Eliot: I Stay Close To Protect Hardison And Parker. I Suppose I’m Third Wheeling But If That’s What

Love them 💙

the god tier trio dynamic

Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.

Can we talk about Percy seeing his mom in the underworld?

Look at how horrified he is.

There isn’t even a sliver of relief at seeing his mom again. The only thing on his face is wide-eyed terror.

Now look at what Sally looked like:

Did anyone else think that it seemed kind of familiar?

Did anyone else think that it kind of looks like she’s frozen in gold?

Percy saw his mom and it instantly reminded him of being encased inside Hephaestus’s trap in Waterland. Paralyzed and awake while he suffocated slowly and painfully. He’s remembering the panic he felt when he thought he was going to die and how much it hurt when he was freed; Even though he was alive, his lungs burned with every inhale and his head spun from lack of oxygen.

Now he’s putting his mom in that position

Hahah true

Sometimes when I'm cooking, I think to myself "would Eliot approve of this or would he have an aneurysm if he saw what I was putting in this meal?" Then I shrug and do it anyways because it's a win-win either way.

you have invited strangers into your home, helen pevensie, mother of four.

without the blurred sight of joy and relief, it has become impossible to ignore. all the love inside you cannot keep you from seeing the truth. your children are strangers to you. the country has seen them grow taller, your youngest daughter’s hair much longer than you would have it all years past. their hands have more strength in them, their voices ring with an odd lilt and their eyes—it has become hard to look at them straight on, hasn’t it? your children have changed, helen, and as much as you knew they would grow a little in the time away from you, your children have become strangers.

your youngest sings songs you do not know in a language that makes your chest twist in odd ways. you watch her dance in floating steps, bare feet barely touching the dewy grass. when you try and make her wear her sister’s old shoes—growing out of her own faster than you think she ought to—, she looks at you as though you are the child instead of her. her fingers brush leaves with tenderness, and you swear your daughter’s gentle hum makes the drooping plant stand taller than before. you follow her eager leaps to her siblings, her enthusiasm the only thing you still recognise from before the country. yet, she laughs strangely, no longer the giggling girl she used to be but free in a way you have never seen. her smile can drop so fast now, her now-old eyes can turn distant and glassy, and her tears, now rarer, are always silent. it scares you to wonder what robbed her of the heaving sobs a child ought to make use of in the face of upset.

your other daughter—older than your youngest yet still at an age that she cannot be anything but a child—smiles with all the knowledge in the world sitting in the corner of her mouth. her voice is even, without all traces of the desperate importance her peers carry still, that she used to fill her siblings’ ears with at all hours of the day. she folds her hands in her lap with patience and soothes the ache of war in your mind before you even realise she has started speaking. you watch her curl her hair with careful, steady fingers and a straight back, her words a melody as she tells your eldest which move to make without so much a glance at the board off to her right. she reads still, and what a relief you find this sliver of normalcy, even if she’s started taking notes in a shorthand you couldn’t even think to decipher. even if you feel her slipping away, now more like one of the young, confident women in town than a child desperately wishing for a mother’s approval.

your younger son reads plenty as well these days, and it fills you with pride. he is quiet now, sitting still when you find him bent over a book in the armchair of his father. he looks at you with eyes too knowing for a petulant child on the cusp of puberty, and no longer beats his fists against the furniture when one of his siblings dares approach him. he has settled, you realise one evening when you walk into the living room and find him writing in a looping script you don’t recognise, so different from the scratched signature he carved into the doors of your pantry barely a year ago. he speaks sense to your youngest and eldest, respects their contributions without jest. you watch your two middle children pass a book back and forth, each a pen in hand and sheets of paper bridging the gap between them, his face opening up with a smile rather than a scowl. it freezes you mid-step to find such simple joy in him. remember when you sent them away, helen, and how long it had been since he allowed you to see a smile then?

your eldest doesn’t sleep anymore. none of your children care much for bedtimes these days, but at least sleep still finds them. it’s not restful, you know it from the startled yelps that fill the house each night, but they sleep. your eldest makes sure of it. you have not slept through a night since the war began, so it’s easy to discover the way he wanders the halls like a ghost, silent and persistent in a duty he carries with pride. each door is opened, your children soothed before you can even think to make your own way to their beds. his voice sounds deeper than it used to, deeper still than you think possible for a child his age and size. then again, you are never sure if the notches on his door frame are an accurate way to measure whatever it is that makes you feel like your eldest has grown beyond your reach. you watch him open doors, soothe your children, spend his nights in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea with a weariness not even the war should bring to him, not after all the effort you put into keeping him safe.

your children mostly talk to each other now, in a whispered privacy you cannot hope to be a part of. their arms no longer fit around your waist. your daughters are wilder—even your older one, as she carries herself like royalty, has grown teeth too sharp for polite society— and they no longer lean into your hands. your sons are broad-shouldered even before their shirts start being too small again, filling up space you never thought was up for taking. your eldest doesn’t sleep, your middle children take notes when politicians speak on the wireless and shake their heads as though they know better, and your youngest sings for hours in your garden.

who are your children now, helen pevensie, and who pried their childhood out of your shaking hands?

