#Tempting Fate {Edmund}

[sophieswundergarten]

FEELINGS ABOUT SUSAN PEVENSIE AGAIN

In TVotDT, it's explained that the reason only Edmund and Lucy are staying at their aunt's is because their parents were headed to America, and while Peter was studying with Prof. Kirke (Who had somehow lost his large house and sadly didn't have room for all of them), they did have enough money to bring all three children. So Susan was the only one chosen.

Which would be fine, which would make sense because she's the second oldest, which would be whatever because that sometimes just how things go when you have siblings

EXCEPT IT'S SPECIFICALLY STATED THAT SUSAN WAS NO GOOD AT SCHOOL AND SHE WAS PRETTY. ERGO THIS WAS THE ONLY WAY FOR HER TO MAKE SOMETHING OF HERSELF

And it's also stated that up until that trip, Susan still regularly talked to her siblings about Narnia, and seemed to fully believe in it.

We saw how Lucy was tempted because she didn't feel pretty like Susan, but she had Edmund and Caspian and all her friends to rely on.

Susan was on her own

Also, LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME THAT QUEEN SUSAN THE GENTLE, SUSAN THE RENOWNED ARCHER, SUSAN THE DIPLOMAT WHO WAS KNOW FOR HER LOOKS BUT TURNED DOWN EVERY SUITOR WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY HANDLING THE SITUATION SO AS TO AVOID WAR

TELL ME THAT SUSAN WAS BAD AT SCHOOL

Or, maybe, she learned what was expected from her. She was the oldest daughter, and there was a lot of pressure on her.

Imagine being all alone, in an unfamiliar country, where all people think of you is your looks. Where you don't have your siblings to fall back on; this isn't an ambassadorial trip, this is you being picked because you need to be shown off. Because you are not trusted to do anything worthwhile with your life, so you must get married somehow.

And when the only options presented with you are lipstick and pretty dresses and high heels, wouldn't you rather take to them on your own terms than have them forced on you?

I imagine Susan liked going to parties because it reminded her of being a queen. She was smarter and wiser than half the dimwitted boys who looked at her and only saw a skirt, and she enjoyed talking circles around them and giving backhanded compliments they were too dull to understand. I imagine it gave her some sense of control back.

She may not be a queen in this world, but she'd demand respect regardless. Pretty make-up and fancy dresses became her armor and disguise, and she envisioned each cocktail party as a battlefield: a war won with wits and words.

And she was good at it. She attracted attention while remaining aloof and untouchable. She had everyone hanging on her every word, and quite a few handsome young men throwing themselves at her feet, getting down on one knee.

But she didn't want that. And, too late, she realized she had sealed herself into this fate. Susan was the "Pretty One", the airhead who somehow twists boys around her little finger without even realizing she was doing it.

And I'd bet that, after all that, after clinging to her memories of Narnia and of her siblings being kings and queens in court, she'd be exhausted when she got back.

And then to hear that Ed and Lucy had been on another adventure without her, while she had felt so alone, I'd imagine she'd be bitter.

She needed Caspian by her side, directing her through the fancy people and the debutantes; she would have loved to have Reepicheep following behind, defending her honour; it would have been so much more interesting to talk to a star than the silly, giggling girls she was intended to be friends with.

And it would be hard to find your place, when you didn't fit in that world of kings and queens and talking mice anymore, but you didn't want to be forced into the world of glitter and dresses and getting married so young because the rest of society deemed you too pretty to be smart

I wonder sometimes if Susan lost her way because of all the outside forces pressuring her to leave Narnia in the past

#And how much of that she willingly took on to protect Lucy from it #Susan was incredible #There's no way you can convince me she was 'bad at school' #Unless she was deliberately not trying #Maybe she was 'bad' because she kept standing up in class and protesting and her parents were trying to keep her from getting expelled #And even if she was!!! #Schoolwork is not the end-all-be-all when it comes to measuring intelligence!!! #Or really anything!! #I wonder sometimes if Susan hadn't been isolated like that #Even if she hadn't gone to Narnia #If she could have stayed with Peter #Would her story have gone the same? #susan pevensie #narnia

[silentmagi]

Rising Star

Sorry for the double posting, had to correct the poll and a few errors. Where are they going to find next?

4. River

Main Page

They heard and smelt it long before the trees parted enough for them to be able to see it, but there it was: a river swollen with the recent rains. While it was wide and looked lazy, neither of them wanted to risk fording it. Letting the horse, Edmund, drink from the river the pair looked back and forth along its length and decided that they’d go with the flow. While there was quite a bit of beach surrounding the flooded river, they chose to stay closer to the woods because the cart would likely bog down in the sandy beach.

Being able to see more of the sky above them, and the light that it brought certainly made it easier to see the near endless gray above them.

Well it couldn’t all be sunshine and roses could it? Star would not be here if it was able to be that lucky. No, she’d be in her room studying for the next exam.

Looking at the fallen logs that edges the forest, she pondered the possibility that they could craft a raft, however that idea was dashed as she realized that she didn’t have any idea what she would be doing for that, and likely they would all end up at the bottom of the river.

Driving forward, they would hopefully find a village, city, settlement, heck right now she’d settle for a watermill. Just some sort of sign of civilization that they could use to gain their bearings and figure out where they were.

“The babbling of the river is soothing, isn’t it?” Luna asked, breaking Star’s bitter thoughts, drawing her attention back to the world they were in, and not the one she dreamed of.

Her first thought was worrying about something up river bursting and sending them a new round of doom, however, she hoped that keeping that thought to herself would prevent tempting fate that seemed to be having fun toying with her. Instead, she listened to the river’s sound and smiled as she felt there was a beat and rhythm to it. “Yeah, I’ve never thought of it like that before.”

She supposed she hadn’t thought of it like that before, since she’d never taken the time to do so. All her life she was rushing to study, buried in a book, or just locked in her own world that she shut out the natural one.

She could hear the soft murmuring of the water bubbling past, the occasional splashing of a fish coming after a bug on the surface, and a humming bard composing a song from what would normally be listed as simple noises.

“Windsong’s favor finds you rather strongly, doesn’t it Luna?” Star couldn’t help but tease, knowing the common faith that bards followed.

If Luna was impressed by that bit of trivia, she didn’t show it, beyond a little smile on her lips. “She grants inspiration in all things, but in this I truly believe, there is a song that she sings beyond us. We are but her notes.”

“Well, if she doesn’t mind me being a silent rest for a bit, I’ll give a coin to her next shrine,” the mage offered with a laugh. “Does she sing a song of our future?”

Luna paused and studied her for a moment at that, before looking back towards the path ahead of them. “You know Darling, she just might… she just might. But look, civilization!”

#Story #My Writing #Rising Star #My Polls #Star #World Building #Please Participate #Star Main

[collectionoftulips]

Preview of the Kathony childhood friends AU that I'm finally writing:

Ostensibly, there was no reason why Mr Miles Sharma and Lord Edmund Bridgerton ought to be friends.

Everything from their situations in life, to their differences in rank and background all spoke against the friendship that the ton had become gradually aware of ever since the merchant and the nobleman had struck up a conversation after accidentally bumping into each other in the street. True, their encounter had been facilitated by the fact that Mr Sharma had taken his oldest daughter out to get ice cream while Lord Bridgerton had intended to take his second oldest, Benedict, for a walk in the park, as the young boy had clearly felt the confinement of his family home and private gardens and needed a change of scenery, so as to not bother his mother too much as she was once again with child. There was nothing in the situation that indicated that this ought to be anything but a passing encounter.

As to what exactly possessed Lord Bridgerton to invite people of such lowly station to his family home still remained a matter of debate in polite society. The general consensus was that upon meeting each other and forming an appreciation for the similarities in their temperament and appreciation for their respective children, Lord Bridgerton decided to extend a generous invitation to his new acquaintances. Bizarrely, the men decided to deepen the familiarity between their two families by regularly conversing surrounded by the growing Bridgerton brood and Mr Sharma’s wife and two daughters.

Indeed, for a Lord with an already impressive number of sons and only one daughter of the tender age of two, it was a hazardous gamble. Mr Sharma did have a one year daughter who could potentially be a friend to the youngest Bridgerton, but having a child of such questionable background as the eldest Sharma girl around boys with much more to recommend them was a recipe for disaster. The danger lay not so much in allowing a six year old girl into the Bridgerton set, but children grew. It was fine and innocent for now, but in a few years time? It was to tempt fate. That much was evident to any casual observer. As to why this did not seem apparent to the two patriarchs was a mystery.

But the situation was rife for such delicious gossip that the ton could do nothing but sit back in delight, eagerly awaiting the day when the men would curse their foolishness.

#kathony #kanthony #bridgerton #fanfic #if people wanna help me figure out a title i'd welcome it #naming a story is definitely what i am worst at #let me know what you think #i thought i'd let this little preview have a bit of a Jane Austen-esque type of vibe

[keendaanmaa]

The songs on the "Inspired by The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" album are all so awesome and I love them all, but tonight I was really struck by how apt the descriptions of the Pevensies are in "I Will Believe" (Nichole Nordeman)

One of us is big and brave

And one of us is tenderhearted

One of us is tempting fate

And the last but not least of us

Has faith enough for each of us

Ok, granted, Edmund's description has more to do with his circumstances in LWW than his character in general, but! Peter as big and brave, tender hearted Susan, Lucy, full of faith? All perfect.

#how would you describe Ed's character more generally? the 'traitor who mended' and the Just #see i would kindof like to try to write an alternate line to stick into this verse for Ed #narnia #pevensies

[longitudinalwaveme]

Ron Pearle's Lear: Act 4 Review

Edgar doesn’t get his whole “things can’t possibly get any worse” speech here. That’s too bad. 

But he still gets the line where he calls himself out for tempting fate. That’s odd. 

Poor poor Edgar and Gloucester.

The servants have some seriously flat line delivery. 

Edgar is insanely cute. 

“Is that the naked fellow?” “Aye my lord.” No idea if the servant’s response was supposed to sound as disgusted as it did. 

Gloucester seems quite insistent upon holding his arms out straight in front of him even when he has someone to lead him. 

