rthstewart | Meme madness -- Tropes!

Ooh, I'll play, I like this game!

Tebbitt, Edmund, and Peter, drunk!fic.

“Take my advice,” Pevensie, the younger-scarier-than-hell-one, said. “Don’t try to keep up with Peter.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Tebbitt said.

“It’s not,” Pevensie the younger, said. “It’s a warning.”

Pevensie the elder returned to the table with three pints (filled) and three shot glasses (empty).

Tebbitt liked the way the man bought drinks.

He began to wonder if maybe Pevensie the younger's admonition had not been simple bravura when Pevensie the elder removed a very tall bottle of aged Herradura tequila from his satchel.

“The thing about empty glasses,” Pevensie the elder said, “is that they need filling.”

ooOOoo
“The problem with nymphs is the bark,” the elder said.

“They bark?” Tebbitt asked.

“Better than biting!” Pevensie the younger said. “Trust me on that.”

“And it gets everywhere,” Pevensie the older said.

Pevensie the younger nodded sagely. “’specially the splinters.”

Edited 2012-09-25 02:41 (UTC)

Accidental baby acquisition and Susan/Tebbitt!

Edited 2012-09-23 03:50 (UTC)

Ooooh!! (insert paroxysm of delight)

I'll take Huddling for Warmth for 400, Alex. Who are: Morgan and Jalur?

(were I a cruel person, I would say the Physician.)

~Syrena, blissfully dreaming of her own tiger to cuddle-- I mean huddle. For warmth.

Errr, this is probably not what you were expecting, Syrena.

As they walked deeper into the Wood, Edmund put his hand on Jalur’s shoulder and could feel the bone there, pointy and hard, and his fur was so thin and patchy.

“Are you still cold?” he asked the Tiger. The Physician had said it was because Jalur was so old that his body couldn’t keep him warm anymore.

“Yes,” Jalur said. He talked very softly now but Edmund could still hear him. Mother always said that he had the hearing of a Hound.

“You won’t be cold much longer, will you?” Edmund didn’t want Jalur to be cold anymore.

“No.”

Edmund looked over his shoulder behind him. He could just see Mother, still standing at the entrance to the Wood, like she said she would. She was blowing her nose in a big handkerchief. Rafiqa was leaning into Mother the way that Hounds did when trying to comfort someone.

He turned back around. “I wish she’d come, too.”

“We said farewell, Edmund.” Jalur’s breath came out heavy and raspy, like branches on rocks.

“It’s because of Aslan, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

How Mother felt about Aslan, how angry she was at the Great Lion, wasn’t something Edmund could really understand. He’d talked to everyone about it, Uncle Aidan, and Lord Peridan, and Grandfather, and Aunt Maeve and Uncle Pierce, and his cousins, and old Mr. Hoberry and old Mr. Tumnus and Mrs. Furner, Master Roblang, and Eirene. He’d talked to Eirene the Centauress a lot because she’d really and truly been there the first time that Mother met Aslan in the Meadowlawn. Eirene knew all the songs and stories that were made about that day, about Morgan the Baker of Narnia.

How could anyone be angry at Aslan? How could Mother stay so angry for so long? Didn’t Aslan get angry back? That really worried him. He didn’t want Aslan angry at Mother because he didn’t want Aslan to take her away.

He’d once asked Eirene if Aslan had taken Father away because Mother didn’t love Aslan enough and Eirene had told him no, that wasn’t it at all. He’d been really glad to hear that. Eirene said that Mother loved everything Aslan had made – she loved Narnia and everyone in it so well and so hard, and had done so much for them, of course Aslan loved her.

The path they were walking on got wider and smoother, instead of narrower and darker, the way it usually did.

Edmund knew what that meant and everything in him felt tingly like during the first snow or that plunge into the ocean on a hot day.

Jalur lifted his head up and breathed in through his nose, even though he couldn’t smell much anymore.

And then Aslan was there.

