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#prince caspian who
losticaruss · 9 months
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chronicles of narnia: prince caspian will forever be a tragedy to me, especially in the way the movie presents it. it opens with peter, desperate to return to the respect he deserves (or thinks he deserves), a fully grown man trapped in this child's, this stranger's body, still adjusting to the life he'd long since forgotten. he gets into a fight because it's natural to him. don't they realize who is he is? not selfishly (a little bit selfishly) he expects people, his siblings, the crowd, to be with him in battle. it's another battle to him, and edmund, lovely edmund, young edmund, edmund who was 12 and on the verge of death, edmund who loves his siblings the most one could ever love your own blood, is in the fray with him, and they fall back into the rhythm they were used to back home- back in narnia, and lucy and susan are screaming at them to stop, and edmund and peter see the soldiers coming home from war, and all they wants is to go back with them, and they understand how these soldiers feel, shell-shocked and distant and they want to fall into line with them, but they're kids and they're fighting other kids, they're not undisciplined, they're unadjusted. nothing changed but so did everything.
and they hop on the train and none of the pevensies want to talk about what happened and they end back in narnia and they're finally back in narnia they're home on the beaches of their home and it's a joy so grand that there's nothing they can do but go back to being kids- again, and they find cair paraval, and everything's gone- and the chessboard that edmund loved, the chessboard he played on when he first beat peter, is gone, there's nothing left of it, and they fall through the ruins like ghosts. here's the dining hall, the ballroom. remember this, lu? it used to be your bed. do you remember when you were so homesick you begged me to stay with you until you fell asleep? do you remember the way the garden bloomed in the spring? and they fall naturally in step into the dais, empty, not even the familiar sound of their shoes clacking against the polished floor. everything's gone now, of course it is. they knew how time worked in narnia, but it didn't happen to them. how could it move on without them? and they make their way into the lower floors, peter naturally falls into the trait of the leader, hes the first to forget the world they came from, but edmund, clever edmund, desperate edmund, brings a torch. he doesn't say how he packed it in his bag every day, how he packed it and prayed that they'd return. and everything is still there, in that room. nothing prepares you for seeing statues of your face- not your face, but what will be your face, what used to be your face- cracked and covered in moss. their crowns are there. everything is there. peters sword returns to his side, and it's the first time he looks complete since they left narnia. and they adventure- how much had changed? the trees are so much taller. how long now had they been gone? it was natural for narnia to have moved on, but they were meant to move on with them. peter tries to bring his siblings through his usual shortcuts, through an overpass, far from the well-trod paths that had cropped up since theyd been gone. he can't have been abandoned by his home, not so soon.
but he was. and there's a kid here, claiming to be the new ruler of narnia. who is he? he looks so young, and susan is looking at him and he's... looking back? and the civilians are looking at this stranger, this kid, like he's supposed to know what to do. had he even fought a battle? he rubs his beard- and is blocked by the bare skin of his chin (of course it's not there. he forgot.) and peter wants to be the bigger person, he's the high king, that's how it should be. but there are all these emotions he hadn't felt before- he thought, not in narnia at least. and he doesn't want to be the bigger person, he finds. stop looking at him like he should know what to do! he stands up to take over- his people forgot about him. he left and they forgot. and he sizes up this child as he speaks- high king peter of narnia, he says. the magnificent. and there it is, he thinks. the familiar look, shock, awe and- confusion? that's a new one- but not incorrect, as he realizes his situation.
he wants to be recognized how he used to be. the pevensies have returned to what they were, the warrior, the archer, the diplomat, the healer. and this new one, the one who wanted to be all four at once so desperately it made ed look wise. and finally- finally he gets his chance to shine, where he belongs, on the field, against The Enemy. of course, not how he'd like it, not in broad daylight, sword and armor gleaming, but it was the smart move. and he's filled with these emotions- not dread, or worry (maybe a little worry), but excitement, and everything is pounding in his head and the adrenaline- he forgot how good it feels- and he leads the army, his army. he's the warrior, the high king, and for a night, the people remember, they remember the golden age. and ed is brilliant, and peter can't help but grin with glee as he sees him pull of a maneuver that pete knows took months of training.
