#and i didn't like the ending verse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

an-angels-fury · 3 months

Text

Two Men in Love

Hey people! Guess who came back with a fresh new Caspeter fanfic?! 😘

A big thanks for @eds-gryff for making 👉 THIS AMAZING, BEAUTIFUL VIDEO 👈 that inspired me to write this piece (that with some luck will receive like... 5 notes or something like that).

I'm really considering to start posting my fics on AO3. Who knows...

Anyway, good reading! 🫶

P.S.: A friendly reminder that English is not my first language, so don't fuck me up, okay?

P.S. 2: The fic's title comes from the song of same name by "The Irrepressibles" (THIS IS THE CASPETER ANTHEM I WON'T ACCEPT CRITICISM! 👌)

P.S. 3: The photos and quotes used on the aesthetic were all found on Pinterest, but the edit was made BY ME. DON'T FUCKING REPOST IT!!! 😡

The afternoon sun was already reaching its peak when Peter took the same usual route back home. He had left early in the morning to travel the long distance to the small village where he cared for his patients. The start of the day had been peaceful and, luckily, no particularly serious medical cases had to be dealt with, just minor incidents such as a 7-year-old girl with a broken ankle after falling from a tree, a lumberjack with a dislocated shoulder and an old fisherman who had some difficulty breathing - a problem definitely related to his advanced age and his addiction to smoking. Unfortunately, no matter how many times Peter warned him about the consequences of excessive cigarette use, it was a harmful habit that the old, stubborn man was not willing to give up.

The doctor was climbing the hill, coat and suitcase in each hand, admiring the green, undulating mounds that decorated the landscape that was beginning to form before his eyes. He couldn't imagine choosing a better place to spend the rest of his life - well, actually there was another place, but it was the only place he already knew he could never return to. For a moment, Peter found himself downcast, the weight of melancholy taking over his chest. It was a feeling he was already familiar with, although it became less constant with each passing year. A king could leave Narnia, but Narnia would never leave him as long as he lived. He was absolutely sure of that.

A loud noise woke him from his cloud of thoughts, and suddenly the bittersweet feeling in his heart disappeared. A dog with yellow fur and big ears came running towards him, barking at the top of his lungs, and the blond man didn't hesitate to drop his things and opened his arms to welcome him. When he least noticed, Peter found himself flung to the ground, laughing like a child as the animal on top of him licked his face, wagging the tail happily. When the dog calmed down from his euphoric state and allowed the poor man to recover, Peter sat down on the grass and scratched the animal's head right behind the ears - exactly in his favorite spot.

- I missed you too, big boy - he said with a big smile on his face.

That sweet moment was interrupted by a whistle coming from not far away. The dog turned his head and remained quiet for a moment, just looking towards the supposed place where the sound had come from. Soon after, a man's voice was heard, calling him by the name. Peter would recognize that beautiful voice from any corner of the world.

- Rhidon!

The animal didn't blink before barking and running away again. Without rushing, Peter got up and walked a few more meters until he finally saw the small cottage that, a few years ago, had become his new home. In front of the door, there was a very happy Caspian carrying Rhidon in his arms as if he were a giant baby. Peter couldn't help but laugh at such an adorable scene. The dark-haired man smiled back at him and made room for him to come in.

- I hope you're hungry. - Caspian said.

- Starving. - Peter joked.

The smell of fresh bread coming from the kitchen reached his nostrils, which quickly remind him that there were still some sweets and baked goods left in the special basket the baker's wife had given him in thanks for taking care of their sick son. Peter sat down at the table and allowed Caspian to serve him.

- Bon appétit. - Caspian placed the plate in front of his companion and leaned over to give him a little smootch.

The young telmarine had no cooking skills when he arrived in England, which was expected of a prince who spent most of his life being served by others around him. Fortunately, because he was a curious person and fascinated with everything that was different and unknown to him - one of the many reasons why Peter had fallen in love with him -, Caspian was quite willing to learn, especially having Susan and Lucy to help him. Although neither of the two boys were masters in the art of cooking, they loved creating new recipes and dishes whenever they had the opportunity. It was one of their favorite pastimes.

The cottage in which they lived was a simple but no less charming place. The walls were painted a beige tone and the windows were adorned with white shutters and small pots of wildflowers outside. It was possible to hear the slight creaking of the boards when walking on the wooden floor, but this was never considered a nuisance for any of the residents - on the contrary, it was considered a relaxing and even inviting sound for both. In the living room, there was a couch and an old armchair where the boys usually sat at the end of the day to relax in front of the cozy heat of the fireplace.

The location of the house couldn't be more perfect either. The cottage was built in a rural area, surrounded by nature and relatively far from any sign of human life. On the other hand, the place still had a considerable distance between the village where Peter always worked - and where he and Caspian went twice a week to buy the supplies and food necessary for their daily lives - and Professor Kirke's mansion, who had become a great friend, confidant and tutor for the two young people since their last adventure in Narnia. He was responsible for helping the Pevensie siblings teach Caspian everything about their reality - he still remembered fondly from time to time of the prince's shocked expression after finding out they all lived in a round world! -, as well as being Peter's greatest guide during his journey to build his career in medicine. The couple made frequent visits to the master's house, where they also met up with Lucy and Edmund - and sometimes Susan as well - to spend the afternoon drinking tea with cookies, telling stories and even plotting little pranks to make fun of the Professor’s poor housekeeper Mrs. McCready, who had already grown new strands of gray hair since the last time they were there. Sometimes it was as if they had never stopped being children.

But the best part of it all was that Peter and Caspian no longer had to worry about hiding their love. They could court, exchange passionate kisses, walk across the field hand in hand, rest their heads on each other's shoulders, lie embraced in the meadow in the sunlight. They were free to express all the affection and intimacy that other lovers shared when were together.

The two sat at the table without saying a word for most of the meal, just exchanging shy smiles and affectionate looks. Even after all these years, they still felt and acted like two teenagers in love.

- And you? Aren't you going to eat? - Peter asked, noticing that Caspian hadn't picked up a plate for himself.

