites his will.”

Edmund was leaning forward, pinching his fingers together in the air while holding intense eye contact with his older brother. Susan had seen her maths teacher acting the same way when explaining calculus. Susan remembered sitting in that class, thinking, How can anyone care so much about equations?

But Peter sat up. He swung his legs onto the floor and pushed himself upright, as if he heard a jazz band playing outside and was just dying to run out and dance.

“Of course!” Peter exclaimed. “He needs His grace! Oh, right as always, Ed.”

Susan remembers the way her brothers had smiled at each other. Even then, that warmth between them—that pure understanding and closeness—left her feeling stranded and alone. Now, at the tea table in her aunt and uncle’s home, the loneliness moves from Susan’s throat to the center of her chest like a dark, heavy blade. As the sharp pain dissolves, windy coldness fills her stomach. Through the window, there is sunlight on the grass and birds in the trees. The Scrubbs’ cat is splayed out on the lawn. It all seems like a drawing in a children’s book. It’s stagnant and lifeless, even as the birds flutter and the cat twitches its tail. Susan can feel the heat through the glass, but it doesn’t feel like people say heat feels. It feels suffocating and sharp. Susan wishes she could revel in sunlight, but it just feels unpleasant, and all she can think about is whether or not she’ll get a sunburn.

She takes a deep breath, and sighs it out.

If You are really there, Susan speaks in her mind, then nothing is happening that You haven’t planned.

Susan’s hands are resting on the book. She realizes that she feels as if she’s not alone. Her aunt and uncle are both at work, but the pages, the tea table, the wooden floor, the walls with their vine-pattern…all of the history and theology, these centuries of certainty that Something is out there, seem to be with Susan at the end of the hallway. Whether or not it’s God, or simply the ideas of thousands of people that were so confident He exists, Susan feels she is being heard.

You made me exactly how I am. You made my life exactly how it is. If You really gave me a soul to desire Goodness with, You gave me reason to find it with, too. Well, this is where my reason has taken me: I wear nylons and lipsticks, Sir, and I don’t go to church, and I’m not interested in meeting a good Christian boy anytime soon. And if You really are so far above this bodily world, so much more than the human mind can comprehend, how can anyone be certain that this isn’t what You want of me?

Outside, the birds go on chirping. The cat goes on dozing. Susan looks at the wooden gate marking the garden, the white house beyond that. She looks up at that bright blue sky. Vast white clouds drift in from the southeast.

You gave me reason. And I’ll use it, no matter what they say You want me to do. I’ll use it even if You speak to me Yourself.

The hallway goes on being warm and quiet. Susan looks down at the table before her. She caps her pen, feeling she’s written all she will for a while.

After a moment, she reaches for her tea.

It’s cold. The string of the tea bag has dried and crusted up against the cup. Susan leaves the bag in for far too long, these days. As she takes a sip, bitterness floods her mouth. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she’d become. She swallows again, then again and again, breathing deeply through her nose, the strong flavor soaking into her throat. When she sets the cup down, the empty hall rings with the quiet scraping of the china.

The tea, however it tasted, seemed to even-out something inside of Susan. The room doesn’t feel so unpleasantly hot. Susan looks outside again. The fluffy tip of the cat’s tail moves back and forth, casting a shadow on the grass. Its front paws twitch. Two birds hop up and down a branch of the nearby tree, eyeing the cat. Susan brushes a strand of hair off her forehead.

Perhaps, she thinks, I might enjoy sitting outside for a spell. Before those clouds block out the sun.

[elenyagrace]

on the value of beauty

(sequel to ‘on the nature of beauty’)

They are anticipating their doom, only waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Miraz' army to attack.

But when Peter looks around, he doesn't see his people wallowing in despair, mourning the lives that they may never get to live.

Instead, he sees them living with a fierce determination that makes his heart ache at the thought that these might be their last days, their last hours.

He is not worried for himself, knows that he is willing to lay down his live for these people, these people who have already lost so much.

He'd had plans for his future, had told Caspian as much, but he'd gladly give up all of it if it means ensuring the future of Narnia.

The young boy who entered Narnia - hundreds of years ago? decades ago? a year ago? - had had no idea what it means to be a king, had had fantasies of glory and power - right up until he was asked to become one himself.

In the face of a reality in which soldiers laid down their lives because Peter asked them to, those fantasies lost their appeal very quickly.

So if he can save their lives by risking his own, he'll do it. And if he dies, at least he'll have given them a few more hours to live. A worthy trade, in his eyes.

He wanders around, drinks in his surroundings. This is no Cair Paravel, and Peter hasn't spent long enough here to truly feel at home, but Aslan's How is beautiful in its own right and documents so much of Narnia's history. The thought of it possibly being destroyed if their plan fails makes his heart ache with a feeling akin to grief.

As he's studying the drawings etched into the walls that depict their coming to Narnia and the years of their reign, his thoughts are drawn back to his conversation with Susan at Cair Paravel.

Has it really only been a few weeks since then? It could very well have been an age.

"Isn't that in the nature of beauty? That it may never last?"

Peter thinks about what his sister said and hopes with all his might that she's wrong, that the beauty of this place of remembrance may endure.

This is how Edmund finds him, still staring at the depictions of a life that feels as far away as their life in England.

His brother joins him, and for a moment he too studies the carvings silently. When he speaks, it's not what Peter was expecting him to say at all. He's not sure what it was that he was expecting - maybe a report on something that happened? Reassurance? - but it certainly wasn't: "You know, I think they've missed a pivotal moment of our lives in these."

Peter turns to regard his brother in question. He can't quite figure out Ed's tone, and he's really not certain where he is going with this.

"Remember that time when you fell off your horse while we were riding through the woods, and you landed in the mud? I personally believe that contributed a lot to your title as the Magnificent."