[continued in next comment]

Edited 2012-09-25 02:35 (UTC)

Edmund managed a bow like Lord Peridan had taught him but he was too excited to do it properly and bounced up again. “Aslan!” He ran to the Lion and threw his arms around him. “You’re bigger again!”

“It is because you are bigger, Edmund.”

“How are you? How is Father? You have come for Jalur, haven’t you? He’s…”

Aslan rumbled and it might have been a growl or a purr but Edmund swallowed the rest of his questions and stepped away. “Thank you for coming, sir.”

Edmund got a kiss. “This is from me,” Aslan said. He kissed him again, all whiskers and good, sweet breath of the Lion. “And this is from your father.” And a third time. “And this is for your mother.”

He rubbed his forehead. That was a lot of kisses. “Thank you, Aslan. Will you take Jalur now? He’s always cold and he really wants to be with you now.” Edmund sniffed a little. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t blub. He was happy for Jalur. “Jalur wants to be with you even more than with me, and that’s a lot.”

“Jalur?” Aslan said. “Are you ready?”

The Tiger bowed his head. “My lord. If it pleases you.”

“It does, my great-hearted son.” Aslan stepped forward. Jalur was big. He’d been the biggest Cat in Narnia but Aslan was just that much bigger. Aslan breathed on Jalur. “Follow me.”

Edmund tried to keep his eyes open and watch. He saw Aslan turn and walk away and Jalur followed him, not all stiff and tired but springy and his head was up, not down, and his tail was waving again. Edmund didn’t think he blinked but then, suddenly, they were gone.

The air and light were all normal again, good Narnian air and light and so that meant magical, but not the way it was all really, really magical and golden and wonderful smelling when Aslan was near. He waved good-bye to Aslan and Jalur in the direction he thought they had gone, which he supposed was the path to Aslan’s Country.

He was going to run straight back to Mother and give her Aslan’s kisses but two Red Squirrels were arguing – Tiggy was accusing Pester of stealing her hoard and the fur was really flying. So Edmund gave Branwen a Shiny from his pocket and told her to fly over and tell Mother that he would be along just as soon as he figured out who was stealing from whom and what he should do about it.

Edited 2012-09-25 02:38 (UTC)

0H, this is so wonderful. I have said it before and now again--The Guards are probably your most wonderful Narnian invention (after Morgan of course) and Jalur is so much my favourite. And to have young Edmund as well, escorting Jalur to Aslan and already seeing about his duties as arbitrator among the Narnians. I was almost crying as I read it.
I hope we see more of Edmund II some time.
Thank you for this.

ClaireI

Thank you! Yes, I just killed Jalur. Sigh. Me bad.

Star Wars, Luke and Mara, amnesia. :-) (Or Luke, Leia, and Han, if that's easier.)

Tebbitt and Cross-dressing (because we all know it's happened at least once...) *grin*

Susan held up the blue shirt dress and then the red suit. Blue. Red. Blue. Red.

“Can’t you make up your mind?” came the whinge.

“Oh do keep your shirt on.”

“I don’t have a shirt on,” Tebbitt complained. “I don’t have anything on!”

He was being over-dramatic. Tebbitt was wearing shorts. She handed him the blue dress. “This will go well with your colouring and will give you a nice waistline once it is belted.”

Susan studied Tebbitt's silhouette and tapped an impatient, manicured fingertip to her lips. “That brassiere does not fit you well. You need more tissue.”

She handed him the box and he began stuffing it in.

“It itches and how can you breathe?”

Susan chose to not mention that she thought a corset and girdle would be just the thing to turn Tebbitt’s rectangular man-shape into something more feminine. Though, they really needed to pad his hips. She was at her leisure to study them – his hips – and the problem they posed as he was bent over trying to put on silk stockings.

“You do have very nice legs, Tebbitt. But if you rip my stockings, I shall make you replace them, and trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

“Next time, we do the bag drop at a men’s club.”

amnesia, the Just King and various complicated pairings of the Lone Islands Bankers.