- I had already eaten before you arrived. - Caspian explained - You came back early today. How was your afternoon, doctor?

The blond one smiled at the other man's playful tone and moved his hand towards his, interlacing their fingers. From there, Peter began to tell a little about the patients he had seen that day. The two continued talking for a while until, a few minutes later, they got up and went to the couch in the living room. Peter decided to take a new book from the shelf to start reading - one of those lent by Professor Kirke -, while Caspian allowed him to lie down on his lap and just stayed there, running his fingers through his lover's golden hair and carefully watching the change in his expressions as he flip through the pages of the book in his hands.

Caspian recalled that one of the things that surprised him most when meeting Peter was seeing with his own eyes who the man behind the legend was. From idealization to disappointment to acceptance and, finally, to love, he reached a point where he realized that Peter Pevensie - the flawed, vulnerable being who was willing to carry all the burdens of the world alone for the protection of those he loved most, even that this meant putting his own pain aside and suffering in silence - was much more fascinating than the heroic and majestic figure of "The High King Peter the Magnificent'' that he had learned to adore and idolize since he was a child. He felt honored to be one of the few people to know details—intimate secrets—that couldn't be found in any dusty old history book: like the way Peter's shoulders relaxed when he lay awake at night, incapable of surrendering to sleep, sitting against the window frame watching the stars; the unique and special glow that lit up in his smile whenever Lucy was with him; all the wonderful sounds that escaped his mouth when Caspian touched and kissed him in all the right places every time they made love.

Every touch, every gesture, every perfect imperfection made Peter, his husband - perhaps not officially recognized by the law of men, or even in the eyes of God, but real to them and their dear ones - the extraordinary man he loved so so much. And Caspian hoped he had the rest of their lives to show him that.

After a while, Peter got tired of reading and, in one quick movement, closed the cover of the book and sat down. Curious, Caspian remained quiet, looking at the other man, who soon spoke with a voice full of enthusiasm:

- Let's go outside!

Before he had a chance to react, Peter was already pulling him off the couch and guiding him to the front door. It didn't take a second for Rhidon, who was previously asleep on the floor, to wake up to his owners' excitement and quickly follow them. The three of them ran out into the open air, their messy hair flying in the wind and barefoot, feeling the earth, the fallen leaves and the dew on the green grass under the soles of their feet. At that moment, they were not gentlemen of English society, nor soldiers rebuilding their lives in a chaotic world ravaged by war, much less kings of a land full of talking animals and magical creatures. They were just two happy, carefree boys with indomitable spirits and fire in their hearts. They knew they had everything they needed.

When they were both exhausted and out of breath, Peter and Caspian lay down together and watched the way the setting sun painted the sky in strong shades of orange, pink and red. Well, just Caspian, actually. Peter had all his attention focused on the young telmarine's face. The former prince's beauty never went unnoticed in his eyes, even at a time when he still believed to despise him with every fiber of his being. Honestly, the fact that the High King felt so captivated by those piercing black pupils, that tanned skin, those long dark locks that fell over Caspian's broad shoulders in beautiful waves only served to make him even more annoyed with the other’s mere presence.

Not that this was the first time a man had made Peter feel this way. Apparently, romantic relationships between people of the same gender had always been seen as something natural in Narnia, which surprised him at first, considering the fact that he was raised in a world where such an attitude was seen as something abnormal and, at worst, a crime. He remembered the few occasions he had got the attention of some members of the court and messengers from neighboring kingdoms during his and his siblings' reign. There were times when he corresponded and even took the attraction game further. But none of his suitors had ever made Peter feel what he felt when he was with Caspian. And at first, it terrified him. It did because, even after so many years, he still heard voices whispering in his mind, calling him cursed names.

Sick. Unclean. Aberration. Sinner.

But with Caspian, something changed. Those aggressive words began to lose their force. All it took was the sweetness of his smile or hearing him call Peter’s name and suddenly, all the noise inside him was reduced to the purest silence. Now, he could hold Caspian's hand without feeling dirty. He could say "I love you" in its truest meaning without feeling the weight of guilt taking over his heart. He finally allowed himself to feel pleasure, not shame, in being hugged, kissed, touched and, above all, loved by his partner.

You love him and he loves you. You are happy. You are not hurting anyone. There is nothing wrong with that.

You are not broken. You don't need fixing.

Peter stayed like this, lying on the taller man's shoulder, admiring the calm and dreamy expression on his face.

- That's what I love most. - Caspian broke the silence, his voice calm.

- What?

- Moments like this, where we can be alone. Just you and me.

And then came the smile. That damn stupid, charming smile that always made a warm blush rise to his cheeks. And there was only one thing Peter could - and desperately needed - to do about it. He propped himself up on both elbows, held Caspian's face between his hands and pressed his lips against his, giving him a long, slow, fervent kiss.

That's what made Caspian so beautiful, the blond man told himself: it wasn't just his physical beauty, but all the color and beauty he brought to Peter's world. And he had no words to describe the extent of his gratitude for having this wonderful human being by his side.

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

The night was calm. The only sounds in the room were the continuous music playing on the radio station and a gentle breeze that blew against the glass of the closed windows. Even after they had already eaten dinner, Peter returned to sit at the table in the kitchen to pay attention to issues related to his work. He was analyzing some notes he had written over the last few weeks related to the project of a new clinic. For a long time, Peter saw medicine as a chance to wash his soul of all the blood he had shed in his former existence, to use his hands to heal and save lives instead of taking them. He wanted to prove to himself that he could be much more than a weapon, an instrument for violence and death. And in the end, he succeeded. But he wanted it to be just the beginning of an even bigger plan.

The young man was so deep in his thoughts that he almost jumped out of his chair when he heard the clinking of the saucer being placed on the table. Peter soon felt the hot steam from the teacup being blown into his face.

- To keep you awake. - Caspian's gentle voice reached his ears.

- I'm not that tired. - Peter replied without looking up from the papers - You know, you don't need to pamper me all the time. I'm already grown up.

Caspian just snorted at his husband's typical petulance. It was a silly behavior he was already quite used to.

