#backwa

[webvampzz]

new bag + gloves

[fansplaining]

Amidst a largely nostalgia-focused TV slate, The Acolyte brought new fans—including a lot of romance lovers—to Star Wars. And then, a month after the season 1 finale, they cancelled it.

We’re so lucky to have a critic as sharp and knowledgeable as @hellotailor writing about the show, Star Wars fans, and what the cancellation says about the direction of the franchise.

Read or listen to an audio version via the link above—and to support more in-depth fan culture journalism, consider becoming a patron!

[corazondebeskar-reads]

all I did was what I had to - part two

all I did was what I had to miniseries

part two: this world is not made for you

series masterlist | part one | part two | part three

dark!raider/hunter!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: After a near-death experience, you thank Joel on your knees in an abandoned Burger King. (This takes place before parts one and three but is best read in this order.)

Warnings: dark, dub-con, dark!Joel Miller, raider/hunter!Joel Miller, muddled themes of captivity, attempted sexual assault (not by Joel), canon-typical violence, dead dove do not eat, watersports, piss drinking, oral (m receiving), d/s dynamics if you squint, humiliation, punishment

Inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst. I did not come up with raider/hunter!Joel or dark!Joel and many great writers have built in this sandbox before me

also on ao3

“What's got you all riled up, huh?” Joel asks as you’re drying your face off on the back of his shirt. He had done the same with yours, given that it was essentially the only unsoiled spot on either of your outfits.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah? You haven’t kept your eyes off me all afternoon. What would I find if I checked your panties?”

“M’not wearing any.”

He should know, he provides all of your clothes.

Joel laughs, turning around and grabbing you by the bicep. “That’s right.”

He pushes you down, but you go willingly. He wasn’t wrong. You’d been buzzing with unspent adrenaline, the image of him haunting you. The blood on his shirt and arms is still wet from when you encountered the first man at the edge of the woods. Joel, with wild curls and wilder eyes, had crept up behind him, wrapped an arm around his chest, and slit his throat.

From your knees on the muddy, chipped tile, you can see blood splatter under his chin, barely visible in his beard. It probably shouldn't be making you wetter.

The men's bathroom of an abandoned Burger King is as gross as it sounds, but the windows of the restaurant were busted out, and you needed a place to breathe after the fight.

Well, he needed a place to breathe after the fight. You needed a place to breathe after, well. After.

He looked down at you and shook his head. “Bein’ good now ain’t gonna save ya from being in trouble.”

Damn. You knew he was still mad.

When he had finished carving up the fourth and last hunter, still in the throes of bloodlust, he had rounded on you.

“This is why I didn’t want to bring you out here. I told you it wasn’t fuckin’ safe.” He shook the blade at you like a teacher waggling a finger at a pupil.

“I’m sorry,” you had whispered. But you weren’t as meek as you should be, not as cowed. Because he had killed them all for you. “Maybe if I could—”

He stalked up, grabbing your (his) shirt in one fist, the bloody knife still clutched in the other. “If you could what, huh? If you could pay attention to your fucking surroundings? If you could stop wanderin’ off?”

“I wasn’t wandering! I was just trying to give you a little privacy; I only went around the corner.” You tried to look at him, but all you could see was the knife. And the blood on his forearm by your face.

He shook his head. “I told you to stay close. You wanted to go out so bad. Ain’t any bathrooms outside, sweetheart. What did you fuckin’ expect?”

“If I could just have a-a knife or a—”

“Shut up. You know you ain’t gettin’ a gun or a knife. Jesus.”

“You could teach me, I could do it.”

“I said shut up.” He shakes you by the fist in your shirt, and you purse your lips shut, eyes infuriatingly wet.

He let go, letting you stumble back. “Good girl. Now let’s get going.”

Neither of you spoke until you reached the Burger King.

Now, you wait patiently for his cock, with your mouth open, tongue out, just like he liked, hands clasped behind your back. “M’not trying to get out of trouble.”

“Oh yeah? Just need my dick in your throat?”

You nod.

He grabs your head and starts to unbuckle his belt, and you can’t help it; you jerk and scramble backward, catching yourself on your hands.

He’s so surprised that he lets go. You’ve never once tried to pull away, never refused him anything. Sure, you’ve hesitated for a moment, or flinched, but he’s not a monster, he didn't count those against you.

He puts his hands up, belt hanging loose, but you don’t see. You’re tensing every muscle, eyelids squeezed tight.

“Hey,” he says.

You startle and look up at him, and start to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I promise, I’ll be good.”

He finds he likes your tears a lot less when he hasn't caused them. He crouches down in front of you. The blood dried in your hair and soaking your shirt is enough of a reminder of what must have happened right before he found you. “Shit, sweetheart, I didn’t think about it. C’mere.” He pulls you in, and you let him wrap his arms around you while you cry.

Later, you’ll look back on moments like that and what comes after, and wonder why you don’t care more. Why it’s okay when it’s Joel. Why it didn’t even occur to you to try to take his gun when it’s just the two of you out here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, with no one around to avenge him.

It’s not a hard question to answer, but it’s a hard answer to admit.

