#valiant writes

[beedreamscape]

The Saint of Duty wakes up on a strange and shabby bed.

Lifts his head to a note crumpled beneath his cheek.

The note says, Sorry for that ;/ I was weak and she was a forest fire - Pyrrha

He frowns into the low light. Sees no bloodshed in his immediate vicinity.

Then he hears a snore behind his back and slowly turns around to find that Commander Wake is the messiest sleeper ever.

Also that they're both as naked as the day they were born.

Also that he fucked her. Scratch that, Pyrrha fucked her. And he felt a fraction of her pleasure. Then the phantom memory of bliss.

And concludes that - Wake has one tit uncovered and her hair is a nest and her skin is sprinkled with freckles - he doesn't blame her for it.

He doesn't blame her one bit.

He lies back down, turned to face his enemy, and closes his green-apple eyes.

(Or if G1deon and Pyrrha had exchange notes like Cam and Pal did.)

#g1deon #gideon the first #pyrrha dve #awake remembrance of these valiant dead #commander wake #tlt #the locked tomb #htn spoilers #writing #as a lyctor he would've felt her immediately but.....

[multifandomperson3]

hc: when the pevensie siblings come back to england after the Lion, the witch and the wardrobe, they all have a fancy cursive handwriting and all their teachers are very impressed.

To the point where they call Mrs. Pevensie and tell her that Peters handwriting is now readable and he gets better grades.

And Susans handwriting was already flawless before, but now it just got a little more fancy.

I belive Edmunds handwriting got a lot more cursive. i think he wrote really small and barely readabe letters before but now it's still small but more cursive and elegant.

Im kinda torn between thinking lucys handwriting is absolute chaos now (like it was fine before, but now she even uses different narinan languages and even some ancient runes or something and no teacher understands anything) OR it was a mess before (like with every child her age lol) and now her handwriting looks like written by and adult (to the point where the teachers accuse her mother of doing her homework and that lucy is somehow cheating. / I think while growing up in narnia she had teachers who showed her how to write perfectly and bc she was so young they had the most influence on her writing style. And obviously since she grew up there her handwriting developed with her. so when she came back her handwriting looks all grown up and the teachers dont understand how, bc they had a hard time getting her handwriting to be even readable (honestly they had the fear, that her handwriting would develop to look like her brothers). And now they all have fancy handwriting) (also is it noticeable that Lucy is my favourite? xD)

At some point they just decided the children were bored when they were in the country and decided to learn how to write fancy (Susan probably saw how bad her siblings handwriting was and decided that just wouldn't do)

Also the Pevensies all use fancy weird narnian words that the teachers dont understand but pretend to bc they dont want to look like children have a better vocabulary than they do

#narnia #narnia headcanon #lucy the valiant #lucy pevensie #edmund pevensie #edmund the just #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #susan the gentle #the pevensies #the pevensies return to england #i was looking into graphology and got distracted #handwriting #narnian handwriting #also i am sorry for spelling mistakes #i actually just wanted to write one or two sentences for everyone but oops look at the paragraph i wrote for lucy (and edmund) lol

[miniatureobjectperson]

Bloodborne best soulsborne and only soulsborne game without gargoyle gank??? Coincidence?????????

#minus Sekiro #bloodborne #elden ring #dark souls #soulsborne #soulslike #sekiro #yes I did write this after getting my ass beat by the valiant gargoyles

[toxi-works-at-culvers]

So uh is Mrs Afton also....trans?

she is indeed!!! thats part of the reason she and william stayed together so long despite the Horrors. unfortunately t4t love did not save the day this time... 💔💔💔

#valiant attempt was made but william is William <3 #does anyone want me to write about their relationship because i do have thoughts #asks #toxi.txt

[thecooler]

Landmine

Wake had rules of engagement when it came to dealing with any of the Emperor’s favorite minions— his specialist little zombies— lyctors. Those rules of engagement were as follows: 1. Do not fucking engage 2. If you somehow end up doing that, give them hell.

Words: 5,213

Relationships: Gideon the First/Commander Wake/Pyrrha Dve, Commander Wake & Our Lady of the Passion

Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Enemies and Lovers, Non-Explicit Sex, Fighting and Fucking and Fighting as Fucking

Written for the TLT Holiday Gift Exchange on ao3, also my first work in the fandom so you gotta be nice :P

AO3 Mirror

Commander Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity was born in the pile of smouldering ashes that was the Blood of Eden. When she was very small, her mother told her stories about what they used to be, back in her grandmother’s day, and how the zombies and wizards had overwhelmed them with their numbers and their tricks, how her grandmother, her uncles, and countless more had been killed and had their bodies desecrated and turned into fuel with which to kill their brethren. She told her that one day, they would rise from the ashes, and triumph, and Wake believed that with her whole wretched heart.

When she was twelve, she held a gun for the first time. Her little calloused fingers fit around the grip like they were meant to be there. She raised her shaky hand, guided by her elder sister, God Shall Be My Hope. Their mother had been blown apart from the inside by a wizard, her parts too small and burnt to bear any resemblance to the person she once was. The Nine Houses, as it always did, reduced people to tools of war, and her mother was in the right place and the right time to become a bomb. It wouldn’t happen like that to her.

“I’m gonna bring us back,” she said, a few years later, when she was old enough to know that the Blood of Eden was operating like shit, but not old enough to know how to fix it. She said, “like we used to be, before they found that base and wrecked our shit.”

She remembered that Hope looked tired, and a bit scared. She always looked tired— bucking up at the age of fifteen and raising your sister did that to a girl. The fear was new, though. She said, “I don’t want you to go out like mom, Wake.”

Wake slid the magazine back into the pistol and smiled a nasty, curling, bitter smile, “Not up to me, but let me tell ya’— if I’m going out, I’m taking as many zombies as I can down with me. They’re gonna remember me, and even when I’m dead, my name’s gonna scare the piss out of them.”

Her sister said, “I hope you’re right.”

Ten years after that, Wake was a Wing Commander, and things were starting to go right. She knew how to hold any gun without shaking and without hesitating. She knew how a zombie’s eyes looked when light left them, and she knew more than anyone that they weren’t unkillable.

Her sister, meanwhile, was dying in childbirth on a shitty patch of dirt that the Houses’ God had long since forgotten. Wake made herself stay by her side and listen to her howls of pain. They didn’t have any anesthetic or morphine— their stores had been sacked by a drove of Cohort pigs not even a week ago. Wake was on fire. She was red-hot furious. Hope was dying— fucking hell— and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

She said, “Save her, save her. I don’t fucking care about kid.”

Her sister wailed and clawed at her arm and hair and she said, “No, don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fucking dare.”

But in the end neither of them really had much of a say in the matter. Hope died with a name on her lips, and Wake, who had never wanted to be a mother, gave it to the newborn Our Lady of the Passion, and did what her sister had all those years ago— she loved that shitty kid as best as she could.

---

Wake had rules of engagement when it came to dealing with any of the Emperor’s favourite minions— his specialist little zombies— lyctors. Those rules of engagement were as follows:

1. Do not fucking engage

2. If you somehow end up doing that, give them hell

The Commander had not woken up that day with the notion that she’d be toe-to-toe with a lyctor. But here she was, boots scraping up hard-packed red earth as she danced around one of their rapiers.

“You look like a pussy, fighting with that thing,” she snarled.

And the zombie smiled. Deep brown eyes crinkled around the edges, and stark white teeth peeked out through dark lips. Infuriatingly, it was devastatingly handsome. This realization slapped her across the face, and she thought, distantly, if I get out of this thing, I need to get laid ASAP.

It smiled, and then it pulled a spear out of the rigid corpse of one of its comrades and lunged towards Wake. The speed of it might have been impressive, if the asshole wasn’t literally bringing knives to a gun fight. She raised her pistol to block the spearhead before it made contact with her chest plate. The gun clattered on the ground behind them, and without looking, Wake leaped into a back handspring and kicked the pistol back into her grip. The zombie was looking at her with what she thought might be genuine awe, but she didn’t allow herself to ruminate on it. They’d been going at this for nearly an hour. She was running on fumes, and she had to finish this.

She flung herself forward, dancing around the lunge of the spear. She shot the hand that held it, then spun and kicked the steel toe of her boot into the joint of the opposite wrist. She smiled a wicked, feral grin at the sound of both weapons clattering to the floor.

She stood, breathing heavily, looking into deep brown eyes. In another life, she might have described them as warm. In this life, she shoved the barrel of one gun between them, and the other under its breast, where its heart would be.

