#susan pevensie

The thing about Susan is that sometimes you have to grow up. Sometimes you have to lock away the dreams of childhood, the fanciful says of pretend, sometimes you have to let the magic go. Sometimes that’s the only way that you can continue to live.

She loses Narnia and it’s okay. Well it’s not okay but what other choice does she have. Her siblings don’t understand why she doesn’t pretend anymore, why she throws herself into fashion and boys and school and a job and life. They don’t get why she focuses on living in the moment instead of dreaming of what was. Losing Narnia hurt more than she could explain, it broke her to learn that she was no longer wanted, no longer enough. So she tries to do the impossible and forget. She lets go of everything and focuses on living in the moment, on building a life in the only place that she’s got left.

Losing her family breaks her. She’s furious for a long time, refuses to cry, refuses to speak of the brothers and sister that were everything to her. She paints on red lipstick each morning with swift strokes as a barrier against the world. Coats mascara on her lashes so that she won’t cry and goes out into the world. She works, goes to pubs, let’s people buy her drinks but she doesn’t smile, she doesn’t laugh. Laughter and smiles died on a train headed to the country side. She goes through the emotions, and hides her heart away from the world.

Years go by because time doesn’t stop and she continues to live, one day, one week, one month, one year at a time. She doesn’t smile anymore not the way she used too, her eyes are hard and there is a sharp and brittle edge to her. They used to call her gentle, tell stories of her kindness, her wisdom. She doesn’t feel wise anymore, doesn’t care to be kind. The years alone have worn her down.

More Narnia wallpapers! 

Here’smy redbubble store where you can find most of the things I’ve posted here as stickers or prints or more :)

You can find this one here.

Edmund! I’ve been rewatching the narnia movies and I don’t think I draw the Pevensies nearly enough. As always, let me know what you think :)

Susan Pevensie Aesthetic

Wendy Darling and Susan Pevensie.

Dunno. Just suddenly thought of them.

libblyster:

live-a-thousand-times-deactivat:

So kids stop losing teeth around the age of 12, which means that LUCY AND EDMUND LITERALLY LOST TEETH IN NARNIA!! Anyways thought I’d just pop in and say that : D

imagine Mr Tumnus’ confusion when Lucy lost and tooth and proudly showed it to Peter he didn’t even understand handshakes, so this would be even more strange to him
headcannon that Centuars don’t loose teeth like humans so even THEY are confused

                         THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                 for: @l-oh-herainfrom@oflucyandlorien.

determination.

Peter stands in the ruin of Cair Paravel, his palace, his kingdom, and the years come crashing down on his shoulders. A year since he and his siblings went missing, fifteen years as High King, centuries since he last stood where he stands now. Lucy seems near tears, Edmund angry, and Susan just looks sorry.

The treasure room was the last straw; sixteen steps to the bottom and their gifts from Father Christmas hanging on the wall and the “do you remember” of the whole place was almost more than any of them could bear. The thrill of realizing it was Cair Paravel had been dulled by how many years it must have been since they lived there. Their friends must be long gone, even if the apple trees–apple trees they planted, just before the Calormen ambassador came–are still here.

“This is my sword, Rhindon,” Peter says. “With it I killed the wolf.” From his siblings’ expressions he knows that his voice is more that of the High King than of Peter Pevensie from Finchley. There is magic in the air, and even if he looks more or less as he did when they were in the railway station, Narnia’s magic is working on him in other ways.

Sheathing his sword, he follows his siblings out of the treasure chamber and helps Edmund to build a fire without thinking about it. He bids Lucy good night automatically and stretches out with his back to the fire.

They must have been summoned.

Lucy’s finding the wardrobe was not a mistake, or if it was, it was because the wardrobe was a doorway. Railway platforms do not turn into woods all on their own. That had been magic. The woods are silent; something must be terribly wrong in Narnia. Cair Paravel was attacked, but Peter and his siblings were not called when that attack took place, so why now?

As much as he turns it over in his head, he can’t make sense of it. It isn’t logical, but perhaps it doesn’t need to be. It’s not logical that the stars are any different from England, but they’re still more familiar from his years spent studying and watching with the centaurs. Looking up into the Narnian sky, he notes that Tarva and Alambil are in close conjunction. If Peter had to guess, the great conflict indicated has yet to take place, and that is what he and Susan, Edmund, and Lucy are here to aid Narnia in.

Under the stars, on the cold, stony ground that was once theirs, Peter silently vows to put Narnia to rights, whatever necessary.

Eventually, he sleeps.

                         THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                 for: @youknowthelinesfrom@quecksilvereyes.

cutting growths.

“You’re falling now. You’re swimming. This is not
          harmless. You are not
                    breathing.”
― Richard Siken, Crush

your mother once told you that the world does not stop for your terror. now, it looks at you from within needle-sharp teeth and trembling breaths. now, it looks at you as though you are not still choking on paint, as though this world, and all its salt, is home now to you as it is to your cousins and their laughing mouths, pulled taut by longing.

your mother is clutching the phone again. “helen”, she says, her voice soft, her knuckles white, “there’s something wrong with your children.”
you don’t hear her answer, but your mother hangs up, her lips pursed. she doesn’t look at you. in his chair, your father turns a page.

your lungs are still lined with sea salt, you see. your skin is still stretched over the hollow of your bones, you see. your teeth are dull. your hair is dripping with water, still.
it collects at your clavicles, and at the bottom of your feet. below you, the wooden floor rots. your mother doesn’t look at you.

your father turns a page.

your nails are weak, and dull. your stomach lies, clawed open and empty, under the stretch of your ribs. come, child. press a hand against your chest. can you feel your heart beating still?

in the mornings, before your mother comes to open all the windows and all the doors, with a sharp mouth and sharper hands, your cousins lie curled into one another. she is the inhale to his exhale, his fingers on her pulse point, her ear pressed against his chest. to the twin-beats of their hearts, they lie in this home full of teeth. she reaches for you.

your skin peels from you in welts. your teeth shed from you from the roots upwards. the world tilts and levels and stops.

“stand up straight”, your mother says as the world around you melts into a swirl of colour and sound, the corners of her mouth tilted upwards, “the world won’t stop for you.” and England never has. rounded and full of edges and full of cousins with secrets hidden in their smiles, it kept on turning, no matter how much you ripped open your skin trying to make it stop.

but this world is flat. this world lies, unmoving, with the ocean flowing from it on all sides. this world stops. your cousins bloom, here. your world changes, here.

 *

take your skin. take your nails and your teeth and your shoulder blades. don’t pull at them. don’t pick at them. look into that mirror and don’t flinch. look at your cousins and the way they never really stop touching, tucked into a space they’ve carved into this England. look at this world and don’t ache for mouses who have long since walked off the edge of it.

 *

when you first meet susan, she is carefully wrapped in petticoats. her lips are painted scarlet, her dress fans out when she turns. from within her smile, you can still see the weight of the world and how it has long since worn them dull.

she looks at you. if you tilt your head right, you can see the constellation caspian had sailed after in them. under your nails, your skin breaks. under your teeth, your gums break. susan doesn’t reach for you. she takes a cup and a lighter. she lights the stove and starts spooning coffee into the coffee machine. peter kisses her bare shoulder. she wraps a hand around his wrist.

and then she turns to look at you. her skirt sways. “i’m sorry”, she says. her voice is soft, and untrembling, and you can hear edmund in it. he hits his rs the same way. you cannot stop looking at her. there is not a freckle on her skin.

from within her, the world looks at you, still and unmoving. Untrembling, with her hair in perfect curls, the world has stopped for you. your feet are wet. the water drips from your fingertips. the fire drips from your lungs into the hollow of your ribs. you do not respond.

would you even know how to?

 *

the war still sits in all your bones, see. it’s not the same war that has burrowed itself under your skins. or rather, your cousins have wars hidden in their gums that you cannot conceptualise. there are tremors in their hands and sharp edges in their jaws. your mother purses her lips when susan cooks coffee in the mornings, and spends hours nursing just one cup of it. peter lies his head in her lap, edmund takes the curlers out of her hair and lines them up on the kitchen table. lucy sits outside, with her head tilted upwards, with her bare feet on the grass.

and susan looks at you.

until your skin crawls, she looks at you, with her dark eyes and her smiling mouth.

edmund kisses the top of her head, and peter snores softly. susan cups her coffee with both hands and leans forwards.

come on. take a breath. and then another.

this is it.

“i’m sorry”, she says again. “it will never be the same again, after you’ve been there. there’s no going back for us. it changes you, and turns you inside out. and then you’re back here and nothing feels right.”

behind her, the kettle boils.

 *

susan pevensie has the world in her smile. from within the red stretch of her, it breathes, and it lies, frozen, until you might be pulled back into it. when you are, you will have to leave them here, with the boiling kettle. with the world turning, still. it doesn’t stop for their terror, see.

here, you’re all just children. here, there is something wrong with the edges of your teeth. here, your cousin wraps herself in girdles and petticoats and draws a line on the back of her legs with kohl. somewhere in the bones of her lies a queen.

scvrllet:

ONE MORE CHANCE

In which Susan Pevensie is sent back in time to get one more chance at Narnia

A Susan Pevensie x Reader oneshot

contains: gender-neutral!reader, derealization themes, unedited! (1,730 words)

authors note: idk how to feel about this, its my first time writing for susan but this concept came to me while i was down with a fever and remembered she stopped believing in narnia as she got older this may not be the best idea i wrote lmao

Keep reading

faramir-stan:

thenameofaslan:

TNOA’s 100 Verse Challenge - 92/100

If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land. —2 Chronicles 7:14 (ESV)

“…perhaps she will get to Aslan’s country in the end—in her own way.” —C.S. Lewis, in a letter to a fan