A laugh is startled out of him despite his inner turmoil. Edmund, who has somehow managed to say all of that with a straight face, finally allows his lips to spread into a grin as well.

But his amusement is short-lived, and fades as soon as he turns back to the wall paintings. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Edmund's face shifting to mirror his solemn expression.

"Alright, talk to me. What's on your mind?"

"It's something Susan said, when we came back to find Cair Paravel in ruins. That nothing beautiful can ever last. We both know the Telmarines won't keep their word - one way or another, they'll attack, and this place might be destroyed. I suppose I'm just hoping that there can be an exception to the rule."

He doesn't receive a reply straight away, but Peter isn't concerned. His brother likes to think about his words before speaking them, and they are always worth the wait.

"You know, maybe you've got it the wrong way. Maybe it's not about how long something exists, but about how much we value it while it does. After all, if something was eternal, would we appreciate it as much as we do when we know it will end? If we lived forever, would we still enjoy life? So perhaps beauty doesn't last so that we cherish it while it does."

Looking over his shoulder to where some of the younger fauns are playing a game he thinks he may have known back in their lives here in Narnia, laughing as they go; to where Reepicheep and his fellow mice are huddled into a circle, whispering; to where a centaur child is jumping around without a care in the world, he thinks his brother might be right.

[justmanu]

The Chronicles of Narnia Masterlist

Edmund Pevensie

For The First Time In Forever (smut)

[swordofpevensie]

Random Peter Pevensie Headcanons

warnings: peter x you (i'm trying to say these include love), england!peter, fluff.

a/n: omg i haven't written anything for so long. i miss my baby, so there are some headcanons for you. hope you like them! gifs are mine, they are from the movie the little mermaid (2018). he looks fine. ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ

• Tease, tease, tease. Peter likes to tease you and watch your reaction. He doesn't do extra things to tease you though. He just reads your favorite book on purpose and makes sure that you see him reading it, or he wears the shirt you like, again making sure you see him. If you mentioned your favorite colour is green, then he'll probably wear something green and will make sure that you notice him. He likes showing that he is interested in you and thinks it is the best way to let you know he listens to you and cares everything you say.

• He is the big spoon. But sometimes, if he feels really bad, he lets you hug him. You two just lay down there and even if you don't say anything, he feels better in time. Your existence, slow heartbeats, silent breaths, fingers caressing his hair; they are enough to make him feel good again.

• He has this habit of always checking how you feel, what you do, if you are comfortable. He casually asks if you dried your hair, took your jacket, locked the door before leaving your house, or brought your book. You generally like it but sometimes when you feel overwhelmed, you tell him stop worrying because you can take care of yourself. He says he won't ask again but he can't help it. He sometimes blushes after realizing he did it again, but you can't be angry at him anymore, because he is so cute.

• His favorite date activity is taking you to drive-in theathers. He enjoys watching movies, he feels like he leaves reality. And watching movies with you in his car that he absolutely adores? It is perfect. His hand is on your shoulder most of the time. He kisses your cheek randomly. And he forgets about the movie when you react with your body language while watching. He likes watching your facial expressions changing in a second according to the incidents in the movie. He ends up looking at you, with a soft smile on his face. Sometimes you see his eyes on you, you look at him. You say “What?” while frowning. He shrugs his shoulders and says “Nothing.” If you ask again, he puts his fingers to your chin and makes you turn your head to the screen. “We are here to enjoy the movie, sweetheart.” He says, then kisses your cheek. You let it go, really. It can be hard to keep up with him.

• Because he is an energetic person. You never understand how he can be so lively and quick. He doesn't like sitting. He must do something. He keeps learning new physcial things to spend time. He works in the neighbours' gardens on his free times. Or one day you find him in the harbour, helping the sailors carry whatever they've brought. He has a widowed neighbour, and he helps her by babysitting her twins. He enjoys doing those things. He never complains. As long as he helps others somehow, he never complains. And you love him for that, very much. He is such a selfless, giving person that it sometimes makes you emotional and angry at the same time. You scold him, telling that he must take care of himself too. He smiles at you, says, “I have you, it's fine.”

• He doesn't take care of himself that much, yes, he is aware of that, because you are there to do it. You don't even realize what you are doing but Peter does. He knows and sees everything you do for him and he is beyond grateful. He likes it when you bring food to him and people in the harbour. He likes it when you knit tiny cardigans for the twins. He likes that you buy presents for his siblings from every new place you visit. When you iron his clothes, tidy his hair, fill his glass of water on his desk, bring him tea while he is studying, help him tie up, he melts. He loves how kind and caring you are.

• When you are at home at night, drinking something and sitting (he finally manages to sit down because no matter how hard he denies, in the end he is tired), he tells you stories. You don't know how he knows such stories or how he comes up with them, but they are magical and you enjoy listening. You feel like you leave this world, visit and explore a new universe. You like the way he tells the stories. He says, “I learned from a friend of mine, however I am never as skilled as her.” when you mention it.

• He is a good dancer. When you are invited somewhere, he attracts attention with his moves. But he is too busy with looking at you, talking with you and just holding you in his arms, so he doesn't really care, or even notice others. If you haven't seen each other before the invitation, he casually talks with you about his day. He asks you about yours too, and always listens carefully.

• After the party is over, you and he walk together in the streets, sometimes holding hands, sometimes running, or playing. Some people look at you with judgement and disapproval, meanwhile some people smile when they see you two are completely in love. When you arrive at home, your heels are on your hand, you both are breathing heavily but never stop laughing. Sometimes you do, yet when you look at each other, you start laughing again, for no reason at all.

• He always makes sure that he gets his goodbye kiss. It can be very hard to leave you and go back to home for him. He just wants to stay and spend the night with you. After many kisses he steals, he can finally leave. He walks home with a soft smile on his face. He feels ensorcelled and so in love.