- But that's how our relationship works: you take care of everyone. And I - he paused his sentence to approach and kiss Peter's left cheek and only then completed - I take care of you. So, accept this at once and stop complaining.

All Peter did was roll his eyes and simply accept his lover's affectionate gesture.

- Thank you. - Peter said, this time in a more delicate and less irritated tone. In return, Caspian held one of his hands and placed a kiss on his fingers, letting his lips take time to caress that pale, soft skin. When that contact finally ceased, the telmarine was taken by surprise when he noticed the way the man sitting in front of him stared back at him, following his every slightest movement, without ever looking away.

Peter's eyes were the first thing that caught Caspian's attention when they met. Those blue eyes, deep and clear as the ocean, sometimes calm and peaceful, sometimes restless and stormy, where giant waves crashed and broke against each other. Caspian always felt like he found a new adventure every time he looked into those eyes, a new secret to be revealed, a new dark corner to be found, an infinite number of possibilities and mysteries that would be impossible to discover in a single life. Even those who called themselves the bravest explorers would be intimidated by the sight of those turbulent and unpredictable waters, but Caspian wasn't one of them. He came from a long lineage of pirates, the daring and danger of the seas ran through his veins. He was not afraid of drowning - in fact, he gladly embraced this possibility.

Suddenly, a slow, romantic ballad started playing on the radio, waking the two lovers from their frenzy - or maybe it was just carrying them into a new dream.

- Would you give me the privilege of follow me in this dance? - Caspian invited him, speaking in a low, deep voice in a way that let his Spanish accent even more evident. He knew very well the effect such seductive move used to have on Peter and how to use it to his advantage.

- The tea will get cold. - the other one stammered in a failed attempt to disguise the desire that took his breath away.

The dark-haired man just chuckled cheekily.

- Just shut up.

Peter didn't even try to retort as he knew that any form of resistance would be futile. He just stood up and let Caspian guide them to the little slice of Heaven the two of them shared.

Since the first time he and his siblings were sent away from Narnia, Peter didn't believe that he would ever be able to feel such genuine joy in worldly things again, like taking an afternoon nap in the shade of a tree, inhaling the scent of the pages of a book when you open it, feeling a snowflake melting on your tongue or even practicing small acts of altruism and kindness on a daily basis that were capable of transforming lives in miraculous ways - he also quickly learned that he didn’t need to be a powerful hero to help those who needed it most.

And of course, dancing at night in the middle of the kitchen with your love. It was another one of his favorite pastimes. Two bodies united, moving in time and space. Heart against heart, beating like drums, sharing the same melody. They were flames, burning and turning everything around them into shadows and smoke, until there was nothing left but the music and two souls naked in the starlight.

The tea was left forgotten on the top of the table, along with all his responsibilities. At that moment, Peter's only reality was Caspian's hair tangled between his fingers, those strong arms running around his hips and the heat of the young man’s lips brushing the skin of his neck. He had never felt so much pleasure in being totally surrendered. All Peter could do was close his eyes, sigh deeply, and just exist.

After that, it's not known exactly how much time has passed. Any sense of hours or minutes became completely clouded and scattered. One moment, the two men were standing in the kitchen and the next, they had been magically transported to the bedroom, taking off their clothes and continuing their dance, but this time, to a rhythm that only they could hear. It was an old song of which only they knew the notes, the rests and the chords. They were the only ones who knew which parts of the body they needed to touch with their hands or mouth to make the other moan, scream and sing.

At the end of the act, the two found themselves thrown onto the messy bed sheets, sweaty bodies intertwined in the darkness. Peter rested his forehead against Caspian's collarbone and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of his skin and concentrating on the heavy rise and fall of the boy's chest. Then, he felt Caspian wrap his arms around him and slowly slide his hands down his back, massaging specific points on his spine with circular movements of his thumbs. It was a calm, relaxing sensation that made all the tension in the blond's muscles disappear, allowing him to sink into a deep sleep.

It was still something strange to him, being with someone who made him feel safe, protected. In most situations, it was Peter who was forced to take on the mantle of protector, as the eldest brother and as king. It was a challenge to give up this role that he had imposed on himself for so long. It took patience and reflection for him to finally understand that his family was no longer in danger, that the war was already over. That he didn't need to fight anymore. Of course, there were still days when he was haunted by terrible echoes of the past, nights when he woke up to the sound of his own crying and the screams in his head, afternoons when he walked very attentively down the street or stood still for a minute in front of the cottage’s door in an unusual state of alert, as if he feared that something bad was about to happen at any moment.

Now, everything had changed. Peter had found someone he could show his demons to and he knew they wouldn't run away. Not that he had never been vulnerable when he was around his siblings. It was hard not to be when the four of them knew each other better than anyone else: Susan could read his thoughts with just a single look. After years of fighting side by side on the battlefield, Peter and Edmund's minds worked as one, always predicting and preceding each other's every move and strategy. Lucy's presence was enough to calm the storm of emotions that shook his insides.

But with Caspian, that feeling had a different flavor. It wasn't better, nor worse, it was just… new. Peter would face a thousand armies out of love for his family and his kingdom. The love he felt for Caspian made him want to lay down his sword and strip off his armor forever. It was the kind of love that made him want to live, not just survive.

Yes, sometimes all a king needed was a safe haven to lean on. Sometimes, what a king needed most was just someone he could be weak with.

#bia's failed attempt at writing #also I beg you all to please ignore any possible historical inaccuracy in this 🙏#I didn't specify the time in which the story takes place but I imagined it like 5-6 years after the ending of “Prince Caspian (movie-verse)#oh and can I mention HOW BEAUTIFUL 40's SONGS ARE?!!! I'm just commenting 'cause I heard many 40's vibes playlists on youtube #to get some inspiration while writing this fic and OMG I FELT SO RELAXED AND NOSTALGIC (FROM A TIME I WASN'T EVEN BORN) IT'S SO CRAZY!!!! 😍#the chronicles of narnia #chronicles of narnia #narnia #tcon #c.s. lewis #narnia au #peter pevensie #caspian x #prince caspian #caspeter #caspian x peter #peter x caspian #william moseley #ben barnes #disney #fanfiction #narnia fanfiction #narnia fic #narnia aesthetic #aesthetic #aesthetic moodboard #my edits #oneshot #one shot #my writing

29 notes · View notes

babykittenteach · 4 months

Text

2023 in review! I made an effort to try more things and it worked mostly (at least for TV and movies). New things, new-to-me things, and new installments of old things all had characters to love even if I didn't necessarily feel fannish about them, and I'm hoping 2024 does, too.