Goneril’s hair is down (it was in a bun earlier) and she’s all giggly. 

It’s not really funny but I did giggle a little when Albany panicked when Goneril came close to him. Poor Albany. 

Wow, she actually slapped him. Wasn’t expecting that. Poor Albany. 

Full-on cat-style “meow” when Goneril’s says “marry,  your manhood mew”. 

Albany’s horrified reactions are quite good. 

The string music is a lot softer now. 

The Gentleman has an enormous hunting rifle. Kent has a gun too. 

The doctor is female in this version. And Cordelia’s voice is much improved. 

Regan’s attempts to see Goneril’s letter are very well handled. She does the flirty in-his-space body language well. 

For some reason she gives Oswald jewelery when she tells him to go and murder Gloucester. 

Edgar has underclothes on now. They seem maybe too modern? 

Edgar leads Gloucester around in a circle while he’s leading him “to the edge of the cliff”. 

“Farewell” (cups hands around mouth to make his voice seem echo-y). Edgar is a gem. 

Gloucester’s fall was more of a roll. 

And now Edgar is Southern. 

Edgar is so cute. 

Edgar’s really really getting into his performance as “guy who saw Gloucester plunge off of a cliff”. He missed his true calling as a theater major. 

Lear has lost a lot of his clothes but somehow still has his cape. 

Edgar is amazingly adaptable. He slips right into the roles Lear casts him in. 

Crazy Lear is surprisingly chill and happy. 

The coughing when Lear says he’s not ague-proof is great. 

Gloucester actually full-on kneels to crazy Lear. While blind. Both admirable and a sign of some seriously skewed priorities. 

Poor Edgar. He’s gonna need some serious therapy after all this. 

Edgar falls down whilst attempting to pull off Lear’s (entirely imaginary) boots. 

Does Gloucester seriously not have any other name?  

Lear’s extensive rant about women’s sexuality was cut. I can’t say that bothers me too much. Especially since they included all of his ranting about the injustices of society. 

Poor Gloucester (and his perpetually-extended arms). 

Oswald swaggers onstage for murder. 

Extreme crazy German-sounding accent from Edgar as he tries to stop Oswald from murdering his father (by running at him and grabbing his leg). He doesn’t have a sword at this point. 

Edgar just grabs the sword out of Oswald’s hands. Good work, Oswald.

I’m starting to suspect that this particular production didn’t have any experienced fight choreographers. All of the fights have been very brief and unexciting. 

The audience is very happy to see Oswald’s untimely demise. 

Why doesn’t Edgar find Regan’s letter? Granted it’s not important to the plot, but still. 

The line delivery doesn’t really help me understand whether or not this Edgar had already suspected Edmund before he found the letter. 

Time for crying! 

Cordelia’s voice is bad again. It seems as though she puts too much emphasis on certain words and causes her lines to sound unnatural.

Good job, show! You’ve successfully made me feel bad for senile narcissist Lear. 

Lear’s little stumble is great. 

This scene gets me every single time. 

#shakespeare #king lear #review #kind of

[moretreasurewithinarchive]

Headcanon; Susan and Lucy Pevensie

At Cair Paravel during the golden age, each of the Pevensies had their own large section of the vast garden to plant whatever they liked. The areas corresponded with the areas of Narnia they presided over (Peter north, Susan south, Edmund west, and Lucy east). 

Peter’s was mostly trees and herbs used for cooking. He may have had a few flowers or other plants as well. 

Edmund’s had trees and a fish pond with a bench where he often went to think. He also may have had some fruiting plants as well.  

Susan’s was the most widely arrayed, best maintained, and arguably the most aesthetically pleasing. It was full of her favorite flowers, nice smelling herbs, ivy vines, her favorite trees, and different types of fruiting trees and plants. There were also bird baths and feeders, a gorgeous marble fountain with benches, pretty stoned walkways and covered archways with flowers and vines, and little ponds. Birds, butterflies, squirrels, rabbits, deer, and other animals often frequented it. Though the gardeners helped, it was mainly Susan who looked after it.

Lucy’s also had her favorite flowers and trees, as well as herbs for healing, lots of wildflowers, long grasses, fruiting plants, root vegetables, wild edible mushrooms, little streams, a view of the sea, and tiny homes for the birds and fairies. Compared to Susan’s, which was rather reminiscent of palace or botanical gardens on earth, Lucy’s would been seen as a wild, but well loved and well used, garden of a “good witch”. She did plant some things on purpose, but her garden was always a surprise, as she let grow there whatever wanted to. And the surprise plants almost seemed to change every year. 

#A Lesson Only One Learned {Headcanons} #In Truth I Am The Least {Headcanons} #Is it painfully obvious that I can't get inside Peter and Edmund's heads? #xD #Tired Of Chains {Likes} #Light Upon The Head {Likes} #Big & Brave {Peter} #Tempting Fate {Edmund}

[todaysdocument]

Letter from Governor Edmond Ross of New Mexico to President Grover Cleveland Supporting Apache Removal to Eastern Reservations, 8/14/1886

Series: Letters Received, 1805 - 1889

Record Group 94: Records of the Adjutant General's Office, 1762 - 1984

Transcription:

Santa Fe N. M. August 14 1886.

Hon. Grover Cleveland,

President,

Sir,-

We are much surprised to learn that opposition is being made to the proposition of Gen. Miles to remove portions of the Apache Indians from their present reservation in Arizona.

It does not seem possible that such opposition could originate with persons who comprehend the situation here and the need of radical measures for the pacification of our Indian troubles, or that it could be inspired by a desire to promote the civilization and welfare of these Indians, or the peace and successful development of these territories.

Many of us have resided here for years, have seen this country the victim of Indian raids year after year, and have a right to be credited with intelligent and practical views on this subject. We are firmly convinced that no permanent cessation of these raids, or enduring safety to the isolated camps of miners and ranchmen, can be secured so long as the Chiricahua and Warm Springs bands of these Apaches are permitted to remain in any part of these territories. For two hundred years they have been traditional enemies and at constant war with the white race. It is true there are but few of them, less than five hundred all told, but there are enough, owing to the generally rugged and inaccessible character of the country they infest and raid, and the isolated nature of the settlements, to keep a very large scope of country in a state of ferment, and thereby to retard the development of valua-

[page 2]

ble mining, ranching and grazing properties upon which this country largely depends for its prosperity.

Generations of hostility show them to be implacable, and that nothing short of extermination will stop their raids so long as they remain here in proximity to their traditional enemies. So long as they are here, that process of extermination will go on, but at a fearful cost of life and property to our people and of treasure to the government. For every warrior killed some boy is now growing up to take his place.

The boys of today are the outlaws and bandits--the Jus, the Nanes and the Geronimos--of tomorrow. It has been so for generations and will continue so, if they remain here, till they are exterminated; all the interests of these territories, in the meantime languishing and their development paralyzed, by the presence of an element that momentarily threatens destruction to our most important industries.

The other bands of the Apaches are peaceful, and in the main, self-sustaining. There is no special occasion or desire for their removal, but the removal of the others named we deem imperative to the restoration of confidence and tranquility to these territories. The lives and property of large numbers of people, and the development of the extraordinary sources of wealth to the country found here are at stake in this matter, and we sincerely hope and pray that the suggestions of Gen. Miles, in the premises, may be adopted.

Gen. Miles has so far since  he has been placed in command here, by the wisdom of his plans and the vigor of their execution, kept the actively hostile portion of these bands out of New Mexico and finally

[page 3]

driven them out of Arizona. They are practically conquered and are understood as being desirous to return to the reservation. To permit them to do so would be simply to tempt fate, and a repetition of the folly of two years ago--another drunken debauch and a murder of some of their number at the first opportunity, and a return to the warpath of pillage and murder to escape punishment. That will be the inevitable result if they are permitted to return.Of this we repeat that we are firmly convinced, and that no permanent peace can come to New Mexico or Arizona till these bands are removed to distant and isolation localities.

Very respectfully,

Edmund G. Ross, Governor

Geo W Lane, Secretary

Geo. W. Julian Surgeon General

H. M. Atkinson

Chas T Earley Register Land Office

Leigh O Knapp U. S. Receiver

J N Snuthee Special Agt G.L.O.

Henry L Waldo

L Bradford Prince

#archivesgov #August 14 #1886 #1800s #Native American history #Indigenous American history #racism #Indian Removal #Apache #Chiricahua #Warm Springs #Arizona

[mymovingfingerwrites]

courage, dear heart

When we think of Lucy, we think of her golden hair and her cheerful smile, we think of a girl walking through a wardrobe and accepting a new world without question. We think of Queen Lucy, blessed with the power to heal, the only girl on a ship full of boys searching for a hint of whence they came. We think of her at the end of the world, kind and lovely and sorrowful as a mouse rows away, and in the world beyond the end of the world, her eyes lit up with delight. Resolute Lucy, bold Lucy, perched like a bird on the back of a lion.

When we think of Narnia, we think of Lucy. How could we not? Was it not Lucy who opened a wardrobe door and found winter, was it not Lucy who refused to be minimized, was it not Lucy who infused the land with good cheer for years after her coronation, was it not Lucy who first cocked her head and said that the land was speaking to them and they must listen?

We think about Lucy, bright Lucy, glittering Lucy, and we know instinctively that Lucy was always the heroine of her own story. What we don’t consider is that in her darkest moments—for Lucy, like us all, was not always bright, no matter how the legends insisted otherwise—she felt at times captive by the winds of fate stirring her hair. Perhaps we are–though we don’t like to admit it—some of the many people in both worlds who looked at Lucy and resented her for having the audacity (the privilege) to fill the pages of her book with her own words without considering how heavy her pen may be.

(Was it really her book, though? Lucy did not deny she wrote her own narrative. She was Lucy the Valiant; she spoke the language of High Narnia, she heard when Aslan called, she commanded the long-dormant trees into existence once more. Lucy was familiar with the power of words. What she objected to was the idea that her life was her very own, that her canvas was blank except for marks of her own making. Dear Lucy, pulled uncomplainingly into heroics, a simple game of exploration leading to death and betrayal and heartbreak (and majesty, and light, and animals that could talk). No; this was not her book but if she had the (mis)fortune to open it she certainly would inscribe her legacy on it herself).

