“I’m too old for this kidnapping bullshit,” Tony whispered,
shivering, and tugged the collar of his shirt tighter around his neck in a
futile attempt to block out the freezing rain. Forty-five years old and still
being carted around like so much luggage. God.
He didn’t think about how glad he was that there was no
sand, no heat, no bright lights in the dark. He didn’t think about how glad he
was to break out of a building instead of a cave. He didn’t think about how no
one had come for him, and what that meant for the monsters that had been
screaming when he’d been taken.
The forest was cold, and as much as the conifers blocked the
onslaught of rain, they did little to protect Tony from the rain dripping off
the needles and onto him. He tucked himself in the lee of a larger tree, taking
a few deep breaths, but it hurt—every gasp hurt. The metal casing was cold in
his chest, making the skin around it burn and then spread out into a dull ache.
His fingers were beginning to go numb.
I might rewrite this to be more concise later but Aradia Megido’s entire character arc was centered around a girl who had been controlled her entire life both by societal standards, other people, and supernatural forces/fate itself, and then was manipulated by said forces into being a harbringer of the end of her world along with her friends, MASSIVELY HARMING HER PERSONALLY AND HER RELATIONSHIPS WITH HER FRIENDS IN THE PROCESS.
But even through this she STILL ends up finding personal agency, being completely solely Herself in control of her own destiny, as well as learning to be kind and turning to a life centered around simply Helping People because she Wants To even when paradox space forgets them.
the fact that she is flanderized so much by the fandom into ‘that creepy girl who wants her friends to die’ or as Sollux’s arm candy (a boy she NEVER WAS IN A CONFIRMED RELATIONSHIP WITH IN THE FIRST PLACE) ESPECIALLY when she’s such a hopeful character is frankly, awful, especially as a character who has been shown to now only want to do good and keep her independence through being alive just Please Let Her Be Herself.
Because I’m ridiculously excited about the Cyborg!Onni and Cyborg!Lalli revelations in City of Hunger, I decided to try my hand at drawing a Cyborg!Tuuri. I like the idea that she’s still a mechanic in this world (and possibly works on cybernetic limbs in addition to vehicles? We had an entertaining discussion in SynS chat about her adding flashing lights and noises to Onni’s arms) so having a cybernetic arm with a detachable end that she can switch out for various tools (like a welding torch or soldering iron) would probably be useful.
Also a cybernetic eye, because, well, it looks cool.
This is a fanfiction based off of theseFeysand baby headcanons I wrote, and this fic itself revolves around Feysand’s daughter and her mate. I got a few requests to continue their story (shoutout to @enigmaofmyinsanemind), so I decided to do a chapter by chapter fic for them. This is chapter one, and I really hope you like it! xx
Eleana thought that after seven years of gruelling training
that she would be used to the pain her muscles felt. She had been training in
this Illyrian camp since she was ten years old, and every day since she has
worked as hard as possible, causing the aching and stiffness in her body. She
was grateful for her training, not only was she strong and fit, but the lithe
way of her body never went unnoticed either. Especially by all the males at
She supposed it might just take a long time for her to get
used to the pain. Her father, the High Lord of the Night Court, and his pseudo
brothers and her uncles Cassian and Azriel never seemed to feel any pain after
training. Neither did her mother or Aunts Mor, Nesta and Elain. They all seemed
older than the cauldron itself to Eleana.
Putting the pain to the back of her mind, she trudged back
to the cabin she lived in with her mother. Eleana closed her eyes, she knew the
way around this camp like the back of her hand and she needed the darkness and
quiet to relax. With her wings tucked in tight, she took the instinctual
journey back to her home. It didn’t matter the weather, like now where it was
hours away from raining, or where she was in the camp, she could find her way
home in the darkness anywhere. Her father told her it was her special little
talent, and just another way of her manipulating the dark. She thought it was
just good memory.
She hated to admit to herself how much she missed her father,
or High Lord Rhysand as everyone around her said. Everyone she knew either
talked about him as clinically as a general would talk about a war or they
would hero worship him because of his famous defeat of the King of Hybern
nearly a century ago. Her mother Feyre missed him so much that sometimes she
suffocated the room with it and Eleana would have to make some piss poor excuse
to get out of the house.
Her father would visit as often as he could, she had no
doubt that he missed them as much as they missed him, but it was nothing
compared to if they were actually all together like they were when they lived
Eleana was a mixture of both her parents, but she liked to
think that she was especially like her father. He was so kind and generous
toward everybody that he met, not to mention brave and courageous when it came
to a fight- the exact equal to his mate. She wishes that one day she can be as
strong as him and her mother; they are quite an expectation to live up to.