#but yeah no I had a lot of fun with some of these #mp100 is now fully going down as one of my favorite works of art ever. i mean it. i'd stick it on a shelf with discworld.#trying Nida Manzoor's work was SO GOOD like if edgar wright knew how to make girls lovable I meant to only try one episode of WALP #and then I marathonned it all in one night right into the sunrise and I do not regret it #(look I love edgar wright but)#i had my issues with GO2 and Fionna & Cake and HxH (which I finally tried yes I am late) but still they had babies in them #one piece and the last of us did like major progress for proving those mediums *could* be adapted and not suck so seriously kudos #I didn't go into Barbie expecting it to Solve Capitalism and The Patriarchy so I appreciate what it did do #Nimona was just gorgeous #Across the spider-verse is so good it's hard to say anything about it #Peacemaker is obnoxiously good and Chris's breakdown near the end really got me #Bottoms & Marry My Dead Body & Ying-Yang Master: Dream of Eternity are just fun okay don't think about it #the strange planet show was sweet and peaceful to watch #and even with a 40% budget cut OFMD has my heart and ed is The babygirl of all time for me #thanks for reading these tags if you did and I hope you have a good new year #art i'm proud of

19 notes · View notes

smallblueandloud · 1 year

Text

making good progress on the time-travel fic :D

Leia’s face lights up. “He’s a Jedi?”

“Yep.”

“Do you think he knows Obi-Wan?” Leia asks Bail.

Bail says, “It depends on how old he is, probably.” He glances up from his stirring to catch Han’s eye.

“Luke was born after the fall of the Republic,” says Han, casual. Bail should’ve known better than to worry about a smuggler’s lying. “But he’s met Obi-Wan Kenobi a few times, I think.”

“There’s an underground network,” says Leia. “Although I don’t think all the Jedi know about it.” She accepts the cup that Bail hands her. “Thanks. How did he become a Jedi if he’s too young to have grown up in the temple?”

“You should ask him,” says Han. He puts his hand up at the cup Bail offers him. “No, thanks. It’s a cool story. His dad was a Jedi.”

Leia takes a sip. “I thought Jedi weren’t allowed to have children?”

“See, you’d think that, wouldn’t you?” says Han. Bail takes a too-fast sip of his caf and burns his tongue. “Kriff, you okay?”

“Fine,” says Bail. He misses Breha. She has a talent for quietly underscoring punchlines.

#sb and l writes #sb and l is writing #star wars #fic: but the verse is sweet #i'm having so so much fun with this fic #i didn't expect it to be about hanleia but god it really is about hanleia #also worldbuilding!! also like. god bail's so fucking smart i love him so much #we're at 4.7k and luke is going to be in the next scene so i really don't know how long this'll end up but #i'm enjoying myself IMMENSELY

68 notes · View notes

lemonhemlock · 1 year

Text

i am way too late for any of this, but i felt like ranting a little (a lot) over tma, so here it goes.

i actually really, really liked the dreamlike quality of the S5 statements. i think they're some of jonny's best work. so evocative and just beautifully written, the feeling of horror so prevalent, so delicate, so entrapping. i would listen to them absolutely enthralled. what a submersive experience. so on that front, 100% would recommend.

the problems i have are mainly with the meta-plot. certainly, personal preferences and biases come into play here, bc i despise jonmartin with the fire of a thousand suns and would have loved a jonelias corruption narrative, but, i feel that, in his quest to appease the j-mart shippers, jonny sacrificed a lot of his story's integrity. also, i have no way of verifying this, but it also felt like he inserted his own biases in a way that wasn't necessarily productive.

ultimately, i feel like he disrespected his main antagonists and that essentially translated into a sort of irreverence towards his own story. elias was easily his most dramatic and interesting villain (regardless of what he originally intended for him, it's how he developed throughout the story & i think there is a certain honesty in a writer acknowledging and respecting that), stole every scene he was in, yet after his great villain reveal in S4, he is absolutely absent throughout his entire apocalypse. it creates a lack of catharsis that i find bothersome. his death is way too easy. yet when he finally appears in MAG 193, it is glorious. he is terrifyingly in the throws of religious ecstasy as the eye's pupil. such an interesting idea! so little it was developed though bc jonny for some reason doesn't like elias.

there's this entire commentary about how elias is really just there to be eye's pupil until jon takes over from him, bc it's jon the eye truly desires. as if after faithfully serving the beholding for two centuries and bringing about his ritual, the eye would just disregard elias and actually be interested in the one person who is unwilling to play ball. please be serious. not saying that jon can't be the eye's "special little boy" or whatever, but the nerfing of elias/jonah borderlines on petulant. ofc, jonny is the author and you cannot begrudge a man for writing whatever he wants, but, as a listener, i have to say it feels very unsatisfying whenever authorial biases directly affect the storyline. very deus-ex-machina. very unearned.

i also have a problem with how the eye was ultimately handled and, once again, nerfed. the introduction of this element in relation to the beholding, that it sees but does not understand, felt very trite to me. it was added as a way to de-power the eye and elevate the web. but how could it even be true in the context of the entity conceptualization? the reason scopophobia is a thing is because people fear someone is behind the watching. what they fear is judgment or someone keeping tabs on them and using that information to harm them in some way. that requires intelligence, a capacity to distinguish between the harmless and the incriminatory, a propensity for casting moral judgment, of holding people accountable, of assigning blame, of discovering people's deepest, darkest secrets, of weaponizing shame. no one is afraid of a crow or a cat staring back at them, because, while those are also living beings, they lack the higher intelligence that creates the context necessary for scopophobia. so how can the eye not possess intelligence? apparently it doesn't, because jonny decided he didn't like the eye and the spider was oh-so-cooler instead.