[quecksilvereyes]

“You cannot live your life to please others. the choice must be yours.” Susan

Uh. So this prompt possessed me a little bit, I sure hope smoking isn't a trigger for you, anon.

____

Sometimes, in the summers, when the air is thick and heavy, dripping with unshed rain and pressing into the hollow of her clavicles, Susan Pevensie stands in her mother's garden, and bathes in the sun. She drapes her blouse, soaked with sweat, and her skirt, soaked with perfume, over the old rocking chair that has long since splintered under the weight of its age, and then:

A breath.

With closed eyes and soft mouth, rouge-dotted and lipstick-smeared, Susan Pevensie tilts her face towards the light. Her brassiere is damp with English rain that won't fall, her petticoats are stiff with English breeze that won't blow and her wrists are strung up by English strings that won't pull.

Blue skies are rare, here. England is grey, and England is cloudy, and England rains and rains and rains until it has made itself sick and its ground unsteady. Some weeks, the clouds hang low for so long that the sun cannot reach what it wishes to nourish. Some weeks, Susan sits by her window, her head pressed against the glass, and watches the clouds drip into fog, the fog drip into the earth, and the earth drown and cry. Until her skin matches the grey of the skies, until her mind drips from her every breath onto the paneled glass, until she can't see through the fog, anymore.

"Su", says her brother, then, his hands on her forehead, his mouth in her hair. "Susie." His hands, shaking and unsteady, are warm and getting warmer with every passed winter. His voice, soft and careful and stripped of teeth, drops steadily deeper. When he turns his head, the beginnings of a stubble scrape against her cheek.

"Light of my life, sun of my skies."

The skies are grey. The grass is grey. The fence is grey. The world is grey.

Peter's eyes are blue. The clouds don't gather around his pupils, and his irises are clear as they've been for days. The English sky has never echoed the yellow freckles.

The Narnian skies were ever centered around the pupil of her sun, in the soft yellow streaks of Peter's eyes.

Susan wets her lips. She doesn't wet her cheeks.

Peter climbs onto the bench. "My sister", he says softly. "Where have you gone?"

Susan buries her face in his chest and leaves behind great streaks of make-up on his bleached dress shirt: a mouth of lipstick, a blur of rouge, a dust of powder. Splotches of mascara, lines of kohl. Marks of eyeshadow.

Peter rubs her back, and Susan doesn't cry.

In the summers, she drinks the sun with greedy mouth and empty stomach and hungry, hungry skin. In the dripping air and the burning grass, Susan Pevensie strips to her undergarments - and breathes.

In, and out.

A breath, and then another.

Beyond her closed eyes, the world drips reds and oranges, and bright, stark yellows. Beyond her hollow mouth, the air coats her windpipe; a slow dripping of heat.

She is alone, here. She drops her ball-jointed limbs and her painted porcelain face, turns her opal glass palms right side up, and breathes.

Until her lungs settle, and the fog has run dry. Until the colours are a bit sharper, a bit brighter. A smear more familiar.

-

The party is slow. Nicotine gathers heavy on the ceiling, and the music is a little too loud to be ambient. The drinks are spiked, the hems are lifted, and Susan is standing by the door, watching her friend lose the last of her lipstick to a stranger's mouth.

The boy is. Well, he's fine. Polite and gentle, soft-spoken. He ducks his head and worries the tips of his fingers and the spread of his lips until they bleed. His hair would curl, if it was long enough, and when she blows smoke in his direction, he coughs.

Smiles.

Susan takes another drag of her cigarette. Flicks the ash to the floor. Smiles.

"You'll have to forgive the cigarette", she says around the smoke seeping from her mouth. "It calms me down."

The boy blinks at her, and wets his bottom lip. It is dark with blood, dotted purple where he has almost broken skin, swollen with the almost-injury. "I can't imagine anyone ever denies you much of anything", he says. "You're too pretty for that."

"Too pretty to be annoyed with?"

He shrugs. His shoulders are slumped forwards, and it makes his suit jacket sit oddly on the rounded curve of his back. "People love pretty things. Better to keep them around."

Her cigarette is stained with her lipstick, and the tips of her fingers drip with it. The smoke in her lungs is warm, and the alcohol in her blood is warmer, still, so Susan tilts her head. "When I was a little girl, my mother bought me a little lace collar. I wore it until it broke, and begged her to fix it when it had long become too threadbare to even be touched."

The boy nods, and takes a breath.

Susan clicks her tongue. "I'd gotten beet juice on it, and it wouldn't come out in the wash. No matter the soap, no matter the scrub. There was a small pink stain near the lapel, and it simply bled in all directions. So my mother soaked it in bleach."

The boy cannot pull his shoulders forwards any further. He cannot bend his back more. He digs his teeth into the purple marks on his lips.

"The bleach dissolved most of it. The lace was too delicate." Susan throws the cigarette stub on the floor and savours the last breath of it, the hot coating of her tongue. "If she hadn't tried to get the stain out, it wouldn't have broken."

The boy's teeth break his skin. The blood pools, dark and shy, around the enamel and into the corners of his mouth. "You couldn't have worn the stained collar", he says, with his soft voice and his soft eyes, his soft, soft hair.

"Why not?"

"Well", says the boy. His shirt is starched and bleached. There is a wrinkle ironed firmly into the placket. He coughs again. "It was already ruined before your mother bleached it. It was stained."

Susan crushes the stub underneath her shoe. The music covers the sound of the grinding and the soft hiss of the dying embers. "It was mine, and I loved it", she says. "Was it my mother's call to make what I could bear?"

The boy shrugs. "It's a lace collar. There are others."