I second this

i think that collective human culture has produced enough media where the protagonists forgive their abusive parents and from now on every abusive parent sublplot should end with their kid killing them with hammers and everyone telling them 'wow it was so cool and awesome of you to kill that bitch with hammers'

It’s really interesting to see it analysed like this

So something interesting I’ve noticed is how people treat Lockwood’s character especially how they handle his obvious suicidal tendencies. I mean, Winkman picked up on it within literal minutes of meeting the kid it’s not like he’s hiding it well, but anyways

George: George treats Lockwood’s tendencies as something you have to work around. He doesn’t really like it, but he doesn’t try to hard to stop it farther than telling Lucy she has to be able to tell him no or she’ll “make him worse”. We see this and we know George cares about him a whole deal and we know that they’ve been bets tied for a while now and yet George hardly knows anything personal about Lockwood. George doesn’t extend a helping hand so Lockwood doesn’t attempt to take it

Kipps: We all see how Kipps treats Lockwood’s disregard for life. He believes that there is no saving Lockwood and the best thing they could do is let him kill himself before he drags someone down with him, which we see when he talks to Lucy saying “you don’t know what he’s really like” and something along the lines of “you better leave before he drags you down with him”. Kipps not only doesn’t extend that helping hand but he takes it and runs from Lockwood as fast as he can, and so Lockwood doesn’t even pretend to like him (plus he’s a bit of a jerk but they’re all jerks Lockwood just has a tolerance for some of them)

Lucy: And here’s where it gets interesting. Unlike the others she doesn’t run away or dance around the problem, she looks it dead in the eyes and tells it to stop. She offers Lockwood her hand again and again and each time she does it Lockwood gets a little closer to taking it because each time she does it is a time no one else tried. Everyone had given up on him, decided that he was a lost cause and his fate was sealed, but Lucy just wouldn’t stop and so when she offered her helping hand, Lockwood took it. Yeah he doesn’t quite know what to do with it now that he has it but the fact that he took it is what important. It’s why she was only there for a couple months or so and he was opening that door when George couldn’t even ask about it after a year of living with the man

The reason why I love Lucy and Lockwood together so much is this. It’s because Lucy never gave up on him and it gave Lockwood hope in himself. The two make each other better people and that’s amazing

Some more headcanons when the Pevensies come back to England:

-All of them have a strange lisp from living in Narnia for so long. When they are together, they will often speak Narnian, and when asked about the origins of the strange language no one else understands, all they give you is a mysyerious smile.

-It is absolutely impossible to get a rise out of Susan. When taunted, ridiculed or tested by other girls who envy her confidence, all she will do is smile and offer some words of advice. She has dealt with threats far more serious and deadly than high school British kids, and she finds their little power plays nothing but funny Soon, it becomes an unwritten rule not to mess with her. She'll smile back and kill you with kindness.

-Edmund and Peter spend the first few weeks learning how to walk without a sword at their side. All their adult lives, they've worn one, and they still compensate for the weight slightly. Especially Peter, commander of the armies, feels extremely naked without his blade.

-Lucy has the hardest time getting used to England again. The girls her age are mean and stupid, and she finds it hard not to call them out on it. Her intelligence is often mistaken for arrogance. She throws herself into dancing, the one thing Narnia has given her that is of use in the normal world.

-Edmund is completely changed, overnight it seems. Where he was first a nagging, annoying brat, he now seems a beacon of calmness and wit, able to solve any problem. The bond with his brother Peter is so strong the two seem to be able to read each others minds. This is especially true during fencing class, where they are the two best students by a distance. They move so in sync some people wonder if they are twins

-The first time the Pevensies ride horses together again the rest of class gasps audibly. They all seem to grow taller in the sadle, and they communicate with their horses in a way that seems impossible.

-Peter never gets used to the disrespect other kids show him, and will respond to every insult with a blow. He doesn't get over what they have lost , and writes story after story about the most beautiful imaginary world he calls Narnia. His teachers, from English to theology to history, all agree that he should be a writer. But the fighting only gets worse. Soon, kids have to gang up on him to even be able to touch him. And when Edmund decides to help, it's basically a wrap. He is far smarter than he lets on, and his back is always so straight it seems like he is 3 inches taller than his classmates. Bullies learn to avoid him, and he is fiercly loyal to his friends, even if that gets him in trouble.

-There is a rumour that the Pevensies are royals or at least nobles . No one knows from where, but the war could have changed things. Either way, they are everyone's favorite gossip subject.