Miss Pevensie, they say, can you identify these bodies for us? And you try, gentlest sibling, you try your best. But the tears are thick in your throat and the grief is bitter on your tongue, and when you shut your eyes you see fire and steel, twisting together and crushing the breath from their bodies.
You look at your father, and mother, and cousin, still and silent on their backs, bruised and bloodied and unsmiling, and their faces are anything but familiar. Were their eyes open you would be looking into the face of a stranger. You press your hand over your mouth, and you do not cry, and you tell them what they want to know. These are my parents, you hear yourself say. This is my cousin. They nod, they thank you, they direct you forward. More, more, more corpses to identify. More losses to count.
You look at your eldest brother, golden blond hair spread across his forehead, thick like the mane of a lion. There is gravel in his skin and soot on his cheeks and his face is pale, hands folded over his chest and blood threaded into his yellow sweater. Red against gold. For a moment the combination brushes your brain, touches a distant memory of battle and clashing swords, but you blink and it is gone. This is my brother Peter, you say, in a voice choked with grief. The sky looks black outside the window, and your brother’s arm still feels warm when you touch it a final time.
You look to your younger brother, dark hair tousled, blood leaking between his lips. His skin is frost pale, like snow, so white he appears to be made of stone. Shrapnel cuts into his cheeks and sends crimson trails across his face. His hands are clenched, cap askew on hair smeared with blood. They tell you he died with his sister in his arms, body curled around her in a vain attempt to keep her safe. You stare at him with a lump in your throat, and for a moment you seem to see him, silver crown upon his head, smiling with quiet gentleness. It fades, and you whisper, This is my brother Edmund. The tree outside the window seems to wilt a little as you speak. Your brother’s cheek is like ice beneath your fingertips.
You look last at your sister. She is peaceful, lips lifted in a smile, hair tangled beneath her head and shoulders. She grips something in one hand— a tiny wooden carving. A lion. Your throat clenches to see it, but you do not know why. Her skin is warm, like sunlight, but there is such coldness in her face. Such emptiness. Blood smears her sky blue dress, and you weep to see it. Blood does not belong on your baby sister. For a moment the red makes you remember her, dancing wild by a fire with berry juice smeared on her hands and mouth, but surely not. Surely such a thing never happened. This is my sister Lucy, you murmur, and are able to say no more. For a moment it seems as if a mist touches the window, and your sister’s skin is hot against your palms.
You turn away, raven-dark hair falling over your cheek, and stare out the window with tears burning your throat. There is no sun, and you think that perhaps there will never be sun again. It has been taken away forever.
(For a moment you seem to hear a voice, deep, gentle, loving. To the radiant southern sun. For a moment you feel the weight of a crown in your hair. Perhaps you are losing your sanity, bit by bit. Perhaps it was shattered the moment you heard the news).
They asked you to identify the bodies, and you did, because they are your family. They were your family. You loved each and every one of them. You loved your mother's soft fingers in your hair and your father's deep chuckle. You loved your older brother's fierce kindness and your little brother's quiet demeanor and your baby sister's merriment. You loved them all. And now you stare through the window at a sky that is heavy with rain and think of flames and twisted metal and the blood on your siblings' skin.
You close your eyes. For a brief moment you think you smell lilies, and salt, and Lucy is laughing and Edmund is smiling and Peter's arms are slung around their shoulders, and then they are looking at you and beckoning and there is a lion with golden eyes and the sun is rising into a damp new sky.
Your eyes open slowly, glazed over with tears that spill down your cheeks like rain.
And for a moment, just for a moment, you remember.
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Man don't you just hate it when your woken up at 9 am when your put sick from school because YOUR FUCKING HOUSE FLOODED BECAUSE I SURE DO.
I'm joking I hate it, this is the worse tye house has flooded in the 11 years we've lived here. My puppy is taking it pretty well all things considered he's a little jumpy of the shop vac and the cats are chillin in my bed far away from the water
Ajwbbejdhdjd I am so tried mannnnnnnnnn
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assigning will wood songs to my characters :)
Ryder: “Chemical Overreaction / Compound Fracture” - Everything Is a Lot
Beatrice: “2econd, 2ight, 2eer (that was fun, goodbye)” - The Normal Album
Randy: “When Somebody Needs You” - Camp Here & There
Alonzo: “Everything Is a Lot” - Everything Is a Lot
Phineas: “Euthanasia” - “In case I make it,”
Jack: “Front Street” - Everything Is a Lot
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Andrew: “Marsha, Thankk You for the Dialectics, but I Need You To Leave” - The Normal Album
Charlie: “Dr. Sunshine Is Dead” - SELF-iSH
Olivia: “Yes, to Err is Human, So Don’t Be One” - Camp Here & There
Vindal: “Liars and Hyppocrates: a fun fact about apples” - The Normal Album
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“Mr D” Dalton: “The Main Character” - “In case I make it,”
Everlin: “…well, better than the alternative” - The Normal Album
Francis: “Cicada Days” - “In case I make it,”
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Colt: “Becoming The Lastnames” - “In case I make it,”
Zachary: “Um, It’s Kind Of a Lot” - “In case I make it,”
Gordie: “Against the Kitchen Floor” - “In case I make it,”
Dustin: “Willard!” - “In case I make it,”
Grayson: “BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA” - The Normal Album
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Hank: “Red Moon” - Everything Is a Lot
Marty: “2012” - SELF-iSH
Jaiden: “Thermodynamic Lawyer Esq, G.F.D.” - Everything Is a Lot
Omari: “6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro / Con)” - Everything Is a Lot
Cynthia: “Sex, Drugs, Rock ‘n’ Roll” - “In case I make it,”
Brayden: “I / Me / Myself” - The Normal Album
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Lazarus/777: “Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!)” - The Normal Album
Moriah: “Your Body, My Temple” - Camp Here & There
Lily: “Self-“ - SELF-iSH
Esther: “-ish” - SELF-iSH
Fresco: “Suburbia Overture / (Vampire) Culture” - The Normal Album
Crowley: “Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!” - SELF-iSH
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Steve or Tony growing their hair out long enough for a ponytail? ie: silky golden locks or beachy cascading waves?