Susan hums. "Perhaps. But I wanted this one." Across the room, someone spills red wine over someone else's lap. Someone else holds their cigarette too close to their lover's sleeve. "You shouldn't live your life to please others. You mind the smoke, and you mind the talking. And yet-"

The boy laughs. The corners of his eyes wrinkle, the apples of his cheeks flush dark, and the blood on his lips spreads slow across his teeth.

"And yet", he says, "here I am."

[eds-gryff]

The Lover’s Gambit

Edmund Pevensie X (She/Her) Reader

based off the tumblr post, “invented a chess opening called the lovers gambit where you toss the pieces aside and start kissing your opponent on the table.”

Warnings: None

(Modern AU)

-

"What's wrong with your brother?"

"A multitude of things." Peter replied, his head bent over 'Bailey & Love's Short Practice of Surgery'. "Now go away."

Y/N, obviously, did not go away. She was too curious- and, besides, the pictures in his medical book was very gruesome and fun to see.

"He's been very- weird." 

"Yes, since he was born." He had no dislike towards the girl- she was Susan's fellow gossiper, Lucy's good friend, Edmund's reading partner, and the only one besides him who sat out every dance at any social obligation, though he was quite sure that was because she hated dancing and not to give him company. "I'm studying, can you just-"

"You can look at the pictures of innards anytime." She waved his words away, reaching over to slam the book shut- but gently. She would never mistreat a book. "I KNOW Ed's weird. It's why I-" She paused for half a second, "why I tolerate him. But he's being ESPECIALLY weird with me."

"Well, I don't know." He said, carefully inching his hand towards his book. "Hormones?"

This was a topic which Susan would enjoy. Peter would've preferred it if Y/N had been talking about superheroes- which she did do, often.

She frowned, taking the book away and dropping it on her lap, "That's what I thought too..."

"When did this 'weirdness' start?"

She thought.

"No clue." She shrugged. She hadn't even noticed it till the day before when Edmund had just got up and left when she'd walked into the room- and it had been HIS room. And then he wouldn't look at her and would barely give her a proper answer, even when she started on about the misrepresentation of The Woman in recent Sherlock adaptations (one of his favorite topics to debate about). Lucy and Susan had also informed her that he blushed a lot when her name was mentioned, but Y/N knew that was just because he had no other friends.

"I see your memory has not improved." Peter said dryly- that girl had the worst memory of everyone he'd ever met. "Look, I'm sure whatever it is, it'll be fine soon. Ed goes weird and manages to go back to normal- well, his normal- soon enough. And if he continues- well, a bro-to-bro talk fixes stuff."

She rolled her eyes, "Of course you fall back on brohood. You know you each would've happily abandoned each other in a parking lot several times in your life."

"That's sibling-ing." He informed her and then managed to snatch his book away. At least she'd go back to her own home for dinner- she spent far too much time at the Pevensie house. Oh, sure, she might CLAIM it was because their cat had recently had kittens, but if you asked him- or Lucy- or Susan- or their parents- or the cook- or the cat- it was because of the weird, strange, inexplicable creature known as Edmund Pevensie. "It's getting late. Your mum will yell. Bye."

"We're still on to watch Black Widow together, right?" She asked, cocking her head- after several delays, the movie was finally releasing this Friday. She may have squealed about it almost every night. "Even Ed's weirdness won't stop me from THAT."

"We are definitely on." He said, with a mock-salute, and with a grin, she strolled out of his room.

She left his door open- he liked the noise and bustle of the rest of the house while he did work- and he could see her pause in front of Edmund's (closed) door and hover slightly, looking at it. Then she turned her face away, and walked down, presumably deciding that spending time with the kittens was better than puzzling out Edmund.

Peter reflected that he really couldn't disapprove of her choice- cute animal babies over his weird brother anyday.

But for now? Surgery theory.

--

Her door banged open and her mum chirped, "You've a visitor!"

Y/N rolled over in bed, mumbling something unintelligible. She was barely fit for human interaction when she was properly awake- when she was in bed, she wasn't even fit to make grunting noises with a troll or something.

She was sure her mother had rolled her eyes.

"Yes, she's awake, come in, Edmund."

She immediately pulled the blanket over her head.

Great. In addition to being seen asleep in bed at 2 in the afternoon, she was being a baby and covering her face.

On the other hand, though, at least he wouldn't see the hundred plush toys she cuddled with in her sleep.

"Go- AWAY."

Edmund pulled down the blanket, just a little so that her glare and morning scowl were fully visibly.

"Morning, Sleeping Grumpy."

This was not the first time he'd seen her in the morning, barely awake and hardly coherent. He'd called her Sleeping Beauty the first time- her heart certainly had NOT fluttered- but he'd decided this was more accurate.

"Wha'ya wan'?"

Edmund hesitated. The best way to tackle a Y/N in the morning- well, HER morning- was with slowness, calm and patience.

"I figured we could hang out a little, grab some lunch at the café-" There was a little café next to the bookstore they'd been haunting ever since she'd moved into his street, "and make a day of it, basically."

Was he asking her on a pity outing? Had Peter told him she was getting worried and antsy about him!?

Oh, she could push the blond Pevensie off a cliff.

"Um." She managed. "Now?"

"Sure, or perhaps in twenty minutes, after you aren't wearing bunny pyjamas and aren't holding a dog plushie to your chest..."

"His name is Milkshake." She informed him very primly. "Twenty minutes sounds fine. Go talk to my mother, she loves you more than me."

"Despite your sparkling personality?"

She threw a Tweety Bird at him.

"Get out."

--

Despite the weirdness of the last few- however long it had been- it was nice, strolling with Ed, laughing together, looking longingly at books with the most stunning covers but also the most exorbitant prices, without his siblings or her family breathing down their necks. Despite her lacklustre response to his invitation, she had to admit that spending any sort of time with Ed was nice.