“Are you alright, miss?” A startled and unfamiliar voice
said from beside her.
Eleana opened her eyes and mouth to shoo away the stranger but
stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the most beautiful male she’d ever
His skin was the richest gold, matching the shock of blonde
hair he had. She’d only seen a handful of Illyrians with blonde hair, and all
had been exceptionally attractive, but none compared to the male before
her. His eyes were the deepest black she had ever
seen, she couldn’t even differentiate between his pupil and his iris. What skin
she could see despite his clothes were covered in scars of various sizes,
perhaps the largest one tracing across his bicep. He also had a very thin scar
from his left eye angling across his cheek, ending at his sharp jaw line, but
it was so faint that you wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t looking so intently
at his features. Eleana guessed that there were a lot of females, and even males,
that looked at him the way she was now.
“Um…” Eleana had never had trouble talking to boys before, never. Not that she would ever let her
parents know that.
He had a small but confused and concerned smile on his face,
showing her that he had dimples on his cheeks. “I was just wondering because
it’s not often that you see a woman like yourself wandering around with their
eyes closed- or any woman or person at all really.” His voice was deep and as
smooth as honey, and Eleana could listen to him talk all day.
“A woman like myself?” Eleana flashed him her best, and
admittedly most attractive, grin.
His eyes sparkled as they took in her smile and the rest of
her. The dark blue hair that was almost black, the purplish eyes, the tan skin,
and finally they raked up and down her body taking in the obvious curves. She
knew that she looked older than her seventeen years, maybe the same twenty
something as the male in front of her.
“I guess I’m just surprised you don’t have a throng of
people vying for your attention. It surprises me that you’re alone.” He was
definitely flirting with her. The smile now on his face was more seductive than
the concerned one he wore before, and he had taken a slight step towards her.
“I don’t need a man,” She stepped towards him while winking,
only a few feet in between them now.
“I can see that-”
He flinched at the interruption, and Eleana just rolled her
eyes. Of course her obnoxious cousin came to find her now.
Felix was the oldest of her cousins. He was 24 and the
mirror image of his father Cassian. He was tall and wild looking, with dark
hair and brown eyes. Eleana rather liked him when he wasn’t interrupting her,
but it just so happened that he interrupted her all the fucking time.
“What do you want, Felix?” She huffed. He strolled up to
them, splashing mud as he did so. Unfortunately for the blonde male in front of
her, he got dirt flicked all over the front of his flying leathers.
She hadn’t really noticed them until now, only that he was
wearing them, but now she could see that they were very old and tattered,
ripped in places they shouldn’t be and not to mention it looked as though they
couldn’t protect against anything, let alone the sharp winds of the mountain or
cauldron forbid a weapon.
“I didn’t come here for you princess, I need him.” Felix
said. The one thing you could count on Felix for was his utter and unnecessary
cheerfulness. He was more than deadly on a battle field, and as cunning as a
fox, but you would never guess it from his upbeat, positive nature. The only
sign of the killing power he possessed besides his obvious physical attributes
were the five siphons adorning his body. There was even talk that he may need
to receive more the older he became if there was to be any chance of him
containing his overwhelming power.
Felix walked to, was
it Kaden? Eleana thinks that’s the name she heard Felix call him. They
clapped each other’s shoulders and grinned at one another. They are friends
“I need you to come help me oversee the female aerial unit.
Hard work, I know, but someone has to do it.” You could tell from both their
grins that neither found training or ‘overseeing’ (more like ogling) the female
flying units overly difficult.
“You could come if you like, Eleana.” The tone Felix used showed
that in fact no, Eleana could not come if she liked. Not that he could stop her
if she did want to. His father may be training him as a general and he may
already lead squadrons of his own, but she was still technically his superior,
a position she had been abusing since they both realised it.
At the name Eleana, Kaden’s eyes widened and darted back and
forth between the two cousins. It was almost as if he knew the name was
familiar, but couldn’t quite place where he had heard it before.
“How do you two know each other?” Felix asked, oblivious to
“We’re new friends,” Eleana replied, stepping next to Kaden
and resting a hand on the shoulder Felix wasn’t touching. His very broad, very
muscled shoulder. Kaden couldn’t help but grin at her and rest a hand on top of
Oh, Eleana liked this game very much.
Felix, who was standing to them closer than he now wanted to
be, rolled his eyes and snorted at their dallying.
“Oh please,” Felix
scoffed. “Don’t let her fool you, Kaden. She eats men alive and spits them out
once she’s done. Such ugly manners from the Heir to the Night Court.”