and then the hoards come and they're losing- they can't be losing, this was his chance! he's right, he's the king this was his chance to show them. and he cries for a retreat but it's too late- he was a fool, he watches his army, the army who trusted him, he watched them be slaughtered against the gates that had sealed their fate. he watched the blood spray and stain the metal, oozing between the stone bricks and he just stares. and it's all he can do and he wants- what does he want? to say he's sorry? to save them?
no- no, nothing like that. he should be in there with them. he should be gutted like the rest of them (a hero's death, not this cowards life). he went in too fast, too proud, he knows that. but to have these innocents follow him in willingly, blindly, and he's the one to make it out? it's unforgivable.
and then he's given another chance. a fight- a duel, to the death. he leaves the arena a victor, or he dies a martyr, and everyone forgets his sins of the night of the ambush. and he fights the best he can, he loses his helmet, he's injured and he can hear death whistling it's grim tune, and he almost doesn't pick up his sword, and he sees edmund, lovely edmund, young edmund, with hope in his eyes- with faith in his eyes, and peter knows, he certainly doesn't deserve the life he's been longing for, but he picks up his sword because his little brother, his little brother who almost died, whom he loves with all his heart and so much more. and he accepts it. he realizes he won't get it back, his golden age, but he can fight for edmund, for narnia. and he fights. he fights and he fights and he fights.
and when it's over he breaths the sweet narnian air, and he clasps the hand of caspian, another brother, not a blood one, nor a narnian one, but one of a deeper connection, deeper than any love, and he sees susan smiling. the pevensies and caspian are celebrated like kings, and the pevensies help caspian, still a child, overwhelmed with all this love, they guide him through it, preparing for the many days in the future when parades and celebrations fill the streets, and the people adore their rulers- their king.
it's their last time, he tells the others. once they leave, him and susan can't return. there's more on the other side, the other world, another way to return to narnia, to Aslan, and he doesn't share the fear in his heart. another way, but not this way. not through his home, where he's surrounded by it, drenched in it. not the same not the same, never the same again. they could stay, of course, says a foolish side of him. but not, they couldn't, it's stupid to say so. his mother- had he forgotten his mother so soon? she would go mad with loss. his golden age, it's come and past, and narnia moved on without him, and he steps through to the train station, not to his home, (no. he can never go home again.) and susan follows him, and she grasps his hand, a look shared between the two of them that she understands. and peter, one last chance to be the bigger person, he sees her loss and he squeezes her hand back. edmund and lucy they think they understand, and they grasp their elder siblings hands, and it's comforting, but peter and susan know, they know they won't understand, not until it's their turn, they won't know how empty it is, how lonely it is in this world.
so yeah. it's a tragedy
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Once, Always
(Edmund has an abundance of birthdays)
 .
“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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undekaying · 10 months
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Narnia and Lord of the Rings are genuinely two of the only franchises where I like both the books and the movies, and I think the movies are fair adaptations of the books...
Except for the Voyage of the Dawn Treader movie. It's aesthetically stunning, but it strayed too far. I want a 'people in a boat going on little adventures' movie, not the 'weird green mist' movie.
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kaleidemaran · 2 months
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idk which one i like better and tbh this got away from me a little so here’s both <3 anyways imagine being a child but also 25 but also a child and then you find out you’re a 1000 year old living legend with a tomb. like what do you even do with that. how do you not lose it immediately
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an-angels-fury · 1 month
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The only Heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you
OR: Basically what happens after one day I find myself re-listining to "Take me to Church" by Hozier and suddenly getting all inspired to write a Caspeter oneshot based on the concept of #love as religion
OR: My first (kind of) successful attempt at writing something... spicier... I think...