She hesitated only for a moment, and in that moment, the zombie that she would come to know as Pyrrha Dve made a choice that would haunt her to her dying breath and beyond. She leaned forward and captured her dry, split, lonely lips in a kiss. She raised her dark, blood-stained hands and cradled her face with an alien softness.

Wake bit her. She clamped down hard on the zombie’s bottom lip until blood bloomed on her tongue, and then they broke apart, and the Emperor’s hand smiled, torn lip trickling blood down her chin. She said, “I’m sorry, destroy me as I am, but I wanted to kiss you before you killed me.”

Wake should have killed her then and there. She should have blown her head and chest apart and burned the bits of flesh and viscera that remained. Instead, she said, “Why the fuck would you want that?”

And the zombie laughed again, and again Wake didn’t take the opportunity to tear her heart out. She smiled a soft, destructive smile, and said to Wake, “I’ve only once met someone so willing to burn for what they believed in, and I loved him on sight. Commander, the first time I died, I asked of him what I ask of you now,” she pressed a calloused hand again to Wake’s face, and it was horribly warm. Those terrible dark eyes met hers, and she said, “make it quick.”

Then she kissed Wake again, and again, and again. And Wake didn’t kill her that day.

---

Wake ended up meeting Pyrrha one other time before she met the other one. This was a good thing, because if she hadn’t had the heads up she might have ripped his dick clean off. Pyrrha was bleeding from thick, deep cuts on her exposed biceps and throat, her breaths coming out as sharp, desperate wheezing. Her immortal blood seeped through Wake’s fingers same as any soldier, same as a dog bleeding out on the side of the road. Wake pressed down harshly on her throat with the butt of her pistol and hiked her knee up between the other woman’s legs.

“Hard already, Dve?” she taunted, then snorted when all Pyrrha could do was let out a low whine.

“Shit, baby,” Pyrrha said, fear creeping into her words.

Wake was no one’s baby. She leaned forward and sunk her teeth into thin cartilage, and tore off the tip of her lover’s ear with her teeth. She spat the severed flesh on the grimy, stained floor of the shuttle and looked at Pyrrha’s eyes.

No.

No, Pyrrha’s eyes were a warm, deep brown. The eyes that she was looking into now were a clear green, alarmed, confused, and still a bit horny.

Wake smiled, her lips curling, “Hello, Gideon,” she purred, jerking her knee against his half-hard cock. “How are you feeling?” and she slipped her gun into her holster and unsheathed her well-used knife. Without preamble, she thrust the blade between his ribs.

He howled out in pain, strong, calloused hands scrambling at her shoulders. But, notably, he didn’t push Wake away. Instead, between panting breaths, he said, “Who the hell are you?”

Wake leaned in close to his still-bleeding ear and whispered, “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

---

Long, long before she was born— long enough that it had long since faded into legend, a Lyctor had made contact with the Blood of Eden. Referred to only as Source Gram. She, allegedly, hailed from the Sixth House, and, even more dubiously, aided her ancestors in the beginnings of their movement. But nothing of the sort had happened since, and Lyctors had become the villains of legend. Many thought that they were immortal, and that they would be the death of them. They were something to be avoided at all cost.

But she knew she could not keep her knowledge of Pyrrha and Gideon from her people, and more than that, she didn’t want to. They could be of use to the Blood of Eden— invaluable even. And so she called her Wing Commanders together, and told them she had something important to discuss.

She told the Blood of Eden, “I have a source in the houses,” and the room went silent. Expectant gazes fell on her, and for the first time in a long time, Wake felt nervous. She tilted her chin up and hoped she could project confidence. “I believe,” she said, “that I’ve gained the trust of one of John Gaius’ hands.”

Her breathing felt impossibly loud. Then, We Suffer breathed out slowly, locked eyes with her, and said, “Tell us what you want us to do, Commander.”

After that, the next year and a half were a cascade of formed connections and formed plans. Source Joyeuse, Piotra, and Chysoar offered them tools and knowledge that her mother and sisters would not have dared dream of. They were in a better place than they’d ever been. Wake could taste the blood of the Emperor, could feel his death at her fingertips.

She was going to be the change she’d wanted to be since she was a child. She was going to avenge her mother, blown to pieces, and her sister, dead to the Nine House’s negligence.

She met with Gideon a few more times, and Pyrrha a few more than that. Each time, they fought and fucked, and sometimes they talked, but never about her plans. Gideon was infuriatingly loyal to his puppet master, and Pyrrha wasn’t supposed to exist. The knowledge of what they were planning would only burden her.

Especially when the Vat Wombs failed, and Wake set about making her bomb with her own two hands.

---

There was a certain level of domesticity that Wake had never allowed herself. She helped raise Pash, and the girl certainly looked up to her, but she wasn’t a mother. She didn’t know how to cook more than what you could boil in a pot of water with little to no additional steps. She could barely keep her own space clean half the time. And she didn’t do feelings talks. Never had, really. Hope had tried, when they were both young and stupid, because she read in some book that it was good to do so. Wake didn’t need a book to tell her that talking about that shit was important. She knew. She just didn’t do it.

Pillow talk, too, was a concept she was familiar with in theory, but something she avoided in practice. She’d fucked around with folks before Pyrrha and Gideon, and she let them assume that was still the case, though it wasn’t— she didn’t have time these days for that kind of bullshit. But even when she did have the time for it, she never stuck around for long after. She liked to think it added to her air of authority. They were done when she said they were done.

Sometimes, when it was Gideon, he would lay back after and hold his hand out, and if she had one (and she usually did), she’s shove a cigarette into his hand, and he’d smoke it and stare at the ceiling or the wall while the cuts and gauges stitched back up. He rarely said much of anything, but sometimes he would look at her for a bit too long, with a certain soft crease to his eyebrows and a barely-noticeable curl to his lip that looked alien on him, like it wasn’t an expression he had a lot of practice with.

He told her once that she had a wicked, mean smile, and she snapped back that he didn’t smile at all, so he shouldn’t talk, and he’d huffed out a curt laugh and said, “I used to. Not for a long time, though.”

And she hadn’t known how to respond to that, so she’d pinned him down, and he’d laughed, and it was a beautiful thing— one that she did not allow herself to dwell on for more than a moment, lest the sound worm its way into her cold, tired heart and find a home there. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder until she tasted blood.

On another occasion, he said, in that gruff, flat way he always spoke, “Sometimes I wish I’d known you before I knew him,” and she’d responded by telling him to take that sentiment and shove it where the light of Dominicus can’t find it. There wasn’t any worth in what ifs. If Gideon weren’t a tedious chicken-shit, it wouldn’t matter when they’d met.

Bottom line: she didn’t need, or want, his loyalty.

Pyrrha was different. It was like she’d orgasm and suddenly she had to talk, or she’d explode and take her necro with her. It usually wasn’t about much of anything. She’d lay back with her hands folded under her head and smirk and tell Wake all about what it was like, before she died the first time. She seldom talked about Gideon, and if Wake ever asked, it usually ended the conversation immediately.

But she’d talk about friends that had long since died. About Anastasia, and Cass, and Cyth, who was still alive, but who hadn’t spoken to her in a millennium. Wake, of course, knew Cyth. She’d been helping the Blood of Eden for some time, but the knowledge would bring Pyrrha no comfort.

Pyrrha would ask Wake questions, too, about her life, and the people she cared about. Once, Wake had spoken to her, briefly about Hope, and something in her voice must have given away her still-smouldering grief, because Pyrrha reached forward and rested her hand atop Wake’s. And there must have been something wrong with her, because for a few burning seconds, she allowed it. And then she said, with less anger than she’d hope to muster, “Get off my ship, Dve,” and the bastard had the nerve to pause to kiss her brow before leaving.

Wake should have killed her for that. She really should’ve.

The infuriating woman seemed to like to hear her talk about Pash in particular, even if it was just the same three things over and over. Wake never gave away much, even to her. She’d look at that shitty, grimy little photo in her toolkit and ask her questions, most of which she didn’t answer, but she never seemed to mind that.

Then, after the vat wombs had failed, and she took matters into her own hands, Pyrrha said, “I always wanted to be a parent,” in his soft, wistful voice. She was looking right at Wake, and for one mortifying moment, she thought that she knew. This shouldn’t have made bile burn up her esophagus, and it damn well shouldn’t have made her heart pound in her chest. She stared back at Pyrrha, her mouth slightly parted, and after a few long seconds, Pyrrha looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“I think I could’ve been a good mom. Gideon always said I would, and Cass and Ana. Augustine, too, but he was always kissing up to me. He’d say the First was made of pudding if he thought it’d make me happy,” her words were sharp, but Pyrrha’s eyes always betrayed her with how repulsively soft they were. That warm, dark brown always reminded her of the hot chocolate she would get once in a while when she was small, before her mother died. She’d met the Lyctor Augustine once, and she couldn’t conceive of having anything more than passing resentment for the man.