Kaden visibly paled at Felix’s words, and soundlessly
stepped away from Eleana and Felix so that neither was touching him. “Heir?
You’re High Lord Rhysand’s and High Lady Feyre’s daughter?”
“Yes, I live here with my mother. I was on the way home when
you interrupted me, not that I mind at all.” Eleana was still grinning at him, but
he now only had a polite, formal smile for her.
“Felix, would you mind giving me and Eleana a moment alone?”
Felix raised an eye brow at Kaden’s request, but nonetheless made his way to down
the path leading to the mountain stationing the aerial units, muttering for
Kaden to come find him when he was finished.
Kaden watched Felix leave and once he was out of hearing
range turned to talk to Eleana.
“Where are you from?” She queried before he could say
anything, “I know most people in this camp and I’ve never seen you before, I
would remember if I had.” She gave his toned body an appreciative look.
“I moved here a month ago, Lady Eleana, and have been
training with Felix since.” He used a voice she often heard males use when they
talked to her Uncle Cassian or Uncle Azriel. It was a vast turnaround from the
flirtatious way he was talking mere minutes ago.
“Are you living with Felix? It’s about time someone put that
bastard in his place.” She joked.
Kaden visibly cringed away at her sentence, taking another
step away from her. Pink bloomed across his cheeks and she could see that it
extended down his neck and past the collar of his leathers to his chest.
“No, Lady Eleana, I live in the tents with the other…
Eleana inwardly groaned at her idiocy. She should have known
looking at his leathers that he was not a… high standing member of the
community. Not that she cared at all. Some of the best people she knew had been
born out of wedlock, and she would never, never
care about someone’s parentage. No
wonder Kaden had reacted the way he had when he heard she was Heir to the Night
Court, and fuck she can’t believe she
just called Felix a bastard when it was now obvious Kaden had lived with that
stigma probably his whole life. She knew from her Uncles Cassian and Azriel’s
histories that being a bastard meant that you were usually treated cruelly and
indecently by nobility, something she actively made sure she never did.
“I’m sorry about my behaviour, Lady Eleana. I had no right
to be so forward with you and I sincerely apologize. I-I usually don’t have the
audacity to do such things, but spending so much time in this camp,” with
Felix, she knew he meant, “seems to have given me looser morals and blurred my
understanding of my place here.”
“You don’t need to call me Lady Eleana, barely anybody
does.” It was the only reply she could think of. She disagreed with everything
he said, he had only been as flirtatious with her as she had with him and it’s
not like she didn’t want the attention from him. Cauldron, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and
with every word he spoke he became more and more fascinating to her.
“They should show you more respect,” as said it, he realised
that he was looking her directly in the eyes, and deeming himself unworthy,
bowed his head respectfully so he was now looking at ground rather than at her.
“I should go find Felix before he starts rutting on the female warriors, if
you’ll excuse me Lady Eleana.”
Before she could answer him, he spun on his heels and walked
away. She saw his shoulders sag and him run his hands through his hair. It was
like she could feel how flustered and embarrassed he was.
She would feel awful if he spent the rest of his day and
mother knows how long else feeling like that. He was already quite a ways away,
his strides long and determined. Eleana thought she might melt in a puddle
about how tall he was, nearly a foot taller than her.
Without really thinking about what she was doing, she
winnowed so that she was standing directly in front of him, her hands braced on
He stopped abruptly and steadied himself from the sudden impact
by grabbing her waist. She beamed at him and as his eyes met hers in question
it was like a bolt of lightning shot through her.
She gasped in surprise, only making him become more
“Lady Eleana? Is everything okay?”
No, she wanted to reply, because it was obvious she knew
something that he did not.
How would we like it if stars were to burn / With passion for us we cannot return / If equal affection cannot be / Let the more loving one be me. [The more loving one, W.H. Auden]
Shadows In The Spotlight
He’d always watched her from the sidelines.
She was never alone, the woman they called the Herald of Andraste, always surrounded by people far more important than he was. There was always someone clamoring for her attention, the ambassador, the spymaster, her companions, and she gave them so much of her time she had little left for the likes of him.
He was just a member of a mercenary group hired by her organization. He wasn’t even a cog in the machine, he just was. The ale that slid down his throat was as bitter as the thought that preceded it.
He vowed to be wiser. To not let a pretty elf get to him. He told himself that she was nothing special, that there was nothing especially appealing about the way her chestnut brown hair curled past her shoulders, nothing unique about those delicate, tree-like markings on her face, nothing remarkable about those sky-blue eyes. She was just another elf. That was it.
He didn’t take anyone back to his tent that night.