anon anon anon how did you know that i am in love- nay, obsessed- no, entranced with hair as a metaphor for growth/a means of sharing intimate touch/a piece of culture/a way to reimagine, to rebel, to be reborn <3
i think steve would be excellent at braiding both his own hair and anyone else's he can get his hands on to practice. he'd be super gentle and attentive and coordinated and at a certain point thor and nat just start seeking him out to braid their hair in the mornings because there's something so precious about feeling big strong powerful hands hold you so delicately, never pulling too hard or making you twist your head around uncomfortably even when he's testing out a more complicated design.
steve tries to braid tony's hair too, but while tony prizes his hair for the way it drapes down his back during galas or how he can punctuate his press conference quips with a high-ponytail and an expertly-timed hair flip, when he's at home he's usually got it up in a bun so that it doesn't catch on anything in the lab.
yeah, tony doesn't much have the patience to be still and let someone do his hair for him. but he absolutely treasures his and steve's nighttime routine, when he sits steve down on their bed and gets to release whatever intricate and beautiful braid steve's done for himself and watch it unravel around his fingertips. and at a certain point the braid is all undone and steve's tipped his head backwards onto tony's shoulder and it's less about brushing his hair out and more about just scratching his nails on steve's scalp, massaging his temple, dropping kisses along the path his fingers take until steve is sighing in his arms and all the tension has bled out of him and there's nothing else except tony's hands on him and their hair intertwining together over the pillows as they fall asleep
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🦴 Nightalon 👀?
OH GOSH,,, welp here we go down the rabbit hole bc Nightalon is actually one of the oldest ocs I have!
How old? Well here was their original design when they were a tfp/YB character who was a Megatron Soundwave baby, purely bc I liked their designs. This design? Is over 3+ years old.
They were actually Just based off their name at first, I liked the name and thought it'd make a cool oc, in this first iteration their character was basically big goof who had an incident where their nodes were fried so hard they never felt pain, but were NOT indestructable. So they would walk into the con base bleeding from the arc and with no idea what was going on.
After that they became a StarSound baby I believe? Though I still barely touched their character. However when it came to figuring giving Radio a girlfriend in TFA I realized that I hadn't touched Nightalon in forever and found an interesting alt mode for them to take and hey I liked Lugwing so why not make them a lugwing baby... thing is this nightalon changed designs but not much in terms of personality.
OOF, yea but hopefully now you can start to see the basis of the modern Nightalon I settled on. I loved the idea of the triangle pattern suggesting stars without being too direct about it. I liked the general concept too but it needed working. So another design came along
So a while after designing that, I had watched a ton of video essays going over crappy romance media, from fifty shades of grey to the kissing booth to other ones, I started really wanting to explore more of the idea of how those kind of stories can warp the minds of young teenagers and lead to more unhealthy ideas of romance and dedication for them.... Then? I grabbed Nightalon and realized I could do something with this... I also really wanted to explore some more themes surrounding being trans n such and that all combined made for a much more interesting version of Night... One that was also HEAVILY based off Rebecca from Crazy Ex Girlfriend.
That leads us to modern Nightalon! With a backstory that faces struggles with her peers and a resentment towards her family. She threw herself into the very media and fiction I just mentioned.
If you've read Just A Girl In Love [If you look up the song lyrics, you'll see why I chose that song to be the title of her debut fic, its just too fitting-] you'll knew where this headed, she sees Radio, falls in love and while I really want to elaborate more on this in the form of another fanfic from her perspective I might as well spell out more of the subtle parts of that fic.
Nightalon is entranced in the idea of finding someone who she percieves as "Broken" and "Fixing" them, but the fiction she consumes has not given her any healthy ideas on how to do that. As her and Radio grow closer, Nightalon feeds into Radio's worst traits, she wants Radio to embrace her emotional instability, because it plays into her fantasies. It's not malicious but it is unhealthy, Nightalon thinks that Radio is perfect, that she doesn't need to change but instead just needs to run away with her forever and embrace who she is. Night does not trust the adults around her to help Radio due to her own truama too, and therefore tells Radio not to as well. She's not intending to, but she's treating Radio, her relationship with her and the world generally as a big novel where she is the main character and has all the answers. Where her delicate female touch will cure Radio of her depression and her issues and the adults around them just need to catch up with that fact. She's stuck up, views most of her family as somewhat beneath her due to their brutish and dumb nature, and sees herself as the protagonist with all the right ideas.
But reality will hit her hard and what will she do when it does? She didn't mean to hurt anyone, so does she double down on her innocence, or come to terms with having hurt the delicate rose no, the Person she loved more than anything in the world?
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