but that only lead to the spider being way too overpowered than it should have been. as the so-called brain of the operation, the web really manifests a lot of faults that could have been exploited, yet the character never do, because the web needs to be true It Girl for some reason. this all feels very childish. the web's motivations do not work in-universe. we are often told it doesn't have a ritual because it is content with playing its games of manipulation within the world as it currently is. and that honestly seemed a rather fair assessment to make, but later proved to be a red herring, because it was the web that was actually behind the eye's own ritual.

i have several gripes with this. 1. if the spider is so smart, why doesn't it/can't it have its own ritual and re-shape the world according to its own preferences? why does it have to piggyback on the eye's grind? 2. the spider's big plan seems to be bringing about the eyepocalypse just to convince the characters to let the fears out into the metaverse so it can start again. because, as it turns out, the eyepocalypse isn't really it's preferred state of being? it was the status-quo after all? the web DID prefer the world as it was, because it allowed it to thrive off manipulation and puppeteering, things it can't really engage in as much as it would like, since now everyone is trapped inside various fear domains. so, why-oh-why, not just leave the world as is? why even bring about an apocalypse in the first place if your intention is to always inhabit a apocalypse-less place?

i felt like this was such a plot-hole of an explanation the way it was presented. the web's greatest flaw was that it loved intricate plots so much there was a real danger of over-complicating its own plans and failing to see the forest from the trees, so to speak. the eye could have been used not to boggle down on meaningless details and ramifications, but to get a better sense of the bigger picture, something the web could very well lose sight of (pun intended). so the web's "plan" could have been ultimately rendered meaningless, because instead of choosing the simplistic, straightforward, occam's razor solution (no apocalypse, just thrive off the world as it is), it chose the overly complicated path that placed it in a situation it didn't thrive in (eyepocalypse) and made it even more complicated to get out of in the first place. it basically surrendered its destiny into the hands of people who had zero reasons to act sympathetic and could have very well chosen to destroy the entire world, fears included. and yet i am supposed to be in awe of the web's great intelligence and buy into the whole dumb eye propaganda?

many things have already been said about the moral dilemma at the end of S5 and my take on that is that jon was right. it was the merciful and just solution to prevent other people from other universes from suffering at the hands of fear entities. but i will be indulgent and account that it is a difficult choice to make for anyone, since human beings are so survivalist in nature and the choice to just make the fears someone else's problem in the hopes of their plans maybe getting foiled more effectively by others is tantalizing. who knows what any of us would have chosen had we been in their situation? perpetuating the horrors on someone else just so you could get reprieve is so cravenly but it's human and i get it. however, by no means is this a happy ending the way it was framed by the narrative. what melanie, georgie, basira and martin did was horrible and evil, but it is never acknowledged in that way. the least jonny could have done is have jon resist martin's selfish decision and have martin genuinely kill him. but, no, martin gets his romantic send-off together with jon, with the open possibility that they get transported to another world where they could start over. melanie, georgie and basira get to start a new life in the entity-less world, after contributing almost nothing. the worst characters get to live & they're validated in their awful behaviour.

however. i do feel like there were other ways to resolve the eyepocalypse without resorting to a horrible sophie's choice in the first place, but that would require a more extensive endgame re-write.

#i also think that the ending was peddled like a tragedy just bc jon & martin didn't live #but imo the ending was pretty horror-like to begin with #the fears escape into the multi-verse and get to terrorize a new set of people!#also if you ask me the fact that melanie/georgie/basira live is a tragedy in and of itself #but ofc the narrative frames it as a good thing #the magnus archives #elias bourchard #the archivist #anti jonmartin #jonelias #putting this in the tag bc that would have been the superior plot line #the beholding #the eye #here i am running my mouth off again #tma critical #magnus critical

85 notes · View notes

fictionadventurer · 11 months

Text

The Shocking Redemption Arc of Chester Arthur

To my great pleasure, I get to tell you about Chester A. Arthur. If you don’t know his story, that’s a surprising statement, because most people don’t even recognize his name as one of the presidents. That’s a crying shame, because this guy has the most fascinating character arc of any president I’ve come across so far. He entered the presidency as a despicable, corrupt, conniving political lackey, and left it as--

Well, I’d best get on with the story.

Chester Arthur started out as an idealist. He was the son of an abolitionist Baptist minister, and though he dropped the religion in adulthood, he remained devoted to abolishing slavery. He became a lawyer with a New York firm that argued several civil rights case, and he rose to fame in 1854 when he served as the defense attorney for Elizabeth Jennings, the Northern version of Rosa Parks. Arthur’s victory in her case led to the desegregation of New York City’s public transportation.

During the Civil War, Arthur got an appointment as New York’s quartermaster general. After the war, Arthur returned to civilian life and became a Republican “party man” who worked behind the scenes to draw in voters, funding, and supporters. He and his wife Ellen (called Nell) both loved the finer things in life, which drove Arthur to do whatever he could to gain fame, wealth, and social status.

This is where I need to explain the spoils system. For the first hundred-plus years of American politics, all federal positions were filled by appointment. When a new president came into office, he could award government positions to his supporters--"to the victor go the spoils". Federal employees were required to donate money to the ruling party. There were no requirements for education or relevant experience. Any job could be filled by anyone with the right connections. If you think that sounds like a breeding ground for corruption and cronyism, you’d be absolutely right. By the 1870s, the system was getting extremely corrupt, and there was a growing push for reform.

But not by Chester Arthur. He owed his career to the spoils system. Through his work in the party, he became the right-hand man of Roscoe Conkling, New York’s senior senator and the state’s “political boss”. Conkling was a flamboyant showman, a magnetic politician, and a ruthless man. He had been a major supporter of Ulysses S. Grant’s presidential campaign, so Grant gave Conkling control over all the federal appointments in New York. Conkling used his power to fill positions with his friends and supporters, and he was brutal in attacking anyone who got in his way.