Then Haven fell, and he gave his all trying to protect the village, to protect her, but despite his efforts he wasn’t allowed to be by her side. That privilege went to his boss, and it was the first time Krem glowered at the man, mentally vowing to do bodily harm to him if anything happened to Lavellan, but trusting Bull to keep her safe nonetheless.
And then… Bull had returned to their group as they fled into the mountains.
He was alone.
Not even the blizzard that swirled around him matched the ice that was his heart. All he could think of in that moment was I should have told her, why didn’t I tell her, oh sweet Maker let her be safe, please let her be alive, please, I need to tell her, I have to tell her, she can’t be dead.
But the hours passed, and as the wolves howled into the silence of the icy night, he slowly began to lose hope.
A shout. “Thank the Maker! She’s alive!”
He could have wept for joy.
That her condition was grave, he expected, and kept watch over her, even if it was from a distance. He ensured that she was able to recover in privacy, keeping away the villagers who wanted to get a glimpse of the elf who had saved them. Bull shot him several looks, and he suspected that the boss knew how he felt, but at that moment, with Lavellan sequestered away in a hut, bones broken, blood lost, and fever raging, he couldn’t care less.
There was strength in her soul, a grim determination in every muscle, every sinew. She recovered, and she walked again, inspiring hope in all who saw her. Krem decided to make his move - the timing seemed appropriate - when she was whisked away by the elven mage, Solas.
His heart sank.
He knew she spent a great deal of time in conversation with the older elf, and could understand her attraction to him. Solas was knowledgeable, well-read, well-travelled, and he was able to teach Lavellan things that Krem never could. And he was part of her trusted team. How would he ever be able to compete with that?
Bleakly, he turned away.
They trudged through the Frostbacks, and he was kept busy with one task or another. In any case, he doubted if he would have been able to catch a moment with her; Lavellan was far too busy scouting ahead for signs of the mysterious fortress that Solas had told her about. A part of him, a crooked part of him, hoped that there was no fortress, that what he had told her was a lie. If there’s no fortress, the demon on his shoulder whispered, he would have lied to her, and she will never be able to trust him again.
Luck, of course, was not on his side. Skyhold was magnificent, and the last of his hopes crashed against the massive stone blocks that made up its walls.
And then she was lifted to Inquisitor, a title bearing power beyond anything he could imagine, yet all he saw was her drifting away even further from him. There was no chance for him. Not in this world.
Blessedly, his mind had little time to brood, for there was too much work to be done. The Chargers were kept busy with clearing out debris from the long-abandoned keep, and it was when he was in the middle of breaking down an old, rotting bed that he heard the door close, far too gently for the wind to have done it.
He turned around.
Lavellan was standing before him, her eyes fixed on his, her hands clasped behind her back. Distantly, he wondered why she looked so nervous, but the most prominent thought in his mind was why is she here and what does she want?
“I, uhhh, I believe congratulations are due,” he stammered out when she said nothing.
“Oh! I- um, thank you,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the floor.
Though her tunic was streaked with dirt in several places, and her hair was tousled and tangled by the wind, he thought she’d never looked prettier as she did now, the sunlight shining golden on her, making her seem ethereal.
“Can I help you with something, Inquisitor?” he asked, and she flinched.
“Yes,” she seemed to come to a decision, and stiffened her spine. “I don’t want you to call me Inquisitor.”
“Wh-what would you like me to call you then?” he was baffled.
She took two steps in his direction, and it brought her almost flush to him. She was so close, he could see the specks of sapphire scattered through the iris.
“Sora,” she replied, her voice little more than a whisper. “My name is Sora.”
“Sora,” he breathed, the syllables rolling pleasantly over his tongue. “What can I do for you?”
She looked at him, a long, searching look that he thought went straight to his soul; he stood, transfixed, under the power of her gaze. Then she blinked, and the air around them shifted slightly, a light breeze swirling around them.
She leaned up-
-and kissed him.
He was too stunned to respond, certain he was in some kind of dream, but the warmth of her lips was too good to be real, the taste of her, sweet and heady, he could not have imagined, and Maker, she’s here, she’s here and she’s kissing me-
He pulled her close to him, his hands on her waist, and deepened the kiss, the small whimper she made thrilling his heart. When it ended - and it ended far too soon for him, he would never tire, ever, of kissing her, it was just not possible - they drew apart, both breathing erratically.
“Wh-” he began, just as she said, “I’m-”
“You go first,” he said, hope once again sprouting within him.
She gnawed on her lip, drawing attention to it - Maker, he wanted to kiss her again, and he groaned internally - then cleared her throat. “I’m not sorry for that,” she said, almost defiantly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”
He could only stare at her, stunned.