"Any kid you raised would be a jackass with an awful sense of humor," Wake said dryly.

"Don't be a dick," but Pyrrha was still smiling.

She did not think through what she was doing when she settled back into the cot next to Pyrrha and rested her head on her bare shoulder. Her mind longed to wander. Images flashed in her periphery, of a quiet, calm life, somewhere far away with Pyrrha and Gideon and Pash and a shitty little kid. A world where the emperor was long dead and the age of Necromancy had begun to fade into memory.

But first she had to have the baby— the Bomb— and she didn’t know how happy Pyrrha would be with her after that.

It didn’t matter anyway. Even if it worked, and the Emperor was dead in a year, there would be work to do. Wake had long since accepted that she would be working until she was in the ground.

Pyrrha wrapped her big, strong arms around her and gave her a gentle squeeze, and Wake pressed her face into her chest. She didn’t know if it was the pregnancy hormones or something else firing around in her messed up head, but for a moment, Wake closed her eyes, and she allowed herself to imagine them in another life.

----

Celebrating the date of one’s birth was not something they could afford most years. She’d never had them growing up, and she turned out just fine. But the fact remained that having a birthday party was fun, and people, on occasion, liked to have fun. So they had a birthday party for Our Lady of the Passion on years where they had the means to. They had one on her fifth birthday, and her ninth, and now it was her fifteenth, and Wake was busting her ass more than she probably should to make it special, all while being nearly nine months pregnant and certifiably fucking huge. It was awful, it was uncomfortable, but she was, as Hope had once so aptly put it, more stubborn that those weird venomous cats, which were, for the uninitiated, endurance hunters, and ergo, very fucking stubborn.

We Suffer looked at her balancing a gift wrapped in crinkly brown paper and sighed audibly before lifting it out of Wake’s hands, ignoring the curse she bit out in protest.

“Have you ever considered sitting down— taking a rest?” She suggested in a soft, sing-song voice that she knew damn well Wake couldn’t stand.

“Have you ever considered shutting the fuck up?” She shot back, but there was no teeth to it.

“You’re carrying something pretty important,” We Suffer nodded to her stomach, “wouldn’t want it getting jostled too much because mom’s got too much goddamn pride.”

Wake frowned, brows furrowed. The details for her plan weren’t terribly well-known, and We Suffer wasn’t included in that circle. As far as she was aware, Wake was carrying a baby because she’d suddenly developed an affinity for them. So saying something like, I don’t really give a rat’s ass whether this thing is born healthy or on death's door, so long as it’s got blood, would be somewhat alarming. So she just grunted and didn’t complain about the help.

Pash was never good at keeping to herself, and Wake pretended to hate it more than she did. Couldn’t have the girl getting ideas in her head that she could go around doing whatever she wanted. But hell, it was her birthday, so when the little shit bumped against Wake’s side with a shit-eating grin and raised eyebrows, Wake smiled back.

“Where the fuck did you get hair dye, you little shit?” Wake said, running her fingers through freshly blue hair. The sides of her fingers came away slightly stained.

“Scavenged it,” Pash said— she still had a bit of a lisp when she tried to say s-words, but it was a far cry from where she’d been ten. Back then she’d been nigh-incomprehensible. The kid eyed her stomach dubiously, the same way she had since Wake started to show. The two of them hadn’t talked about it, and Wake didn’t intend to, unless Pash brought it up. It’d be a non-issue soon enough, anyway.

“Sooooo,” she said, bumping her shoulder to Wake’s. The kid was stupid tall, and seemed to still be growing, “what’d you get me, dear auntie?”

“I got you my goddamned presence, you little worm,” Wake said with no venom and a traitorous smile curled on her lips. She added, “and a cake, so you better be fucking grateful.”

Pash threw her hands up in surrender, “I am, I am! Shit,” she laughed, and Wake let out a snort that to her own ears was far too fucking fond. This seemed to please Pash, who mumbled something about finding Unjust Hope and took off.

Wake watched her go, and felt herself grow a bit sentimental. She could remember when that kid was small enough for her to hold in both hands. She could remember when she was nothing more than what the Bomb was now, curled inside her, unaware of the world, or the destruction they’d be born into.

Pash had asked her once, when she was eight and newly old enough to understand what had happened to her mother, if Wake hated her for killing Hope. If anyone had asked her before that moment, she might have said yes, or that at least that a part of her did. But Pash had looked at her with those big, sad hazel eyes, and she’d found that there wasn’t any hate left in her for Our Lady of the Passion.

She told her, “No, I don’t hate you. Don’t go getting a big fucking head about it, though.”

And nearly seven years later, she seemed to have gotten a big head about it anyway, by the way she felt comfortable flipping Wake off or calling her old lady. From anyone else, this would have been a deal breaker. She’d fold that fucker in half just to shove their head so far up their ass they forgot which way was up. But the most Pash ever got was some sharp words and a tired huff. So maybe it was her own fault, a little bit.

A little under an hour later, they were all sat around a garbage sheet cake with a single candle in the middle, and Pash was opening their gifts— one of which was a machete with a wicked curve. At the sight of this, Pash let out an awed gasp and raked her eyes over it was a ravenous want. She was Wake’s kid, alright.

From across the table, We Suffer cocked an eyebrow at her, and rather than dignify that with a response, she looked at Pash and said, “You should learn to use it, just in case. But the biggest thing is just getting into a minion’s head. Fuck with them. Make ‘em think you can beat them at their own game, and games they ain’t even thought of yet.”

Pash smiled a wide, toothy grin, “Do you know how to use it? Can you teach me?”

“A little,” Wake said. Sometimes, after a rendeavouz, when Pyrrha was too antsy for pillow talk but nonetheless unwilling to leave, the two of them would practice swordplay together. Pyrrha said she looked like a dog with a stick, but she was working her way up to a dog with a sword. “When I have time, alright?”

Even God didn’t know when that would be, though. The baby would come soon, and, if all went to plan, the death of the Emperor with it. The aftermath of that was impossible to calculate. Even his inner circle wasn’t sure what would happen. But Wake always found time for Pash, one way or another.

Pash set the machete on the table, and seemed about to say something, but then the familiar voice of one of her Wing Commanders, Cherry, crackled over her walkie. It said, “Duty is trailing you. Ninth house operation’s gotta move up.”

We Suffer eyed her from across the table, and as she took the words in, her gaze hardened. What she thought she had figured out, Wake couldn’t be sure. But she’d always been bright, that one. She probably had a pretty good idea.

“Fuck, kid, I gotta go,” she said, feeling genuinely sorry. But Pash was looking at her with a wicked grin and fire in her eyes.

“Go give those zombies hell. You’ll teach me how to use this thing when you get back.”

“Hold me to that,” Wake said, and then she left the base for the last time.

---

Wake stood on wobbly, uncertain, bloody legs. The Bomb was clutches to her chest, rolled a little too tightly in a blanket. On its soft, brown head a few strands of bright red hair, so much like her own, clung wetly to its skull. She refused to recognize herself within her weapon, even as it fussed and whined and cried and reached its tiny, chubby hand towards her in ask for safety, comfort, or anything else a mother might have to give.

But Wake wasn’t a mother. She was a warrior, a commander, a phoenix rising from the ashes, over and over. She put the wailing bundle into a haz suit and clacked the visor shut. Its cries continues, crackly and insistent, through the speakers.

Pyrrha was always the one that wanted to be a mother, and as she stood before her now, Wake felt as though she could read the thoughts storming through her head. She looked at Wake, who must look now like an uncaged beast, covered in her own blood, hair a wild tangle, eyes alight with adrenaline, and she looked every bit as sappy and lovelorn as she always did after they got done fighting or fucking. She said, “Wake, darling, I don’t have long. Let’s take the baby and get out of here. Please.”

“I’m not your darling,” Wake snarled, “and I’m not fucking going anywhere with you.”

Pyrrha stepped back, her eyes widening slightly, at Wake’s tone, and she felt a flush at pride at the sight of hurt contorting her features. Her eyes were always so wide and dark and expressive. She swallowed, “Gideon will be back soon. I can feel him. And he won’t let you go— you or the baby.”

At this, Wake threw her head back in a long, cruel laugh. Against her chest, the Bomb wailed, and in response Pyrrha stepped forward, hands outstretched, and Wake pulled her bundle closer with a low growl. “Fuck off. Gideon can do what the fuck he wants,” and, against her better judgement, she added, “you don’t think he’d kill a baby.”