A little dedication to @equixen, because you said you were interested at seeing more of my writing for this ship, and @eds-gryff, because I believe you might enjoy this as well - also the fact you made a Caspeter edit with the lyrics of this song, which I absolutely love it (😍) ! (Oh, and in case any of you feel uncomfortable for being tagged in my posts for any reason, just warn me so I won't do it next time, okay? 😅).
Anyway, good reading! 🫶
P.S.: The moodboard below was made by me. Images and quotes used were all found on Pinterest. The photo in the middle is from a fanart made by Tasya Rey (don't know the original ship tho).
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Warning: Sexual Content (but nothing super descriptive)
You always knew this would happen anyway. You've been waiting for this moment your whole life. It was the truest of all truths, the one that had already been carved into your bones by the arrows of destiny long before you even existed.
And it was precisely because you blindly believed in such certainty that you didn't question when the High King intertwined his fingers with yours and guided you through the infinite maze of corridors to his private chambers, turning his head back from time to time to make sure you were still following him - of course you were. You would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked you to. There is no other place you would rather be than by his side.
You don't question it when you hear the slow creak of doors being closed and locked. The noise sends a shiver down your spine, only serving to alert you to the proximity of what is to come. The crackling fire in the hearth is the only source of light in the entire room, creating a trail of orange flash across the stone floor. You don't question it when the High King pushes you against the wall and his lips collide with yours. The two of you start off at a gentle pace, savoring every inch of each other's mouths. You tilt your head just a little to the side and make room for his tongue to enter, letting a hoarse moan escape from the back of your throat. Your hands find their way to the hair on the back of his neck and give a slight tug, causing the other to emit a low, guttural sound and quickly deepen the kiss.
You feel his hands slide down the sides of your body, burning your skin beneath your robes, until they stop at your hips and press them against his. The more the technique improves, the faster the embers burn and you fear that your heart will stop beating. You continue to taste those soft lips, the two of you moving in a continuous rhythm, until you are forced to stop to catch your breath.
Your eyes meet his and your insides are taken over by a wave of heat that weakens you from head to toe. You admire the way the red of the hearth flames mix with the blue of his pupils like liquid gold, displaying a flickering glow. For a moment, you begin to believe that you are under the influence of some spell - and you don't want to wake up. You would have already fallen to your knees if you weren't holding onto his shoulders as if he were the only anchor keeping you from drowning. But he is also the water that clogs your lungs, the water that cleanses and purifies your soul, the water that, the more you drink, the more you become thirsty.
A smile spreads across the High King's face, conveying a new kind of emotion for which there seem to be no words to describe its true meaning. Passion? Lust? Devotion? Maybe... love? Whatever it was, it was something that made you want to surrender to that feeling. Surrender to him.
You don't let yourself be intimidated by the intensity of his gaze, you just keep staring at him while you feel nimble fingers working to open the buttons on your tunic. And you don't try to stop him. You don't want him to stop because you need to feel more of him, more than ever, and he knows it.
The boy takes his time removing the remaining parts of your costume, layer by layer, undressing you with deliciously torturous slowness. You stop breathing for a moment when his hands find your bare chest and his palm rests over where your heart beats like a drum. Quickly, the hand is replaced by the mouth and you close your eyes and revel in the way those lips so intimately caress that specific place - the sacred place of your life source - and all you want is for him to go forward. You want him to rip your skin, open your ribcage and take your heart in his hands just so you can declare to him "It's yours. It beats for you... I bleed for you." You want to cling to him. You want him inside you.