When you’ve calmed a little, he stands back up. He’s scowling, brow furrowed. It’s not a good omen, but there’s nothing to do but settle back onto your knees and wait.

He shakes his head. “I think we gotta do it, sweetheart. Gotta erase it from your mind. Should only be me you think about when you’re down there.”

It’s not a surprise, really. You had known, when he found you at the hunter’s mercy, that you’d pay for it somehow. For getting yourself in that situation after everything he does to protect you.

So, even though a few more tears slip free, you open your mouth, tongue out, and wait.

“Knew you were still my good girl,” he says, and grabs you. He gets his cock out and holds you there, two inches from the thick, drooling tip.

It's hard not to fight, at first. You have to take tattered breaths through your open mouth. But it helps, somehow, that he doesn't take his eyes off you.

You hate that he’s right. You hate that the longer you kneel here, forced to relive this morning, that you feel better. You’re not scared. It’s Joel. And he didn’t let that man hurt you, wouldn’t let him keep hurting you in your mind.

After a few more minutes, your traitorous brain sees nothing more than his hand around his cock and how the same hand had been wrapped around the knife, had slit the hunter's throat. You’re desperate for it. You beg, and he grins.

“See? Nice ‘n easy. Alright, go ahead.” He lets go completely. For now, at least. He usually likes to fuck your face to finish, no matter how it starts.

You swallow him down, pushing until you choke and struggling to stay there. You give him your gratitude the best way you know how, the way he’s trained you to. You only pull off for a moment to ask permission to use your hands, which he grants you.

You wrap one around his thigh for leverage, pulling yourself closer and holding tight. You roll his balls with the other, squeezing gently and caressing. It’s wet and noisy, but you’ve long since shed any embarrassment about sucking him off.

He was mean, but he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t humiliate you about the things he wanted you to do with fervor. And he liked you begging and desperate for his cock.

He only holds you down at the end, when he cums down your throat. When he lets go, he steps back and looks at you.

“If somethin’ like that ever happens again, if anyone else tries to touch you, you bite ‘em.” He wipes spilled cum from the corner of your lip with his thumb and pushes it inside your mouth. “You bite their fuckin’ prick off if you can. They’ll make enough noise that I’ll be able to find you.”

He withdraws his thumb, and his face turns to stone. “Not that it’ll happen, ‘cause you’re never leaving the goddamn house again.”

Your face falls, but you nod.

“Speaking of which, sweetheart. You have somethin' to make up to me still. Now, I don’t want to punish you. You’ve had a hard day.”

The pause is bait, but you don’t fall for it. You don’t whine or thank him, not yet. The glint in his eye tells you he’s not really sparing you.

“I think, instead, you need to learn a lesson.”

There it is. Lessons and punishments weren’t very distinguishable—to you, at least, since they usually ended up with you crying.

“What lesson do you think you need to learn, sweetheart?”

“I shouldn’t wander off.” You keep your voice quiet, head lowered, and hold still. If he thinks you’re already halfway there, he might go easy on you.

Or not.

“And why’d you wander off?”

“Because I—you were—”

“Spit it out, sweetheart.���

“Because you were, y’know, using the bathroom.”

“You mean takin’ a piss out in the open.”

“Yeah.”

“You scared of seeing a little piss? ‘Cause I know ya ain’t scared of my dick.”

“It’s private, I just—”

“No such thing with you and me, honey. You kissed that goodbye a long time ago. You’re just spoiled at home.”

Oh no. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault, sweetheart. I spoiled ya. We’re just gonna have to get you used to it.”

You can tell when he decides what to do. His lips curl at the corner, and he strokes your cheek, so you know you’re in for it.

“Tell ya what. We can do it right now. Seems like the perfect place.”

You can’t say you’d ever have called a Burger King bathroom the perfect place for anything, even peeing. But he seems very pleased with the irony.

“Where do you want it, sweetheart? In your cunt?” He’s watching you too intently. “On your tits? In your mouth?”

You try to stop it, but you press your lips together sharply, stomach clenching.

“Bingo. You got it, sweetheart.”

You think about begging, but nauseatingly, it’s the best of the choices he gave you. The other two would leave you soaked all the way home.

He taps your lips. “Open up.”

You take a deep breath and force yourself to obey. Your muscles fight you, some part of you still sane enough to scream out against his treatment, but you win in the end.

Or, at least, Joel wins.

You look up at him. He’s full-out smirking now, not bothering to hide his excitement. You wonder if he’s actually turned on by pissing in you or if it’s just the power and humiliation.

Your bet’s on the second, otherwise, he’d have done it by now.

You know you're right when the next order comes.

“Touch your clit.”

“What?”

“Don’t talk back. Do as you’re fuckin’ told. I want you to rub your little clit while you drink my piss.”

You choke back a small sob and slide your hand down your sweatpants. Nausea swirls, and you start to breathe rapid and shallow.

He cups your cheek in his broad, rough palm, pleased when you obey. He pulls his cock back out and sets the tip on your extended tongue, leaving it there for a moment to watch your eyes widen, and your muscles tremble with the effort of holding still.

You’re still working at your clit, fingers rubbing hard as you try to concentrate on the pleasure. He rewards you by pushing his cock further into your mouth before he fills it, saving you the effort of struggling to swallow and sparing you from the strongest of the taste.