"What are you lugging that around?" She asked, out of nowhere, as they walked down to the park, ice-creams in hand- dessert, after all, was required.

Edmund looked politely befuddled. "What? The ice cream? Because I want to eat it."

And people said he was the smartest of the Pevensies...

"No, you moron. I mean your satchel. Are you hiding a Philosopher's Stone in it or something?"

He glanced down at the bag slung across his body.

"Oh. No. Nothing half as interesting as a Philosopher's Stone- at least not to you."

She glowered at the path in front of her, as she licked at her ice cream.

She hated it when he was so cryptic. Like, just SAY it, it wasn't like she would just out-and-out reject it or what ever.

-

"Absolutely NO." Y/N said at once. "Definitely, completely, certainly, NOPE."

"Yes." Edmund said simply, as he laid out the board and started picking out the chess pieces out of the box. He was glad the park was nearly empty, he didn't trust children- or anyone, actually- around his precious chess set. It was antique. "Absolutely, definitely, complete YEP."

"I know chess."

That was a huge lie. One of the biggest she'd ever told. She knew, maybe, the names of three of the pieces and that checkmate meant that the game was over.

He gave her a baleful look.

"Binging The Queen's Gambit in one day doesn't mean you know chess."

Of course, The Queen's Gambit- and Tumblr- was the reason he was doing this at all, so he was very grateful for the show.

"Okay, fine, I don't know chess. It makes my head hurt." She pouted- being cute didn't work as well for her as it did for Lucy, considering Lucy was small and sweet and had big blue eyes, but it was worth a try?

"Please?" He asked, cocking his head to the side. "For me?"

Shucks. Apparently being cute works just as well for big brown eyes.

Also- she could've really chosen a better moment to remember that she was in love with Edmund Pevensie.

Oh, well. She'd forgotten about it for a while- it was easy, when being friends was what came first- but at least she hadn't remembered while she was out watching a movie with his brother, or walking around his house with cat and dog hair (she liked petting the stray dogs) all over her. She'd known it for a while, and hadn't been surprised when that realisation had hit her. Why else, after all, would she have allowed him free access to her book collection, if she wasn't in love? She barely even allowed anyone to touch her bookcase, her books were a far cry.

"Fine." She admitted grudgingly. "But I'm out of here the moment my ice-cream melts."

Or the moment she started blushing looking at him. Thankfully that hadn't happened yet. Today.

"Great." He grinned. He didn't even care that she'd said she'd split in a few minutes. Hopefully- if all went right- she wouldn't want to. "You have to first know all the names-"

"I know-"

He ignored her, "This is a rook- or castle, to you- this thing is a pawn, it can-"

Y/N tuned out barely eight words in, and she just had to hope he wouldn't quiz her about it, like they quizzed each other after reading something from the other's list. It was a mutually beneficial tradition, that, but this would just end up in her having the crown-headed piece thrown at her.

"And it can only move diagonally." He finally ended, though he'd noticed that Y/Ns eyes had gotten glassy and she had the same expression she had in school during classes. He'd taken a whole three minutes to finish off his ice-cream and she hadn't even noticed. "Got that?"

She almost dropped her ice-cream.

"Yes." She nodded, bobbing her head energetically. "Rook, pawn, king, queen, others, got it."

"Great." He said, and avoided an eye-roll with difficulty. "Let's have a game, shall we?"

She blinked very rapidly. "Now? But I don't even know..um...anything."

"I'll teach as we play. Practical experience." He shrugged, putting the pieces on the board. He was careful not to look at her, in case his expression- or his redness- gave it away. "White or black?"

"I'll take white." She said, inclining her head towards her ice-cream. "Vanilla for me, chocolate for you, so it fits." 

"Okay." He nodded- his palms felt clammy- and forced a smirk, "You have to let go of your ice-cream to play."

Whatever he was planning to do, he'd chase her around the park if she got sticky stuff on his chess set.

This was better than having surprise orals in school, mostly because this was with Edmund, but her heart beat rapidly as it always did when she did something out of her comfort zone.

Or something she had absolutely zero idea about, despite binge-watching a television show about the same in ten hours.

She knew white moved first, so she picked up the piece- pawn, she knew- and moved it one step ahead. Surely that wouldn't be wrong.

Edmund gazed at the board, his look analytical- a fact which made Y/N want to laugh. He could beat her with his eyes closed, why was he having to think?

"You know." He began slowly. "There's a move I believe which would fit us perfectly."

He hoped he hadn't been off in his calculations.

"I think it's too early for me to learn any specific-"

"It's called the Lover's Gambit."

"The wh-"

And he leaned over the board- taking care to not disturb the pieces- and pressed his lips to hers.

Y/N did not zone out this time. This time, her eyes popped open in surprise- because Edmund Arthur Pevensie was kissing her- and she wondered if she hadn't passed out from chess boredom and this was all in fact a dream, but her mind- working extremely fast, for once- discarded that theory, and so she decided to do what she'd been wanting to do for a very long time.

She kissed back.

"Hey," He broke the kiss sometime later- he wondered if she could feel the rapid, fervent tattoo of his heart beat- and murmured against her lips, "your ice-cream's melted."

"Yes." She said, glancing down at the cone with dismay. But she glanced up immediately afterwards, because Edmund's face and his eyes and lips were way better to look at than melted vanilla. And as much as she loved vanilla, she wasn't IN love with it. Unlike her feelings for Edmund. "But I can ditch my self-imposed curfew, if we plan on continuing to do this."

"Kissing or playing chess?"

She narrowed her eyes and pulled her head back slightly.

"If you have to ask..."

He laughed, before loping his hands around her waist, and kissing her again- but only after making sure his chessboard was away from the sodden mess that was her ice-cream.