To our credit, we sense what Lucy had always known: she felt as though her role was inevitable. (In boys, we call that responsibility, or heroism). Perhaps that is what we resented. When you are a young girl with golden hair and blue eyes and the lightest smattering of freckles, when you are the baby of the family and coddled and loved dearly, when you are born with an infinite well of self-possession and three protective older siblings, when you believe in your own worth–stepping into the pages of your story and titling it as your own looks like a foregone conclusion from afar.

(Her sister, Susan, struggled with this for many years. Though she was the pretty one, or at least that was what her mother told her, Susan eyed Lucy’s waterfall of blonde hair with envy. Though she was meant to be gentle, Susan watched how animals flocked to her sister first, how even the most timid of creatures lined up to whisper their secrets into Lucy’s ears. This would take Susan a considerable amount of time to overcome, but let us not blame her too harshly. Being a girl is difficult enough; being the other girl in the story is harder still).

But what we do not see, unless we look very closely, is that nothing felt foregone for Lucy. What looks easy from afar was not from within. Lucy chose herself, over and over; she chose to follow the path Aslan lay out for her, and she chose to do so with good humor and kindness as armour against the inherent cruelty of the world, even the magic one.

Of all her siblings, Peter understood this best, though they never discussed it in so many words. Perhaps that is why Peter always trusted Lucy, or at least apologized to her without resentment when she was proven right. The bookends of the family, they were as temperamentally different as any other pair of siblings. Peter sometimes felt blinded by Lucy's incandescent optimism; Lucy at times was weighed by proximity to Peter's practicality.

But both of them understood duty, more so than Edmund, led so easily astray by pleasure, and Susan, who believed (at times to her credit) that the world owed her the same that she owed it. Neither Lucy nor Peter strayed from their tasks, not even when Lucy picked her cold and lonely way down to the shadow of a godly voice, nor when Peter first felt the undeniable weight of his gleaming sword marred by enemy blood. They chose, and they chose again, even when those choices did not feel like choices but inevitabilities.

For when one understands duty, taking one's place as hero is not self-indulgent. It is not privilege; it is a prerogative, and it is difficult. But where Peter found his duty in protection and caregiving, in oversight and the hard labor of daily majesty, Lucy found hers in vision and clarity and momentum. When Susan hesitated over the unknown and Edmund lay sniffling quietly when he thought nobody could hear, Lucy knew that her relentless confidence was as necessary as Peter's guidance.

(This was a burden, too. Who was positive for Lucy? Her siblings tried to be, of course; they loved each other dearly, more so in the following years. But this sense of need never left Lucy, this fear that if she did not smile that nobody else would ever smile again).

Cheerfulness and friendliness can be their own prisons. When you believe in yourself, others are relieved; they need not take on the responsibility of believing in you too. Lucy never allowed herself to stray (save from moments alone in a large, soft bed, save from a magic book that in its pages contained temptation, save from tears that splashed hotly in the cool Narnia wind) all the more rigidly because everyone expected that she never would.

(It takes strength to choose optimism; it takes willpower to respond to situations with cheerfulness. Lucy was valiant even at seven years old, remember. She knew that raising her head high was an act of defiance, she knew believing in her own experience was brave, she knew that daring to rescue a friend from the clutches of an unknown evil was perhaps foolhardy but nevertheless necessary. She may not wield a sword but do not mistake her empathy for weakness).

Beauty and softness can be their own prisons, too. Youth and innocence and loveliness can make you more—it can mark you as worthy to speak to a god-turned-lion, your friendship as worth the threat of eternal damnation—but it invariably means that more is all you are allowed to be. There were days when Lucy fled back to her castle, her nose red and her eyes stinging, her hair twisted into disarray, and wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath a heap of blankets and throw pillows at the door just to prove that she too could be cruel, she too could be wanting. It is no easier to smile when tasked to in Narnia than it is anywhere else.

Sometimes Lucy resented her role as the youngest, the softest, the angel (or was she meant to be the prophet?). She saw Susan notching an arrow to her bow, watched Peter and Edmund joust in the courtyard, and looked down at her glittering bottle of cordial and longed to smash it against the door and take up war instead of peace.

Father Christmas gave her that vial, after all, a children’s story speaking to a child. Her power was limited, finite. Lucy began to use it sparingly, though she would have liked to heal every small hurt that befell a member of her kingdom. Part of her always felt a frisson of fear at the thought that she may one day no longer have the power to heal. Part of her felt anger that even Father Christmas did not think her capable. None of her siblings had gifts of borrowed power.

(Edmund did not get a gift at all, but he was, surprisingly, placid about this slight. He still remembered the enchanting taste of Turkish delight, even years after it last melted on his tongue. He knew that even now he would betray his family for another taste of that wickedness, and that knowledge made him humble. His gift was that he would never be tempted again, and for that, he would trade all the gold in the world).

Let us talk about what it must have cost Lucy, more than her siblings, to return to a world of mundane happenstance. Let us think about her, forced to be seven years old, forced to plait her hair and be seen and not heard and befriend children scarred from years of war. These playmates did not want to be coaxed into the brilliant world of Lucy’s imagination. They did not want to hear of Aslan, they did not want to pretend to be anything they were not. They had survived days or months or years away from their parents, but not in the warm embrace of a magic land; they had been torn from their families by trains and cars leaving in the dead of night, they had been sent to farms where food stretched thin, to towns that covered their windows with black paint and slept six to a bed, heel to head. Magic to them was their father, home from the war, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes but was nevertheless warm. It was their older siblings, reunited and once again casual monarchs of the family dynamic. It was their mothers chiding them to eat, their friends once again within easy access, the serenity of the night broken only by lorries and not sirens.

Lucy had experienced hardship before, of course. Everything has a balance, after all. When you feel joy deeply, sorrow cuts you to your very core. When you are easily delighted, you understand how ephemeral delight can be. Lucy carried joy with her, of course: the wild exhilaration of Bacchus and his nymphs, how right it felt when her and her siblings rushed out to the parapet to see a brilliant golden sun nestle into the cool embrace of the Narnia forest, the softness of Reepicheep's fur tinged with drops from the sea at the end of the world, how Aslan looked at her and she felt seen. Lucy never shied away from emotion. Lucy was valiant in this too.

But she never forgot the lesson of dear old Tumnus. In Narnia, he was a constant presence in her dining hall. But she never forgot that the cost of her entrance into this glittering world was an innocent creature frozen for daring to take her home for tea. She never forgot that her siblings doubted her, that her youngest brother was led astray by sparkle and glitter. She remembered the silent despair of Caspian searching for his family, Eustace wondering which poor soul he devoured in the guise of a dragon defeating another. To the end of her days, she thought of the quiet dignity and terrible sadness of Lord Rhoop gazing upon the still bodies of his very closest companions, choosing to condemn himself to an endless sleep to be by their side on only the faintest suggestion of hope. Because Lucy was Lucy, she took those feelings into her own and cared for them as she cared for their benefactors.

But in a way, Lucy had not yet experienced loneliness and fear, not like her siblings had, not like these war-torn children. The closest she had gotten were those first few days in the professor’s house where none believed her, or when she walked alone to Aslan in the middle of the night wishing desperately someone would follow. For most of her time in Narnia, however, Lucy was easily, automatically accepted, her majesty unquestioned. In Narnia, she was unique: lovely Lucy, Queen Lucy, friend of centaurs and fauns and nymphs, immortalized in ballads, welcome in badger dens and banquet halls alike. Lucy was Aslan’s favorite, of course–didn’t he speak mostly to her, didn’t he cuddle her in his great and terrible paws? Queen of peace and harbinger of joy.

When she twisted back into an unfamiliar body she expected this world to accept her, too. Yet Lucy was not celebrated in this world; at least not automatically. Susan took one look at her circumstances and tossed her head and vowed to be queen in this life too. Edmund chewed his lip and sighed a little to Lucy but bent his head to his studies, just in case Aslan was wrong and he would be forced to rely on the battles to be won in schoolhouses and universities. Peter raged, in his own way, at the loss of his kingdom, unable to cope with his duty and his purpose and his raison d'être so brutally torn from him.

Lucy tried to talk to the trees, but they ignored her, their bark cool to the touch. She tried to dance in the meadows, but the grass was sharp and covered her legs with rashes. She tried to befriend the dogs at her local shelter but they snapped at her suspiciously. She tried to talk to her peers and hear their stories and stand up for them like she stood up for her subjects but they eyed her with mistrust and laughed at the boundless optimism she tried desperately to embody. This generation of children was not prone to easy positivity, remember. Those in Narnia had been so desperate for help after their long years of winter. Humans, she found, were surprisingly not.

Lucy had never been ignored before. She had never been disliked openly, she had never struggled to make friends. She did not know how to handle girls eyeing her with jealousy or derision, how to process boys that pulled her hair not to flirt but to hurt. Her gentle heart and loving manner had always won her praise and acclaim, but in those brittle years after the war, she was playing a game where she did not know the rules.

She was not able to admit until years later that perhaps this loneliness was good for her. Heroines need strife to grow, even in all the old stories. Lucy could have turned her back on who she was in Narnia; she could have tempered the blaze of her spirit, fell obediently into the ranks of conformity. She could have stemmed the flow of her hope and turned instead to sheer practicality. Was that not what her siblings were doing?

(No, dear Lucy, stubborn to the very end. That was not what they were doing and you should have given them the benefit of the doubt).

In some sort of twist of fate, Lucy did most of her growing in this world, off the pages of the book, trying to decide what was important to her in a world where the rules were more (less) rigid, the values were more (less) prescribed. This was where she became truly valiant, in the mundane manner as well as the majestic. In this world she learned how to listen: quietly and patiently. Here the silent trees aided her, providing a calm and soothing canvas on which a friend could shyly begin to paint her troubles. She learned that being bold and brash could sometimes be selfish instead of brave.