She… wanted… him?
She wanted him.
She wanted him.
He claimed her lips again, unable to stop himself, pouring months of pent-up emotions and feelings and desire into it, and when she pulled away, gasping for breath, he enjoyed the sight of her lips, now kiss-swollen and plump.
“I think,” she began with a small smile, “that perhaps I was not the only one who felt that way.”
“No,” he murmured, moving closer to her. “Perhaps I can show you just how I feel?”
She placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb tracing his jaw. “What a wonderful idea.”
Hc idea ? Spideychelle breakup sex 😅. I love your smut and angst so this baby came to mind.
between the dates of November 12th to the 29th, Michelle thinks that Peter is dead. it had been after catching a red spot bounding in the background of a live coverage, and seconds later the red settles, an explosion goes off. he doesn’t answer her phone calls or frantic texting either or reply to her voicemails
Michelle believes that he’s dead, and the part that eats at her is that the last things spoken were in heated fits of anger and frustration and her tired, exhausted of never being sure if he’ll come home safe or not, if he’ll live or die or listen for one goddamn time about getting an infection checked out and to stop stringing her weak little heart along with breakup/makeups due to his fucking hero guilt about her safety, which, by the way, she’s pretty damn confident she has under control and is able.
she watched him blow up in the distance while she’s watching the television at 3:28 in the afternoon. she doesn’t keep her cool.
her first thought is to call May and see if the other woman had been able to get in contact with him—to her surprise, May hadn’t known. Michelle is hyperventilating over the phone, hysterically crying in the privacy of a public bathroom stall
she gets flashbacks of other times there had been false death scars, but never had he gone up in flames with shrapnel flying
michelle’s tears stream uncontrollably; she tries to remind herself that this could be just another fake alarm, tries to steel herself, wipe her face, but the image replays in vivid detail in her mind. she opens her phone, dials. it goes straight to voicemail. eyes squeeze and another tear leaks out. she asks in a quivering, mall voice into her phone, “if you get this, please, please let me know you’re alive”
the first week passes and ends without a response, a phone call, some kind of sign, anything. she and May have rewatched the footage many times
needless to say, it’s quiet and sullen in their households. two weeks come and past. the bodies of eddie brock and otto octavius are found , separately, among other criminals. but there’s much damage and debris and several bodies are not identifiable
on the last day of the month, michelle is asleep when there’s a rap on her window. not caring that she’s still in pajamas, bra-less, and silk scarf, she bolts from underneath her blanket covers to her window, yanks it open. peter’s in a hoodie and sweatpants and quit out of breath on her bedroom window ledge.
and michelle’s smile hurts her face as she pulls him inside and throws her arms around him in a tight hug. she asks if he’s visited May; Peter informs that is where he’s just come from
his hands cradle her face, apologizing, telling that he’s never going to leave again. and the his mouth is on hers and they’re kissing like they’ve done so, so many times—it’s whispered words against eager lips—she pulls him closer, desperate and longing, and it heats
then she’s holding him close by the collar of his hoodie as she lies back on her bed. their lips never leave, and peter chuckles at how quickly her legs raise to bracket him. against him, she whispers, “don’t ever, ever do that again.”
he asks for clarification
“don’t leave me again—”
“i just said i wasn't—”
“and don’t do that bravado about breaking up for ‘my safety’ and all that. promise me?”
reluctantly, he promises.
his weights keeps her to the bed, and there’s a small note made somewhere in the back of her mind that there isn’t a scratch on him when he leans up to remove his jacket and then his shirt. but the thought doesn’t stay when mmichelle’s hand is dragging down from his neck to grab a handful of the waistband of his sweat and usher him close again. her nightshirt is bunched up and left around her wrist as his mouth travels and latches on a breasts.
michelle moans. peter mumbles into her skin and she’s growing hot
michelle softly pleads for more. peter lets her.
she’s a hundred degrees under his touch, both struggling to keep quiet in this late hour
when she’s kicking off her shorts and he’s wiggling out of his sweatpants, he captures her mouth again before lowering to the awaiting nerves between her thighs.
after he’s finished and michelle’s unwound, he trails open mouthed kisses across her throat, and michelle’s hand is lowering, whimpering for him, her hand searching, searching, searching
michelle wakers at the shrill alarm of her cellphone. in her bed, she’s alone, and still fully clothed. her bedroom window locked. there isn’t evidence of another present having been there, like she wants to believe from the ebbing grasps of her dream. turning over, she lets the alarm go to snooze and pulls a pillow into her arms. it had been a dream. on the news, spider-man has still not ben seen or heard since the explosion, and citizens have begun to assume to worst.
wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt, michelle jabs her phone’s alarm off when it rings again. sits up in bed. stretches. on her phone, she has five missed calls. none of them from May Parker. all of them an unnamed, unknown phone number
i guess i ended up making this into makeup smut instead…
“Fox dung! I’m a loyal ShadowClan cat. If I’m ever made deputy or
leader it will be because I have earned it myself - and my Clanmates and
StarClan wish it. You’re twisting the warrior code to get what you
want, just like you did when you were alive.”