That board was precious.

It’s been a while, Tumblr, hiiiiiiiiii.

[an-angels-fury]

The only Heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

OR: Basically what happens after one day I find myself re-listining to "Take me to Church" by Hozier and suddenly getting all inspired to write a Caspeter oneshot based on the concept of #love as religion

OR: My first (kind of) successful attempt at writing something... spicier... I think...

A little dedication to @equixen, because you said you were interested at seeing more of my writing for this ship, and @eds-gryff, because I believe you might enjoy this as well - also the fact you made a Caspeter edit with the lyrics of this song, which I absolutely love it (😍) ! (Oh, and in case any of you feel uncomfortable for being tagged in my posts for any reason, just warn me so I won't do it next time, okay? 😅).

Anyway, good reading! 🫶

P.S.: The moodboard below was made by me. Images and quotes used were all found on Pinterest. The photo in the middle is from a fanart made by Tasya Rey (don't know the original ship tho).

Warning: Sexual Content (but nothing super descriptive)

You always knew this would happen anyway. You've been waiting for this moment your whole life. It was the truest of all truths, the one that had already been carved into your bones by the arrows of destiny long before you even existed.

And it was precisely because you blindly believed in such certainty that you didn't question when the High King intertwined his fingers with yours and guided you through the infinite maze of corridors to his private chambers, turning his head back from time to time to make sure you were still following him - of course you were. You would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked you to. There is no other place you would rather be than by his side.

You don't question it when you hear the slow creak of doors being closed and locked. The noise sends a shiver down your spine, only serving to alert you to the proximity of what is to come. The crackling fire in the hearth is the only source of light in the entire room, creating a trail of orange flash across the stone floor. You don't question it when the High King pushes you against the wall and his lips collide with yours. The two of you start off at a gentle pace, savoring every inch of each other's mouths. You tilt your head just a little to the side and make room for his tongue to enter, letting a hoarse moan escape from the back of your throat. Your hands find their way to the hair on the back of his neck and give a slight tug, causing the other to emit a low, guttural sound and quickly deepen the kiss.

You feel his hands slide down the sides of your body, burning your skin beneath your robes, until they stop at your hips and press them against his. The more the technique improves, the faster the embers burn and you fear that your heart will stop beating. You continue to taste those soft lips, the two of you moving in a continuous rhythm, until you are forced to stop to catch your breath.

Your eyes meet his and your insides are taken over by a wave of heat that weakens you from head to toe. You admire the way the red of the hearth flames mix with the blue of his pupils like liquid gold, displaying a flickering glow. For a moment, you begin to believe that you are under the influence of some spell - and you don't want to wake up. You would have already fallen to your knees if you weren't holding onto his shoulders as if he were the only anchor keeping you from drowning. But he is also the water that clogs your lungs, the water that cleanses and purifies your soul, the water that, the more you drink, the more you become thirsty.

A smile spreads across the High King's face, conveying a new kind of emotion for which there seem to be no words to describe its true meaning. Passion? Lust? Devotion? Maybe... love? Whatever it was, it was something that made you want to surrender to that feeling. Surrender to him.

You don't let yourself be intimidated by the intensity of his gaze, you just keep staring at him while you feel nimble fingers working to open the buttons on your tunic. And you don't try to stop him. You don't want him to stop because you need to feel more of him, more than ever, and he knows it.

The boy takes his time removing the remaining parts of your costume, layer by layer, undressing you with deliciously torturous slowness. You stop breathing for a moment when his hands find your bare chest and his palm rests over where your heart beats like a drum. Quickly, the hand is replaced by the mouth and you close your eyes and revel in the way those lips so intimately caress that specific place - the sacred place of your life source - and all you want is for him to go forward. You want him to rip your skin, open your ribcage and take your heart in his hands just so you can declare to him "It's yours. It beats for you... I bleed for you." You want to cling to him. You want him inside you.

When you least realize it, you find yourself completely undressed from your clothes, your back tingling from the contact against the rough, cold surface of the wall. Your lover's lips gently brush your skin, starting on your chest and passing through your shoulder, your collarbone and only stopping until they find a pulsing vein on your neck. Soon, his tongue and teeth begin to taste more of that corner and, involuntarily, you lift your head back just a little bit and oh! It feels so, so good. You can't help the whimpers of ecstasy that leave your mouth, the kind of sound you had no idea you were capable of producing. In an instinctive gesture, you grope the body in front of you, your vision still clouded by the darkness of your eyelids, and pull the fabric of his coat in a failed attempt to get rid of it. However, you feel your wrists being grabbed and pinned above your head and you grunt in frustration at the break of contact.

When your vision clears, you are met with a serious expression on the High King's face. His grip, once gentle, was now firm and strong. Despite having the youthful features of a teenager, it was enough to feel the calluses on his hands or dive into the deep abyss of his eyes to remember that in that body - that small cage - lay the soul of a powerful warrior whose acts of bravery spanned the centuries and gave you hope in the darkest days of your childhood. You dreamed of meeting him, of sitting next to him and listening to him tell you stories about his adventures for days and nights. You dreamed of the enchanting sound of his voice, the sweetness of his laugh and the feeling of his arms comforting you and taking all the loneliness away. But never, not even in your wildest dreams, have you seen yourself as the object of his adoration, of his most primal desire. A mere mortal like you being bestowed with such an honor? How was this possible?

For a minute, you both remain still where you are, until he approaches and places a chaste kiss on your lips before whispering in a commanding tone:

- Lay down.