Lucy remembered what it felt like to be seven and ignored. She remembered encountering a fawn risking death for her company, even though she was not yet a decade on this earth. She remembered her own siblings’ gentle condescension. She knew what it felt like to be dismissed. Sometimes you do not want somebody to fight for you. Sometimes you want somebody to help you as you learn how to fight for yourself.

In this world, Lucy learned what it meant to be valiant without pride. She learned how much bravery it takes to be heroine of a story with many other heroines and heroes and warriors and soldiers, that being one of many provides strength. (It reminds her of those old sunny days, playing chess in the courtyard, all her siblings casually, loosely together). In this world, when she lifted her head and smiled warmly, when she woke in the morning and greeted the sun, she did so with optimism she crafted herself, with positivity she forged out of the steel of her spine. She learned you did not have to be in the forefront of a story to blaze in it, that sometimes people did not want love and laughter but truth and honesty and justice. She met her peers’ eyes and they lifted their chins and she made them feel fierce, not protected.

When Lucy thought, years later, of the vial Father Christmas gave her, she realized he was giving her an instrument of her own power. Her ability—her great burden—was that she could not save everyone but she could save many. She had to choose. Lucy was not alone in this; a sword gives one the ability to take a life—but to trade a death for many lives. A bow allows one to even the stakes while remaining aloof, to assign death to others from a great distance. No gift at all forces one to look inside themselves and find the strength that was always there. Magic to heal, like all of these gifts, like all gifts, was meaningless unless one wielded it.

Lucy could have been afraid of indecision; she could have kept her vial locked away or pretended it had run out. She could have used it all within years, saving this generation of her subjects only to damn the next. The choice was hard, sometimes. Sometimes she left the vial behind and had to grasp the hand of a dying soldier and know in her heart that she could have saved him had she only decided to bring it. Sometimes, particularly toward the end, she had it in her pocket but knew she could not use it, that she had to be brave for those ahead as well as those now. These choices were not easy. These choices were her own. Peter, burdened with majesty, had to make choices about who to damn to combat, what was worth fighting for—but he never had to choose who to save. Susan, gentle, had to weigh the many competing demands of the land and decide which to prioritize, strategize how to best achieve her goals, knowing the weight of her kingdom was on her back—but she knew there was always a second choice, always a way to optimize a situation. Edmund, even and fair, had to devise a system of just rule, had to know when to stick to it and when to revise it, even when a friend had to be punished, even when it hurt to be the judge—but he did not have to enforce these laws, only set them.

Warrior, strategist, arbiter, healer: all four Pevensie siblings shouldered their own burdens and supported each other in the heavy task of ruling over many. When three of them returned (when six of them returned) to see their land destroyed, to see a new land created, they remembered those choices and they vowed to uphold them. Lucy had no vial in the kingdom of heaven but that had never been what gave her power. Even in the golden light at the end of the world there were jealousies and anger and injustice and strife. Even in the endless summer of forever there was the chance to be brave.

(Susan, on Earth, mourned her baby sister more than anyone else. Peter had death in the shadows of his eyes since he took a life at thirteen years old and was praised for it. Edmund too seemed to know that he was living on borrowed time. But Lucy, dear Lucy, did not deserve to be struck down so young. Susan had watched her grow into the set of her shoulders and ignite the light in her smile not once but twice. She watched Lucy forge a mortal crown out of sheer determination and optimism and she felt something like awe. She wanted her sister to wear it; she wanted her sister to join her in this brave new world, where women were beginning to display the beauty of their resilience and their wild and clever strength. She wanted to apologize, to admit she too remembered Narnia, that she had not understood the type of strength Lucy drew about her like a warm shawl.

Susan did not know for many years where that fateful train journey took her siblings. She deliberately did not consider Narnia, for why would a land full of kindness and light steal her family senselessly, randomly? (She did not know of their mission, of magic rings, of beasts lurking in the darkness. How could she, when they deliberately did not include her?)

She chose to believe that Lucy and Peter and Edmund were in a land of eternal stillness. Susan remembered those burdens, too, even if the details of Narnia were on some days blurry. It seemed more sad, somehow, to think of her siblings once again wearing their crowns on stone thrones, as if their time on Earth meant nothing.

When she opened her eyes and saw Lucy again, young and royal, she felt at first a deep pang of regret before the relief flooded in).

For Lucy, going to the world after the world of Narnia was not frightening but exhilarating, not limiting but empowering. It did not take long for her to forget what she left behind on her mortal world; they had teased Susan, once, for shutting out remembrances of talking animals and magic dancing along the stone paths. If Lucy remembered that, she might have felt shame, now that the quiet majesty of a row of silent English oaks faded into blurs, that the chatter of her peers became as dim and incomprehensible as squirrels.

But Lucy was never one to look back; she was eager to flip ahead to the new pages in her story, here in a world where the pages had no ending. There were new friends to meet and a kingdom to build and cheers to receive and challenges to fight. Susan would realize this too, one day, joining her siblings in this world beyond the world. Lucy was suited for this, as if she were chosen for this, as if she chose this over everything else she could have chosen.

She wrote her own story, yes, but we should remember that does not mean that all of her words were her own.

#this has been sitting in my drafts for months so i decided...just to post it #lucy is a hard character for me #i think i was always jealous of her as a kid #this is an attempt to think through that #anyway #lmk what you think #lucy pevensie #chronicles of narnia #the pevensies #peter pevensie #edmund pevensie #susan pevensie #my moving finger writes #the chronicles of narnia

[otomescriptdoctor]

Masking - Chapter 1

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939147/chapters/68422182 The door shuts behind you. You work on adjusting your gait as your approach The Boss. It’s not often that you get to work on a mission together.

Your target is the British Diplomat, Kei Soejima. He’s an odd character, a British man with blond hair and piercing brown eyes who somehow has a Japanese name. He runs in some rather broad circles for a diplomat, and your employer, Edmund and Company, suspects that he is actually an MI6 asset. He is suspected to be an Alpha given the company he keeps. Diplomats are a convenient cover for an agent, one role that you have yet to play since EAC works on a global scale and doesn’t limit its operations to one governmental relationship.

You were chosen for this mission because of your presentation as an Omega. You’ve always been able to perform your missions flawlessly, but you’ve never been sent out during one of your heats. You’ve held a torch for the Boss for years, harboring a small crush, but never acted on it because you valued your professionalism above all else. Very few Omegas have been as successful as you have been in espionage. It’s always been betas, deltas, or gammas in the organization. Having someone with potent natural hormones is a liability, but your dedication to the cause - your thirst for justice in the world - has helped you keep your hindbrain under lock and key. And of course, suppressants help.

Your switch, the perfume you sprayed on your mating gland at the nape of your neck, contains a suppressant that is more for your benefit than the mission’s- but you’re not keen on falling victim to the Boss’s Alpha scent. It’s strange. His scent is interesting, but doesn’t seem to change. But that’s why you found comfort in the Boss when he first met you. You push those thoughts from your mind. You are here as Nagisa Misaki. To attend a party at a members-only restaurant at the base of the Raven Resort in Tokyo.

The Boss greets you warmly, “You’re right on time, Nagisa! Are you ready?” Your smile comes automatically. He offers you his arm, you feel your pulse quickening. You’re finally getting to be near the Boss again. He sweeps you into a quick hug. His scent is exactly as you remember it from when you first became an EAC agent years ago. The party you are infiltrating is couples-only. You walk in as a team, heels clacking on the travertine floors leading to the restaurant proper. It feels good, but not quite right. As if sensing your hesitation, the Boss says, “Let’s make tonight a good one.” You push that thought from your hindbrain back down as you cross the threshold.

The doors lead into a carpeted, tiered space facing a stage with vintage footlights ringing the apron’s downstage edge. There’s a band onstage, playing classic ballroom music. The tables scattered throughout remind you of stars, with their small votive candles flickering on the rich burgundy tablecloths. You and the Boss turn to each other and nod, deciding to split up and mingle amongst the other couples present at tonight’s masquerade ball. His hand raises up to graze against your earrings - a gift from him, but also a tool in your arsenal. He activates the switch on them, allowing your conversations to be recorded from this point on. The warmth from his fingertips lingers on your ear. You remember when he saved you from certain harm while studying abroad in America. You had only just started presenting at that time. His quick thinking saved you. By chance, you met again when you applied to work for EAC. His calm demeanor has spurred you on to greatness within the organization through several assignments. But tonight is your most complex mission yet.

The suppressants in your perfume are not like any normal masking agent. You’ve always taken advantage of the scent you produce as an unmated Omega. Many of your targets in the past have been Alphas tripping over themselves to rut with you. This suppressant is just to help take the edge off - you know it’s almost a suicidal mission to walk into a club that is potentially full of Alphas in this state, but there was little you could do. It’s time to see if your mental control over your instincts is as complete as you thought it was.

While the Boss goes to get some drinks from the bar, you work on gliding through the crowds of people, scanning the tables for your target. You spy the party’s host, Kazuomi Shido -- even in a mask, he simply cannot hide -- surrounded by curious women trying to peek at his face. It’s clear from his scent that he is an Alpha; he smells of too many womens’ perfumes though. You search your memory: he’s a close friend of Kei’s according to the dossier. They went to school together. He’s called the “Resort King” on account of his preferred line of work. He exudes the seductive confidence of a strong Alpha. You spy his head turning just so - did he catch your scent? No, it’s his friend, another Alpha.

This one smells like a cool, brisk breeze. You overhear him grumbling, “I have no interest in cheap flirts,” while trying to fight off some of the women hanging around Kazuomi. You recognize him as Yuzuru Shiba, the CEO of the tech corporation bearing his name. He’s also been a long time friend of Kei Soejima. And, another Alpha. You silently thank your lucky stars that you applied the suppressant. His severe black turtleneck sends a vibe that he’s a heartless, unforgiving man. Being mated to someone like that would be a fate worse than death.

Suddenly there is a sweet smell, like incense filling the air. The smell is incredible. There are notes of sandalwood, frankincense, and myrrh. The smell evokes warm, spicy notes intermingling with the floral and earthy notes to overpower you. It’s definitely another Alpha. It takes every fiber of your being to resist salivating. You turn your head, and discover the source of the smell. It’s emanating from a familiar blond, refined man. The one from your dossier. He turns to the unmasked lady by his side, extending a hand.