Because I see a comedy of errors in the making :D

-Ruan Chun Xian

How about a crossover between Narnia and Warehouse 13? I could see Susan encountering agents. Or maybe the rings or the wardrobe are artifacts?

(And I do watch Warehouse 13. It's fun. I was iffy on it for the first season. I enjoyed it, but I didn't love it. Now, I'm well and truly hooked.)

oh gawd, I've been mulling a Warehouse 13/Narnia cross forever. There are so many possibilities! Yes, the rings and the wardrobe are artifacts! And maybe Lewis' own writing desk which is on display in the traveling Narnia exhibit! And Jinks had a terrible crush on Edmund Pevensie and for years Myka always wore sensible shoes and would very, very carefully open closet doors in her father's bookstore in case maybe it opened to Narnia.

I just watched the last two eps last night and the effects are so cheesy but it is so fun. I love the creative, multi-ethnic casting and the stories, and I am so very sad about HG (I love her and Myka together). And really where else can we get all this fun, fun casting of genre alumni like Lindsay Wagner, Kate Mulgrew, Brent Spiner, etc. etc.

I like all your ideas! What would Lewis' writing desk do? We know what the rings do and what the wardrobe did (though it would make sense for it to have other, hidden properties).

I'm looking forward to tonight's episode. I don't remember what last week's preview showed, so I've no idea what it will be about. I just expect it to be fun.

When Brent Spiner first appeared, that is in his first episode, Scott thought it was an awful waste of a good actor to give him so little to do. I'm pleased that he's gotten more of a role in events.

Let's try Narnia Modern day College/High school- any character(s)

'E'

How fun! I vote for number 9: forced to share a bed, either Peter and Morgan or Edmund and Sir Lezi. Because of the wonderful awkwardness.

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Morgan?"

“No, sir. I'm fine. We'll be home tomorrow.”

Peter heard a sniffle.

It had been a simple trip north for Morgan to assess the feasibility of Marsh-wiggle exports (she had thought there might be a market for their liquor and tobacco among those who preferred truly toxic vices). Peter had wanted to see to the northern border and, with Lucy having taken Aidan to visit their island protectorates, Edmund had remained at Cair Paravel. Up and there had been fine. It had all gone to Tash's Hell on the return. The rain had been relentless and they had lost nearly all of their gear when the pack on one of the horses had snapped as they had forded the Shribble. The rain had finally stopped and so they had sheltered for the night in the Owlwood. They were all cold, wet, and hungry, and even Dwarf-made fire didn't warm much.

Against his back, he felt Morgan shiver again.

With his sisters, he would put an arm about her and they could share the single, dry blanket and bedroll together. But this was Morgan who was, as always, keeping her distance from him.

“Fooh? Beehn?” Peter called.

“Yes, High King?” Fooh asked. Peter heard a yawn – that would be Beehn.

"Please join us. It is cold. We will all be warmer with you both here.”

The Cheetahs padded over in the dark, eyes glowing, claws softly catching on the leaf litter of the wooded floor. Fooh settled next to him and Beehn curled up with a contented purr next to Morgan on the other side. Morgan threw her arm over the Cheetah.

"Thank you, Beehn." He wondered how Morgan had been able to tell the difference in the dark. In all but temperament, the Cheetah brothers were nearly identical.

"Is that better?" Peter asked.

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

The Cheetah's purrs softened to a contented rumble and Peter felt Fooh's tail against his legs.

"Morgan?"

"Sir?"

"Could you please call me 'Peter?' Especially after so long? You are my brother's wife, my own family. The sir makes me uncomfortable."

Behind him, he could sense her fingers moving restlessly. Morgan would tease loose thread right out of cloth. Morgan's seams always had to be firmly sewn down.

When she didn't answer, he tried again. "Morgan, you calling me sir..."

"If you want me to answer, you have to stop talking... sir."