A delicious smell wafted towards me as I walked closer to the Great Hall. Finally, a whole week of classes was done and I could relax tonight before diving into more work tomorrow.
“Hi y/f/n!” I called, waving at my best friend before sitting down next to her and piling my plate with food. I was happily chewing on some salad when Draco Malfoy walked in. I ducked my head, hoping that he wouldn’t see me. He always picked on me because I was a muggle-born and he had something against muggle-borns.
“Oi, y/n! Do all mudbloods stuff their faces like a cow or is that just you?” I set my fork down, my appetite suddenly disappearing.
“I’ll be at the common room.” I muttered to y/f/n.
“Wait, you have to eat! Y/n, you can’t starve yourself just because a stupid git is laughing at you for nibbling at a salad.” I ignored her and speed-walked out of the Great Hall. I didn’t turn where I should’ve to get to the y/house common room, but instead, I went the opposite way to head to the Black Lake.
It was cold outside, as it was November, almost December. I set my bag and wand down and stood by the lake, my hands stuck in my pockets as I stared into the water. Sometimes, I wished that I knew how to swim so that I could dive right into the lake and escape Draco’s constant taunts and jeers.
I stood quietly for a few minutes, and heard footsteps hurrying towards me. I didn’t pay any attention to them– I would turn around if the person wanted to talk to me.
“Hey, y/n!” I groaned inwardly at the sound of Draco’s voice. I didn’t turn around. If I did, he would probably just comment something like “hey you’ve got a bit of mud all over your face, mudblood.”
“Hey, muggle-borns should learn to respect their superior pure-bloods!” he shouted, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around.
“Shove off, Malfoy.” I grumbled.
“What did you say?!” he stepped closer to me and narrowed his eyes at me.
“I said, go away and fuck yourself!” Anger boiled over and I couldn’t control what I said. I braced myself for another yelling match, but all he did was keep peering at me with squinted eyes. I refused to look away from him, afraid that I might show some sign of weakness.
Suddenly, Draco reached out and shoved me. I stumbled backwards, caught off guard, and fell into the water. I saw Draco laughing as I thrashed around, trying to keep myself above water.
“Draco… help!” I spluttered, water going up my nose. Draco just bent over laughing even harder. I could feel my robes being weighed down by the water and I slowly sank down. Draco showed no sign of looking up or seeing that I was sinking.
“Help…” I gasped one last time before water covered my head.
I knew I was developing feelings for that muggle-born girl, y/n. I couldn’t help it. But I couldn’t let anyone see my true feelings for her, so even though I felt horrible about it, I taunted her. Every time I threw the word “mudblood” at her, she winced as if I had just punched her. My stomach dropped every time I saw that look on her face, but what if my parents heard about me liking a muggle-born? I wouldn’t be able to step back inside the house.
I entered the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle flanking me. I strutted over to y/n, who was picking at her tiny plate of salad.
“Oi, y/n, do mud bloods always stuff their faces like a cow or is that just you?” I watched her face and immediately regretted saying it when she pushed the plate away and got up.
“I’ll be in the common room.” she told her friend. Her friend tried to persuade her to eat, then sadly watched her walk away before glaring at me and telling me to go away. I sat down at my table for a brief second before deciding to follow y/n.
“You guys stay here. I’ll be right back.” Crabb and Goyle nodded and barely heard me, as they were stuffing their mouths with rolls. I exited the Great Hall and followed the distant sound of footsteps until I was at the doorway leading to the Black Lake. I watched y/n as she stood by the bank of the lake, looking into it. After a few minutes, I decided to go up to her and say something.
“Hey, y/n!” I called. She tensed up a little, but didn’t respond. I grabbed her shoulder and made her face me.
“Hey, muggle-borns should learn to respect their superior pure-bloods!” I jeered in her face, feeling horrible with every word that came out of my mouth.
“Shove off, Malfoy.” She stared right back at me, determination in her eyes. I peered into her beautiful y/e/c eyes, and my arms moved without my permission, pushing her into the water. I saw a flash of horror flicker across her face and I bent over, pretending to laugh while in reality, I was pummeling myself over and over again for being so stupid. I heard her call my name, but didn’t look up, scared of what she might do to me.