When he pulls back out, you sob freely. He crouches down and removes your hand from your cunt to replace it with his own. You’re wet enough that he dips three fingers right into you and grinds the heel of his hand against your clit.

“I got you, sweetheart. It’s okay. You did good. Go ahead and cum.”

And you do. You deny Joel nothing. And when you’re pleasantly dizzy after three orgasms, he pulls his hand out and sucks your juices off his fingers, groaning.

He stands up before reaching a hand to you to pull you up.

“Alright, let’s get goin’ home. I ain’t fuckin’ you on the floor here.”

We didn’t even find any books, you sulk in the privacy of your brain.

Except Joel was right. You have no privacy. When he glances at you, he knows. “Whatever you’re thinkin’, I suggest ya stop thinkin’ it real quick.”

The next time he returns from a raid, he tosses you a beat-up copy of “The Hobbit.”

*title from "Run Boy Run" by Woodkid, which I listened to on repeat while writing this, if you're looking for an authentic experience lol

[betrayedbycinnamon]

Flash Fiction Friday #286 Anything Could Happen

@flashfictionfridayofficial

“You want me to what?”

“Stick your hand in and pull whatever you find out.”

There was a long pause. “It’s a mirror. My hand isn’t going to go in it, it will go through it and then we’ll just have a mess to clean up.”

“No! It totally works,” Clint crowed excitedly, and slid his fingers through the silvered surface. Bucky boggled and almost missed when he continued, “It’s just really hard to pull anything out. But your robot arm is super strong, you’ll have no issue.”

“Where the hell did you get this thing?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” So it was stolen then.

It was big; almost as wide as Clint’s impressive wingspan, about three feet tall, and it looked heavy with the ornate frame. “I’m surprised you got it here without breaking it.”

“First off, hey. And b, it’s a magic mirror. A little jostling isn’t going to break it.”

“How many times did you drop it?”

“A few,” Clint said with an unrepentant smile. “Come on, I want to see what comes out.”

“I dunno. Where’s it supposed to be connected to?”

“No idea.”

“Clint.”

“Can’t you feel adventure calling to you?” Clint countered and Bucky frowned. He did feel an unusual amount of temptation to see what would happen, which was probably a bad sign.

“I don’t like that an object is manipulating our minds.”

“I don’t think the mirror is doing anything. I think it’s just the endless possibility that’s irresistible. Anything could happen. We’d be exploring new frontiers, how can you resist that?”

And Bucky knew that he absolutely should resist; the potential for whatever he pulled out of the mirror to be catastrophic was high given his and Clint’s luck, but he’d never been good at denying Clint anything.

“When this goes to shit, it’s on you.”

“It’s gonna be fine, Bucky.” 

“You don’t know that, and I don’t want to deal with a lecture from Steve. That’s all you.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want. Go on and do it already.”

Bucky fixed him with a steely look. “Don’t rush me.” Clint held up his hands, then made a show of zipping his lips. Bucky couldn’t help the fond huff.

Bucky turned to examine the mirror. Currently it looked innocuous, reflecting the blank ceiling. There was no way this should be able to work, but he’d seen Clint’s fingers skim through the surface.

He shifted the mirror into a standing position, so he’d be able to pull whatever through without having to lift up, then squared his shoulders and took a bracing breath.

“This is such a bad idea,” he muttered before plunging his left arm through the surface. It was an incredibly weird sensation: cool, tingly, and viscous. Like a menthol gel maybe. He didn’t really know how to describe it. His arm had slid in easily enough, all the way to the shoulder, from the side they were on, but at the same time it felt like he was still pushing his hand deeper inside. It didn’t make sense, his shoulder was pressed against the surface but his arm was still inching forward. 

“Do you feel anything?” Clint asked from his opposite shoulder, craning his neck for a better view. Bucky just grunted, and kept stretching his arm. 

Clint managed to keep quiet for a minute before demanding, “Well?” Bucky’s hand finally landed on something and he curled his fingers around it and started to pull back. He planted his other hand on the frame for leverage as he strained.

“I’m working on it,” Bucky said, voice tight. It was the same distorted feeling in reverse; he could feel his arm moving backwards, all of his muscles flexed with the effort of dragging the heavy weight, while his shoulder stayed flush with the mirror.

He fell backwards suddenly, landing hard on the floor as his arm dislodged from the mirror and the heavy object he’d brought with him sprawled over his lower body. Sprawled, because it was a person.

“What the fuck!” he managed to grit out between heavy breaths.

“What the fuck!” echoed right back at him as the man he’d pulled out of the mirror scuttled backwards.

“Holy shit!” was Clint’s contribution. “Is it an alternate universe Tony? Are you alter-Tony?” The man had a red metal helmet that covered his entire face, and did kind of look reminiscent of Iron Man, but that was where the similarities ended. Under the bomber jacket, Bucky could see that he was built like a shit brick house.

“What? No! Where am I?” The initial note of fear in the modulated voice had vanished, replaced with anger. 

“Welcome to Brooklyn,” Clint said, hands wide, demonstrating they were empty, as he gestured around their apartment. He had known better than to try and do this in the Tower with JARVIS’s eye on them.