Pyrrha’s eyes were fixed on the Bomb, like Wake didn’t exist at all, and it took a moment for her to reply, “He’d to anything for him. He’d always do anything for him. Wake, I don’t know what you think your plan is—“

“You don’t,” Wake said, “you don’t have a clue. But it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna kill the fucking emperor, and then it won’t matter who gave Gideon his marching orders. Nothing will matter.”

Pyrrha looked like she might say something more, but before she had the chance, she slumped forward, just briefly, and when she stood back up, green eyes blinked awake, and looked at her, and looked at the Bomb.

Gideon said, “What the fuck did you do?”

Wake said, “I’m going to kill your fucking boss, dipshit.”

Gideon went very still. He looked at Wake, in her ragged haz suit, and the baby, whose baby blue eyes were squinting through the harsh light of the shuttle over at him. For a moment, silence hung between them, save for the occasional fussing of the Bomb in her hands. “Say something,” Wake said.

“I don’t know what you want, Wake. I’ve never known.” Gideon looked properly sad then. The harsh lines of his face softened, and his eyebrows knit together. He looked like he might step forward, and for a precious moment in time, she lived in the world that Pyrrha had always wanted. She lived in a world with them, and maybe Pash, and no one else. Hormones going to her head and nothing more, and even if it were more than that, Gideon shattered the illusion with his next words.

“I can’t let you kill him. You know I can’t.” And he sounded so pathetic and desperate that Wake had to clamp her jaw together and look away, lest she burn apart where she stood.

“You’ve never let me do shit,” she said, laughing bitterly. She turned a knob on the side of her helmet, and the plex slipped down. Her voice came out crackled through the headset. “See you when we’ve won,” she said, and turned to open the airlock, to descend to the planet, and to light that motherfucker up.

Then a fist slammed against her back. She felt a rib break as she tumbled forward into open space. She turned around and briefly saw Gideon’s pained, horrible face, and for a split second, she swore she saw a flash of brown in his eyes. But she was losing air quickly, and she had to lose it quicker, if she wanted the Bomb to make it to its destination.

She wasn’t going to get back home, she wasn’t going to a half-flipped moon, she wasn’t going to see the demise of the Emperor of the Nine Houses. She wasn’t going to get to teach Pash how to use those damn machetes.

“Fuck you!” she snarled, and she directed her life preserves to the Bomb.

As they fell, and life drained slowly and agonizingly from her body, Wake shrieked, “Gideon! Gideon! Gideon!”

And she burned, and she burned, and she burned.

#the locked tomb #commander wake #awake remembrance of these valiant dead #pyrrha dve #gideon the first #our lady of the passion #pyrrhawake #writing tag #waves cutely

[doodle-pops]

Thoughts on Fingon

A/N: I've had so many thoughts about his character for the longest time and thanks to a friend for giving me a boost, I feel a bit more confident releasing my interpretation of his character. Some may appear repetitive, but eh. Please, these are my headcanons, you don't have to agree. If you don't, refrain from negative commentary. Thank you :)

‘Wise he was and skilled in voice and hand’, this part of Fingon’s description I noticed, tends to get overlooked a lot when characterising and building his persona.

He is a wise person, and may not have been the wisest like his fellow cousins or skilled in advanced magic like them, but Fingon was able to hold his ground when it came to academics and warfare. He wasn't all about athletic and lack wisdom and knowledge, he had brains (didn't use them rightly all the time lol).

Athletics was not the only aspect of Fingon’s life that he was skilled in, he was also articulate in academics. As the son of a prince, he would have outstanding scholars teaching him all topics throughout his adolescence.

Participating in court from a young age as he attended sessions with his father and engaging in small debates when he could. He was not the best or the most eloquent when it came to more advanced topics, but he was wise enough when challenging his opponents.

It wouldn’t be until his younger brother Turgon became of age and began attending court alongside him, he would take a step back to allow his brother to shine and show off his knowledge and enthusiasm. Fingon did become a little jealous of the trail of attention falling onto his brother more than him when he began showing more interest in politics.

But he did enjoy partaking in court, just not to the extent as his other family members.

Sports for him was a getaway/stress-reliever activity that he grew to enjoy and developed professionalism in certain areas. He excels well in horseback riding, ice skating (I like to believe Valinor had ice skating), archery, wrestling and other track and field events.

When it came to being skilled in hand in the warfare aspect, he was an extraordinarily proficient swordsman (he would have aided in training Maedhros after his recovery after all). Among his cousins, he would have ranked fourth (4th) or fifth (5th).

Following up with the previously mentioned quote, he was also his father’s commander during their time in Beleriand. As a commander, who later became the High King, he was somewhat of a strategist which leads to being a manipulator. Being skilled in hand and voice, especially the latter is primarily the reason why he can be charismatic and charming when he spoke to people.

Being able to easily influence persons to allow him to have his way (not in a conniving manner which he can do). He mostly used his voice to speak inspiration and strength into the hearts of people, lifting their spirits (a motivational speaker).

Then too, he may not of had the most political involvement in Beleriand or been the most outstanding commander under his father’s rule, but he was fairly decent even as a High King and wise. Being able to give orders on his own, plan and not always needing to rely on others.

He isn’t always the cheery, go-to sunshine prince charming or merry glittery prince, Fingon can also be a quiet and observant person who prefers to bask in his little world of troubles and be angst. Giving emotional support to others while humbly expressing his misery and trauma.

As much as he enjoys putting on the ‘people’s supportive and serotonin prince’ façade, there are days when he can barely hold himself together. He would quietly walk through the streets of Hithlum, mourning the loss of his brother, sister-in-law and other fallen comrades or find himself crying in the rain.

Furthermore, let's not forget that he was also a kinslayer. It may not be engraved into his blood or mind the way it would be for the Feanorians (allowing for murder to be a primary threat), but it does float around his conscience.

As much as he has regrettably apologised to himself and to his cousins, and viewed as one of the calmest of the kinslayers, he is still considered unpredictable. Being a friendly charming radiant prince still isn't enough for many, including himself, to forget what he is capable of.

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @starborne0661 @floraroselaughter @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @justjane @justellie17 @edensrose

#fingon #findekáno #findekano #astaldo #findekano astaldo #fingon the valiant #fingon headcanon #silmarillion headcanon #silmarillion thoughts #middle earth headcanons #doodlepops writings ✨

[artist-issues]

Cinderella is my favorite Princess if you’re asking me about Disney princesses. But I love Princess Irene from The Princess and the Goblin and I love Queen Lucy the Valiant, too.

Cinderella is awesome because the defining traits of a good person, a good woman and a good ruler are her superpower. She’s rewarded for having faith and being selfless and kind while she waits.

But I loved Sleeping Beauty, too, because she represented this precious, innocent, pure thing that was worth everyone trying to shelter and protect. Her movie shows how women ought to be treated.

And of course Belle. If Cinderella didn’t already do this, Belle would have my whole heart. I LOVE the moment in the animated film where she says, “wait!” and then, “…take me instead.” And the MUSIC does that, “isn’t this amazing” melody quietly to punctuate the moment. Because she’s doing the thing her fairy tale heroes would have done; she’s sacrificing herself and giving her noble word to save someone she loves, and it’s at the cost of all her own interests and dreams—and she came up with that idea all on her own. She gave herself up all on her own, when she hadn’t done anything wrong.

Faith! Sacrifice! Kindness! That’s what makes a good princess.

And in conclusion, this quote from the opening of the Princess and the Goblin, by George MacDonald:

THERE was once a little princess who—"But, Mr. Author, why do you always write about princesses?" Because every little girl is a princess. “You will make them vain if you tell them that." Not if they understand what I mean. "Then what do you mean?" What do you mean by a princess? "The daughter of a king." Very well, then every little girl is a princess, and there would be no need to say anything about it, except that she is always in danger of forgetting her rank, and behaving as if she had grown out of the mud. I have seen little princesses behave like the children of thieves and lying beggars, and that is why they need to be told they are princesses.

#Princess #fairy tale #writing #discourse #disney princess #Cinderella #Belle #beauty and the beast #disney #Ariel #tiana #Jasmine #Ella #Cinderella 2015 #literature #George MacDonald #every little girl is a princess #Narnia #queen Susan the gentle #queen Lucy the valiant #the chronicles of Narnia #c.s. Lewis #the princess and the goblin

[oscartwofoxtrot]

Valiant Chapter 4: Forerunner

a Halo AU for people who know nothing about Halo

Pairings: Brad Colbert/Nate Fick

Rating: T

Completion status: Incomplete, currently 26k

Warnings: Moderate sci-fi violence, others listed in author’s notes

Chapter Summary: Following the source of its transmissions, Brad and Nate race to make contact with the UNSC Dubuque – but Requiem’s core hides a dangerous secret, one that the Covenant are determined to uncover.