Suddenly, there was silence. My gaze slowly drifted up, and to my horror, y/n wasn’t anywhere to be seen. There was only a ripple in the water where she had fallen in. I frantically looked around, praying that she had gotten out. But there was no one.
“Shit. Fuck. Fuck. I’m so fucking stupid. Crap. Please let her be alive.” I stripped my robe and shirt off, and dived in after y/n. My eyes adjusted to the murky water, and I desperately pushed myself through the water, searching for any sign of her.
To my left, there was a flash of white and billowing robes. I kicked in that direction, and caught hold of y/n. She was unconscious, but I could see her struggling and battling against drowning. I shot up as fast as I could with y/n gripped firmly in my arms. She rolled onto the ground and I clambered out after her.
She wasn’t breathing.
I pumped at her stomach, her chest, anywhere that I might be able to save her. Suddenly, a burst of water gushed out of her mouth and her eyes shot open. I sighed in relief and sank down next to her. She spluttered and pushed herself on her elbows.
“Draco?” I refused to look up at y/n in shame. “Did you push me in?” I made the smallest movement with my head, indicating a nod.
“I’m sorry, y/n. I took it too far. I didn’t know you couldn’t swim. I’m such a bastard. I’m sorry.” I expected her to lash out at me, and I prepared myself. If she decided to beat me up, I was going to let her. I deserved to be expelled. To my surprise, a wet hand touched my knee.
“Thanks for saving me, Draco.” I looked up at her, gaping.
“You aren’t going to beat me up? Tell Dumbledore? Get me expelled?” Y/n twisted her mouth and looked at me.
“I really should, shouldn’t I?”
“Well, I can’t do that to you. All I want to know is why do you harass me more than any other muggle-born in this school?”
I took a deep breath. “Y/n, this isn’t going to make sense to you. But I like you a lot and if my parents found out that I like a muggle-born, they would kill me. So I tried to hide it but I almost ended up killing you.” I buried my face in my hands and forced myself to hold back my tears.
Y/n’s soft hands peeled my hands off my face.
“Look at me, Draco.” I averted my gaze and she sighed. “Fine. don’t look at me. But what you did to me was horrible and you already know that. But please don’t let your parents determine what you do in life. It’s not right.”
I whispered, “But all I want is for them to tell me that they love me and are proud of me. I don’t know how to do that.” Y/n peered at me with a sad look on her face.
“Why don’t we go back to the castle?” I nodded and helped her to her feet. I noticed that she was shivering, so I wrapped my dry robe around her before pulling my shirt on. She clutched my robe around her body and we walked in silence. We reached y/n’s common room and she turned to me, handing me my robe.
“Hey, Draco, I’ll help you through this all right? You need to know that you’re not alone.” I looked up at her. “Thanks for saving me today Draco.” She opened the door and stepped inside. Then, she seemed to have other thoughts and came back outside. She wrapped her small, frail arms around me and my arms immediately hugged her back, tight. “I’m sorry.” I whispered. She shook her head.
“I told you, it’s alright. We’ll talk more tomorrow?” I nodded my head and she smiled at me before closing the door. I turned around and walked away, her smile still lingering in my thoughts.
I didn’t know how to end it, so I ended it like this but it feels really incomplete, so if you have any other ideas on how to continue this oneshot, message me and I might do another part! Thanks for reading :)
Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x F!Mage Trevelyan, Fluff/Comfort
Warnings: Injured Inquisitor,
Brief mentions of what could have happened in Alexius’ Bad Future (referencing torture and character death)
Description: ‘Can you imagine? The formidable Herald of Andraste who survived the Fade, simultaneously faced down an ancient magister, his archdemon, and who seemingly came back from the dead, terrified to ask one four worded question.’
Cullen realizes that the Herald of Andraste has feelings for him after a certain Tevinter Mage reveals some of her secrets. Set as the search party sees Emmalee Trevelyan returning on the mountain after the evacuation of Haven.
She had trekked for Maker knew how long across the Frostbacks, following the ghost of the Commander’s flare, signalling that all that could be saved from Haven had been evacuated.
She never thought she would hear his voice again. Never see a smile cross his face when she said something meant to make him laugh. Never see him swiftly look away whenever she glanced up at him across the war table, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. She thought she was going to die out on the mountain, never to see the man she cared for again.
Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt. She couldn’t feel the fingers in her right hand anymore, cursing the gloves she wore that left her fingers exposed. But she had to keep going, pushing her way through the snow.