“What the fuck!”

“I’m Clint, this is Bucky.” “I’m fucking pissed. I was in the middle of something, and you fucking yanked me to New York? What the hell? What do you want?”

“To be fair, we didn’t know what would come through the mirror, so… sorry?” Clint offered.

“Sorry? Sorry? Jesus Christ.” The man yanked the helmet off and pulled out a cellphone, punching in his code angrily. 

Bucky watched the myriad of expressions march across the man’s handsome face as a man clearly choking on tears answered.

“Jason! Oh my god, Jason. We thought… how did you get out of there in time? We thought you died!”

“What?”

“The warehouse exploded. Tim got thrown, he’s the only one who was close when… How— where are you?”

“Brooklyn,” he said, sounding a little numb. He hung the phone up and turned wide eyes onto Clint and Bucky, who had finally gotten off of the floor. “I guess I should say thanks.”

“Let us take you to dinner,” Clint immediately said, which, yeah. Bucky should have seen that coming.

[cloudymistedskies]

SUMMER TIME MARI ☁️🌴

“Isn’t rhe hand backwa—“ it is but i dont qanna change it i am ashamed

Do not trust them to behave, especially with Mari.

Ssooda: @larz-barz @kimetsu-chan @rion-isnot-an-ai @pinkwisteria @kiiroibarathedragontamer @sunnilovesgrilledcheese

[obeymebutnotlikethat]

(This is for that writing prompt of Lucy losing her memories of Natsu.)

If she didn’t focus on the hair color he looked fairly hot. Which is apparently the wrong thing to be thinking about based on the crease of his brow.

Sue her, she’s only a teenage girl.

Although, is she still a teenage girl? From the look on his face and the small gathering of people at the door…she was missing something. Right, clearly this was a dream, a dream that involved her pushing herself against the wall in fear.

Strange, all her previous nightmares involved the manor. Is this a damn puberty one? Like a late blooming one. One that makes someone question their existence and finds their attractions. Because from the cat thing with wings and the man with pink hair it had to be.

Why did everyone here have weird hair?

Alright, one of them has normal hair but he's shirtless so scratch that thought.

She frowns at the overly concerned group. They’re muttering her name-right dream people- but the short bluenette lightly grabs her hand and she feels it. It’s rough from paper cuts. The girl holds her hand in such delicate touch that she feels torn.

She cannot bring herself to rip it out from the girl. The bluenette is gentle and sad and muttering her name with such lost. As if there was something in her that disappeared.

Nothing has abandoned her. She had just purchased a silver key when there was a commotion in the streets. It sounded like swooning girls and some cocky asshole. Wait- her keys! They’re not on her person and she’s glancing around in terror. A slight buildup of tears draw themselves to the corner of her eyes. She couldn't lose them. She couldn't lose Aquarius.

The blue magic cat is whispering to her. He says for her not to cry and slowly lifts her keys to her. She beams reaching out before she pauses. Her fingers haven’t even touched the metal ring. Those aren’t hers.

Aquarius is missing.

The tears stumble down her cheeks as she chokes a sob.

She doesn’t remember, the man says.

Her gaze flickers back to him and his slightly hunched over form. The crease of his brow has deepened into a type of despair.

Remember, she asks solely him, did something happen with the Salamander?

Right, the guy coined himself Salamander. Like the Fairy Tail Salamander she never met. One day, she’d meet him and the rest of Fairy Tail.

She almost smiles inwardly.

Oh my, one of the girls muttered.

That far back, a shirtless man sighs.

Years. She’s missing years, the armored-Titania.

Her eyes grow wide. Ok, this is definitely a dream because no way has she ever known Titania. Then again the men have the Fairy Tail emblem in plain view. Then again she is wearing clothes she never had before. It dawns on her this is real like the fuzzy feeling still clinging to her.

Reality is pulsating and weighing on her chest like a broken key. She doesn't want any of it, yet, she's holding on. She's preserving this tragedy.

The idea tastes like ash on her tongue. She knows- she doesn't know much; but, she knows this is real and it's a tragedy. For them, for her, for the keys she refuses to clutch.

I’m gonna kill them, the man growls, don’t worry Lucy…I’ll help you get your memories back.

Lucy...Lucy. When they speak her name it's more than Lucky. Almost as if it's something to be kept.

She allows herself the right to lightly graze the keys. Her hand misses and pats the strange cat thing in consideration. His eyes widen is something foreign before he hugs her wrist. Almost as if this had happened once and they lost each other.

There's no reason to dwell on it. Thinking about it causes a headache and makes her feel sick. So, she decides to focus on the feeling of his fur to help tune it out. She doesn't want to listen to them talk about her. She doesn't want to acknowledge that everyone knows something she doesn't. That everyone is in on this big secret...or not so much a secret. A secret isn't a secret if everyone except her knows.

She closes her eyes with an attempt to count backwards from ten.

This whole day is upsetting her and she wasn't even awake for most of it. The cats fur is a bit scuffed up from his distress but she smooths it down. Attempts to calm him. Attempts to comfort him with something she cannot give herself. Something no one here can offer her. They all think she can't care for herself.

