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taytay4eva.bsky.social
@taytay4eva.bsky.social
390 followers 460 following 250 posts
Writer of novels of the fantasy variety and short stories of the superhero and smutty varieties.

(bad) Artist.

Delivery Person.

they/them
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taytay4eva.bsky.social
October 21, 2025 at 10:51 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
Me, according to my doctor, I guess:
September 18, 2025 at 12:24 AM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
September 11, 2025 at 1:41 AM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
No, I don't know why he didn't have or use a scanner wand.

Still, positive day for me overall! I learned that I *am* comfortable in my body, which is nice, AND that suddenly being asked to strip in a way that might have been embarrassing for someone else has no effect on me.
September 7, 2025 at 12:50 AM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
My OC Rawn, as drawn by elfzest, who I don't think is on here. She's from my book!
May 23, 2025 at 12:01 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
I thought I was done with Ghost the Kitten.

Guess not.
February 8, 2025 at 11:22 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
When you finish, you turn back to the lion. "You aren't done with them yet, are you?" you say. It isn't a question, but neither is it an accusation. "No, says the lion, his great shaggy mane tossing as he shakes his head. "But I will not again keep them away to myself, that I promise you. I will not say that they will return unchanged, but they will return in life and spirit as they left," says the lion. You don't say thank you. That would be too much, and it would be a lie. The lion has taken so much already. This is the least he could do. But you nod, and you understand. When you wake up, you feel refreshed, and restored. When you walk down the stairs from your bedroom into the room your children are in, you feel, for a moment, as if you are their mother again. You sit with them. You smile at your daughters, and at your sons. Then you speak. "So. Tell me about Aslan." They smile back at you, and they begin to chatter. #narnia #chronicles of narnia #lucy pevensie #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #peter pevensie #tcon #narnia fic #helen pevensie #aslan #toffee tree
January 25, 2025 at 7:49 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
Below is a beautiful country. Everything you could ever imagine to be a perfect land is here, you know it in your heart. The stories you told your children, when they were still your children, are alive here. Thriving. Happy. You know that if you went into that country, you'd see dryads, talking animals, tree-folk, magic. "This place is not my country, not truly, but it is dear to me. It was trapped under the power of a terrible witch, until your children came, your sons of Adam and daughters of Eve. They destroyed the power of the witch, and freed it, and ruled it, ruled it well. They spoke of you, Helen Pevensie. They missed you." You turn to face the lion. His eyes are wet with tears, as are yours. "I am so sorry. If there had been another way, I would have taken it. There were none. So eat, Helen Pevensie, and be restored." You take a final look at the land below, knowing somehow that you will never see it again, and go back into the garden. The lion follows you, saying nothing. You go from tree to tree, not sure what you are looking for, until suddenly you do. It looks a bit like an apple tree, and a bit like what toffee might look like if it was a fruit. Yet, in this garden, in this place, it is also moreso. It smells of home, and of here. You take the fruit. You eat it. Each bite brings with it a memory of your children, as they were before they left, and as they are now, and of memories of them in this place. Not perfect visions, but living pictures, perhaps.
January 25, 2025 at 7:49 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
"I will not eat. You cannot give me a fruit and expect me to forget what you have stolen from me, child thief," you say. You don't know why you say it. That doesn't make it less true. The lion ... The lion diminishes, then looks away. "They came of their own accord. Even if I had not called them here, if they had come under their own power, they would not have changed in their course, to come, and to stay. Their return was the only mercy I could offer," the lion says, as if that could change what he did. "But you didn't return them!" you cry, months of sorrow bursting forward and striking the lion like a charger's lance. "You stripped them of who they were and who they had become and sent what was left to me! You broke them into pieces and sent those shards back after you had used them up, and call it a mercy? Jesus protect me from your cruelty!" The lion winces, then speaks. "Will you walk with me?" the lion asks. "I wish to show you what they were called to protect." You want to say no, but you think of your children, those strangers in your home, then steel yourself and walk towards, then next to, the lion. You and the lion walk deeper into the garden, until you reach the ledge of a cliff. You know that it's high above the clouds, or it would be, on any other day. Today, though, the sight is clear.
January 25, 2025 at 7:49 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
who are your children now, helen pevensie, and who pried their childhood out of your shaking hands? scriobh-an-iontas writes: The dream comes after a particularly bad day. Your children seem to be celebrating, or mourning, Aslan. It's a name you've heard them say, but you don't know who or what this Aslan is. Only that today is "his day". You want to hold them, to tell them that it's alright. You want them to fight like they did, to laugh and love like they did, like they did when the world made sense, and the sky didn't burn from war. You want to howl, to scream, to beg your children who are not children to be your children again. All these, and more, but you cannot. Something has taken this from them, from you, and it wasn't the war, no matter how much you tell yourself it was. They whisper to each other on this day, and look at you like they've only just noticed you, really noticed you, for the first time since they got back from the country. You excuse yourself, unsure as to why you need to excuse yourself from your children in your own home, but you do, and you go to your bed, and you dream. You dream of a vast garden, one full of trees with the ripest fruits, fruits you've never seen, but that you somehow know. "Eat, Helen Pevensie, and be restored," says a deep voice. You look up, and before you is a lion. Not a tame lion, though. Never a tame lion You know you should smell the sweetness of the fruit, but at that moment, you can only smell rot.
January 25, 2025 at 7:49 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
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.
January 25, 2025 at 7:49 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
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
January 25, 2025 at 7:49 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
Bloodybigwardrobe writes: 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 lilit 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.
January 25, 2025 at 7:49 PM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
Have a gem from tumblr =)
January 25, 2025 at 3:22 AM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
HA! Good.
January 24, 2025 at 4:03 AM
taytay4eva.bsky.social
Pet tax
January 9, 2025 at 1:44 AM