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Every night before Chuck Norris goes to bed, he checks his closet for Edmund Pevensie.
In which my thesis on food crisis (among other things) almost leaked into my Calormen fic. Okay, so there's this exchange between Edmund and the Calormene grand vizier:
I had to restrain myself from extending their conversation into something like this:
The grand vizier says, "Oh no, I know what you're trying to do. You made Terebinthia lower tariffs and then you flooded their markets with cheap imports, and look where they are now."
And Edmund is like, "Hey, it's not Narnia's fault that Terebinthia doesn't have strong commercial agriculture."
And then the grand vizier is like, "Commerce can only do so much. A good macroeconomic policy for Calormen has to also look into more sustainable alternatives, like localized farming--"
"If by sustainable you mean PRODUCING BELOW OPTIMUM CAPACITY. Look, man, what have we said about maximizing profits?"
The grand vizier goes all red in the face and is like, "You realize agricultural specialization only leads to economic dependency and sociopolitical ruin!"
Edmund is secretly like I do because he eats the hearts of World Bank presidents for breakfast everyday and absorbs their essence. He says, "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps diversification of production is the way to go. What do you think, should Narnia subsidize its fisheries?"
And then the grand vizier makes this face: D-:
Then he makes this face: -_-
Edmund makes no faces but he probably goes, "Exxxxcellent," while stroking a cat and leaning back in a leather armchair.
And so Calormen lowers tariffs, their markets get flooded with cheap imports, their domestic production gets FUCKED, and they are forced to go into a conditional bilateral aid agreement with Narnia, which perpetuates a cycle of debt and structural adjustment in accordance with the preferences of Cair Paravel.
And most of the money goes back to Narnia anyway, because most of the professionals commissioned to get the Calormene economy back in shape? ARE NARNIANS. And 'getting the Calormene economy back in shape'? Translates to 'making it easier for Narnia to access Calormen's resources and influence its development policies'.
And this is how Narnia TOOK OVER THE WORLD.
And when there is protest about the system, Narnia is like, "What do you mean you don't like it? Don't you like freedom?"
And Terebinthia is like, "Well, we hate being poor!"
"What's that?" says Narnia. "You hate us?"
"No, we hate how your economic agenda undermines our sovereignty!"
"Oh shit!" screams Narnia. "YOU HATE US! To arms, Narnians, to arms! For Aslaaaaaan."
And they lived happily ever after.
Edmund Pevensie: ruthless neoliberal.
MY FREE TRADE ANGST LET ME SHOW YOU IT
“You were talking about the irrigation infrastructure in the southern reaches,” Edmund reminded him.
“Ah, yes. I fear there will be famine if we are not able to preempt another source of grain.”
“Might I suggest lowering tariffs on crops?”
The conversation went on as such as the two men made their way through the Tisroc’s fertile gardens, politicians politely negotiating the wealth of their nations.
I had to restrain myself from extending their conversation into something like this:
The grand vizier says, "Oh no, I know what you're trying to do. You made Terebinthia lower tariffs and then you flooded their markets with cheap imports, and look where they are now."
And Edmund is like, "Hey, it's not Narnia's fault that Terebinthia doesn't have strong commercial agriculture."
And then the grand vizier is like, "Commerce can only do so much. A good macroeconomic policy for Calormen has to also look into more sustainable alternatives, like localized farming--"
"If by sustainable you mean PRODUCING BELOW OPTIMUM CAPACITY. Look, man, what have we said about maximizing profits?"
The grand vizier goes all red in the face and is like, "You realize agricultural specialization only leads to economic dependency and sociopolitical ruin!"
Edmund is secretly like I do because he eats the hearts of World Bank presidents for breakfast everyday and absorbs their essence. He says, "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps diversification of production is the way to go. What do you think, should Narnia subsidize its fisheries?"
And then the grand vizier makes this face: D-:
Then he makes this face: -_-
Edmund makes no faces but he probably goes, "Exxxxcellent," while stroking a cat and leaning back in a leather armchair.