“Let’s get together later for a chat over tea.” Soejima’s British accent combined with the smell sets your heart fluttering. But Alpha’s attention is on her. You resolve to get closer to listen in. The woman snorts derisively, “Really, you’re not going to “forget” you said that when the party’s over?” Soejima replies, ever the charmer, “I don’t make empty promises, you took off your mask for me. I can’t wait to see you again.” You notice his hand never quite touches her, though he could make contact any time he wanted to. He’s acting the perfect gentleman. You make the mental note that his demeanor and accent track with his privileged upbringing. While everyone here tonight is wearing a mask and committed to hiding behind them, he feels different somehow. Like the seedy nightclub vibe of the rest of the restaurant simply doesn’t hit him, as if he is in his own bubble of rarified air. You imagine he has sophisticated tastes, and wouldn’t be tempted by the normal feminine wiles. You wonder, as you take in his scent, what will he fall for?

Need to check in with the Boss. Your head turns to look for him until you get the distinct sense that you are being watched instead. You turn back to find Kei Soejima’s smiling eyes gazing at you. Your hindbrain floods you with pleasure, at Alpha finally noticing you. Your Alpha. You shake your head, you know better; though part of you desperately wants to get the wrong idea about this. Just as you think of how to respond, the lights immediately dim.

A voice rings out from the sound system, “It’s time for what you’ve all been waiting for, your date with destiny, our one-night-only swap!” You see a lot of perked-up head turning at this development as the band plays a slow song. People are finding new partners. Typical rich people crap. You finally locate the Boss, but he's already deep in conversation with that woman Soejima unmasked earlier. He's facing you, and his eyes briefly meet yours, as if to say, "It's showtime. Have fun." He must have planned for this.

Again you feel the intensity of being watched. You look around, but no one seems to be approaching you. Were your instincts wrong? No. Kei Soejima is staring at you. His brown eyes piercing into your soul. As he moves toward you, you're reminded immediately of a predator stalking its prey. Your Omega hindbrain urges you to preen and attract this Alpha. He could help you through this heat. Every step is methodical, as if he's testing your reaction with each step. When he's finally in front of you, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Soejima smiles-- a mysteriously gentle smirk. The kind of expression of restrained amusement you'd imagine a prince bestows upon a subject. You don't often get to see foreigners with perfect glassy skin. The dossier wasn't kidding about him being called Prince Charming. You're not used to feeling this vulnerable, this first mission where you're in heat. Not only that, but his scent is invading every sense. You look away, trying to regain your composure. Nagisa Misaki isn't in her heat. You are.

Cool fingers wrap around your hand, and your warmth sinks into his icy grip. He brings your hand up to face level, politely asking, "May I have this dance?"

With a racing pulse, you focus everything on maintaining your cover. Nagisa would be pleased to catch the eye of a gentleman. You’re thankful to hear your voice respond, "Sure, it would be my pleasure."

He starts moving, his arm effortlessly drawing around your waist. Your etiquette and dancing training kick in, your hand going to his shoulder. Ever so thankful that your muscle memory never lets you down. The music shifts into a livelier waltz and Soejima leads you across the floor. Normally, you'd flush with pride at making contact so quickly, but his scent hijacks your thought train. You never once used your body when setting honey traps, just your formidable assets as an unmated Omega. But you feel your resolve crack, just a little.

His voice is low, and sensual. “It’s an honor to dance with someone as lovely as you." Your eyes flit to his, and you see they have appreciably darkened as he has spent time in your presence. It seems that he is also affected by you. This little fact gives your rational mind a leg up on maintaining your alias.

You laugh gently, “Very funny, you’re obviously handsome enough to have any woman here." And yet, alpha has us in his arms. As if in response to that thought, he draws you closer and his hand creeps to the skin bared by your backless dress. Oh, how it burns at his icy touch. You shiver. He’s a well trained dancer, leading you perfectly. His smell is just so different from the rest of the party.

Some part of you wants this Alpha. Badly. The scent is exotic, and your mind wanders, trying to place it. The Boss's scent is the predictable musk you've come to expect from an Alpha, and is remarkably consistent, like he has a tight lid on his instincts. But Soejima, oh, distinctive doesn't begin to describe the smell. It reminds you of a church when they burn incense. Clean, reverent, and urging the willing to supplication. You notice an uncomfortable dampness in your panties. Might be more willing than you thought.

“Is he your date for the night?” His voice is tinged with jealousy, as he draws his face close to yours, close enough for his hair to brush your cheek. He must be talking about the Boss. Your Omega wants to say no, he's not - because I am yours.

Instead, you reply with a simple, “Yes.” Your eyes wander to find the Boss. You see the Boss dancing flirtatiously with the woman from before. You feel small pangs of jealousy and betrayal. Boss was never your Alpha, but your rational mind can't help the feelings. Your Omega is working against your resolve, urging you to secure the Alpha holding you.

“Haha, you look like you miss him.” Soejima's hands pull you closer. Your heart beats faster. No way he read you like that. Absolutely no way, you'd only just met. Can he actually feel how your heart is hammering away in your chest? You look back in his eyes, he's much too close for comfort. You manage to string together a response. But just barely. “Really, how about you? You don’t miss your date?”

His eyes crinkle in delight. “On the contrary, she and I only just met. But you on the other hand…" He dips you, so you catch an eyeful of the Boss's heated dancing with Soejima's date. His strong arms return you to a much closer position. He murmurs, "it seems you’ve known that man for quite a while.” Your Omega picks up on the jealous pangs in the scent.

Don't displease Alpha. Submit.

Your Omega has never been so forceful before. Your brain scrambles to remember your script.

“Yes, we’re old friends, I told him I was interested in getting more involved with...charity work and he brought me to this party. He said it would be a good way to make connections.” Thankful for your training in acting, you rely on your rehearsed response while fighting for control.

Soejima brings his mouth to your ear, and you shiver. “A friend, huh…”

A stark contrast to his icy touch. His breath is warm. Too warm.

You pull away, your speech threatening to stammer. “But I didn’t have a clue what kind of party this was going to be. I’ve got to admit I’m kind of surprised. Especially with all the partner swapping stuff.” You swallow, hoping to abate that awful dry feeling. His lips look so inviting.

“You came to the party with a special friend and now you’re dancing with another man," he replies. With a laugh, he continues,"Guess that makes me a homewrecker.”

You snort. “A homewrecker, huh? Haha, that’s a laugh."

“How does it feel, knowing your ‘friend’ can see you in the arms of another man?” You notice he barely repressed a sneer when referring to your former date. Your focus drifts to the Boss. he’s still dancing with the other lady. You don’t feel good.

Suddenly, you're turned around by Soejima and he whispers to you, “Why don’t we make him a little jealous? Men always want what they can’t have.” He gently nibbles your ear to punctuate his statement. Barely noticeable to others, but it sends shivers of pleasure down your spine.

Your eyes look over his shoulder making eye contact with the Boss. It feels like you're dancing with Boss’s eyes and Soejima’s voice. His eyes normally have no emotion, but you swear you saw a tiny flicker of jealousy. He's always been insanely observant.

While you are pleased to elicit even a tiny reaction out of the Boss, you feel a little guilty about your earrings. Recording such a personal conversation feels embarrassing. You remind yourself that it's just the societal pressures of living in Japan that are making you feel this way. Soejima is from a western country, their women and men are far more forward in conversations like this.

Soejima's low voice rumbles through your ear, “But your friend, he underestimates you..” Caught you off guard. “Oh?” “He’s a little too certain you’ll never have eyes for another man, yet you’re an unmated Omega.” You didn't say anything about your status.

We can't hide from Alpha.

He wraps an arm around your neck, taking the lead. Your Omega succeeds in hijacking control, and you nuzzle into his neck. His scent is intoxicating. You can feel his throaty laughter.

“Oh you would do that”, he says, his voice husky.

“What?"

“Out of sight out of mind, right? You show him who’s boss.” He brings his lips to your exposed left ear, the one without a microphone. You damn your Omega for hiding your equipment in his shoulder.

“Sometimes flings that were supposed to be temporary can turn into something real. You seem like a girl who falls hard when she falls for a guy. Once another man dominates you, you’re hooked for good, huh?" His seductive whisper, sweet as honey, holds dark promises.

You balk at the idea of being dominated. You have always been the one in control.

But this is your Alpha.

No he's not. He's not your Alpha, you insist.

But he could be. Alpha is very interested in us.

“You said he’s a friend, if he’s still just a friend, perhaps that means there’s an opportunity for me to sink my hooks in you...or perhaps you would prefer my teeth?" His silky voice is mischievous, and he says the next part so softly into your ear, to keep anyone else from hearing. His voice sends electricity through your veins.

Alpha is offering his bite.

Stop it, stop it, stop it, you scream internally. This is an intelligence target. This is not courtship of any kind. You pull back to gauge his reaction. His earlier words echo in your mind. "Men always want what they can't have."

Do they? Do they always?

“There might be...a possibility.” The words tumble out faster than you expect. “You’re right, feelings can change, especially when someone particularly alluring is involved.” Your hindbrain had taken over. Were the suppressants wearing off?

His sigh of relief tickles your ear, “I’m happy to hear that." Your Omega nature purrs with pleasure internally. Your mind thinks about your loyalty to the Boss, and struggles, a little. You held a candle to him for so long.

Soejima's masked face fills your vision. Black and gold satin framing his perfect glassy brown eyes, reflecting only you. His pupils are dilated.

His voice is practically a growl, “It’s official. Now I really want to lay claim to you.” That gets your attention. Then he brushes by your lips in a most natural feeling kiss. It's a brief, perfect moment that leaves you breathless.

The music starts winding down, and he pulls away. Your skin burns with a heat that suddenly has nowhere else to go. The cool air of the lounge causes you to shiver. Soejima's eyes still glitter when looking at you.

“You said you were interested in charity. If you’d like we can continue this here.”

His arm only releases you to fish out a business card from his inside pocket of his jacket. He removes his mask. You’ve seen his face before, but up close it’s stunning. Anyone could get lost in those warm brown eyes.

He grins, “I probably shouldn’t be revealing myself at a masquerade party. This is against the rules. Keep it our little secret, pet." He winks, and presses an index finger to his lips. He looks...deliciously naughty in the moment. You're thankful your lacy mask covers the burn you feel in your cheeks.

The overhead lights get brighter, signalling the end of the night. His face goes back to a neutral dispassionate expression, like an image of Prince Charming. This is the face from the dossier. You find yourself struggling to reconcile the two natures he presented to you.

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips to give your knuckles a polite kiss. Eyes meeting yours through his long blond eyelashes as he says, “I'll see you later, and remember… the path to paradise begins in hell.” Something sensual and devilish flickers across his eyes. He takes his leave and his footsteps fade from your detection.

Your brain swims in confusion. What are paradise and hell supposed to mean? What just happened? You can still hear him whispering about making you his. Sinking in his hooks. Giving you his teeth. His Bite. The memory of his exquisite scent overwhelms you. This is the first time a target made a hell of an impression, as if he never left. You shake your head to chase the shadow from your mind. Gotta go back to the Boss. You stop dead in your tracks. You realize you didn’t think about the Boss at all since Seojima kissed you, until that formidable Alpha left.

You take a deep centering breath, and exhale with a big shudder. No sign of him anywhere. His previously comforting scent is long gone. Well, he must have seen you with Soejima, and left. Pangs of loneliness shoot through your consciousness. No no, it makes sense, you're rationalizing desperately. You completed the mission for the night, you can leave.

As if he was still there whispering to you, Soejima's words echo in your mind: He underestimates you.

#masquerade kiss #fanfic #soejima #kei soejima #2nd person #also on ao3 #voltage otome

[banditthewriter]

Choose Your Fate - Caspian - 3

Here we have part three! It was voted for a tour of Cair Paravel. I hope you all like it!

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The rooms that you were put up in were beautiful. The bed was ornately carved and the artwork was most likely priceless. There was so much gold and silver in the room that you felt like you could pay to keep your kingdom fed just by the things in the bedroom. 

That didn't even include the items in the living area or in the room adjacent that Lom was put in. And poor Lom, he'd probably be more comfortable sleeping on the floor.

In fact you wouldn't be surprised if he slept on one of the overly comfortable couches in the living area instead. 

Caspian had told you he would come by shortly to check on how you were settled. You didn't have much to do since you'd left all of your belongings on the ship. Your men wouldn't get back with them for at least another few hours. 

It left you with a lot of time and not much to fill it with. 

That in mind, you asked Lom to accompany you on a walk around the palace. You were curious about Cair Paravel and with nothing else to do, you figured it was the perfect time.

As the two of you stepped out of the living area, you nearly collided with the king who was coming to check on you. His brilliant smile took your breath away again.

"My apologies. I was just coming to see if the rooms were to your liking. We have others available if you'd prefer."

You couldn't imagine the ones that were available. Instead you gave a polite curtsy.

"They are perfect, thank you. We were actually just about to tour around the palace if that's alright."

Caspian's smile widened as he looked between the two of you. 

"Of course, please," he said with a gesture to the hallway.

You started to walk forward but hesitated. You knew you needed to start to make a connection with this king if your negotiations were to go well. And it couldn't hurt to be friendly. 

"If you are not busy, would you mind giving us a tour? I dare say we would get lost on our own."

His smile became softer, more sincere. He gave a low nod before he moved to your side.

"It would be my pleasure Y/N. Come, there's much to see before dinner."

After a brief pause, you accepted the offered arm. Lom shot you a look but you weren't worried. Caspian seemed genuine and bright eyed. You didn't think he had it in him to be nefarious. 

It gave you a strange sense of hope for the negotiations. Surely a king this pleasant would be easily swayed.

The tour of the palace started with the access to the courtyards. Caspian gave little anecdotes about various rooms as you passed them, but there were several that he said he didn't even know the use or purpose of.

He showed you the small dining room that he said he took most of his meals in. There was a larger banquet hall that he expressed he wished was used more often. 

Next was the kitchens, although you didn't go in. He told you that the cooks were happy to have guests at any time of day. 

"This is one of the libraries," he said as he threw open the doors to show a large room with ceiling to floor bookshelves. "It is open to anyone in the palace so feel free to come in and grab a book."

You doubted that Lom would take him up on that offer, but depending on how long you were there, you might be tempted to stop by yourself. 

The next set of doors were so tall, you weren't sure how a single man could open them, but when Caspian pushes on them, they came open without a sound.

"This is my favorite room in the castle."

The room was long and wife, the walls stretching up beyond belief. Along the walls were shutters and the one that was open showed a beautiful balcony that overlooked the ocean. If all of the shutters were open, this room would be a vision to be sure.

You noticed the throne next. It was an ornate golden throne with red cushions on the seat and back. The back of the throne had the head of a lion carved into the gold.

Though your knowledge of Narnia was limited, even you had heard about Aslan. 

There were also exquisite and detailed murals on the walls between the shuttered openings. Each one seemed to depict battles or key events. You could pick out Caspian in a few of the murals, a grand lion in a few. And there were four other beings that reappeared in more than a few of the murals. 

While you thought Caspian was showing you his throne room, you noticed his attention was on the other wall. There stood four pillars that would be around your height. As you all approached, you saw something was encased in glass on top of the pillars.

Each pillar had a crown encased in glass. And on the front of the white stone pillars were names carved into each one.

Peter the Magnificent. Susan the Gentle. Edmund the Just. Lucy the Valiant. 

"The kings and queens of Narnia before me," he said as he went by and touched the edge of each glass case. "They were my family. I miss them every day."

You had heard stories of the Kings and Queens of old, but your knowledge of Narnia wasn't extensive. Caspian seemed so distant as he remembered them that you didn't want to ask.

As if remembering that he wasn't alone, Caspian looked up at you in surprise. His hand fell from the last case and he cleared his throat. 

"There's more to see if you are interested. Or perhaps you would prefer to rest until your belongings are delivered."

As much as you'd like to see the rest of the palace, resting sounded good as well. A week of travel by sea and then this? You were feeling a bit run down. 

"Rest would be welcome," you said as you took a step back, your eyes still taking in the sight of the room.

"Let me walk you to your rooms. Dinner will be served shortly if both of you would kindly join me."

You gave a low bow of your head. When you lifted your head back up, you were confronted with another one of Caspian's wonderful smiles.

"It would be my pleasure," you said kindly as you took his arm once more. 

There was something about this king, something you couldn't put your finger on. Maybe there was more to him than you had originally thought. 

------

Lom studied you from his position on the couch in the living area between your two rooms. You tried to pretend you couldn't feel his eyes on you, but he wasn't even trying to hide it.

"You can speak your mind captain," you said as you looked over a floral arrangement on the table. "You've never stood on ceremony with me before."

The captain cleared his throat, obviously not bothered with being caught out. Instead he walked a little closer to you. 

"I was wondering if perhaps there was something you'd like to talk to me about. Pertaining to a certain king."

You stopped what you were doing and turned slowly to face your captain. Lom was one of your closest advisers and the head of your navy. He was also a close friend to your parents before they passed. 

"There's nothing to say."

The captain nodded slowly as he looked you over. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight. 

"I never had a daughter myself," he explained as he looked away from you, his face turning pink as he did, "but I've seen plenty of women's faces when they are taken with a man. I can recognize the look."

You were too busy being amused by his embarrassment to realize what he had said at first. But then his words slowly sank in.

"Taken with a man? Are you… are you referring to me and the king?"

Lom’s bearded face grew even darker.

"The king is a charming fellow. And I've never seen you with moon eyes upon meeting another royal, especially one who we've been at odds with."

You wanted to tell Lom that he was mad or that he was mistaken. You wanted to storm out of the room in a huff, but that wasn't very queenly of you. 

Instead you turned to fully face Lom, your fingers laced as they rested against your stomach. 

"I can assure you that whatever my distraction, it will not interfere with my duty as queen. Fareha is the most important thing to me."

You watched as the captain sagged a bit, maybe in relief that it wasn't as bad as he thought. But then he approached you and put a gentle hand on your forearm. 

"You are a queen, a great queen. Both of your parents would be proud of you for all you have done for your kingdom." He paused as he squeezed your arm, a comforting touch you appreciated. "Just don't forget that you're a young woman as well. You can't control if you're attracted to someone, not even this king."

You pulled away from Lom, but not abruptly. You didn't want him to think you were mad at him for speaking to you like this. In fact Lom was probably the only person you trusted to give it to you straight. 

"If I am attracted to the king—and I'm not saying I am—it won't matter. I'll focus on the negotiations and keep my attention to myself."

Lom cleared his throat to draw your attention back to him.

"He seems like a nice enough lad. Perhaps a wed–"

"Let's not get carried away," you said with a laugh, enjoying Lom’s embarrassment a bit more now, "this is just the negotiations for our kingdoms, not for anything else."

Lom laughed and shook his head as he turned away to go back to the corner.

"And if it comes up in negotiations?"

You didn't have a response for that.

------

Dinner was an interesting affair. You left your crown in the suite, the only concession you made for the evening. Your chests had not arrived yet so you weren't able to change into something less decorative, but it would have to do. 

In the dining room, the table was set for four people but only the three of you were present. Caspian's seat was at the head of the table, but he moved to the seat directly to the right to pull the chair out for you. Lom sat beside you, his hand on the dagger at his hip for most of the meal. 

Caspian was a talented conversationalist. He made sure to split his attention between you and Lom almost evenly. The two of them were seafaring men, so they had plenty to talk about.

You sat enraptured by Caspian's tale of a gargantuan sea serpent that attacked his vessel, the Dawn Treader.

Between the second and third course, someone joined the three of you in the dining hall. The lady looked younger than you, with dark brown hair and eyes the color of sea glass. She looked ill, pale sickly skin with rosy cheeks. Her hands shook as she pressed a cloth to her cheek when she arrived.

Lom and Caspian both stood when she arrived. The king moved to the fourth chair and pulled it out for the girl, making sure she was seated before he called one of the servants to attend to her.