And you just obey. You walk towards the bed and lie down on the velvet sheets. He comes to you, sits on the edge of the mattress and observes your nakedness appreciatively. His hands slide carefully over your tanned skin, knowing every curve and noticing your reactions. Every touch is a sacred gesture that you always respond to with a sigh of pleasure. It continues its path through the muscles of your belly, always descending, and a strange throbbing sensation begins to spread in the space between your thighs. When those skilled fingers finally approach your intimacy, your entire body contracts in a mix of embarrassment and thrill. The young blond man just gives you a small cheeky smile when you instinctively lift your pelvis towards the touch you so longed for.

Suddenly, he stops what he was doing and gets out of bed to take off his boots. Confused, you sit down and watch him attentively, not daring to say a single word. The High King stands before you and asks you to extend your hand. You give it to him – the one with the scar – and he kisses the thin, pink line across your palm. Then he takes that same hand and guides it to his belt buckle and you know exactly what to do. Your movements are slow and shaky, exposing your inexperience, but you keep going anyway. With each layer of clothing that falls to the floor, your heart skips a beat. In the end, you just gasp in admiration before the divine image that blesses your eyes.

Even naked, he carries the same aura of grandeur and magnanimity that he has always displayed. He is the Sun, and every part of his being - from his golden hair and his eyes as blue and vast as the northern sky that is his domain, to his marble skin, pale and marked with cracks - is sculpted by light. It shines so brightly that you fear you will go blind. You want to look away, you want to touch him too, but you can't move. His presence paralyzes every fiber of your being. It's as if your body no longer belongs to you.

Fortunately, in your moment of greatest despair, your loved one came to your aid - as he always did. He lifts your chin and holds your face between his hands, sliding his thumbs down your cheeks, then your nose, until it rests on the surface of your lips. He acts as if you are the work of art and he is the fascinated admirer. You find yourself too busy soaking in such grace that you don't even notice the silent shadows that begin to grow behind the mirrors of his soul. That darkness that manifested itself was just the silhouette of an even deeper and… animalistic feeling.

You finally find out what it is when he leans towards you and takes your mouth in an eager, ardent kiss. Tongues dance and meet in perfect synchrony and it doesn't take long for teeth to join in the act. His fingers cling to the black strands of your hair and you don't even try to contain your loud moan when he sits on your lap. Your arms grab him around the waist, trying to increase the friction between your bodies for as long as possible. Yes, you know that feeling, the desperate desire to devour and be eaten alive. It's so strong, so visceral, so... pure.

"What's the name again?" You wonder. Oh yes. Hunger. And the most exquisite kind.

You fall onto the pillow like a feather and he positions himself over you, all without breaking the kiss. There was no longer any escape - you already knew that the moment you heard the door close -. Now you are completely at his mercy. And you couldn't have it any other way.

His lips leave yours and begin to trace their way along your jawline, continuing until he reaches your neck. He starts to explore your weaknesses and quickly learns the best way to stimulate them. His magical touch makes you tremble and arch your spine in a mix of agony and delight. His enchanted tongue leaves a hot trail of saliva wherever it goes, and the further it goes down, the fiercer the need becomes. And when it finally arrives at the place that most craves attention, you just… feel like you're floating in the air. And you have to hold on to his tangled hair, otherwise you are sure you would get lost somewhere amidst the clouds and never return to the ground again.

An explosion of completely new sensations turns you into a pile of rubble on the sheets. It was exactly what you wanted. That's why you gave him the power to ruin you. You wanted him to hurt you and then end your suffering. You wanted him to kill you slowly and then bring you back to life. He is pain and relief, sickness and the cure, chaos and tranquility. He is everything to you and he is beautiful - Oh, heavens, he's absolutely beautiful - in a way you've never seen before and you soon regret not having worshiped him sooner.

That's why the first thing you decide to do right after you regain your senses is to hold him by the shoulders and push him against the bed, putting all your weight on him. Now it was your turn to drive him crazy with passion and, just like him, you wouldn't be the least bit merciful.

You kiss and caress him with the devotion of a fervent believer. You feel his nails scratching your back, leaving marks on your skin, a reminder that everything you are and everything you will ever become belongs to him and him alone. But that's where the best part comes from: there's reciprocity. His pleasure is also yours. You feel his desire - the same one that takes over you right now - to be consumed, to merge and become one. One body. One heart. One love.

Suddenly, he calls you and you answer him. You kiss him again and you even get to taste a little of yourself in his mouth. He finally surrenders to your advances and begs you to give him peace and take him to Paradise. Who would have thought that one day you would witness this scene: the High King, always so correct and composed, reduced to a pitiful creature begging for something that only you can give him? Seeing him so defenseless, so vulnerable and so uninhibited awakens something in your heart that leaves it heavy. It's shocking and painful to realize that you were responsible for leaving him in that state. You ruined him too.

You decide that you won't make either of you wait any longer. The truth is, there was nothing in this world or any other that you could ever deny him. You rest your forehead on his and look into his eyes one last time, searching for any sign of fear or doubt. However, all you find is a tempting invitation to your own damnation, which you accept with open arms because if he is a religion, then you are his most passionate disciple.

When you begin the ritual, which had only the moon and the night as legitimate witnesses, it is as if everything around you two faded into oblivion and the only thing that existed were your hands clasped on the mattress and the heavy breathing that marked the rhythm of the music to which your sweaty bodies danced. May the Great Lion forgive you for such blasphemy, but you do not wish to pay obeisance to any other god than the one beneath you. His body is your temple and his hips are the altar on which you kneel to pray. It is his name that comes from your lips when you sing your orisons and it is between his legs that you find your salvation. If it is such an abominable crime to praise the one you love most, then you will accept burning in that heavenly fire for all eternity.