Read from the beginning // Latest chapter

#[stumbles out of the word document wheezing and covered in blood] WE ARE SO BACK #generation kill #bradnate #oscar writes fic #valiant tag #‘hey oscar what’s that big ominous black sphere?’ nothing don’t even worry about it

[valiantheartofficial]

I've never done this kind of thing before, so I'll just get to the point. I'm in the middle of writing a full book with the intent of having it published. My problem? I'm having doubts about my ability. So I came up with an idea to use social media as a way for others to see my work and offer some input! But since "Facebook" is a toxic wasteland of self indulgent haters, and "Twitter" (I will never call it by that other insipid name) is an empty shell of it's former nest. I've decided on one of the last few bastions of creativity left on the internet. Fine ol' Tumblr! Slander and puns aside, if you all could be so kind as to help me with a book I'm writing? I would like feedback from a test audience and let me know what you think of my story's first couple of chapters? I would be deeply appreciative of a little of your time and constructive criticism.

sincerely (and hopefully): A future New York Times, Best Seller. . . Maybe.

#Story #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #steampunk #trauma #writing #writers and poets #writeblr #help #constructive criticism #constructivefeedback #monster #magic #scifi #sci fi and fantasy #fantasy #original work #original writing #books #Valiant Heart #Valiant Heart: And The Impossible World

[kanerallels]

My first Februfluff fic for @monthly-challenge! For the prompt "sharing food" I FINALLY finished a Valiant fic. It's three chapters long over on AO3 (and technically the food sharing doesn't happen until the last chapter, but it's close enough) but they're pretty short, and you can also read the full thing under the cut!

Read on AO3

1.

The police were already there when he pulled into the Reggen family estate’s driveway. Technically, Federal Marshalls weren’t first responders, but Galen had been called anyway. It was his family who lived here, after all— and his CI who was involved in the incident, allegedly.

As he strode towards the front door, flashing his badge to the cop who moved to stop him, Galen could already hear Eldin shouting. “This is unacceptable— I am not allowing some deceptive criminal to stay in my house and endanger our family!”

There was a response in a lower voice— Lissa, Galen guessed— and Eldin let out a laugh that bordered on hysterical. “Not her fault? Oh, no, how could it be? She only CHALLENGED AN ENTIRE GANG!”

Galen located the source of the noise— the study, which he still thought of as Torren’s even after he’d been gone for a few years now— and pushed the door open. Eldin was standing behind the desk, face flushed red with frustration, and Lissa stood before him, her face set impassively. They both looked up at his arrival.

“About time,” Eldin snapped, glaring at him. “Our home is under assault, and it’s your little criminal’s fault, Verras.”

It took a bit of a struggle to keep his face impassive, avoiding the grimace he felt. Eldin was far from his most reasonable at the moment, and this situation was going to be hard to deal with. “I heard there was an incident,” Galen said, his voice steady.

“Someone drove by and threw a brick through the window,” Lissa said. Her voice was far less hysterical than Eldin’s, but still a little unsteady as she continued, “The brick has the Duke’s symbol on it.”

“Which means it’s a message,” Eldin said, folding his arms and scowling. “And that message says that we’re being endangered by that Gramton girl and her brat.”

Don’t lash out. Stay calm, you know it won’t help. “Saville is in danger, too,” Galen said, keeping his voice low and reasonable. “You can’t just throw her out into the street, there’s too much at stake here. She’s our best weapon against them—”

“She’s a liability, and I want her GONE!”

“Eldin—”

Jabbing a finger at him, Eldin said, “Don’t you DARE try and convince us, Marshal Verras. She’s leaving TONIGHT and that’s final.”

“If you throw her out, someone could come after her—”

“I don’t care, so long as it doesn’t happen in our house! We are the victims here, you realize!”

Galen loved his cousin, he truly did. But there were times when he almost wanted to take him by the shoulders and shout at him. Didn’t he see that Saville was in danger of far more than bricks through the window?

But she had yet to flinch, even after facing down gang leaders and his cousins and the AUSA, Leymonn. She’d been terrified, Galen could see that much. But despite all of it, she’d stood strong and fierce, protecting Will and herself.

He admired it. Maybe more so than he should have.

“Well?” Eldin’s sharp tone cut through Galen’s thoughts. “Are you going to do something about her? Or should I call Leymonn, see what he thinks we should do with her?”

No. If Leymonn got involved, Saville would wind up on the streets, or worse. Galen glanced at Lissa, hoping to find an ally there. But her gaze was lowered. Which means it’s up to me.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’ll handle it. Where is she?”

2.

I could hear the shouting from all the way upstairs, in the small room I’d been given when Marshal Verras brought Will and I to the Reggen’s home. Pressing my lips together, I tried hard not to scowl, to push down the fury I felt twisting in my chest.

It wasn’t as if I’d ever been a particularly welcome guest here. Eldin had treated me with uneasy dislike, and his attorney friend Leymonn with open disdain. Lissa had, after a little while, become more civil with me, but we were far from becoming best friends. The brick through the window had been the last straw, and Eldin had demanded Will and I leave before the police had even arrived.

So here I was. Shoving clothes into the ancient suitcase I’d carried with me when we had left. Trying not to think about everything at once— where we would go, what would happen next, how soon the Duke’s men would catch up with us.

“Sir?”

My eyes moved up to where Will was sitting on the bed. He’d been given his own room, but snuck into my room to curl up with a few blankets on the rug next to it almost every night. He’d been sleeping there when we’d both been jolted awake by screeching tires, shattering glass, and the sound of Eldin shouting.

He’d stayed upstairs while I went down to deal with the situation, but I knew he’d had to hear the yelling. And with me packing, he knew what was going on.

“Where are we going to go?” he whispered.

It was a good question. A question I wished I could answer properly, or at the very least, protect him from. But Will was far too smart for me to lie to. “We can’t go back to the shop,” I told him. “It’s being watched, by the Duke’s men and by the marshals. I have a little money, so we might be able to afford a hotel room.”

I hoped, at least. If there wasn’t enough, we might find ourselves sleeping on a park bench, and I had a very hard time believing the Duke would let us last the night somewhere so vulnerable. If only I could keep him safe. If only I could keep both of us safe. If only I didn’t have to. Sky above, it was getting hard to stand up to everything coming my way. 

There was a small part of me, a part that I could never entertain for long, that wished someone else could be strong for me. That someone would come along and protect us. But I knew better. I would have to protect both myself and Will, whatever it took.

“Go get your things,” I told him quietly. 

Will got to his feet, looking a little less nervous than he had before. But I knew him well enough to see that he was still scared. And, if I was being honest, I was too.

Enough of that, I told myself. Now’s not the time for honesty, if it makes things worse. Now is the time to grit your teeth and get it done, because no one is going to do it for you.

As Will slipped out of my room, I caught the sound of a familiar baritone downstairs, cutting through Eldin’s yelling. It was too low for me to make out the words, but I knew who it was. Marshal Verras had arrived on the scene. Which meant he was probably going to try and convince Will and I to stay, and I’d have none of that.

We may have been protected from the Duke and his men here, but we weren’t safe. Not really, with Leymonn skulking in and out all week, making sly comments about Will and trying to leverage me into agreeing to things.

Eldin and Lissa may have been hard to deal with, but Leymonn was far worse. He didn’t scare me— his power did, and what he might do with it.

So I was leaving, and so was Will, and that was that. Gathering myself, I collected the last of my things in the room— a jacket hanging over the end of the bedstead. The puzzle box that Marshal Verras had given Will to play with. The shirt of Will’s I’d been mending, which I tucked into her suitcase— and headed for the door.

Will was waiting for me outside my door, his backpack over one shoulder. Together, we headed for the door for the stairs that led down to the main level. I clutched her suitcase in one hand, slipping my jacket around my shoulders.

I pulled open the door, and came face to face with Marshal Verras. 

He looked only mildly surprised to see Will and I. His gaze moved from me to the suitcase in my hand to Will, then back to me.

Lifting my chin, I said, “We’re not staying here.”

To my surprise, he nodded. “No, you’re not. You and Will are coming with me.”

I only hesitated a minute before following him, down the stairs and into the main hall. There were a handful of police there, some of them interviewing Eldin and Lissa. Several of them looked up as the three of us entered.