"Lady Eloise, this is Queen Y/N of Fareha. Y/N, this is Lady Eloise, the daughter of one of my generals. He is out on a campaign so I offered to have Lady Eloise stay at the palace for her comfort."

Her comfort. It was obvious that she was ill. Perhaps that was why the king offered; to keep her comfortable and to help with her illness.

"It's a please to meet you," the girl rasped, grabbing her goblet to wet her throat. "I hope your trip was favorable."

"It was, thank you," you said softly, your heart hurting for the girl. "I am not as accustomed to sea voyages as the king or my captain, but I faired well enough. Have you ever been to sea?"

The girl smiled a bit as she went about digging into her salad. 

"The ocean air helps," she explained between bites, "but I'm afraid my father doesn't let me go as often as I would like."

You turned to look at Caspian while Eloise's attention was on her salad. He gave you a grave look as he went back to his own food. 

The girl was ill and it seemed like they had given up hope for a cure or an end to her ailment. You felt for the girl. She seemed like she had high spirits despite her situation. 

Perhaps one of the healers that traveled with you would know something to help the girl. After all, Fareha was known for being advanced with their medicines. 

You would see to that as soon as you could.

X

A post for voting will be up after this. 

X

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#caspian #caspian x reader #caspian imagine #caspian fanfic #my writing #choose your fate #choose your fate - caspian

[musicallisto]

(1/2) hello there! i’d like to request matchups for marvel, pjo, and narnia, please! i’m a straight female (she/her), 5’5” with blonde hair that reaches a little past my shoulders and grey eyes that shift to blue/green. i’m an infj and an aquarius. i have an intense love of the arts, specifically theatre, literature, and history. i play a bundle of instruments and write stories and poetry, and dabble with art occasionally.

(2/2) overall, i am a bit melancholic, but with a deep ability to love and empathize with/feel other’s emotions; and around my best friends, i tend to be witty and sarcastic and we laugh a lot. i question the world often and am able to see and appreciate every point of view, but hold to my beliefs very strongly. an adventurer at heart, my dream is to travel to other countries and experience new things. thank you love!

I Ship You With...

Steve Rogers

Steve is also pretty attuned to the arts. He would love that you have an interest in them because they were such a big part of his interests and what kept him afloat in the troubled times in which he grew up. So he’s eager to discover every way in which art has evolved since the Forties, and you show him everything you know.

You have a lot of museum dates where you choose one random museum in New York and spend the entire day roaming its halls and admiring either the paintings or the historical artifacts and pieces. You know the MoMa and the American museum of natural history by heart by now. Steve always has so many anecdotes and memories about the stuff you’re seeing, and he tells you, with a smile in his voice, about the simpler years of the 1920s when he was a child and everyone laughed at the idea of the sky crumbling down someday; and his eyes get a little darker when you reach the fateful periods of the Great Depression and the war and hatred that ensued. You squeeze his hand, and he breathes a little easier. His stories are fascinating, but they drain him everytime, and you like him best when he’s colorful.

Steve would read all of your stories and give you constructive criticism and feedback. Like, no matter how tempting it is for him to say that everything you create is amazing, I believe he has great critical thinking skills when it comes to art and he can be the best beta reader, not letting his love for you cloud his appreciation of your writing. It would be the cutest thing to come home after a long day and find him sprawled on the couch, carefully examining the last poems you wrote and gave to him. He’s so absorbed in the metaphors and emotions that he doesn’t even hear you come in. It’s the easiest moment to startle him... and you don’t need to think about it twice.

Frank Zhang

You would be a great barrier to any self-deprecating, cynical or pessimistic comment that Frank could make. Sure, you have your bad days as well where you feel like everything is gray and grim and there’s no way out of this world, but does that mean you’ll let Frank tear down his beautiful face and persona and soul? Absolutely not. He’s just too precious and you want him to see it.

You two would laugh so much together. The rest of the gang of chosen kids and whatnot is pretty funny as well, and you love spending time listening to Leo’s bickering with... everybody else, but nothing beats the laughter you share with Frank. You have a sense of humor that is very close, witty and sarcastic, but at the same time you don’t even need words to make each other laugh. It’s enough to look at each other when you’re about to say the same thing, and you burst out laughing because your minds are so synchronized it’s hilarious. You’ve never felt this level of comfort and silent understanding with anyone.

Because you love art, Frank would introduce you to artists and important works from Chinese culture. He loves how interested you are in his background and it makes him feel even more badass than being able to take the form of an animal. Like, his ancestry captivating your attention? That’s some serious pride-inducing material right there.

You write little love poems and notes to him because you know he’s a little bit... awkward when it comes to public displays of affection. You just mainly leave them where you know he’ll find them, by his bed most of the time, and watch his stupid grin for the entire day after he’s read it.

Edmund Pevensie

Being a High Queen of Narnia is not a piece of cake every day, but at least there are some perks that come with it, namely having access to Cair Paravel’s immense library, which conveniently features a few of the instruments you play. You suspect it was Edmund who had them made from the finest of woods and brought them there to hear you play. When you’re not by his side taking care of Narnian political affairs with his siblings, you like to come there to immerse yourself in a book, or play some music. The notes and melodies fill the air, the courtyard and scale the towers, and he can hear them from his desk. It brings him such calm and comfort that he dares not to move for a few seconds, fearing he would break the charm of it if by being his clumsy self.

Mornings in the castle are fresh and tranquil, and you can spend hours lying in bed on your days off, just laying in Edmund’s arms and loving the regularity of his breathing and the stillness of the world. Overtime, and with a little training, he’s gotten better at singing little Narnian melodies for you.

Edmund admires how loyal and determined you are. You believe strongly in whatever your heart has captured and you don’t let go, no matter who tries to undermine you. In addition to being a true Queen of Narnia, you are one of its most abrasive warriors and defensors... and a great sparring partner, once he teaches you. Although you spend more time laughing at the unlikely positions you find yourselves in when you’re unbalanced than actually fighting...

#ship #ship request #matchup #mcu #steve rogers #pjo #percy jackson #frank zhang #narnia #edmund pevensie #mywriting

[mobius-prime]

53. Knuckles Miniseries #2

Previous / Table of Contents / Next

Rites of Passage!

Writers: Ken Penders and Mike Kanterovich Pencils: Art Mawhinney Colors: Kyle Hunter

This issue's intro page mostly just sums up the events of the previous issue, containing only one thing I find worth note: the claim that echidnas and fire ants have always been working together despite being "natural enemies." It's kind of interesting that they point this out - the idea being that in real life, echidnas are also known as "spiny anteaters," and don't even have teeth, as they merely use their long tongues to lick up ants as food. In real life, foxes can and will sometimes eat hedgehogs, yet this is never really pointed out during the course of Sonic and Tails' friendship, for example.

Anyway, things quickly turn south in the desert as Knuckles and Archimedes are set upon by a giant sandcrawler, which decides they'd make for a delightful meal.

Archimedes disagrees, and is able to trick it into ramming headfirst into a nearby pile of rocks. He and Knuckles are then shown roasting and eating… something? It looks like they're sticking a bunch of green marshmallows onto a stick. Is the implication that they… are eating meat from the sandcrawler? I guess that would be prudent of them, but… it's honestly not super clear where this strange, unidentified food source came from…

As they sit and talk, Knuckles asks Archimedes about the fire ants' past with the echidnas. This diagonal string of panels looks quite cool - there was a page or two of these in the last issue too, but they were mostly just recapping past information. However, this one actually mentions that the only reason the plan to raise Echidnapolis out from the ground worked at all is because the fire ants helped break the ground underneath it, allowing it to rise into the air.

While this conversation is going on, Enerjak is of course busy being evil, gliding over to the former site of Echidnapolis and beginning some strange ritual. Knuckles and Archimedes are mostly just stuck wandering, trying not to starve or dehydrate, with mixed results…

(See? Anteater.)

…Enerjak begins using his powers to raise the rock and rubble, creating a new city on the ashes of the old and naming it "Nekronopolis." It apparently takes him a while to do, as while he gets the bottom panel of every subsequent page to himself to show off how he raises Stonehenge out of the dirt and whatnot, Knuckles and Archimedes have apparently become so exhausted that they collapse in the sand. However, a vision of Knuckles' father appears to him in the sky, urging him onward and to not give up, until he and Archimedes crest one more hill and discover…

It's their salvation, and soon they're well rested, fed and watered, and carrying some supplies to boot. However, no sooner do they turn around after leaving than it has vanished mysteriously, leaving them baffled. Still, mirage or not, it helped them, and this gives them enough energy to reach Nekronopolis, which by now has grown into a towering dark city. Knuckles has the idea to draw the attention of all reprogrammed robots to him, then rush inside and slam the door, leaving the interior of Enerjak's Citadel relatively free of resistance.

Of course, this leaves Knuckles cocky enough to tempt fate by complaining that Enerjak's forces seem to be offering too little resistance, leaving himself wide open to be smacked around by four different shadowy figures. Wait, four?

Oh boy…

Well, on that little cliffhanger, we've been given another map, this time of Nekronopolis. Let's have a look!

The river is apparently called the "Eternal River," fitting I suppose given how it technically never ends. "Angel Zone" has been clarified to in actuality be called "Angel Island," so again, this is before the entire Floating Island began to be referred to as such. Matching up various details of this map to the full map of the Floating Island would actually mean that Nekronopolis overlaps the Lava Reef Zone to some extent, with it being near the site of the "Echidna Ruins" that are labeled on both maps. It would also apparently cover both Rainbow Valley, Espio's home, and the Fire-Ant Hill, Archimedes' home. Honestly, I'm not sure how much thought they put into the placement and size of Nekronopolis on the map, as in raising this thing up Enerjak would have partially or completely destroyed at least three unique areas on the island, and calculating its size based on similar locations and the scale reference from the other map, this thing would be 14x20 miles across (22x32 kilometers), or 220 square miles (570 square kilometers) in area! This is just a bit smaller than the city of Birmingham in the UK, a city which holds just over one million people. Nekronopolis is supposed to be built on the ruins of Echidnapolis, so this makes some amount of sense - I'm sure the city held over a million citizens in its heyday - but stops making as much sense as soon as you look at the buildings. There's only a few even marked with the city's walls, and these would all be ten miles across, unbroken, according to the scale reference! Yeah, now I'm definitely sure they gave no thought to consistency or scale between maps here. As someone who is interested in fantasy mapmaking as an idle hobby - and not even someone who knows that much about realistic mapmaking - this irks me a little. At least put some effort in, guys!