But all good things come to an end. You watch him reach his climax and marvel at the way those angelic features contort with pleasure and you swear the title of 'Magnificent' has never suited him so well as it did at that very moment. You finish right after him and feel the little that remains of your energy drain away. A whirlwind of emotions takes hold of you and you find yourself unable to formulate any concrete idea that describes what you are feeling right now. You are surprised by the hot tears that form in your eyes and run down your cheeks, but what really leaves you speechless are the fingers that brush your damp hair away from your face and the pink lips that kiss your tears, drinking them like the delicate bud that searches for rain. And it's when he smiles that you see him blossom into a lovely flower. Finally, he hugs you and whispers his vows in your ear like a secret:

- My beautiful, gentle sin.

Then you realize why you could never prevent what happened tonight, why your bodies fit together so perfectly as if they were made for each other and why you could never break the invisible bond that connects your souls: it was never something simply carnal. It was a love capable of crossing the barriers of time and space - after all, more than 1300 years separated you two and, even so, he somehow managed to find his way to you. It was a love that no superior force could overcome. It was a love that meant more than love.

You always knew this would happen, one way or another. This was the mystery that gave life to the stars and hold them in place, the secret you fought so long to unravel. For years, you made the same wish, again and again, and after a long wait, they finally granted it. And you couldn't be more grateful for having received such a precious gift in your life.

You rejoice in your good fortune as you drift off into a calm, peaceful sleep.

[inlustrismeliora]

they once called me magnificent

and they didn’t say it

but they still believed it.

a magnificent king could save them,

he could free them.

and maybe he could, i pondered,

if he were really me.

//

being magnificent felt like an obligation,

an expectation,

one I would never reach.

then I did away with it,

no longer doing what was expected,

i’d do what my heart said,

not making play at king,

and die as me.

[antoinettles]

The Wood Between the Worlds

Currently writing a fanfic that heavily involves the Wood Between the Worlds from Chronicles of Narnia (The Magician's Nephew), and honestly-- what an absolutely fantastic set piece to start ENDLESS adventures. It's like a built-in crossover fic plot point, and I'm living for it. Gotta love fusing LOTR and Chronicles of Narnia. <3 Has anyone else had a lot of fun playing around with the Wood Between the Worlds in their own works?

[beaststhattalk]

Can anyone help me find a fanfiction? I’ve been looking for it quite desperately.

It’s about Peter and the theme is responsibility, or something similar. It’s in the third person and it starts with Peter agreeing to look after his siblings without question. In another section it talks about him and Aslan standing on the hill in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, and Peter accepting the task given to him. Another section talks about him closing the door when Aslan tells him to during The Last Battle.

I found it on Tumblr but I really can’t find it again. If anyone knows the fic and can direct me to it, I’d really appreciate it!!

[elenyagrace]

on the nature of beauty

Peter stares dejectedly at the ruins of the castle he used to call home. It is the second home of his that fell victim to the ruinous nature of war, and he can't help but wonder if this is his doing, if perhaps in trying to escape the destruction of his home in England he brought on the doom of his home in Narnia.

He knows that rationally this makes no sense, because Cair Paravel was destroyed after they left Narnia, but this thought brings him no comfort either.

If he hadn't left, if he hadn't abandoned his people, perhaps Cair Paravel would not have fallen, perhaps then it would still be surrounding him in all its glory.

He sits on the podium that used to hold their thrones, facing what used to be the throne room.

He wonders how he didn't see it until Lucy pointed it out, because it seems so obvious now - but then, Lucy had always been the most observant of them, had always been the one with the greatest imagination.

Thinking of Lucy reminds him that he should probably go find the others. They don't know if it's safe to wander around on their own: for no matter how well they knew this land, it is now a strange place to them and they have no idea what might be lurking in the shadows.

And isn't that just a stab in his gut? To think that this place that felt like a part of him, that he felt a part of, should now be so unfamiliar?

He knows he needs to get up, look for his siblings, but he finds himself frozen to the spot. His eyes stray from one place to another, finding and tracking the remnants of pillars that used to carry the ceiling, pillars that had seemed strong enough to carry the skies.

He closes his eyes and conjures the image of the castle this used to be. When he opens his eyes again, he can see the grand arches, the strong, steadfast walls. He remembers the lively feasts that they used to host, sees the shadows of all of the people who came to celebrate with their kings and queens.

The vision seems so real, almost tangible, that for a short moment he believes that he can just reach out and make it real - but when he squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, he is left to stare at only the ruins of the place in his visions, devoid of almost all beings but himself and his siblings and he feels as though a million tiny shards are trying to find their way into his heart.

He is still sitting in the same spot, hunched in on himself, when Susan finds him. His sister regards him for a moment before she silently sits down next to him.

They remain silent for a while, simply watching the trees moving with the wind - but not dancing, not like they used to, before.

"I just don't get it," he says, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. Up until now, it had allowed him to think, sort through his emotions, but now he feels as though he will drown in it.

Susan doesn't reply, but he knows she is listening, can tell by the way her head is tilted that the silence now means 'go on'.

"Who would destroy something so -" he struggles to find the right words, feeling like no words could ever describe what Cair Paravel was like. "Something so beautiful?"

Susan sighs. "I don't know. I suppose that's what we need to figure out."

"Why don't the good things ever last? Why is everything beautiful always destroyed in the end?" He thinks back to their lives in England, before the war; to their first time in Narnia that came to an abrupt end; and now Cair Paravel too.

"Isn't that in the nature of beauty though? That it may never last?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well," Susan continues, "even if nobody destroys it deliberately, in the end nothing can escape the flow of time, right?"

He turns to face his sister, sees his grief reflected in her eyes. For all that Susan tried to move on when they were back in England, he can tell that she is hurting just as much as he is.

He opens his mouth to reply, but that is when Edmund and Lucy come running up to them, shouting something about a boat that is approaching the land, and so they grab their weapons and follow their siblings.

In the hectic that follows, Peter doesn't have time to think about Susan's words for quite a while.