“My car is out front,” Marshal Verras told me quietly, passing me the keys. “Go wait for me there, alright?” A smile twitched across his face, and he added, “Try not to take off without me.”

I found myself almost smiling in response, remembering the day I’d tried to escape the Reggen’s house by breaking into his car. I’d almost made it, but he’d been there, and convinced me to stay, that it would be safer for Will and I. I’d been frustrated at the time, but had known, as I did now, that he was looking out for us. “I won’t,” I said.

Will and I slipped out the door just as Eldin started demanding to know what was going on. I could hear arguing erupt as we headed to Marshal Verras’s car, but I didn’t look back. Instead, I unlocked it, slipped into the backseat with Will, and waited.

He came out of the house roughly ten minutes later, looking tired, with a slightly grim set to his mouth. But when he opened his door and dropped into the driver’s seat, he glanced back at the two of us and quietly said, “I’ll bring you somewhere safe for the night. We can talk about everything else tomorrow.”

“Alright,” I said. There were a thousand different questions bouncing around her head. But I was so tired, and so was Will— he was already nodding off against my shoulder. So I kept my questions inside for now, and passed Marshal Verras his car keys.

The car drive passed in a blur of back roads and headlights. I found myself nearly nodding off on a few occasions, and by the time we pulled up to a large house, I could scarcely keep my eyes open.

Rubbing at them viciously, I turned to Will, only to find him fast asleep. Wincing, I moved to wake him up, but Marshal Verras held up a hand, stopping me.

“I’ve got him,” he whispered, passing me his keys again. “You get the door.”

Dimly, I knew there was something that a far less tired version of me should be connecting about all this, but at the moment, all I cared about was finding a bed. The Duke himself could show up and I would ignore him in favor of curling up under some blankets.

So I took the keys and made my way to the front door. Marshal Verras followed after unbuckling Will, then picking him up, carefully resting his head against his shoulder.

He was so gentle with him, so cautiously unlike his usual stern, grave exterior. It caught at me, making my heart stutter, just a little. Hastily, I turned my gaze to the door.

It took me a few minutes to find the right key, but when I finally did the door swung open to a dark house. Marshal Verras took the lead, heading for a nearby flight of stairs, and I followed him to a set of doors.

Fumbling for a moment, he managed to push the door open, revealing a bedroom. Two beds took up most of the space, with a table between them and a dresser on the far side near the window. After carefully lowering Will onto one of the beds, Marshal Verras turned to me. “I assumed you would want to share, so that Will didn’t get confused,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Yes— thank you,” I said, wishing I could put my gratitude in my voice properly. We were safe and together and far away from both the Duke and the Reggen’s. Nothing I could say would really cover all that I felt. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Get some rest, Saville. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

The door shut behind him with a quiet click, and I found myself alone, swaying on my feet. Pausing only to pull a blanket over Will, I moved to the other bed and collapsed, my eyes flickering shut almost immediately.

My sleep was deep and peaceful, without any real dreams. I wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed before I jolted awake, disoriented. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. And the events of the night before began to piece themselves together in my head.

Sitting up, I held back a yawn as I took a better look at the room. The sunlight streaming in through the window and lighting up the pale blue walls told me that it was late, but not too late. Will was still curled up under his blanket, breathing steadily.

Seeing him peaceful and calm eased a tension I hadn’t even fully realized I was carrying around. I wished, not for the first time, that I hadn’t dragged him into all of this. That Will could be safe.

He’s safe here, now, I reminded myself. He’s away from Leymonn, and the longer that lasts, the better.

Although that did bring up the question of where here was. Even as I thought it, however, I was fairly certain I knew. We were at Marshal Verras’s house. It was the only place he could have conceivably brought us under such short notice.

It shouldn’t have been strange— but it was, a little. More than just strange, though, it meant he’d found yet another way to help me, to protect both of us. I owed this man more than I’d ever be able to pay back.

There has to be something I can do for him, though. To thank him, even in a small way. I thought for a minute, then got up from my bed.

Stopping next to Will’s bed, I knelt down beside him, brushing his hair back from his eyes gently. His eyes flickered open, and he whispered sleepily, “Sir? Are we safe?”

“We are,” I told him, my heart aching a little. “I’m going to go downstairs to make some breakfast. I won’t be far, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Will mumbled, his eyes already drifting shut again. I watched him for another moment, then rose to head downstairs.

It became apparent the minute I left my room that this wasn’t exactly a small house. It was far from the mansion-like quality of the Reggen’s house— which made sense. Their family had founded this town, after all— but it was far larger than me and my family had ever owned.

It was certainly fancy, but understated enough that I didn’t feel overwhelmed. It felt more natural and lived in than Eldin and Lissa’s— stacks of books on side tables, newspapers and files here and there, along with a few empty cups.

It took me a few minutes to locate the kitchen. It was large, but painted in warm shades of yellow and orange that didn’t seem to match Marshal Verras at all. As I rummaged through a few cupboards, I wondered if someone else lived here, or if it was just him. He hadn’t mentioned much about his family, other than the fact that Eldin and Lissa were his cousins, and I hadn’t noticed a ring. Did he have a girlfriend?

Was it strange that I hoped he didn’t?

I pushed away the thought firmly, and returned to searching for the ingredients I needed. I was a decent cook, when I needed to be, and one of the recipes I knew I’d mastered was pancakes. The very least I could do, at this point, was make breakfast for Marshal Verras.

It was such a little thing, and he’d done so much more to protect Will and I. He’d wrangled Eldin and Lissa, convincing them to let us stay because we would be safe there. He’d figured out the paperwork to keep them from taking Will back into the system, he’d faced off with Leymonn more times than I could count. This was very literally the least I could do.

I did her best to be quiet as I assembled my ingredients and pulled out a frying pan, knowing that Will— and probably our host— was still sleeping. But something, be it the clattering of the bowls or pans, or the sound of me moving around, must have disturbed him, because he appeared just as I was pouring the batter onto the pan, carrying his handgun. He lowered it the minute he saw me.

“Saville?” he blinked at me, looking disoriented. This was the first time I’d seen him not totally put together, I realized. His tie and jacket were gone, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair was sticking every which way. It was almost endearing, and I had to hold back a smile.

His gaze traveled from me, to the frying pan and the bowl of batter next to it, and back to me. “What are you doing?”

“Making us breakfast, of course,” I said.

3.

Galen didn’t think of himself as a man who was often caught off guard. But when he woke up and found Saville Gramton making pancakes in his kitchen, that surprised him.

“Breakfast?” he said slowly, eyebrows traveling upwards.

Saville nodded. “Yes. Breakfast. I assume you’re familiar with the concept.”

Letting out a snort of amusement, Galen slid his weapon back into the holster strapped to his chest, switching the safety back on as he did so. “I am,” he said, “but that doesn’t explain— how did you find everything?”

“I looked,” Saville told him, pouring out another measuring cup full of pancake batter. It hit the pan with a satisfying sizzle, the smell of cooking pancakes rising through the air. “Your kitchen is a lot better organized than your office.”

“I don’t use it as much,” Galen said. “Why don’t you let me take care of that?”

“I’ve got it,” she said, directing a frown at him as he started to open his mouth to tell her that he didn’t mind, that she should get some rest, that the idea of cooking for her was actually very appealing. (Well. He probably wasn’t going to add the last part, true though it was.) “If you want, you can make some coffee.”

Coffee sounded like an excellent idea, and Galen moved over to the coffee pot to get started. As he filled the filter with coffee grounds, he glanced at her again. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“It was the least I could do,” she said, flipping one of the pancakes. “And someone had to do it.”

“I would have.”

“I know. But…” she paused before glancing up at him with one of her direct, honest looks. “You’ve done so much. For Will and I. This is one small thing I can do to repay you.”

“Oh.” Galen felt himself flush a little, which shouldn’t be surprising. She’d turned out to have that effect on him, with her unabashed stubbornness and honesty— and he was pretty sure she enjoyed it. “Thank you. It’s not necessary, but thank you. I’m just doing my job.”

“In that case, I take it back.” A half-smirk crossed her face briefly, and she added, “In fact, I’m sorry. I’ll throw your serving out now, then.”

“I accept your apology,” Galen said, and she looked up at him, so startled that he couldn’t hold back his smile anymore. And for just a moment, her smile matched his.

But then she glanced back down hastily, and the moment was gone. “I need some plates.”

“Right,” Galen said, a thread of remorse pulling at his heart, though he couldn’t say why. Just that it had been nice to have a moment, just the two of them laughing at an inside joke. That it was nice to be able to smile and see her smile, in the face of such things as they were dealing with.