She’d wondered at first if she’d just imagined him speaking as her legs gave out. A last trick her mind would play on her before she died. But then, his mantle pressed in close around her face, the fabric of his cloak wrapping around her frozen body. She sighed his name and knew she was safe. His strong arms wrapping around her, the pressure of his body made her ribs feel as if they’d been set on fire with pain, but it didn’t matter anymore. She’d made it back. She nuzzled her frozen nose into the crook of his neck, trying not to focus on the pain swimming through her body. If she made it past this, she’d tell him. Maker, she’d let him know that the thought of returning to him had been the only thing that had kept her going in the snow.
It was the first time she had ever used his given name.
Cullen. Not Commander. Not Templar. Just Cullen.
It was the first time she had ever used his given name and she was barely conscious.
His eyes had been scanning - no - desperately searching the horizon as he climbed the mountain with Cassandra and the scouts. She had to be somewhere. She had to be. Maker, please let her be alive. She couldn’t be dead. She had survived a trip through the Fade, for Andraste’s sake. She had survived so many things. She had to have survived this.
She would return to him.
Immediately, he scolded himself for the foolish thought. She wasn’t his, he didn’t even know how she felt about him. He had been a Templar, she was a mage, how could she ever trust him? But Maker, how his heart already belonged to her. If she came back, Andraste preserve him, he’d tell her how he felt, even if it meant rejection.
Carol: “Father, forgive me. I don’t deserve your mercy. I prayed for safe passage from Atlanta and you provided. I prayed for Ed to be punished for laying his hands on me and for looking at his own daughter with whatever sickness was growing in his soul. I prayed you’d put a stop to it, give me a chance to raise her right, help her not make my mistakes. She’s so fearful. She’s so young in her way. She hasn’t had a chance. Praying for Ed’s death was a sin. Please, don’t let this be my punishment. Let her be safe, alive and safe. Please, lord. Punish me however you want, but show mercy on her.”
TWD - ‘Judge, Jury, Executioner’ 211
Carol: “You know, we’ll see Sophia again in heaven some day. She’s in a better place.” Carl: “No, she’s not. Heaven is just another lie, and if you believe it, you’re an idiot.”
TWD - 'Infected’ 402
Carl: “Do you know if Patrick was Catholic?” Carol: “He said he was a practicing atheist.”
TWD - 'Strangers’ 502
Carol inside Father Gabriel’s church - scene focused on 2 separate bible passages!
TWD 'Consumed’ 506
Carol: “I don’t know if I believe in God anymore or heaven, but if I’m going to hell, I’m making damn sure I’m holding it off as long as I can.”
AMC TWD Instagram posted the 'hand-rosary’ poster panel and Tom Payne’s Instagram(the actor officially cast to play Jesus) also posted ONLY that particular panel after the full poster was revealed. He didn’t repost/reblogged from the TWD account but posted it himself as a post originating from his account.
Spoil The Dead posted the Carol picture with the brown coat and identified it as part of the apparel for the last episodes of 6B. The zoomed in photo on the sleeve shows the darker trim that is unique to Carol’s coat and appears to match the one from the 'hand-rosary’ panel of the official poster.
It was suggested that Maggie Greene also had a similar coat last season but the signature darker trim is missing from that particular coat and the 'hand holding the rosary’ is missing the engagement ring that Maggie wears all the time.
I don’t know how long I have been running. But my eyes catch the hole in
the ground, and the building that goes underground. I have to move fast. If she
is not here, I have to keep going. The others must have noticed I left by now.
Bellamy takes his sword out, eyes locked on the entrance of the underground
and slowly makes his way towards it. Step by step his heart beating quicker. He
has to take a deep breath before he opens the door and search the room for any
kind of clue for Clarke.
It takes him some seconds before his eyes find a hand tied up behind a pole.
Please, tell me I’m not too late. Please, let her be alive. He rounds
the room, eyes now locked on the small hand, smaller that he remembers.
One more step. And he is so close to the pole
that he can see the blond hair and it’s her, but her head is down and no
no no no you can’t be dead.
Bellamy takes another step towards her, quickly falling on his knees in
front of her. Clarke snaps her head up scared but her eyes find his and its
really her- she is alive- oh god I found you. He can’t fight the tiny smile
that forms on his lips because I did it, I found you and he can read the
fear, the guilt and the pain in her eyes.
im so not ready for tomorrow’s episode of “IS THIS ENDLESS FLASHBACK SUPPOSED TO END WITH THE TWISTED TALE OF HOW BETH CHILDS ESCAPED DEATH OR ARE YOU GONNA MERCILESSLY CRUSH MY FEELINGS WITH HER SUICIDE ALL OVER AGAIN”