When you least realize it, you find yourself completely undressed from your clothes, your back tingling from the contact against the rough, cold surface of the wall. Your lover's lips gently brush your skin, starting on your chest and passing through your shoulder, your collarbone and only stopping until they find a pulsing vein on your neck. Soon, his tongue and teeth begin to taste more of that corner and, involuntarily, you lift your head back just a little bit and oh! It feels so, so good. You can't help the whimpers of ecstasy that leave your mouth, the kind of sound you had no idea you were capable of producing. In an instinctive gesture, you grope the body in front of you, your vision still clouded by the darkness of your eyelids, and pull the fabric of his coat in a failed attempt to get rid of it. However, you feel your wrists being grabbed and pinned above your head and you grunt in frustration at the break of contact.
When your vision clears, you are met with a serious expression on the High King's face. His grip, once gentle, was now firm and strong. Despite having the youthful features of a teenager, it was enough to feel the calluses on his hands or dive into the deep abyss of his eyes to remember that in that body - that small cage - lay the soul of a powerful warrior whose acts of bravery spanned the centuries and gave you hope in the darkest days of your childhood. You dreamed of meeting him, of sitting next to him and listening to him tell you stories about his adventures for days and nights. You dreamed of the enchanting sound of his voice, the sweetness of his laugh and the feeling of his arms comforting you and taking all the loneliness away. But never, not even in your wildest dreams, have you seen yourself as the object of his adoration, of his most primal desire. A mere mortal like you being bestowed with such an honor? How was this possible?
For a minute, you both remain still where you are, until he approaches and places a chaste kiss on your lips before whispering in a commanding tone:
- Lay down.
And you just obey. You walk towards the bed and lie down on the velvet sheets. He comes to you, sits on the edge of the mattress and observes your nakedness appreciatively. His hands slide carefully over your tanned skin, knowing every curve and noticing your reactions. Every touch is a sacred gesture that you always respond to with a sigh of pleasure. It continues its path through the muscles of your belly, always descending, and a strange throbbing sensation begins to spread in the space between your thighs. When those skilled fingers finally approach your intimacy, your entire body contracts in a mix of embarrassment and thrill. The young blond man just gives you a small cheeky smile when you instinctively lift your pelvis towards the touch you so longed for.
Suddenly, he stops what he was doing and gets out of bed to take off his boots. Confused, you sit down and watch him attentively, not daring to say a single word. The High King stands before you and asks you to extend your hand. You give it to him – the one with the scar – and he kisses the thin, pink line across your palm. Then he takes that same hand and guides it to his belt buckle and you know exactly what to do. Your movements are slow and shaky, exposing your inexperience, but you keep going anyway. With each layer of clothing that falls to the floor, your heart skips a beat. In the end, you just gasp in admiration before the divine image that blesses your eyes.
Even naked, he carries the same aura of grandeur and magnanimity that he has always displayed. He is the Sun, and every part of his being - from his golden hair and his eyes as blue and vast as the northern sky that is his domain, to his marble skin, pale and marked with cracks - is sculpted by light. It shines so brightly that you fear you will go blind. You want to look away, you want to touch him too, but you can't move. His presence paralyzes every fiber of your being. It's as if your body no longer belongs to you.
Fortunately, in your moment of greatest despair, your loved one came to your aid - as he always did. He lifts your chin and holds your face between his hands, sliding his thumbs down your cheeks, then your nose, until it rests on the surface of your lips. He acts as if you are the work of art and he is the fascinated admirer. You find yourself too busy soaking in such grace that you don't even notice the silent shadows that begin to grow behind the mirrors of his soul. That darkness that manifested itself was just the silhouette of an even deeper and… animalistic feeling.
You finally find out what it is when he leans towards you and takes your mouth in an eager, ardent kiss. Tongues dance and meet in perfect synchrony and it doesn't take long for teeth to join in the act. His fingers cling to the black strands of your hair and you don't even try to contain your loud moan when he sits on your lap. Your arms grab him around the waist, trying to increase the friction between your bodies for as long as possible. Yes, you know that feeling, the desperate desire to devour and be eaten alive. It's so strong, so visceral, so... pure.