Because Chester Arthur was Conkling’s most loyal supporter, he got the best federal job in the country—Controller of the Port of New York. Before income tax, around 60-70% of federal funds came from the tariffs at this one port. The controller got a salary similar to the president’s, plus he was able to take a percentage of all the fines they levied. At the height of his power, Chester Arthur made $50,000 a year, which is a lot when the average skilled worker at the time made $500. (A rough estimate puts his salary at $1.3 million in today’s dollars.)

Arthur was living the high life. He racked up huge tailor bills. He had a gorgeously furnished house. His job allowed him to force his employees to donate a percentage of their salary to the Republican Party, which gave him even more power within the political machine. He bought huge amounts of wine and cigars that he handed out to people he was wining and dining for the good of the party. His wife resented that he was rarely home because of his political work, but Arthur loved the machine too much to stop.

After his 1876 election, President Rutherford B. Hayes desperately tried to reform the spoils system, but was blocked every step of the way by Roscoe Conkling. Finally, in 1878, Hayes managed to remove Arthur from his position as port controller, under suspicion of corruption, which allowed Arthur to spend more time working for New York’s political machine.

In January of 1880, Arthur was in Albany working for a political campaign when his wife caught pneumonia. By the time Arthur got home, Nell had fallen into a coma, and he wasn’t able to speak with her before she died. He felt guilty over her death, and especially the lack of closure caused by his devotion to politics. But instead of changing his ways, Arthur moved in with Conkling and became more devoted to politics than ever.

Which brings us to the 1880 Republican Convention. The Republican Party was split between two warring factions—the Stalwarts like Conkling who wanted to keep things the way they were, and the Half-Breeds who wanted civil service reform. President Hayes refused to seek re-election (partly because Conkling had made his life miserable) so these two factions somehow had to agree on a new candidate. Conkling supported a third term for Ulysses S. Grant. The Half-Breeds supported James G. Blaine of Maine—who happened to be Conkling’s mortal enemy.

James Garfield was there to nominate John Sherman—the Secretary of the Treasury and the younger brother of the famous Civil War general—and I can’t go any further in this story before I tell you a little bit about him. James Garfield is one of the most ridiculous overachievers in the realm of American politics. He was born into a dirt-poor farming family (he’s the last president ever to have been born in a log cabin). At sixteen, he left home to work on a canal boat, but quit after he nearly drowned, and his mother and brother scraped up enough money for him to go to school. His first year, he paid for his tuition by working as a school janitor. His second year, the school hired him to teach six classes (while he was still a student!) and then added two more because of how popular he was. By the time he was twenty-six, he was president of that same school. He became a lawyer and was elected to Ohio’s state legislature. During the Civil War, he became the youngest person to earn the rank of general. While fighting in the Civil War, his friends put his name in as a candidate for the US House of Representatives, and Garfield won even though he refused to campaign. He then served several terms in the House, where he became popular, but he refused to seek the presidency, because he’d watched several friends become warped by their presidential ambitions.

At the 1880 Republican Convention, Garfield was the more popular Ohio candidate, but insisted he was there only to nominate Sherman. At one point in his nominating speech, Garfield asked the audience, “Now, gentleman, what do we want?” To Garfield’s horror, one man shouted, “We want Garfield!”

Garfield remained loyal in nominating Sherman, but the spark had been lit. The voting went round after round after round for two days, with the votes being split between Grant, Blaine, and Sherman, with no one getting enough to win the nomination. Garfield got one vote in the third round. In the thirty-fourth round, Garfield suddenly got seventeen votes. Garfield stood to protest, saying no one had a right to vote for him since he hadn't consented, but the president of the convention--who was secretly thrilled because he liked Garfield more than any of the other candidates--told Garfield to sit down.

By the thirty-sixth vote, Garfield had won the nomination.

Now they had to choose a vice president. Several of the delegates got the idea to throw a bone to Roscoe Conkling. He was furious that Grant had lost the nomination, and he was vindictive. Conkling controlled New York’s political machine, so without him, the Republicans would lose New York, and without New York, they’d lose the election. He had to be placated. So the delegates nominated Chester Arthur, his right-hand man, as vice president.

Conkling told Arthur to refuse the nomination, but Arthur accepted, saying it was a greater honor than he had ever hoped to achieve. That's putting it mildly. The only position he’d ever held was port controller, and he’d been removed from that. Plenty of people thought nominating him was a horrible idea—a man like Chester Arthur only one step away from the presidency? But other people thought it was a shrewd political move—it would placate Conkling’s faction of the party, and Garfield was young and healthy and would rule in a time of peace. It wasn’t like there was any chance he’d die in office.

After Garfield was elected, Arthur immediately started causing problems. He all but openly boasted of buying votes in the election—which was not a great look when it had been a close race. He was completely on Conkling’s side in his war against Garfield. After Garfield appointed Levi Morton, a Stalwart, as Secretary of the Navy, Conkling sent Arthur and another lackey to drag Morton out of his sickbed--forcing him to drink a bracing mixture of quinine and brandy--and bring him to Conkling’s house to get chewed out, which caused Morton to resign. Conkling forced another Stalwart Cabinet nominee to resign on inauguration day.

Then Conkling went to war over the federal appointments. At first, Garfield placated him, appointing several of Conkling’s candidates. But then Garfield nominated Judge Robertson as Port Controller of New York Harbor. Conkling was livid. That was the prime federal position, a major source of Conkling’s power in the party, and Robertson was one of Conkling’s political enemies. In Conkling’s mind, Garfield had stabbed him in the back. Arthur agreed, and openly bad-mouthed the president to the press.

Conkling and the other New York senator resigned their Senate seats in protest—a dramatic political move. In those days, state legislatures voted for senators, and Conkling believed that since he controlled so many New York politicians, they’d easily get re-elected to their old seats. Unfortunately, the legislature was sick of being under Conkling’s thumb. The election became a drawn-out battle, and Chester Arthur went to Albany to help Conkling in his campaign.