Turning, he opened one of the nearby cupboards and started pulling out plates. He’d barely gotten them to the counter when there was a clatter and a cry of pain.

“Saville!” Galen spun around, concern flashing through his chest at the sight of Saville wincing, her hand cradled against her chest. The spatula she’d been using lay on the stovetop.

Crossing the room, he said, “Are you alright? Let me see.”

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice tight as she waved him off. “My hand slipped— it’s just a burn.”

“At least let me take care of these while you run it under cold water,” Galen told her. She gave a quick nod, crossing the room to the sink.

As she turned on the tap, Galen picked up the spatula and turned his attention to the pancakes. Flipping one, he slid the other two onto the plate he’d set nearby, and grabbed the cup, using it to pour more batter onto the pan.

He kept his gaze focused on his task, but he could hear Saville moving near the sink, and a few seconds later the tap shut off. Her voice came a second later. “I can take over now, Marshal Verras.”

“I’ve got it handled,” Galen told her firmly. He could sense her hovering nearby for a heartbeat, and glanced her way. “I do. Sit down— how’s your hand?”

“It doesn’t really hurt anymore,” she said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “And I don’t mind taking over.”

“I know,” Galen said, deftly flipping another pancake onto a plate. “But I don’t mind either. And I think you should call me Galen. It doesn’t seem right to go around Marshal-ing someone you’re making pancakes with.”

It took a heartbeat before she met his gaze, but she lifted an eyebrow nonetheless. “Marshal-ing?”

“It’s an official term, I’m sure,” he said, smiling. Hoping she’d listen to him. It made sense— they’d known each other long enough, worked together on this case long enough.

And truth be told, he wanted to hear her say his name. Few enough people used his first name, and he knew there would be something special about her saying it, just by the virtue of it being Saville.

“Here,” he said, sliding her a plate with two of the pancakes stacked on it. “Eat.”

Accepting the plate and the fork he handed her a few seconds afterwards, Saville offered him a smile. “Thank you, Marshal Ver— Galen. Thank you, Galen.”

“You’re welcome, Saville.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, Galen stacking pancakes on one of the bigger plates he’d taken down. Saville got up a few minutes later and poured both of them a cup of coffee, adding a single dash of milk to his cup— exactly the way he liked it. He hadn’t known she’d noticed, but he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Galen was just adding the final pancake to the now somewhat precarious stack when Will appeared in the kitchen doorway. Yawning and rubbing at his eyes, he surveyed the scene before him. “Is there breakfast?” he asked.

“Right here,” Galen said, offering him a plate with a few pancakes on it. The boy accepted it immediately and took the seat next to Saville. 

As he drowned the pancakes in syrup, Saville handed him the fork Galen passed her. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, smoothing down where his hair was sticking up in the back.

“Yeah— thanks for the pancakes, Mr. Verras,” Will said, cutting them into pieces.

“You’re welcome, Will,” Galen said, switching off the stove. Taking another sip of his coffee, he grabbed another plate, and claimed a seat next to Saville.

As she passed him the maple syrup, Will said, “This is a fancy house— whose is it?”

“Mine,” Galen said, covering his pancakes with syrup. “Or, my family’s, really. I grew up here, but when my father retired, he and my mother moved south and left the house to my siblings and I. My brothers had already moved on, so I was the only one who could get much use out of it.”

“It seems a big house to live in all alone,” Saville said, her gaze moving from him to the rest of the kitchen, taking it in in a thoughtful look. He wondered what she saw. So often, she seemed to see things he didn’t, stitch together tiny details that he almost wouldn’t have noticed.

That was why he’d told Leymonn he saw better when he was with her. And it was the truth.

“It is,” he admitted wryly, cutting into his breakfast. The pancakes were just as good as he’d expected, and he took a minute to savor the bite he’d taken before he spoke again. “I feel a little foolish sometimes, living here. But I don’t have to pay any rent, and it’s… it’s home, in a way. I don’t know that I could bring myself to leave. Not until I’m ready, at any rate.”

He saw something like understanding in Saville’s eyes, but before she or Will could speak, the sound of a phone ringing split the air. His phone, Galen realized.

“Excuse me,” he said, rising to his feet and heading out of the kitchen.

He’d left his jacket draped over the back of his chair, and his phone in the pocket. Fishing it out, Galen flipped it open and answered it. “Verras.”

“Good, you’re awake.” Galen recognized the voice on the other end immediately— Anders, another marshal in his department. They weren’t close, but they shared a mutual dislike for Leymonn. “Your cousin showed up and told Leymonn what happened last night, and they’re in rare form. Leymonn’s trying to get in contact with a judge. I don’t know what he’s got up his sleeve, but—”

“But it’s a bad sign,” Galen finished, grimacing. “Thank you, Anders. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Snapping the phone shut, he headed back into the kitchen. Saville and Will looked up at his entrance, and he could see the wariness in Saville’s eyes. “Is something—”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he told her. “But… Leymonn found out about what happened last night. So I need to get into work now, head off anything that he’s planning.”

“Do you need us to come with you?” she asked, already getting to her feet. But Galen shook his head.

“Stay here for now— I’ll be back or call in a few hours. Feel free to make yourself at home— there’s a library a few doors down from my office, and keys to any of the other doors in the house in my desk drawer.” Catching Saville’s gaze, he added, “But please, stay here.”

Saville nodded. “Okay. But call us soon.”

“I will.”

It didn’t take long for Galen to get ready. Throwing on his jacket, he grabbed his car keys and was heading out the door when he stopped. Just for a moment, lingering outside of the kitchen door.

Saville and Will were still sitting there— Will eating and talking, Saville quietly sliding him a napkin as she listened. Her gaze moved to where Galen stood for a minute, and she sent him a smile.

Somehow, that smile sent a little flash of energy through him. He knew the rest of the day was going to be long and tiring, and that battling Leymonn would take up half of it. But that smile helped, more than it should have.

For a minute, he wished he could stay with them. But that was dangerously close to wishing for something that he wasn’t at liberty to want. Not now, not with a woman who was part of a case he was in charge of.

Focus up, Verras, he told himself. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.

He gave himself one last backward glance, then left the house.

#valiant sarah mcguire #saville gramton #galen verras #will (valiant) #king eldin #princess lissa #modern au #this is from the same au as the first and only valiant fic i've ever written btw #tw for death threats and minor injury #writing stories is a kind of magic too #februfluff2024 #februfluff #monthly challenge

[wroteclassicaly]

Below, you will find my complete Cody Fern Characters masterlist! It includes prompts, drabbles, series, one-shots, concepts, headcanons, and MORE! The character of Michael Langdon will have an individual masterlist, the rest will be listed below, and as they are written!

* Copyright @wroteclassicaly - Do NOT redistribute, post to another platform, translate, or plagiarize my work (this includes AI) — under any circumstances! Reblogs, comments/feedback are ALWAYS appreciated! *

AHS Masterlist

My library blog

Main Masterlist

Key:

❤️‍🔥 = smut

💔 = angst, depression, & anger

💝 = fluff & comfort

Series titles are in bold red

Appropriate warnings and tags will ALWAYS be added!

———————————————————————————

Michael Langdon Masterlist

———————————————————————————

Andy Dolan:

Andy Dolan x Fem!Reader - Angst Prompt #1 💔

Andy Dolan x Fem!Reader - Angst Prompt #2 💔

Andy Dolan x Fem!Reader - Angst Prompt #3 💔❤️‍🔥

Andy Dolan - Headcanons w/ Virgin!Reader ❤️‍🔥

Waves of Blue - ❤️‍🔥💔💝

Jim Mason:

Rocking Into It ❤️‍🔥

Motion - (Jim Mason x Plus sized Fem!Reader Series )

Chapter One Teaser 💝

Future Teaser ❤️‍🔥💔💝

Secondary Future Teaser ❤️‍🔥

Duncan Shepherd:

Duncan taking care of you when you’re sick - (Headcanon)💝

Soft sex with Duncan - (Headcanon) 💝❤️‍🔥

Valiant Thor:

Valiant Thor x Fem!Reader - ❤️‍🔥

Stan Vogel:

My Cabin - ❤️‍🔥

Xavier Plympton:

Ride - ❤️‍🔥

Dibs - (Xavier Plympton x Plus sized Fem!Reader Series)

Chapter One

Crossovers:

Listen to That - (Duncan Shepherd x Michael Langdon x Fem!Reader) ❤️‍🔥

When the Tide Meets the Shore - (Andy Dolan x Jim Mason x Fem!Reader Series) 💔💝❤️‍🔥

Series Teaser - ❤️‍🔥💔

Thomas Browne:

(Coming SOON)

#my writing #kristenwrites #my work #michael langdon #duncan shepherd #jim mason #andy dolan #xavier plympton #valiant thor #stan vogel #ahs #ahsfx #american horror story #ahs8 #ahs 10 #ahs: apocalypse #american horror stories #ahs: 1984 #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon fic #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #xavier plympton x reader #jim mason x reader #andy dolan x reader #duncan shepherd x reader #ahs fanfiction #ahs fic #ahs apocalypse fanfiction

[mechacringekitty]

oc lore stuff...very nervous to post this so be nice plspls

#it's about valiant and seething. from vals perspective #they arent a very good writer and that's why it's so disjointed. i promise i can write real poetry its like that on purpose. promise. #oc talk; valiant #valiants journal #great tag lets see if i ever use it again #oc #poetry #mutuals who know val...enjoy your tumblr exclusive food ig

[radix-pedis-diaboli]

I've been writing the new chapter of Memento Mori, which now sits comfortably at 10k words, and while i think it had great potential, I can't say I'm completely satisfied with how the entire story has turned out. I think it has a very weak structure and that Holmes and Watson's relationship could have been developed further by expanding the investigation side of things a bit more. I've been thinking about going back over it once i'm done with it for good to polish it up and improve those weak points as best as i can.

#.txt #i'm very bad at structuring stories. this was a valiant attempt but a failure nonetheless lmao #another issue i'm having is that i don't think i can't write anything else involving h/w that i or others haven't said before #my view on them is rather fossilised i'm afraid #and i whatever feebly diff ideas i might have abt them have already been expanded on by much better writers than myself

[the-introverted-writer-for-life]

Whumpuary Day 1: captivity | snow | secret revealed

@whumpuary

Fandom: Narnia

CW: Hypothermia, blood

"Peter..." Susan murmured, her steady movements with her pencil ceasing. "Edmund said he was going for a quick walk - he said he'd be back well before lunch."

Peter looked up from the document he was reading. "We've had lunch. Since we started ruling here at Cair Paravel, I've never known him to miss a deadline... Especially not by this much," he mused.

Susan snapped her sketchbook closed and rose from her seat at the window. "Well, that does it. I'm going to look for him. It's freezing out there; who knows what might have happened?"

She made a beeline for the door, dumping her book and pencils on the table. "Wait, Su. I'll come as well. Lucy can stay here, and that document was getting on my nerves for about the last time I could bear it," Peter said, standing up from his chair and joining Susan to go and get their weapons and cloaks.

------

How long had he been laying there?

The cold attacked his soaked skin like an army of needles, penetrating into his inner body and draining hope from his spirit.

Immobile, on his back, Edmund felt once again the sharp bite of the wound in his side. The snow on the ground had given way to ice at just the right moment for him to lose his footing, and through the shock he had not missed the sudden stab of a stray tree root in the side of his torso.

Luckily, he did not reckon it to be a deep wound, and there were high chances of survival - provided he got help. And soon.

Feeling the sting once again, Edmund touched his hand to the injury, sending a bolt of pain rippling through his body. When he took his hand away, it was drenched in blood - yet he had only held it there for a couple of seconds, if that.

Heart beginning to race, he realised he was losing blood fast - far faster than he had expected. Chances of getting out of this were decreasing rapidly. But he had to stay calm. If his heart pumped more blood than it was already round his body, he might bleed out before half an hour had passed.

Oh, please, Aslan. Help me... Send Lucy. Please.

"Peter... Lion's mane! PETER!!!"

No... That couldn't be...

Someone fell to their knees beside him, cradling his head in her arms.

"Susan...?" Edmund choked out.

"Ed! Aslan's mane, you had us worried!" A second voice, male, joined their sister.

Edmund closed his eyes, too exhausted to make speaking worth the energy.

"Susan his lips are blue. We have to get him back to Lucy before he freezes out here," Peter said, his voice shaky with urgency.

"Can we even move him, though? Have you seen his side?"

"We have to try."

Susan gave in, hugging her arms further around Edmund and lifting him gently to a sitting position. He cringed in pain at the movement, eventually needing to be laid down again.

"Peter we can't. He can't be moved. One of us will have to go back for Lucy," Susan pleaded.

Peter's gaze darkened with anxiety as he looked at his wounded brother.

"If it's of any help to your gracious majesties, I would be honoured to be of service," a shrill voice peeped from the branches overhead.

Susan smiled in relief at the bird. "Yes, please. Send Lucy to us with her cordial, quickly. Thank you so much."

-----

It wasn't long before the fourth sibling could be heard crashing through the trees in her haste to get to her brother. One, two drops of her special ointment were poured into Edmund's lips, and then they waited.

"Susan... The blood's stopped!" Peter remarked joyfully.

Edmund sat up, of his own accord, and Lucy couldn't help but notice his lips had gone from blue to a healthy red in no time at all. She embraced her brother gleefully, soon getting crushed as the two older siblings joined in.

"Thank you, Aslan," Edmund whispered, inaudibly to those around him. But deep down in his heart, he knew the great Lion had heard his prayers.

Thanks for reading! /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\

#hypothermia #whump #whump writing #whumpee #writing #whumpuary #whumpuary 2024 #day 1 #edmund pevensie #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #narnia #chronicles of narnia #high king peter #queen susan the gentle #king edmund #narnia whump #lucy pevensie #queen lucy the valiant

[doodle-pops]

Dating Fingon Would Include...

❄︎ You could be doing anything with him, and he’ll consider it a date. He loves every moment the both of you spend together. When he can’t spend time with you, he’ll write letters in absolute detail, informing you about this day.

❄︎ Now that you’re courting, this means that he’s free to deliver all those kisses he’d suppressing. He’s very affectionate. PDA isn’t something that bothers him at all, however, he wouldn’t go all out to smoother you. He has his limits and doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

❄︎ As much as he wants everyone to know that the both of you are together, he still wants some things left for private.

❄︎ Praises and compliments are something you will not hear every day. He wants you to know how grateful he is for having a wonderful person like you in his life.

❄︎ His mother was the first person to meet you. She was thrilled to learn that her son found someone. His father was next, and he drilled you. It felt like an interrogation, lucky Finno was there to ease the questioning. His father just wants to make sure that you’re not a bad influence on his son.

❄︎ As much as everything with you is a date, he enjoys horseback riding and picnics with you. Sometimes you’d both go for a swim in the lake, reminiscing on how you both met.

❄︎ It’s moments like these that he cherishes with you the most. When you both are in your comfort zone, without a care in the world, when he can be himself without having his father force him into royal duties.

❄︎ Because of this, he spends a lot of his time reminiscing about the future with you. A life away from royal duties. Where he can come home and have you wrap your arms around him and make him forget about the outside world.

❄︎ He loves holding your hand. Once it’s in his grasp, he’s never letting go, so good luck getting your hands back. It’s his now.

❄︎ This leads to him zoning out a lot on your dates. You would have to snap him out of it, mostly kissing him. Sometimes, he would purposefully zone out so you can kiss him.

❄︎ There are moments in his life during the time of Beleriand when he's stressed and facing his inner demons. He really appreciates when you stick around and attempt to understand his pain and suffering.

❄︎ Even then, he keeps all his emotions to himself, not wanting you to learn about them and consider them your problem. You'd never have to worry about him becoming distant because he's always fighting to be happy for your comfort. As long as you're happy, so is he.

❄︎ One time when you were cuddling, you got up to answer the door, which led to you letting go of his hands. The look of audacity on his face. ‘How dare you? How dare you release your hold on me? Why? How could you?’ you felt so bad because he looked like a kicked puppy.

❄︎ You spent the rest of the day making it up to him. You had told him that he should get into acting, he’d be an amazing actor. Your relationship with him will be full of endless fun.

❄︎ Expect to see a familiar redhead popping in and out from time to time. He’s also your best friend because he’s your lover’s best friend.

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @starborne0661 @floraroselaughter @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @singleteapot @edensrose @wandererindreams

#fingon x reader #fingon imagine #fingon headcanon #findekáno #Astaldo #Fingon #The Valiant #house of fingolfin #nolofinweans #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion headcanon #middle earth imagine #middle earth headcanons #middle earth x reader #x reader fluff #x reader insert #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[ruth-t]

Call me insane, but maybe I'm just allergic to mediocrity, and bravery is my chosen antihistamine.

#aesthetic #quotes #dark academia #writers #love quotes #poetry #bookstagram #lovers #bookedit #writing #courage #fear #allergies #antihistamines #normalcy #yolo #brave #valiant #valiance