Morgan had just interrupted him!? Peter was not accustomed to this. In fact the only person who routinely did so was Morgan. And Susan, occasionally, usually when his sister was berating him for some obstinacy that was not in accord with how she would manage the world. Of course, Edmund as well, come to think on it. Lucy wouldn't interrupt -- she would laugh at him.

"Very well, Morgan. I shall await your answer." And if they waited long enough, he would fall asleep.

"It is a lot things," she finally said in halting words.

Another long pause.

"I'm not comfortable around you at all. I don't know if I ever will be."

Edited 2012-09-24 17:14 (UTC)

Having asked, and knowing Morgan's forthright manner, Peter could not very well complain of hurt because his brother's wife and bondmate had responded truthfully.

"I am sorry, Morgan. Is there anything I might..."

"The only thing that would help would be for you to be other than you are. That won't happen."

Blunt and harsh. "But why, Morgan? Can you tell me?"

There was another, even longer, pause.

"Morgan?"

"Don't interrupt me!"

She had not been speaking, so what was he interrupting?

"It's because of who you are," she replied eventually. "You never say the wrong thing, do you? Never at a loss for words? You've never stood in front of someone with your mouth hanging open and words dancing around at your feet mocking you and you have to go running after them, like a Puppy chasing her own tail?"

"No,"' Peter admitted. With an internal wince, he had to admit her words were flowing without inhibition now.

"When you walk in a room, the torches on the wall burn brighter. Everyone turns to you, every eye turns to you, everyone tries to be with you. You are so ... so.... " She stammered, stumbled, and found her footing. "You are so big. You embrace everything and everyone."

"Morgan, really you make too much of..."

"You love it all." Into his floundering defense, Morgan continued. "And I don't. You wade into the throng and I run."

"Morgan..."

"Every time I see you, sir, it reminds me of my own failings."

He heard her sniff again and sensed her stroke Beehn, whose purr intensified.

She was right, for there was nothing to do about it. They respected one another, he liked Morgan very well, but they would never be close, as Peter was to Aidan. And this was, Peter reflected, perhaps not wholly ill.

"Morgan, whatever of your failings you perceive, which you judge far more harshly than anyone, know that for me, I count as most blessed the day brother met you. And so you shall always have my deepest thanks."

Peter rolled away and snuggled closer to Fooh who contentedly put a paw over his arm and lay his tail over Peter's waist.

He was nearly asleep when Morgan's voice stirred him awake. "You're welcome. Peter."

Edited 2012-09-24 23:22 (UTC)

Edmund slowly, painfully awoke. He was assailed by four things, each more dread than the last. The foul taste of too much Lightning. The still pounding rhythms in his head of the Innkeeper's tin drum band. The feel of rough straw and ticking poking at his bare skin and in too-intimate of places.

And most ominous of all, the utterly unique smell of musky goat assailing his nostrils.

No. No. No.

He opened an eye. Stifled a scream of horror.

By Zardeenah's three tits...

He'd slept with Leszi.

AGAIN

I should be doing important catch-up stuff, not suggesting crossovers involving St Trinians versus either Experiment House or Lucy's school.

Welcome home! I've been following the travel posts! There's an H&M update around here somewhere if you are interested and when you can get around to to it, but goodness, I bet that inbox is full and there are dirty socks everywhere and only sour milk in the icebox.

Yes, you should! :-)

(And do you want me to open your post for you?)

I am not going to get in the middle of marital household divisions of labour, oh no no no. (But it is my husband's turn to load the dishwasher -- not that I'm counting or anything). Excuse me, I have to go fold laundry now.

All I meant by that was "more important stuff to do on-line, given the limitations of internet access at Heathrow airport" - for various complicated reasons Wellinghall came home a day earlier than me, and therefore got to do the first couple of rounds of laundry. But I am home now, and so is the new cat.

I need to make a cat icon, don't I?

Off topic, but have you seen this?
http://www.redwombatstudio.com/blog/?p=5239

I did! I found it on Live Journal and reviewed it there. It's amazing how Susan can really inspire passion in people.