Well, fantastical scale issues aside, let's move to the actual contents of the city, which is maybe not so much even a city as an extended base. Most of the infrastructure looks like it's merely meant to maintain the place, churning out mechanaut robots and providing power and maintenance. There's a building ominously labeled "The Pit," and four buildings labeled "Slave Barracks," which is quite ambitious considering we only know of four actual non-robotic slaves Enerjak has at this point - the Chaotix - and all those buildings are two to three miles across each. Honestly, a two-mile-across personal bunkhouse seems like a pretty sweet deal for a slave - real-life mansions aren't even that enormous.

Most notably, Enerjak's Citadel is built on the ancient site of the Hall of Learning, where the scientists rejected Edmund and Dimitri's proposal to use the Chaos Syphon all those generations ago. Man, how salty is this guy? Hundreds of years ago some stuffy old scientist in a wig rejects his idea one time, and in revenge he tears down his people's entire civilization, tries to enslave the planet, and after hundreds of years of imprisonment beneath a mountain that collapsed on him due to his own hubris, has decided to create his personal hideout on the exact site of the most humiliating moment in his life. This guy puts Kylo Ren to shame with his melodramatics.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #knuckles miniseries 2 #era 2 the freedom fight #writer: ken penders #writer: mike kanterovich #pencils: art mawhinney #colors: kyle hunter

[wardogxicarus]

For he so swift and nimble was of flight, That from this lower Tract he dar'd to fly Up to the Clouds, and thence with Pineons light To mount aloft unto the crystal Sky, To view the Workmanship of Heaven's Hight: Whence down descending, he along would fly Upon the streaming Rivers, Sport to find; And oft would dare to tempt the troublous Wind.

Edmund Spenser, Muiopotmos (the Fate of the Butterflie)

#| Words with Weight | #| do not reblog | #| getting some poetry in here |

[rothorns]

Who is your favorite person to have sex with?

“Hm. haven’t had much time for sex lately. since you said had, of course,” he responds perplexedly, not sure why anyone would show any interest in his sex life. “But perhaps, if you’d asked me who was my favorite person to have sex with, I might’ve told you—

I don’t have a favorite person. But there is are select people who I enjoyed having sex with; each coming with their own reasons—”

CORDELIA was representative of his youth— before it’d been forcefully torn from him. He had basked in her newness, the enticingness of what was forbidden to them, the fates granting them their last opportunity to be holy. The last chance at seeking pleasure in their own innocence. One of the last moments in times before they fully grasped what consequences would likely come from such traitorous actions. Before they were thrust headfirst into a sea of corruption. Catherine had been everything he wanted, and nothing he needed. In a perfect universe, they might have been able to make something more of themselves, been more than a series of treasonous exchanges. When he was with her, he forsook everything he was taught and became everything he ever wanted— a wordsmith, spelling out his love for her with his tongue, teeth, hands— leaving not a part of her untouched. And yes, he had loved her. Roman had almost been in love with her— had their love not been ripped from him so prematurely. 

EDMUND had been no more than a ghost of his tumultuous youth. He would be one of the first people Roman would encounter during his sexual awakening. He’d been freshly heartbroken and completely convinced that his namesake would prevent him from ever having a proper relationship. Dating within the mafia was difficult, and dating someone outside would be unfair. He simply could not subject someone he loved to those conditions. He’d spotted Easton across the bar one night. There’d been something so tempting about him. There was evidently something eating away with him, and Roman would learn later that night that it had been rage. So beautiful and so full of rage. He had enjoyed every minute of it. It had been drunk, hurried, and sloppy— neither had felt obligated to keep up a facade for the other party. Something unspoken occurred between them, Roman could sense it in the harshness and tenseness of his movements. They’d been on the recieving end of the other’s projected feelings and not the cause. He wouldn’t see Easton again until it was on the frontline of the Capulet ranks, and Roman couldn’t help but think that a pretty mouth was going to waste, as well as his impassioned, uncontrollable rage. He would either carry the Capulets to victory, or destroy them from within— and Roman was counting on the latter. 

QUEEN MAB challenged him to reliquinsh control. Roman understood the terms of their relationship perfectly: Mona had selected him to be one of her playthings, and with him, she was able to do as she pleased.  He knew that duration of their relationship would all depend on her. It was exciting, constantly being left in limbo, not knowing the exact moment she would tire of him. These had been the terms, and Roman has been enjoying them to the fullest.  He’d never been with anyone quite like Mona— someone who knew exactly what they wanted, and when. There was no room left for speculation, as everything was unequivecol when it came to Mona.  It was a much needed shift from the encounters he’d been used to. Roman was always grateful for the people who introduced him to something he didn’t already know, and needless to say, he’d been hooked. Roman had made it easy for Mona, he’d walked blindly into her bed without a single reservation, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been in over his head. He was ensnared in her web, but Roman knew to tread lightly— pissing off the queen of the shadows was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

PERDITA had been his escape from his own identity. With her, it was never about the war, and he was free of all attachments that came with his namesake. There was no Cosimo and Damiano, no Montagues and Capulets, simply Roman and Paola. Their affair had been brief, as Roman had only been visiting for a few days, but within that short period of time, Roman committed Paola to memory. From the way her hair fell across her face, to how she paced her words when she spoke, to each individual way she was capable of shouting his name. A weekend with Paola would not be enough. A week wouldn’t suffice either. A month was no better, nor was a year, as no amount of time with Paola would satisfy him.  He would always be left with the fact that their relationship could never be permanent, knowing that at any waking moment, someone would arrive to drag him back to Verona. A life of secrecy with her would have been her only option, as he decided from the moment he laid eyes on her, that he wouldn’t involve her in the war. But seeing her now— Roman can’t help but think that he should’ve told her the truth.

ROSALINE blighted his heart. To be so blantantly destructive with the heart of another, without a single qualm, was an act Roman had not yet been capable of understanding. Rafaella was his first love, or what he believed love was at the time. He proclaimed this love for Rafaella almost immediately, intent on recreating everything he’d learned from the romance poems and stories he’d grown to adore. Everything was calculated; he would’ve given anything to have ensured Rafaella was happy with him. But his shortsightedness caused him to miss out on was the fact that he’d fallen directly into her grasp. He’d made it entirely to easy for her, letting her funnel streams of information out of him and into the Capulet ranks.  Even to this day, he is still attempting to sort out his feelings regarding the situation. But when the thought of Rafaella isn’t leaving a vile taste in his mouth, he’s reminded of the blissful ignorance that came with being her; engulfed in his own youthful naivity— believing wholeheartedly that love would always be enough. The delicateness and the softness, him always being fearful that if he held her too hard that he’d crush her, back when he believed the woman could do no wrong. How absolutely wrong he’d been, and at the expense of his own heart. 

“—but alas, you did not, and here we are.” He smiled cheekily. 

@catherinedaly @eastoncraven @chenmona @paoladamasco @rafaellacapulet

#( ask roman. ) #i really did not need to tag everyone in this asdlfasdlfk but too late #( catherine. ) #( easton. ) #( mona. ) #( paola. ) #( rafaella. )

[suits-of-woe]

For the character ask- (our favorite bastard) Edmund, and Edgar too! Thank you!

Thanks!! God I love these boys with all my heart it’s not even funny

Edmund:

1. “I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.”

Okay actually the entire “this is the excellent foppery of the world” speech but ESPECIALLY this quote like. Holy shit. This is one of my favorite quotes of all time. It’s in my instagram bio and the only reason it’s there is to stop myself from being tempted to get a tattoo of it. The modernity. The cynicism. The language. The big dick energy. I could talk about this speech for the rest of my life.

2. “The wheel is come full circle; I am here.”

Because I love having my entire heart broken into pieces. But really, this line is gorgeous, and such a wonderful conclusion of his attitude about fate and nature.

3. Why bastard? wherefore base?When my dimensions are as well compact,My mind as generous, and my shape as true,As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they usWith base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?

More cliche speeches but come on, it’s iconic. And I also just love the repetition here. We don’t get to see much of Edmund’s mistreatment onstage but the language here just drives home how much he’s had to internalize over the years.

Edgar:

1. “Edgar I nothing am.“

Just an amazing use of that motif. So simple but so perfect. Gives me chills every time.

2. “Yet better thus, and known to be contemn’d,Than still contemn’d and flatter’d. To be worst,The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear.The lamentable change is from the best;The worst returns to laughter.”

Oh honey, it’s still gonna get worse from here. But this is still absolutely gorgeous and such a wonderful parallel with that second Edmund line up there. I love how those two mirror each other.

3. “The weight of this sad time we must obey,Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.The oldest have borne most; we that are youngShall never see so much, nor live so long.”

Okay I know this is sometimes an Albany line, but I think it’s so much better suited to Edgar and such a perfect ending to this play. Especially given my new appreciation for narrator!Edgar from your project!

#this is horrifically long #but what did anyone expect from me? #king lear #edmund #edgar #mine #ask

[moretreasurewithinarchive]

“Who can say for certain Maybe you're still here I feel you all around me Your memories so clear... Deep in the stillness I can hear you speak You're still an inspiration Can it be That you are my Forever love And you are watching over me from up above... Fly me up to where you are Beyond the distant star I wish upon tonight To see you smile If only for awhile to know you're there A breath away's not far To where you are...”

#Peace Of A Kind {Music} #A Lesson Only One Learned {Headcanons} #Tired Of Chains {Likes} #Big & Brave {Peter} #Tempting Fate {Edmund} #Faith Enough For Each Of Us {Lucy Pevensie} #Half As Good As Her {Mum} #A Girl's Greatest Hero {Dad} #Josh Groban #to where you are