While he was there, the unthinkable happened. On July 2, 1881, James Garfield was shot at a train station by Charles Guiteau, an insane office-seeker. Guiteau had come to the White House every day for months seeking an appointment under the spoils system. When that failed, he decided God wanted him to get Garfield out of the way so the spoils system could continue. After he shot the president, Giteau shouted, “I am a Stalwart, and Arthur will be president!”

As you can imagine, that made things really bad for Arthur. He’d just spent months fighting the president tooth and nail, and the assassin had mentioned his name. Plenty of people thought Arthur had something to do with the shooting. He and Conkling both needed police details to protect them from lynch mobs.

Arthur didn’t want to be president; in his mind, vice president was the perfect job—a position with a lot of political leverage, but no responsibility. He went to the White House hoping to convince Garfield that he had nothing to do with the shooting, but the doctors wouldn’t let him in the room. He managed to speak to the First Lady, where he got choked up with emotion and was observed to be in tears. A reporter later found him in the house where he was staying in Washington, and noted he'd obviously been weeping.

To Arthur’s relief, Garfield seemed to get better. The bullet had missed his spinal cord and all his major organs. If he’d been left alone, Garfield would have made a complete recovery. Unfortunately, his doctors repeatedly prodded the bullet wound with unsterilized instruments, and Garfield fell victim to a massive infection. He lingered for months, slowly starving and rotting to death.

Through all this, Arthur stayed in New York and refused to take up presidential duties; with so many people accusing him of the assassination, he didn’t want to make it look like he was preparing to usurp the throne.

It eventually became clear that the assassin had acted alone, which laid the rumors to rest, but no one wanted Arthur to be president. James Garfield had been a man of the people. The working class considered him one of their own, proof that anyone could rise from poverty and become president. He was an idealist, a champion of civil rights, a family man who lived modestly. For the first time since the Civil War, a president had been supported by both the north and the south, and the country had come together in grief. Chester Arthur was Garfield’s exact opposite—a conniving political lackey who’d become a millionaire through corruption.

James Garfield died on September 19th. To the American people, it looked like their worst nightmare had come true. Conkling’s lackey was in the White House, and now Conkling would rule the nation the same way he’d ruled New York.

Yet, to everyone’s surprise, President Chester Arthur became a completely different man. In one of his first speeches, he listed civil service reform as one of his top priorities—a shocking move for a man who’d become president through the spoils system. Soon after Arthur’s inauguration, Conkling demanded he name a new Controller of the Port of New York. Arthur angrily refused and called Conkling’s demand outrageous. Conkling stormed out in fury and never forgave Arthur. (Arthur did later risk his reputation to nominate Conkling for the Supreme Court, but Conkling, ever petty, refused the position.)

Arthur didn’t have a complete personality transplant. He still lived lavishly, hosting lots of state dinners. He still preferred the social duties of the presidency to actual government work, and he was a hopeless procrastinator. Always fastidious, Arthur refused to move in to the rotting, rat-infested White House until they fixed up the dump, and he ran up extravagant bills during the remodel.

Yet, as a president, he was...respectable. He worked for African-American civil rights. He started a major process of rebuilding and reforming the outdated and corrupt navy. He did sign the Chinese Exclusion Act, but he had vetoed an earlier, harsher version and only signed a much-reduced one (that probably would have been voted in anyway if he’d vetoed it). That remodel of the White House, even if it ran over-budget, was long overdue.

Most shocking of all was his unswerving devotion to civil service reform. He continued an investigation into a government postal scandal, even though everyone assumed he’d drop it. He voiced his continuing support for reform efforts. In 1883, Arthur signed the Pendleton Civil Service Reform Act. As written, the act required only 10% of federal jobs to be assigned based on merit, and even that required the president to take action to enforce it. People assumed that Arthur would sit back and do nothing, so the spoils system would remain in place. Yet Arthur immediately formed a commission to enact the reform, even appointing some of his old enemies. The man who’d benefited most from the spoils system became the one to finally destroy it.

How do we explain such a complete and sudden change? Part of it’s a matter of personality. If I can indulge in a bit of meta, Chester Arthur seems to be a textbook example of the sanguine-phlegmatic temperament—someone who wants to fit in with the crowd, to go with the flow. As a political lackey, this made him self-serving and amoral, but as president, the crowd he had to impress was the American people. After months of getting crucified in the press, with tons of articles saying what they didn’t want him to be, he’d have plenty of motivation to become what they did want him to be.

A more important motivation, though, was death. His wife’s death was likely the first shock that would make him step back and take stock of his political career. Garfield’s death had an even more profound influence on him. The spoils system had led a madman to murder a president in Arthur’s name; if anything could motivate a man to change the system, that would be it. Even more profound than that was his own death. Not long after entering the White House, Arthur was diagnosed with a fatal kidney disease. He hid the diagnosis during his term, but his actions in office were the actions of a man doomed to die, with a mind toward the legacy he’d leave behind.

Yet there’s another stranger, more mysterious influence that I’ve left to last because of how cool the story is. The day before his death, Chester Arthur—who’d become ashamed of his old life—asked a friend to burn the vast majority of his papers. Years later, among the papers that had been spared, his grandson uncovered a packet of twenty-three letters from a 31-year-old invalid named Julia Sand. Julia came from a family very interested in politics, and her illness meant that she spent a lot of time reading the newspapers, so she was familiar with Chester Arthur’s political career. In August of 1881, she sent Chester Arthur a letter that began, “The hours of Garfield's life are numbered—before this meets your eye, you may be President. The people are bowed in grief; but—do you realize it?--not so much because he is dying, as because you are his successor.” Over seven pages, Julia scolded Arthur for his corrupt ways, but assured him of her faith in his better nature, and urged him to reform. She sent letters over the next two years, full of encouragement and scolding and political advice. She called herself his “little dwarf”, because her lack of ties to him meant she could be completely honest with him.

There’s no evidence he ever answered her. But she did offer some rather specific political advice that he seems to have followed. And he did visit her once. In 1882, he stopped by her house in the presidential carriage, surprising her and her family (who had no idea she’d been writing to the president) with an hour-long visit. She seemed to grow more frustrated with his lack of answers after that, and no letter exists after 1883.