And so Calormen lowers tariffs, their markets get flooded with cheap imports, their domestic production gets FUCKED, and they are forced to go into a conditional bilateral aid agreement with Narnia, which perpetuates a cycle of debt and structural adjustment in accordance with the preferences of Cair Paravel.
And most of the money goes back to Narnia anyway, because most of the professionals commissioned to get the Calormene economy back in shape? ARE NARNIANS. And 'getting the Calormene economy back in shape'? Translates to 'making it easier for Narnia to access Calormen's resources and influence its development policies'.
And this is how Narnia TOOK OVER THE WORLD.
And when there is protest about the system, Narnia is like, "What do you mean you don't like it? Don't you like freedom?"
And Terebinthia is like, "Well, we hate being poor!"
"What's that?" says Narnia. "You hate us?"
"No, we hate how your economic agenda undermines our sovereignty!"
"Oh shit!" screams Narnia. "YOU HATE US! To arms, Narnians, to arms! For Aslaaaaaan."
And they lived happily ever after.
Edmund Pevensie: ruthless neoliberal.
MY FREE TRADE ANGST LET ME SHOW YOU IT
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edmund's mouth on his, just the faintest brush of his tongue over peter's lips, and peter makes a strangled sound he can't contain and tries to lean forward, tries to get edmund's skin against his own.
because he's going mad. that's the only reasonable explanation. he's going mad, and he doesn't like it, doesn't like this feeling of being completely out of control.
he's vaguely aware of edmund's thighs braced on his hips. there is only a faint spark of pain lingering on his lips now, and he wanted to clear his head of the fog, not add to it.
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edmund says, "if you're going to continue hurting yourself, we're going to have to stop."
but he wills the magic to go faster. he wills more heat. he wills more pressure. peter continues to writhe, but there is less and less struggle in it.
"i would hate to stop," says edmund, "when we haven't even begun."
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peter laughs. isn't sure how he manages it, is relatively certain he shouldn't be able to manage it, but he laughs. "we?" is the only thing he can manage to say, that single syllable, and then he hisses out sharply between clenched teeth, grinding down until he can feel the strain in his jaw.
he concentrates on that, on the finite things, the concrete ones, because that's his.
peter loves his brother, but not like this.
(uh. my peter has control issues, apparently.)
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edmund smiles. "we, you and me. the way it's always been. aren't we brothers, you and i?" he presses a kiss to peter's brow like a benediction. "are we not kings together?"
in his head he thinks, faster.
when peter writhes again him, gasping, edmund bites back on his moan.
he thinks, harder.
(also, what do you mean 'not like this'?? and fun fact: one second before clicking 'post comment' i noticed that i had typed 'arthur' where the last 'peter' should be.)
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every fighter knows that in some battles, there comes a point when fighting for the sake of surviving becomes fighting for the sake of fighting, because winning is no longer an option. the options become death or surrender, and the fight is for pride alone.
on the battlefield he knows when he is beaten, knows when to withdraw and when to continue, and though he has never surrendered, he will not hold his generals to account for it.
peter stops fighting. with the weight of his brother's kiss on his brow, he puts his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, parts his lips, lets all the tension go out of him.
he's always trusted his brother.
(uh, peter having control issues and magic issues?)
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"you may want to change," edmund says. "alternatively, we can take this to my bed." because although edmund's closet is spacious and far from being the most uncomfortable nook in the castle (that honor is reserved for the broom closet in the scullery, as he found out from that one time with the dryad serving girl), a royal bed is just that much more preferable.
he brushes peter's hair off his damp forehead. "yes?"
peter nods weakly, and edmund smiles.
THE END OMFG i need a cigarette
sorry i took liberties there and made peter nod, but UM. OMG. i just seized it BECAUSE THIS IS POSSIBLY THE FIRST COLLABORATIVE COMMENTFIC WE'VE DONE THAT HAS A COMPLETE BEGINMIDDLEEND. a first commentfic that is coherent and finished! and of course it is porn form.
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