like- i get wanting doomsday or exile addressed by other characters than tommy, cause i want people to talk about those events so so bad.
but its so fucked that no one has even mentioned how fucked up the scene they walked in on in dream’s bunker was.
almost everyone was there. they walked in on the moment dream was about to kill tubbo- a second later he would’ve been dead.
so just imagine that- you’re anyone on this server- you’ve just heard from who-was dream’s right hand man that something bad is planned, they’re in danger, and you follow to save these kids
only to walk in on a scene where both look like they’d been crying, tired, and beaten from a battle- they’re missing all the items you KNOW you saw them leave with, and you see dream with an axe poised at one’s throat.
yeah they got out of it fine, they were saved, that was the point! but only a few actually went down to look at the hall of attachments (sapnap actually taking his items back)
and i dont recall anyone leaving that scenario and at any point later going ‘wow that was really fucked, what the hell did we just see?’
because they witnessed that. that’s not like exile- where they have to entirely trust tommy’s word. that’s not doomsday, where it was pretty much a war.
that was an independent incidient on its own, outside of war, where almost everyone on the server walked into a creepy bunker with a man about to kill a child with another beaten one next to him.
and yeah they threw him in prison- but like, no one has even uttered what happened in there. its almost like it was too impossible to believe so so many brushed it off, but?? ive not even heard sam or puffy- who have spoken the most about things those two have gone through, mention it- ive not heard them even utter what happened in that bunker.
its crazy. its fucked. i want someone to talk about it. i honestly want someone to mention it more than i want them to mention exile or doomsday and that means something cause i want those two brought up almost more than anything.
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Heavy is the Head
(Or, ten years on, Susan grows her hair out again)
When Susan was seventeen, she bobbed her hair and Lucy bit her lip until it bled. At the time, Susan hadn’t understood it. She’d muttered something uncharitable about her sister’s childishness and gone about her day. Bobs were the fashion, and since when was Lucy opposed to short hair anyway?
Lucy was remembering another seventeen-year-old Susan with hair that fell to her waist. That Susan had been a queen. She hadn’t chided Lucy for caring about Narnia. The Susan who was seventeen in 1945 cut her hair short because it was stylish, and Lucy fought hard not to see it as one less thing tying her sister to the queen she had been.
When Susan was thirty-two, she began growing her hair long again. One of her girlfriends asked her about it and Susan replied, “I used to have it long, you know.”
This Susan had spent ten long years wending her way back to faith. Little by little, she allowed herself to sift through old memories of Narnia. More and more, she was thinking about her hair. It was like this:
Susan’s crown was the lightest of the four, which Edmund called ironic. “Your head’s always been the heaviest,” he said. Susan pretended not to understand, but she knew what he meant. She had spent her whole life choosing to carry worry and concern, ever since she was four and tending to Peter’s skinned knees. As her hair grew longer, Edmund joked that she was making up the difference.
There was a practical art to braiding hair, Susan found. Divide, twist, pin, pin. A calming ritual for otherwise frenzied mornings. She liked to gather her crown up in her hair and weave it into place. When it didn’t move, she held her head up higher.
Peter always said he could tell the political situation by the state of Susan’s hair. “One braid for war, two for peace?” Edmund quipped.
Peter shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s neater when there’s danger or contention about. Fewer flyaways means more pins and nets and the like, which means that our royal sister fears disaster. She took extra time ensuring that her hair will be secure, even if the Cair itself goes up in flames.”
“Perhaps,” said Lucy. “Or maybe she just wants pins on hand in case there are locks to pick.”
Oh, Lucy. Lucy had a habit of driving off lady’s maids. She’d come home from Lion knew where, the hem of her gown caked in dirt and her hair caught in a series of snarls. Worse, she could never sit still long enough for any of her maids to work all the snarls out of her hair.
Only Susan could manage it—though whether it was Susan’s skill with hair or her ability to manage Lucy, no one could say. But Susan had come in on her sister scowling and yanking at her brush trying to unknot her hair twenty minutes before a banquet on more occasions than she could count. Each time, she sat her sister down before her own gilt mirror. Then, Susan would work the brush through Lucy’s hair in gentle, even strokes, all the while telling stories in order to keep her distracted. Like an enchantress, Lucy would say.
Lucy kept her hair short to medium-length for convenience’s sake. Susan grew hers out, and she could never quite say why. Peter would say she liked the ritual of fashioning and securing it each morning. Lucy would say she liked the feel of it, falling like a waterfall over her shoulders or growing silky-soft under a brush. Edmund would say she liked the weight. It had been ten years since Susan’s siblings died. Longer, since she’d had hair long enough to argue about. More and more, she wondered who was right.
When she was thirty-two, Susan started growing her hair long again. It didn’t style the way it used to, but that didn’t concern her. Of course, growing long hair takes time. One morning, when she was thirty-three, Susan looked at her reflection in the mirror and decided her hair was long enough to put up.
They were each right in their own ways, but in that moment, Susan was thinking of Edmund. It was heavy. Almost like a crown.
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