"What's the name again?" You wonder. Oh yes. Hunger. And the most exquisite kind.
You fall onto the pillow like a feather and he positions himself over you, all without breaking the kiss. There was no longer any escape - you already knew that the moment you heard the door close -. Now you are completely at his mercy. And you couldn't have it any other way.
His lips leave yours and begin to trace their way along your jawline, continuing until he reaches your neck. He starts to explore your weaknesses and quickly learns the best way to stimulate them. His magical touch makes you tremble and arch your spine in a mix of agony and delight. His enchanted tongue leaves a hot trail of saliva wherever it goes, and the further it goes down, the fiercer the need becomes. And when it finally arrives at the place that most craves attention, you just… feel like you're floating in the air. And you have to hold on to his tangled hair, otherwise you are sure you would get lost somewhere amidst the clouds and never return to the ground again.
An explosion of completely new sensations turns you into a pile of rubble on the sheets. It was exactly what you wanted. That's why you gave him the power to ruin you. You wanted him to hurt you and then end your suffering. You wanted him to kill you slowly and then bring you back to life. He is pain and relief, sickness and the cure, chaos and tranquility. He is everything to you and he is beautiful - Oh, heavens, he's absolutely beautiful - in a way you've never seen before and you soon regret not having worshiped him sooner.
That's why the first thing you decide to do right after you regain your senses is to hold him by the shoulders and push him against the bed, putting all your weight on him. Now it was your turn to drive him crazy with passion and, just like him, you wouldn't be the least bit merciful.
You kiss and caress him with the devotion of a fervent believer. You feel his nails scratching your back, leaving marks on your skin, a reminder that everything you are and everything you will ever become belongs to him and him alone. But that's where the best part comes from: there's reciprocity. His pleasure is also yours. You feel his desire - the same one that takes over you right now - to be consumed, to merge and become one. One body. One heart. One love.
Suddenly, he calls you and you answer him. You kiss him again and you even get to taste a little of yourself in his mouth. He finally surrenders to your advances and begs you to give him peace and take him to Paradise. Who would have thought that one day you would witness this scene: the High King, always so correct and composed, reduced to a pitiful creature begging for something that only you can give him? Seeing him so defenseless, so vulnerable and so uninhibited awakens something in your heart that leaves it heavy. It's shocking and painful to realize that you were responsible for leaving him in that state. You ruined him too.
You decide that you won't make either of you wait any longer. The truth is, there was nothing in this world or any other that you could ever deny him. You rest your forehead on his and look into his eyes one last time, searching for any sign of fear or doubt. However, all you find is a tempting invitation to your own damnation, which you accept with open arms because if he is a religion, then you are his most passionate disciple.
When you begin the ritual, which had only the moon and the night as legitimate witnesses, it is as if everything around you two faded into oblivion and the only thing that existed were your hands clasped on the mattress and the heavy breathing that marked the rhythm of the music to which your sweaty bodies danced. May the Great Lion forgive you for such blasphemy, but you do not wish to pay obeisance to any other god than the one beneath you. His body is your temple and his hips are the altar on which you kneel to pray. It is his name that comes from your lips when you sing your orisons and it is between his legs that you find your salvation. If it is such an abominable crime to praise the one you love most, then you will accept burning in that heavenly fire for all eternity.
But all good things come to an end. You watch him reach his climax and marvel at the way those angelic features contort with pleasure and you swear the title of 'Magnificent' has never suited him so well as it did at that very moment. You finish right after him and feel the little that remains of your energy drain away. A whirlwind of emotions takes hold of you and you find yourself unable to formulate any concrete idea that describes what you are feeling right now. You are surprised by the hot tears that form in your eyes and run down your cheeks, but what really leaves you speechless are the fingers that brush your damp hair away from your face and the pink lips that kiss your tears, drinking them like the delicate bud that searches for rain. And it's when he smiles that you see him blossom into a lovely flower. Finally, he hugs you and whispers his vows in your ear like a secret:
- My beautiful, gentle sin.
