Susan Pevensie was short skirts, unevenly chopped hair, scarlet lipstick like a blood smear.
She was sharp eyeliner, fights in the halls, and lipstick stains on the inside of a collar.
She was quiet looks of ice, headphones in her ears blaring, a wink from across the room.
Wild child, some said.
Ice queen. (Susan heard that one once. Memories, like a dream within a dream)
They saw her the way they wanted. She didn’t care.
They threw around me he words ice cold stare not knowing that her soul was ice now, that she numbed it to ease a pain deeper than anything they could understand.
(She was still haunted, at night. She was haunted by the images of rows of bodies covered in sheets. Of the police asking her to make sure that this was her mother. Her brothers.)
(She didn’t cry until Lucy. She gripped her hand and it was limp and she cried over the body that was not her sister because Lucy was so full of life and this couldn’t be her.)
She didn’t care what they thought of her.
Susan Pevensie was crying herself to sleep every night.
She was spitting at God then sneaking into church at midnight to fall to her knees in front of the altar, begging to be forgiven so she could join them.
She was kissing boys and girls in equal fervor knowing they were exactly the type Peter would have hated and trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes watching her, disapproving.
She was looking at her bleeding knuckles and feeling pain that had nothing to do with them because she remembered a time when Edmund’s hands bled and she’d had to patch them up.
She was crying, wailing, screaming, rocking back and forth on her knees in front of the dirt that held the pale remnants of what was once her family, smearing it on her face because this was all she had left.
Susan Pevensie was the beautiful tragedy, because she survived.
She survived and they were gone, taking her soul with them.
Headcanon that tsukishima’s hair grows in nice soft curls… or it would be nice if it wasn’t also really thick, poofy, and uncontrollable. He hates it so he chops it short. Also that boy definitely washes himself throughly with the proper materials so further headcanon that his hair is fluffy and soft like downy feathers. Yamaguchi is still working on convincing him to grow it out so he can play with it.