There’s no way to say what kind of effect the letters had on him. But amid all the turmoil after the assassination, it must have meant something to have one voice saying she believed in him. She was a voice from outside the Washington political machine, who could serve as a sort of conscience. The fact that those letters survived when so much else burned suggests he considered them worth saving.

No matter the reason, the truth remains that Arthur entered the presidency as an example of all that was dirty and loathsome in the political system, and he left it as a respectable man. In giving up his old ways, he sacrificed connections he’d spent years building. His old friends never forgave him, and his old opponents never quite trusted his reform, yet he did what he thought was right even if it meant he stood alone. In summing up his presidency, I don’t think I can do better than contemporary journalist Alexander McClure: “No man ever entered the Presidency so profoundly and widely distrusted as Chester Alan Arthur, and no one ever retired... more generally respected, alike by political friend and foe.” I think that deserves to be remembered.

#history is awesome #presidential talk #i apologize but i really can't see any way to cut this down #i like the detour into garfield's nomination #i can't cut conkling out any more than i have #i can't leave out his wife #i didn't even mention that he was washington's most eligible bachelor during his term but he remained faithful to her memory #or that his sister served as hostess at the white house and helped raise his daughter (who he protected from the press as best he could)#or that he did make a half-hearted attempt to seek re-election so people wouldn't think he was slinking off in disgrace #and there was some support for him #but he didn't mind at all when someone else was nominated because he was dealing with his kidney disease #and he died in 1886 #which means he had the shortest post-presidency life of anyone except james k. polk who died three months after leaving office #i did not come into last week thinking that by the end of it i'd have developed a minor specialization #in the presidency of a guy i knew only for his facial hair and his half-verse in the animaniacs song #i didn't even mention the facial hair!#go to wikipedia and see his glorious muttonchops!#say what you will about the victorians but they had wild facial hair game #but anyway here is the life story of my impeccably dressed trash panda son #who is put together on the outside and a mess on the inside #and still manages to maintain a certain dignity despite how pathetic he is #he's a mess of a human being but i love him your honor

31 notes · View notes

soulsxng · 4 months

Text

They were heading back from running some of the errands that had piled up when they were in Vanystea, when the sharp smell of blood hit their nose. While that wasn't necessarily an oddity in the Plains, the fact that they were passing through one of the biggest gathering areas for the packs without seeing more than a handful of other Aifaen made it stand out in a way that had brilliant red fur raising to stand on end.

Eleare's ears pinned back against their head, and they did a little circle as they investigated the smell further. In the same direction, they could smell a large group of other beasts gathered. And as they followed the trail a bit further, they picked up something more...familiar. Three scents that they had come to know intimately, over the years.

Before they've even fully realized it, their paws are carrying them toward the sources of the scent in a full sprint. When they reach the others, gathered around in an anxious circle, the inari squeezes and leaps their way through the crowd, ignoring the grumbles and snarls that some gave in response.

"Ma..."

"Mom..."

Just as they'd thought, the moment they broke through the crowd, Eleare was met with the faces of their older children-- Thelrin and Raelin. They had been knelt on the ground with their backs toward Eleare at first, but the moment they got close enough and shifted forms, both jumped to their feet and turned to face Eleare.

Red eyes traveled quickly over their forms, making sure that they weren't injured before moving on to the person the two had been kneeling beside. They could feel their stomach twist in anticipation, before dropping altogether when their gaze fell upon the third familiar face.

"Eleare? Wh--"

Before he can even respond, they're practically on top of him. Hands pushing clothing aside to get a better look at the wounds that littered the other Aifaen's body. They had to fight their instincts to growl and shoo away the healers that were already helping him, and instead gripped the man's arm tight.

"What happened to you? When did you get back from Ahnia, Antale?" They sounded angry, and both Thelrin and Raelin's ears pressed back flat to their heads, starting to move away to avoid Eleare's wrath. Unfortunately, that only seemed to draw their attention. "And you two! If your father is back home, let alone injured, why would neither of you come to get me? I swear to Bralis, Tal, if you told them not to just because you didn't want to worry me, I'm going to finish you off in front of the whole Plains!"

"Lea, please...it hasn't been long, I promise." The man-- Antale-- lifts a hand, pressing a finger to their nose despite the way their lip curled like they were ready to bite. They don't, though...after a moment or two, the harsh air around them falters, and they lower their head a bit, so Antale's fingers could run through their hair, and rub at one fluffy ear. "I'm fine, I've had worse than this. The exhaustion from the fighting caught up to me, is all."

Eleare doesn't seem at all pleased to hear the last bit, but as it seems that Antale had more to say, they kept it to themself.

"...Something happened in Ahnia-- Elyki is causing trouble alongside the coup out there. That's why I'm here, and why I'm worse for wear. I was asked to relay what happened to the heads. Warn them, and see if they can spare some help."

#[Eleare -drabbles-]#[Antale -drabbles-]#[Raelin -drabbles-]#[Thelrin -drabbles-]#[royalty verse]#Eleare when worried just immediately gets grumpy and bossy out of concern #If they didn't have Antale's arm in a death grip #they would probably have been swatting irritably at his chest #Raelin and Thelrin are both in the bg just 'Here they go... ^^;;;;; '#but yeah Antale is-- in the royalty verse-- a close friend and confidant to Eleare #as well as the father of Eleare's kiddos #(Eleare feeling the need to point out that-- like I already said-- they're /friends/. That's it.)#While in the regular verse he's the mysterious and precious someone that gave Eleare their name!#As for Raelin and Thelrin (who weren't gonna be in this drabble. But I ended up finding good fcs for them and decided why not)#they're technically Eleare's middle two kids in the regular verse-- their first two god children. Their oldest two there are two Guardians #that live in Metsan not Alfheim #I decided 7 kids is a lot to manage in royalty though and decided not to add the oldest two #the younger three are still /actual/ kiddos...can't really decide how old yet though #ANYWAY NOW THAT I'VE WRITTEN A NOVEL IN THE TAGS--#yeah this is the aftermath of the Mattias drabble I wrote a while ago >:3

7 notes · View notes