Then you realize why you could never prevent what happened tonight, why your bodies fit together so perfectly as if they were made for each other and why you could never break the invisible bond that connects your souls: it was never something simply carnal. It was a love capable of crossing the barriers of time and space - after all, more than 1300 years separated you two and, even so, he somehow managed to find his way to you. It was a love that no superior force could overcome. It was a love that meant more than love.
You always knew this would happen, one way or another. This was the mystery that gave life to the stars and hold them in place, the secret you fought so long to unravel. For years, you made the same wish, again and again, and after a long wait, they finally granted it. And you couldn't be more grateful for having received such a precious gift in your life.
You rejoice in your good fortune as you drift off into a calm, peaceful sleep.
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moeblob · 10 months
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Today.............. has genuinely. Been. A Day.
Have some OC doodles I started yesterday before tragedy struck and are like the bare minimum effort for today to finish. Since the two princes were originally not /in canon/ for another plot but rather made for a mafia AU as cousins to one of the main characters for the base plot. I was like. Huh let's give them a happier life. So here they're just princes and instead of the police department/detectives that most of the main cast is in base plot, those are the royal guards around the twins' castle.
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Me: *stops The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian before they all go back to England*
And they all lived happily ever after in Narnia and Caspian and Susan got married (or Peter and Caspian you never know)
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fatherofnarnia · 4 months
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The Telmarine who saved Narnia
@hearkenedsouls / @seafaringkingx-archive liked this for a starter
The Telmarine Age finally came to the end, and the hope of a new, better future rose like the first star in the night sky. The Narnians repented of their sins, and Aslan - as once promised - returned to them and gave them a new king: Caspian X. (headcanon, you can read more here). King Miraz was dead, and the tribulation of old times was already in the past.
Everyone was enjoying their time in the castle after the coronation ceremony, peace was planted in people's hearts again. One man, however, seemed to be concerned. The Pevensies had left, and the young king was forced to face his duties alone. It would not easy to rebuild a kingdom after an oppression.
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"Are you sad because of Susan? Or are you worried about how you will act as king?"
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radiantsouth · 2 years
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peter and caspian stepping onto the threshold of adulthood the moment they step into a wardrobe
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sosodeglingo · 2 years
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Sorry but I’ve just watched Heartstopper and there are CLEARLY some casmund vibes here
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applesandpavenders · 1 year
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This is how I believe the trouble with this Prince Caspian film started. The film makers were Ben Barnes simps.
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katnissgirlsmakedo · 3 months
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ok i’ve been watching shadow and bone while doing laundry. my sister. really has no idea who ben barnes is. that’s crazy. you know what i guess she was just doing normal stuff in middle school while i was being a weirdo. that’s wild
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pevensiegiigi · 7 months
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He asked me if Caspian also called Peter's sword Rhindon all the time
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smuggsy · 2 years
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izzy is so deep into the closet he's in fucking narnia
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twinkothydrake · 8 months
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STAY STRONG TWINKOTHY DRAKE THE OLD BLOOD TAG RAMBLERS WILL ONE DAY RISE AGAIN AND TAKE OUR RIGHTFUL PLACE AS SITE MAJORITY
I stand in with you, Anon! We shall remain strong until the day comes when we have a chance to take back what is ours!!
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ranger-kellyn · 9 months
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you know like. in hindsight. the biggest evidence of me being gay and on the aro spectrum was like. in elementary school when all the other girls were starting to go through the whole "celebrity crush" thing with like...dylan and cole sprouse and zac efron and like. idk. jesse mccartney. i just remember always internally being like "what the heck are any of you even tALKING ABOUT" and then actually seeing them on tv or something and being like????? i still don't??? get it??????????????? and i remember just picking someone just to have an answer bc it was asked an annoying amount of times and not because i genuinely had any sort of crush on them and like.......
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