I love Warehouse 13 the way I loved Eureka, in spite of the cheap effects (access to pay-cable miniseries and series have ruined me for network/basic cable production quality, not to mention what you're allowed to say and show)--it's so cheesy and fun and clever, the cast clearly loves working on it, while a lot of it's very silly it's believable in context, and I want to be as creepily authoritative as Mrs. Frederic. Because she is awesome. I also want to be able to just appear behind people at a moment most awkward and inconvenient for them. That is an awesome power.

Unlurking because this is too awesome to resist.

Asim, Mary & the Pevensies. Truth or dare.

--Mori

Nice of you to de-lurk Mori! I'm slowly whittling away at these!

“I told you this would be unsuccessful,” Asim said.

“Yes, yes,” Mary replied impatiently. “You were quite correct.”

She pushed away from the kitchen table and went to stare out the back door at the spectacle. Peter had lobbed a ball very high up into a tree where it had lodged in the uppermost branches. Lucy was scaling up the tree like a squirrel. Peter was standing on one foot and counting down the time while holding Odin’s halter as Susan vaulted on and off the placid plough horse’s broad back, over and over. It was a race to see if Lucy would climb down from the tree before Edmund returned from his dash around the pond without losing the frog in his hat.

“I thought I might learn the truth,” Mary pouted. “Their secret! Instead....” She looked around in frustration in the kitchen at the glass Peter had bounced five coins into, the knives Lucy had thrown (Asim said he could take care of the holes in the wall), and the house of cards Edmund had neatly stacked six levels high, and to which Susan had added an addition that took up most of the kitchen table.

Asim stirred his tea, a gentle clinking of metal on china. “Given the choice between truth and the dare, the Pevensies will always, always take the dare.”

This has reduced me to soft whimpering, being unable to decide between choking and laughter.

Behold, the newest addition to my personal canon.

--Mori

Awww! I'm glad you enjoyed it! Thank you! And please de lurk again if the mood hits. If you are so inclined, I'd love to hear what you've been reading, how you found it, etc. Thank you again!

How about Miles Vorkosigan/Narnia crossover, with Miles and Ivan showing up during Golden Age Narnia.

I enjoy Warehouse 13 too, especially H.G. Wells. By the way what is OUAT?

Thanks
ClaireI

I'm asking for the opposite: a Vorkosiverse/Narnia crossover where the Pevensies (or anyone else from Narnia, really) turns up in Vorbarr Sultana. Maybe one of the pools in the Wood Between Worlds leads to Barrayar? (Come to think of it, aren't wormholes delightfully like those pools?)

Didn't you once say that the Vorkosigan House staff management of Miles is what inspired Cair Paravel staff management of Edmund?

Returning to Narnia fandom after a long time,
priscipixie

PS: Thanks so much for your last mail. So encouraging and thoughtful; will reply properly!

It is WONDERFUL to hear from you!

I am so sad that HG has written out of the show apparently, for a while. I guess the actress is starring in another show now. I love her so much and I love her relationship with Artie and with Myka. Her whole Victorian sleuthing thing with Ianto Jones all dressed by like Sherlock Holmes warmed my hard little heart.

OUAT is Once Upon A Time, which I liked to start and now I can barely watch it. It is basically one long advertisement for the super-milquetoast, super white, incredibly homogenous sameness of Disney princesses. When they manage to cast every single Dwarf as a white, American, I gave up. The whole idea of the show, pulling fairy tale into the modern world, opened up so many possibilities and we might as well stay in Disneyland.

Meme madness -- Tropes!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Jalur can't keep warm anymore, part 1

Re: Jalur can't keep warm anymore, part 2

Re: Jalur can't keep warm anymore, part 2

Re: Jalur can't keep warm anymore, part 2

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Peter and Morgan share a bed

Re: Peter and Morgan share a bed --Part 2

It seemed like a good idea at the time

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

For Mori

Re: For Mori

Re: For Mori

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject