Once, Always
(Edmund has an abundance of birthdays)
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“I say,” murmured Edmund sleepily as the fire burned low. “When do you suppose it is here? I mean—what time of year? Do you think it’s the beginning of September, the same as it was in England?”
“Summer,” said Lucy. “Certainly summer.”
Peter agreed. “I think it must be Highgrass, if I had to guess. Perhaps later. Greenroof?”
“If it’s Greenroof, then Edmund gets another birthday,” Lucy sighed. “Eleven or twelve, Ed?”
“Neither,” put in Susan. “A thousand, if you’re going to rationalize it that way. Now everyone hush, please, and get some sleep.”
.
Edmund’s birthday was the fifteenth day of Greenroof by the Narnian reckoning. Greenroof, late summer, when all the leaves were dark and broad. Narnian summers were long, but Greenroof was the last and best of the summer months. Greenroof was hunts through the dense foliage, blackberries heavy with juice, lazy afternoons, bonfires, wild romps, and the pleasant kind of sweat. Edmund’s birthday celebrations were always held on Dancing Lawn in the old days: the sort of long, laughter-bright nights that summer was made for.
.
The second time Edmund celebrated his eleventh birthday, it was just past three months since he and his siblings had returned home from the country. Their house was glass-strewn and battered, but still standing when they arrived home. By August it was beginning to feel really safe again, but sometimes Edmund still woke in the night to find his mother standing silent in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her two sons returned to her.
The professor sent one of Ivy’s famous spice cakes for Edmund’s birthday. It arrived tied in red string, which made Lucy reminisce fondly about dear Mr. Tumnus. Edmund’s siblings pooled their allowances to buy him the new Nero Wolfe detective novel, and his mother gave him a new cap and an electric torch.
“How do you feel?” his mother asked over dinner.
“I don’t feel any older, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “Eleven feels just the same as ten did yesterday.”
.
All four of them missed their birthdays the first year in Narnia. Too much else was going on at the time, and none of them was quite sure when their birthdays were supposed to be besides. The measurement of time was a thoroughly tangled issue.
The Narnian year had four hundred days even, divided into fourteen months of inconsistent lengths. Furthermore, the kingdom had only known winter for the last hundred years. The Narnians themselves were still remembering how the calendar worked in a world where the seasons changed. They didn’t have the words yet to explain it to their sovereigns.
.
“Eustace,” said Edmund, “your journal is wrong.”
“Give me that,” Eustace scowled at once. “I know it’s wrong, but there’s no need to rub my face in it. Aren’t I trying to make up for how I was?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. The month is wrong. You’ve got September written here, but time works differently in Narnia than it does in the Other Place. Haven’t you noticed that it’s summer, not autumn?”
“Oh.” Eustace shrugged. “I followed Occam’s Razor and assumed that the climate here was different rather than time itself.”
“Occam’s what?” This was Lucy.
“Occam’s Razor: the simplest solution to a problem is the most likely—never mind. Well, go on, what month is it?”
“Highgrass,” said Lucy.
“July,” said Edmund at the same moment. “More or less.”
.
They worked it all out one afternoon as the second spring of their reign was ending. Peter and Susan wrote out the English calendar on one stack of parchment while Edmund and Lucy sat down with the Narnian calendar and penciled in seasonal markers as best they could manage.
“The first crocuses came up right at the end of Cleardome, yes?”
“Yes, I think so. And the snowdrops were in their full glory that month too.”
“How do you want to deal with leap year?”
“Just forget about it. Narnia doesn’t have anything similar, so I think twenty-eight days for February is fine for our purposes.”
“Magnolia in Laceveil, yes?”
“Laceveil is a good marker in general. We ought to set that as May and go from there.”
Birthdays were guesses, no matter how much counting they did. Yet as memories of England receded and Narnia’s world blossomed into everything they knew, those guesses solidified into fact. Edmund turned eleven for the first time on the fifteenth day of Greenroof. He was the first of his siblings to celebrate a proper birthday in Narnia.
.
The fourth time Edmund turned twelve, he received another electric torch to replace the one he’d lost. He laughed for half a minute, holding that gift in his hand.
“Really, you should have expected it,” said Susan primly.
"I did."
Their mother tsked and added something about keeping track of one’s belongings, but that was alright. His siblings understood.
Edmund flicked on the light and watched the beam land on the far wall across the living room. Bright at the edges and dark towards the center where the bulb was. He moved his wrist sideways and watched the spot of light follow.
.
Edmund might have forgotten about his birthday aboard the Dawn Treader if Lucy hadn’t remembered. She conspired with the cook to have a spread of Edmund’s favorite foods at supper (such as could be managed at sea) and coerced Rynelf into playing jigs on his fiddle afterwards. While they were dancing, Caspian called for a cask of his best wine, and soon the ship’s whole company was making merry like only Narnians could.
“Didn’t you have a twelfth birthday the last time you were in Narnia?” Caspian asked curiously as the party was dying down.
“Yes,” Edmund replied, “and the time before that too. Confused yet?”
“Ed has all the luck,” Lucy pouted playfully. “We always seem to return to Narnia in the summer, so he gets all the extra birthdays.”
Caspian's face lit up. “How extraordinary! When’s yours then?”
“Cleardome. There’s a year and a half between Ed and me, and he never lets me forget it.”
“It’s really not as exciting as all that,” Edmund added. “We’re not living our lives backwards, or unstuck in time, or any such nonsense. It’s more like—our lives are folded in on themselves, you see? But never the same way twice.”
“I think it’s more like music than anything else,” Lucy said, a kind of fond wistfulness in her voice.
“Yes,” said Edmund. “I know what you mean.”
.
On the thirteenth of Greenroof, the Telmarines laid down their arms and surrendered to Old Narnia. The next day, messengers were sent forth across the land with news of the surrender and with terms for the Telmarines. Caspian’s coronation followed, and then Edmund woke and it was his birthday again.
Breakfast that morning was long and languid, for Peter and Susan knew that they must say farewell to Narnia, even if the younger ones did not. They lingered round the table with Caspian and Trumpkin and the rest, and presently Peter offered a toast.
“To my brother King Edmund, who is eleven and twelve and sixty-three and thirteen hundred years old today.”
Everyone raised their cups and repeated, “King Edmund.” Caspian nodded and added, “Long live the king,” with an almost ironic tilt to his head.
Naturally, Edmund nodded back. “And to you, King Caspian. Long may you reign.”
Another round of assent followed, and then Lucy cleared her throat. “But also,” she said, “To late summer and the rebirth of Our Narnia. And to the land, the sea, the hills, the trees, the sky, Cair Paravel-by-the-sea and Dancing Lawn and all the flowers that are still in bloom. And to the color green. To all of us here today, and to those who are gone. And to Aslan.”
“Here, here.”
There were tears in Susan’s eyes now. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, and squeezed Edmund’s hand tight. Edmund looked down at his plate, fiercely overcome with love for this place and these people. In a strict, chronological sense, it had been less than a month since his last birthday, but how did the saying go? Time was just a tangled string, or falling snow, or whatever else Aslan told it to be.
.
“Bother,” said Edmund, “I’ve left my new torch in Narnia.”
Everyone chuckled at this, but Susan said, “Wait a year. We’ll get you a new one for your next birthday.”
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it is hard to explain without sounding vain or stupid - but the more attractive others find you, the more you're allowed to do. the easier your life is.
i have been on both sides of this. i am queer and cuban. i grew up poor. for a long time i didn't know "how" to dress - and i still don't. i make my sister pick out any important outfits. i have adhd in spades: i was never "cool and quiet", i was the weird kid who didn't understand how "normal" people behave. i was bullied so hard that the "social outcasts" wouldn't even talk to me.
i got my teeth straightened. i cut my hair and learned how to style it. i got into makeup. it didn't matter, at first, if i actually liked what i was doing - it mattered how people responded to it. like a magic trick; the right dress and winged eyeliner and suddenly i was no longer too weird for all of it. i could wear the ugly pokemon shirt and it was just "ironic" or a "cute interest."
when i am seen as pretty, people listen. they laugh at my jokes. they allow me to be weird and a little spacey. i can trust that if i need something, people will generally help me. privilege suddenly rushes in: pretty does buy things. pretty people get treated more gently.
i am the same ugly little girl, is the thing. still odd. still not-quite-fitting-in. still scrambling. still angry and afraid and full of bad things. of course it became my obsession. of course i stopped eating. i had seen, in real time, the exact way it could change my life - simply always be perfect, and things can be easy. people will "overlook" all the other things. i used to have panic attacks at the idea others would see me without makeup - what would they think? even for a simple friend hangout, i'd spend a few hours getting ready. after all, it seemed so obvious to me: these people liked me because i was pretty.
i worry about how much i'm being a bad activist: i understand that "pretty" is determined by white, het, cis, able-bodied hegemonies. if i was really an ally, wouldn't i rally against all of this? recently there's been a "clean girl" trend which copies latinx aesthetics: dark slicked-back hair, hoop earrings. i almost never wear my hair like that; i can hear the middle school guidance counsellor advising me that i might fare better if i toned it down on the culture.
the problem is that i can take pretty on and off. that i have seen how different my life is on a day where i try and a day where i don't. i told my therapist i want to believe the difference is confidence, but it's not. and when you have seen it, you can't unsee it. it lives inside your brain. it rots there; taunting. i get rewarded for following the rules. i am punished for breaking them. end of story.
pretty people can get what they want. pretty people can feel confident without others asking where they got their nerve from. pretty people can be weird and different. pretty people get to have emotions; it's different when they get aggressive, it's pretty when they cry with frustration.
of course people care about this. of course it has crawled into you. of course you want to be seen as attractive. it's not vanity: it's self-preservation.
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8, 22, 49 eichi and tsumugi!
i got the nine of cups, five of swords, and the nine of swords (fucking AGAIN) so uhm. angst i guess.
disclaimer i havent read most ! era stories with them i kinda just wrote what came to mind from what I do know but if anything doesnt match with canon. yeah.
word count: 546
It was so easy for Tsumugi to get caught up in Eichi’s plans. Eichi was addicting, like a drug slowly sapping the life from Tsumugi, but he made him feel oh so good.
Tsumugi wasn’t sure what exactly brought them together. They couldn’t have been more opposite. Eichi was charismatic and born into a rich family and Tsumugi hid in the background and grew up attending tupperware parties for his mother. Eichi was beautiful beyond words and Tsumugi was painfully average.
Eichi should have been out of his reach and yet…Tsumugi found himself sitting besides Eichi in the hospital, discussing plans for their restructuring of Yumenosaki, song lyrics and melodies, and their futures.
Eichi was desperately in love with Wataru and Tsumugi knew this. He could never compete for that attention, but he hoped that maybe just for a moment he might be able to take Eichi’s full attention. Just once was all he asked for.
Days turned to weeks turned to months and Tsumugi stuck with Eichi through it all, pulling all-nighters at the hospital and at the school to make sure things ran as smoothly as they could. Keito had asked if he was okay, though Keito and his seven cans of red bull didn’t have much room to talk.
It seemed that every step Tsumugi tried to take forward, to just hold Eichi’s hand in his own and feel his warmth, Eichi took two steps away, towards a different future.
So when the day came and fine as they knew it had been disbanded, Tsumugi couldn’t say he was entirely shocked. It had been a long time coming. As soon as the five eccentrics had their social executions on the stage then fine would be no more. There would be no use for the unit to exist in the way it had.
Eichi said some platitudes which Tsumugi accepted with a smile on his face, just letting the words move in one ear and out the other.
And then Eichi grabbed his hand.
Oh god, Eichi grabbed his hand and was he squeezing it? Why would he--
“Are you okay, Tsumugi?” he sounded concerned.
How should he answer? He can’t be honest, can he? Yeah, I’m just trying not to freak out because I’ve been longing for you to notice me like this just once let me be the only thing you think about. I’m not okay actually. I’m so hopelessly in love with you I don’t know what to do with myself.
You’re like a drug and I can’t bear to stop taking my daily dose of you.
“I’m fine, Eichi-kun. Don’t worry about it.”
He smiled and Eichi squeezed his hand one more time before dropping it.
“I’m glad, my little bluebird.”
Tsumugi fought to keep the warmth from his cheeks at the modification of his nickname.
“Y-yeah…”
He didn’t want to go. He desperately wanted to stay, to take one last deep breath of Eichi before they parted ways.
Sure, he’d still see the other boy at school on his good days, and there was nothing in particular stopping him from seeing him in the hospital on his bad days, but it wouldn’t be the same.
“Well, I’ll be seeing you around I suppose. Take care, Tsumugi.”
“Take care, Eichi-kun.”
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I've always thought your style of writing is really different from what I think of as "standard" fanfic prose (in a really cool way, to be clear)- so I guess my question is how would you describe your writing style and what do you like about it?
Thank you very much! ^w^
In terms of cadence and syntax and such, I've been told that it's poetic a fair amount of times, so I'll just nod along with that because fun word combos make my brain go brrr and I've gathered that's some of what poetry is about :D
In terms of overarching structure though, I consider my style largely modeled after the CR transcripts, but the dialogue's then fluffed between with narration and blank space to describe things like facial expressions, tone, character thoughts/emotions, and pauses of time dilation that the transcripts don't always capture!
So I guess 'transcript-esque narrative poetry' is the closest approximation of how I would describe it xD
Sticking the rest under the cut since stuff got long :3
I really like that by adding lots of space, I can put to the page how the duration of events in my fics feels to me, and I hope that sort of a feeling is conveyed when reading, though I've heard big spacing might be annoying to read since it's ''''nothing'''' xD but what's the use of me (me, Chanse, in my writing specifically) writing/posting in an online medium (AO3) if I don't take advantage of the medium's scrolling capabilities and use them for my own storytelling purposes? A rest is as just much of a part of a song as a played note is! :3
I also like the fun transcript -> fic conversions I've built up, and some small- and large-scale examples:
small-
I generally don't use dialogue tags like ["I don't know what to say here," they mumble, shuffling from foot to foot.] because that reads so much more like prose, rather than transcript dialogue, and my punctuation in general originally stemmed from the transcripts.
Like when someone is cut off, they get a double hyphen:
MATT
"I'm afraid you're sneezing mid-sentence.
"I'm not catching the final--"
TRAVIS:
(loudly) The Balleater.
- C2 Ep 97
but formatted a little more prose-y like so:
“Verin--”
“No, don’t argue with me about it. My mind is set.”
- So Brother, Walk with Me
large-
In the transcripts, scene description of brand new locations tends to come in big ol' word picture chunks before giving way to a bulk of RP or battle action, so we get stuff like Matt's description of Mythburrow in Ep 74 that I try matching with things like the intro to Like a Diamond to the Rough (albeit a little more spaced out so it's easier to read).
Matt often describes settings like characters too (with purpose beyond being a backdrop), and with a variety of senses when applicable, so that's also something I like and try to keep in mind as well :3
Thank you for the question! ^w^
~
got a question? send me an ask!
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