Masks And Helmets That Hides Someone's Face In Such A Way That They Become The Face Themselves My Beloved

I FINALLY FOUND THIS POST

moon after moon after moon~victoria pettella

THIS IS IMPORTANT

Fuck you. This is the coward's way out. This train will not bring you back in time.

It will not take her arm, or his eye. It will not gift your cheeks their stubble. It will heave its way through English fields and English woods and English towns and English rain, and our mother will sit in that compartment with you.

Have you considered that? Mother, who looks at you as a chicken beholds the fox beneath the fence, as a farmer beholds the wolf by the gate, mother, who has long since washed all colour from her face.

Mother, who is grey and damp as the rain.

Hours in a locked tomb. Hours with her. What will she say? How will she sit? What things will she drag from your mouth?

Will she pin you, with those tired eyes, with those faded hands, to the fabric of your seat, to take from you the answers we have been keeping from her for years?

And how could you ever tell her? How could you dare?

Mother, your little boy has died. Mother, your little girl has seen battle. Mother, your children have commanded armies. They've sat thrones and mourned children. They've lost their people.

Twice.

Mother, you are tired. You are weary. You would not understand.

By the lion, you'd despair.

Mother, a witch has spelled your son when his ears still stuck out and he missed your husband with all the violence of a schoolboy. She took him, pointed nails and pearl-teeth, god, she carved flesh and bone and sinew until that paper-thin skin held nothing at all.

Mother, the son you sent to the countryside with the world digging into his shoulders has died. In tiny pieces, at first, and then all at once, as a trickle turns first into a stream and then into a raging river.

Until finally, it spreads into the sea.

Your child lies buried in every decree, every law, and- Christ, who are we kidding, the Narnian soil. The golden boy you wanted so desperately to protect lies in pieces next to the witch, rotting into the earth.

We cannot return him to you.

Will you tell her, I wonder, about the razor blades underneath your floorboards? Will you bare your neck and show her all the mess you've made of the soft skin there when the nights were long and the tremors were terrible?

What of the knives under our little ones' pillows?

Fuck you.

When I was born, I had you. When I was little, I had you. Those terrible, wonderful years - I had you. How am I meant to go on without you? Brother, I don't know how.

Already my lungs are refusing their work. Already my stomach turns. My teeth are aching, my bones have chilled. My cheeks are stained - big red streaks of salt.

Of blood.

I have carved a way for myself through the chalk and the limestone and the mud. With my hands and my teeth, on the last bit of hope I could still heave up in between the cigarettes and the whiskey, I dug my way to sunlight. For days, for months, for years.

With my bare fucking hands, brother.

And you? You've never put the sword down. You've never looked at the dirt. You can't, you say. You're not made for it. Your mouth is the wrong shape and your eyes want nothing to do with the ground.

Instead, you've spent your time picking out the perfect mortician, the right funeral shroud. The coffin. Instead, you've drawn maps and routes into a home that has long been plundered.

Brother, where has your hunger gone?

in the many years over which the pevensies became mythologized, one important thing was forgotten - when they first came to narnia, they were children

Ah, I see. Thank you for your honesty. Please, take as much as you need. There will be enough for everyone.

A change of scenery. Simple, but marvelous.

A glimpse into your future, for you brave souls! (Divination is tricky business, tread carefully my dear!)

Knowledge from the universe, eh? Perhaps this will be of interest to you.

Rest for the weary, right this way. It's a personal favourite of mine.

A home-cooked meal you say? I like how you think! A labour of love worth savoring (and sharing with friends!)

For something to pass the time, try looking here, or if that doesn't hit the spot, here.

Seeking adventure to a far-off place? I know a way to get you there.

✨

I hope you found what you were looking for!

not to repeat myself again but imagine you’re helen pevensie and you send your children away to keep them safe from the war. you send them to the country to keep them alive, keep them children for as long as possible in a war like this.

and then you get them back, and suddenly it feels like you’ve invited war itself into your house. not in the literal sense, arguments now happen quietly and with composure no children should know how to wield. but somehow, whenever you look at them, you think about blood, about death, about enemies felled with weapons too fast for them to notice. it feels like you hugged a man in a trench when you welcomed your children back home.

you feel terrible, but it’s hard for you to be in a room with them all for long. you don’t want to shake war’s hand. war has torn your country apart, war keeps your husband away and in the middle of deadly danger. war should not be sitting in your living room, drinking your tea and eating your food. you’re afraid of war. you don’t want war in your home.

your children should not be the war you wished to keep them safe from.

Now, I’m not saying romantic relationships are inferior, or that they’re useless, or that you being in one or that you shipping some characters romantically is Bad or something off the walls like that. What I’m saying is that two people (or characters, since we’re talking shipping here) can be just as devoted to each other, love each other just as deeply, mean just as much to each other while being in a platonic relationship. The end point of caring about someone doesn’t have to be romance.

Friendship isn’t a stepping stone between strangers and romantic partners, it’s a different path. And you can follow that path as deep into the wood as a romantic one if you want, and neither is inferior to the other, they just have different views.

Green explotion

thanks keyboard, when I accidentally typed hest instead of best I totally wanted the hest (norwegian word for horse) emoji