Alright, that truly irks her above everything else. She wasn't incompetent or ill or anything that could hinder her. Ok, sure, she didn't know where she was staying. Sure, she gave them the wrong year (apparently). That just meant she lost her memory of some time. Not a real developmental issue time. Everyone's lost time.

You certainly lose it in the manor. When everyday is the same routine. Day-in and day-out.

She slides further into the bed, and casts her gaze to the sheet. Whatever these people know about her she couldn't be caught crying for too long. Father would be upset. She would be even more upset if she regained her memories. Who know who she molded herself into. She was so good at fixing herself to be whoever her father needed her to be...look at how that worked out.

You don't need to be sad, the cat whispers, it'll be ok.

I don't even know you're name, she sighs under the heated debate.

These people really are loud. Was that a bad thing?

Happy, the cat mumbles, and that's Natsu. We're partners.

That's nice, she distantly offers.

Partners, it makes her want to cry again. She won't. She refuses to.

She probably will.

it's gonna be alright, the man- Natsu determinedly tells her.

It fills her with a sense of warmth with a slight huff of frustration.

I'm sure, she supplies, but I'm not useless you know.

He's a lot closer to her now. With some strange fixated stare and downturned lips.

I know, he lowly responds, you never are.

[sjerzgirl]

Is he that stupid or does he really believe his supporters are, so when he tells them anything bad about his opposition, he knows they’ll believe every word. I say both. We know the Proud Boys and KKK went to Springfield hoping to rile up the city against the (decidedly NOT) “illegal” Haitians in their midst, despite the mayor, police chief AND governor telling there is no there there. They weren’t dropped there. They were invited to help their industry which has been losing workers who have gone to other jobs. Other citizens didn’t want those jobs, so the invitation was sent out.

[naavispider]

Chase

A little prompt from @hyperfixatedfandomer: Final part of this song is so “Spider rips out the tracker and runs into the darkness of Pandora while Quaritch is on his heels like a feral thanator in a horror novie” coded

The song in question:

1.3k, canon typical action, violence, swearing

Spider had never heard a louder sound than that of his thundering heartbeat banging against his eardrums. His breathing came in gasps as the stitch in his chest throbbed painfully. He couldn’t stop running.

A monster was behind him.

Every split second counted in the race for his life. The adrenaline coursing through his veins powered him onwards without his full awareness or knowledge of anything else going on around him. Branches scraped past his arms and face but he couldn’t feel the pain they left behind. Faster, faster…

He could feel rather than hear Quaritch catching up to him. Any moment now enormous hands could close around him, pulling him down and the terror of it kept his feet hitting the ground at a dizzying rhythm.

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t slow down.

The first few seconds of his escape had been a blur. Things had happened too fast for him to be able to remember clearly - but what he did know was this: he’d seized the opportunity when the recom Colonel had turned his back on Spider on the trail. He’d tensely removed the mask that he relied upon so dearly for oxygen, and fumbled around in a panic induced state to wrench the tracker from the plastic casing. He didn’t know how, but he’d managed it. Almost as soon as he’d realized his triumph, Quaritch turned back to look for him, just in time to see Spider hurl the tracker as far away as possible, throw the mask back onto his face and high tail it into the trees.

He’d lost track of how long it had been since then. Seconds? Minutes? An hour? He couldn’t afford to waste time working it out. He leapt from the floor onto a huge fallen tree trunk, barely stopping to get his footing before he was off, the ground now several feet below him and all kinds of plants hitting his mask and getting caught in his hair.

“Spider!” He heard an angry roar from somewhere behind.

He wasn’t going to stop. This was his chance. If he could lose Quaritch now, he’d be free. He could even find his way back to High Camp eventually - he was sure of it.

“STP RIGHT THERE!!” Quaritch roared.

He didn’t stop to look around, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He sounded close, almost within reach…

The ghosts of Quaritch’s fingertips brushed against the small of his back, and he let out a shriek of fear as he pushed himself on. But his brain made a fatal miscalculation when judging where to place his foot. In his panic, he slipped to the left and he couldn’t regain his balance before it was too late. He was falling, all the way down to the ground and landing clumsily on his knees.

“Stay down, Spider!”

He gasped and picked himself up as quickly as he could - but it wasn’t quick enough. Quaritch had only been one or two strides behind him. In a moment of terror that brought the whole world to a standstill, huge blue arms came around him, pulling him back down to the earth, back down to defeat…

He cried out as he rolled on to his back, a rage filled recombinant on top of him, pinning him down. He barely recognised the face as that of his father. Quaritch’s eyes were wide and distorted with fury, and Spider was sure that for a split second, they turned red.

He didn’t know where the idea came from - he was barely aware of his body’s actions - but before he knew it he had brought his knee up to kick Quaritch in the chest, and at the same time flung his head forward to bash his mask against the Colonel’s nose. The simultaneous assault was enough for Quaritch to loosen his hold on Spider’s left arm, and he seized the opportunity to claw at Quaritch’s eyeball.

“FUCK,” Quaritch screamed as he pulled away, and in the heat of the moment Spider was able to wriggle backwards on his elbows and flip over, scrambling out of Quaritch’s hold on the forest floor.

“No you don’t!” roared Quaritch, blinded not only by the injury Spider had left him but also with anger. He lunged for Spider’s leg, which Spider kicked out against as soon as he felt the vice-like grip close around his calf.

It wasn’t enough.

Spider knew it.

Na’vi were simply too big and too strong, and now that Quaritch had a hold of him he felt his heart plummet through the ground and out the other side of Pandora. Eywa, help him.

“Come here!” Quaritch grunted, dragging Spider back by the ankle. Spider fought with everything he had. Clinging onto anything within his reach and kicking out as hard as he could with both legs, he scrambled for purchase on the wet floor.

“Get off!” he screamed through his shocked throat, knowing that physically he couldn’t fight anymore, having to rely on words alone in some desperate hope that the monster would release him. The fear had well and truly sunk into his soul, absorbed by his very bones. He would never forget this fear.

“Let me go!” he screamed again, his final ploy for escape as he hopelessly slid against the ground towards Quaritch.

“Oh yeah?” Quaritch leered over him from above, the bloody cut above his eye giving him a manic expression. “You’ll stay where you’re damn put!”

Spider was too terrified to say anything else - the game was up. It was over. He froze, capable of nothing more than staring up into the eyes that had haunted him since they first met. He was glad he was wearing a mask because it felt like the aura that Quaritch was radiating was enough to burn the skin from his face.

“Damn you!” Quaritch shouted, shaking Spider where he had his wrists pinned on the ground.

If the recom didn’t relent soon, the pressure he was exerting on Spider’s small hands would surely be enough to break them.

The hisses from Spider’s mask were coming quick and heavy, so depleted of oxygen was he, but he still had enough left in him to hiss at Quaritch so ferally that even Neytiri would be proud.

“That all you got to say for yourself? I’m done trying to be nice. I should just throw you back to Ardmore…” Quaritch easily transferred both of Spider’s hands into one of his, while reaching for a pair of snapcuffs and securing them around Spider’s wrists. He seemed to think for a moment, before pulling Spider to standing and then throwing him over his shoulders.

“Stop!” Spider protested, but it was like pleading with a rhinoceros for all the good it did him. Instead, he thrashed as harshly as he could against Quaritch’s hold. “What are you gonna do? I’m gonna get away eventually!”

Quaritch ignored him totally. With too much force than was necessary, he jammed Spider’s feet together over the other side of his shoulders and secured them with another set of cuffs.

“Let me GO!” he howled, realizing he was as powerless as a fish out of water, draped over the 9 foot tall recom’s back.

“Why did I ever bother?” Quaritch fumed as he made the long way back to the trail where the rest of the squad were waiting. “Do you realize what you’re doing? Don’t you see that I’m your best bet right now?”

“You think you’re better than Bridgehead?” Spider snapped back. “I’d take a thousand needles to the brain before I trust you!”

Quaritch said nothing to this.

A moment later when Wainfleet came into view, racing through the trees to find them. “Colonel! You got him… good.” He was out of breath, and Spider hadn’t realized how far they’d run or how quickly, if Wainfleet was only now catching up.

“Yeah, I got him,” Quaritch growled. “Take him, I’ve had enough.”

Spider was roughly pulled off the Colonel’s shoulders and passed over to Wainfleet like a sack of potatoes.

“And don’t let him wiggle. He’s slippery.”

[shesgotthebeststories]

FALSE GOD

a rosa diaz x oc fic

“the altar is my hips”

a fic of what really happened that night after going undercover ( continuation of this fic )

CW: slightly suggestive! no actual descriptions but it is hinted/mentioned that they… boned ;)

The soft ding of the elevator marked its arrival, but Maddy hardly noticed as her heart raced in her chest. What was she doing? She glanced at Rosa standing beside her, her nerves sparking at the thought of what was about to happen. Was she really about to hook up with her coworker? Rosa turned to her with a small smile, and Maddy couldn’t help but return it. If Rosa was nervous—and Maddy could sense she was—she was doing an exceptional job of keeping her cool.

Maddy felt the effects of the wine she'd had earlier humming through her veins, giving her a boldness she wasn’t used to. As the elevator doors slid open, she brushed Rosa’s hand intentionally, a subtle but charged touch. Without a word, she reached out and took Rosa’s hand, her grip warm and firm as she led her down the quiet hallway toward her apartment.

The moment they reached her door, Maddy fumbled slightly with her keys, unlocking it with an eagerness that made Rosa’s lips twitch into a smirk. Once the door swung open, Maddy leaned back against it, holding it ajar for Rosa to step inside. Rosa hesitated for the briefest moment, looking at her with those careful, watchful eyes, before stepping through.

Maddy closed the door with a quiet click, keeping her back pressed against it as Rosa moved further inside. Her apartment was modest but cozy, a mix of soft lighting and mismatched furniture that somehow felt effortlessly welcoming. Rosa glanced around, her expression neutral, but Maddy could see the faint flicker of something in her eyes—nerves, maybe, or disbelief.

This wasn’t Rosa’s first time in Maddy’s apartment, but tonight felt different. Charged.

Rosa turned to face her, and for a moment, all Maddy could do was take her in—the way she stood there, hands slightly fidgeting, her leather jacket still on, and a flicker of hesitation in her gaze. Maddy smirked, her lips quirking in that way Rosa found both maddening and adorable. Rosa’s heart stuttered. She didn’t think smirks could be cute until Maddy proved her wrong.

“Want a glass of wine?” Maddy asked, breaking the silence.

Rosa nodded. “Sure.”

Maddy’s smile widened as she pushed off the door and walked to the kitchen. Rosa stayed rooted to the spot, her mind spinning. Less than an hour ago, she had kissed Maddy—really kissed her. Not in a ‘we need to keep our cover’ way, a… ‘romantic stylez’ way (as Jake would describe it) and now she was here, alone with her, in her apartment, at night.

Rosa exhaled slowly, her nerves threatening to unravel. It wasn’t that she didn’t want this—she did, desperately—but the intensity of her feelings was unlike anything she’d experienced before.

When Maddy returned, two glasses of wine in hand, she held one out to Rosa with an easy confidence. Rosa murmured her thanks, taking the glass and sipping tentatively, trying not to think too hard about the fact that Maddy hadn’t stopped looking at her since she walked back into the room.

Maddy’s gaze stayed locked on Rosa, a playful edge in her expression as she sipped her wine. Rosa prayed the dim lighting would hide the blush spreading across her cheeks.

The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable. After a moment, Maddy placed her glass down on a nearby table, stepping closer to Rosa. Without hesitation, she cupped Rosa’s face in her hands and kissed her again.

Rosa melted into it instantly, setting her own glass aside as her hands found Maddy’s waist, pulling her closer. Maddy’s fingers slid up to Rosa’s shoulders, deftly slipping her jacket off before shrugging out of her own. The leather pooled around their feet as they moved together, their kisses deepening with each passing second.

Maddy’s hands tangled in Rosa’s hair as she began to guide them toward her bedroom, walking backward without breaking the kiss. When the back of her legs hit the bed frame, she fell back, pulling Rosa down with her.

They landed in a heap, laughing breathlessly as Rosa propped herself up on her hands, her knees straddling Maddy’s hips. But as the moment settled, Rosa froze, her expression shifting.

Maddy opened her eyes, still catching her breath. “You okay?” she asked softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Rosa’s ear.

“I…” Rosa hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never… done this with a girl before.”

Maddy’s heart softened at the vulnerability in Rosa’s voice. She gently cupped Rosa’s cheek, turning her face so their eyes met. “That’s okay,” Maddy said, her voice steady and reassuring. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready.”

“No, I really want to,” Rosa said quickly, her words tumbling out. She took a deep breath. “I’m just nervous. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Maddy’s lips curved into a tender smile. “Rosa,” she said, her tone gentle but certain, “you’re not going to mess anything up. We’ll take it slow. We have all the time in the world.”

Rosa nodded, her nerves settling a little as she returned Maddy’s smile. “Okay,” she said softly.

Maddy pulled her down for another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate. Rosa relaxed into it, her confidence growing as Maddy guided her.

After a moment, Rosa pulled back again, her brow furrowed slightly. “How will I know… that I’m doing it right?”

Maddy chuckled, the sound warm and light. “Oh, trust me,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ll know.”

Rosa laughed, her tension easing as she leaned down to kiss Maddy again, her fears melting away in the warmth of her touch.

-

An hour later, Rosa flopped onto her back, the coolness of the sheets beneath her a stark contrast to the warmth still radiating from her skin. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath, her muscles pleasantly aching from the intensity of the past hour. Next to her, Maddy lay sprawled on her side, her messy hair fanned out on the pillow and a satisfied grin playing on her lips.

“Holy shit,” Rosa muttered, her voice low and rough, her breath still uneven.

Maddy giggled, the sound light and full of contentment. “Yup,” she replied simply, her own voice carrying the same breathless quality.

Rosa turned her head to look at Maddy, her dark eyes softening as she took her in—the way her cheeks were still flushed, the way a strand of hair clung to her damp forehead. Rosa reached up, brushing the strand back and tucking it gently behind Maddy’s ear. The simple act felt oddly intimate, and her stomach fluttered at the thought.

Maddy shifted onto her side, wrapping the bed sheet loosely around her as she propped her head up on one hand. She smiled at Rosa, her eyes filled with a mix of affection and amusement.

“That was… amazing,” Rosa said, exhaling deeply as her lips curled into a smile.

Maddy’s grin widened as she reached for Rosa’s hand, interlocking their fingers with ease. “I’m glad you think so,” she said, lifting their joined hands and pressing a soft kiss to the back of Rosa’s hand.

Rosa didn’t pull away, letting her hand linger near Maddy’s lips for a moment. The warmth of Maddy’s mouth against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, making the rest of her body feel cold in comparison. She tried to suppress the fact that she was still slightly out of breath, but Maddy could tell.

With a knowing smirk, Maddy let go of Rosa’s hand and rolled over, reaching for the water bottle on her bedside table. She sat up slightly, taking a few small sips before turning back to Rosa and holding the bottle out to her.

Rosa blinked, looking at the bottle and then back at Maddy, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “Oh, uh… it’s okay. I’ll go get my own glass of water,” she said, starting to push herself up. She knew how particular Maddy could be about sharing things, and she didn’t want to overstep any unspoken boundaries.

Before she could get far, Maddy placed a firm but gentle hand on Rosa’s shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. “Rosa,” Maddy said with a chuckle, her voice light but teasing, “we literally just had sex. I think we can share a water bottle.”

Rosa froze, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. She let out a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of her neck. “Fair point,” she murmured, taking the bottle from Maddy and sipping from it.

As she handed the bottle back, she looked at Maddy with a small, embarrassed smile. “I just didn’t want to overstep or anything.”

Maddy shook her head, her expression softening as she placed the bottle back on the nightstand. “You didn’t. Trust me,” she said, laying back down and snuggling closer to Rosa.

Rosa instinctively wrapped an arm around Maddy, pulling her in until they were tangled together. The sounds of the city drifted in through the cracked window, faint car horns and distant chatter blending into a soothing hum that filled the quiet of the room.

After a long moment of comfortable silence, Maddy’s voice broke through, soft and hesitant. “Do you think we’re gonna regret this?” she asked, her words barely louder than a whisper.

Rosa’s arm tightened slightly around her, and she pulled back just enough to meet Maddy’s gaze. Maddy’s eyes searched hers, looking for reassurance.

“I don’t know,” Rosa admitted honestly, her voice steady. “But I know that right now, I don’t regret it. Not even a little. And…” She hesitated, a small smile forming as she continued, “I’d really like to do it again sometime.”

Maddy hummed, the sound low and thoughtful, as she nuzzled her face into Rosa’s chest. “I think that might be the wine talking,” she mumbled, her words muffled against Rosa’s skin.

Rosa chuckled, her fingers tracing absent patterns on Maddy’s back. “Maybe,” she replied, her voice light and teasing.

Maddy smiled against her chest, her earlier nerves dissipating as the two of them lay there, basking in the quiet warmth of each other’s presence.

(hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe)

[trashgoblin-ooak]

Do not put the legs on backwards.

Do not put the legs on backwards.

Do not put the legs on backwa-

Are you kidding me!? 😤

It's fine, everything's fine. My heat gun tried to set it's self on fire and died, but it's fine.

But like, it actually is fine. I don't know what happened, maybe it overheated but it works again now so 🤷‍♀️ 😂

All jokes aside, I was really stressed about reassembling the body cause I didn't want to scratch the paint. The only real damage was a bit to the knees (which I evidently didn't photograph) that id anticipated and that one largeish scratch on the butt. I ended up just using my hairdryer to heat the plastic when reattaching the limbs, which works fine, it just takes longer.

Before I popped the legs back in I did take my craft knife to the inside of the hips to take off the paint a bit. I've noticed that the most egregious scraping happens when paint rubs against paint, so in areas that you won't even see I preemptively scraped it off.

If I were to do it again, I'd take a little more off and make sure to hit it with the alcohol marker before attaching the legs. I ended up spending a good couple hours very carefully shaving off more of the plastic inside the hip joint after the legs were back on, just to prevent as much contact from happening as I could. Only downside is I can't get the tip of the marker in there now to really color it without hitting the painted legs. Which obviously leaves a dot of marker on the exposed skin (shh it's a freckle now.) but to be honest I don't think I'm going to be looking at or photographing the doll from that low of an angle with nothing covering her that it's going to be seen.

I don't have anything to show for the couple hours of work I did scraping away ~wafer-thin bits of plastic to ensure no paint scraping, so you'll just have to take my word for it for now. I really should have recorded a video or something, but every time I do that I never end up doing anything with the videos. Damn me and my desire to be helpful but also my inability to actually be helpful.

I also realized the other day that to some this might seem like an excessive amount of extra caution being put into what are typically a set-it-and-forget-it piece of art. For me what I really enjoyed about having my first goblin-self doll was that I could take her off the shelf and pose her with things and take mini photoshoots. I made a couple Christmas outfits, the Halloween one I shared as well, and 2 different dollscale versions of my own hoodies. (Well technically one is the hubs, but you know.)

The last thing I want is to go and pose my doll for something and have an obvious gash in the paint take your eye away from the scene. Sure I could probably cleverly pose around it, or even edit the mark away in the photos. But I'd much rather it just not happen in the first place, and if it takes a few extra hours and some clever thinking in the beginning stages to not have to worry about it in the end, I think that's worth it. By no means do I think these little tricks would hold up to like, playing with her as a doll, but I think they should at the very least stand up to multiple movements and outfit changes over the years!

That's all I've got for you folks today! Might be a bit before the next update as I'm trying to put together a Victorian-era elf dressed in 16th century plague doctor garb for a Renaissance Faire in uhh... 24 days 😂

Wish me luck!

And as always, much love 💚

[beardedmrbean]

Horrifying footage captured the moment a young fitness fanatic working out at a gym in Indonesia fell to her death after she stumbled backward off a treadmill and tumbled out of a third-story window.

Video taken from a security camera shows the 22-year-old woman on a treadmill at a gym in Pontianak, West Kalimantan, Tuesday moments before she tragically fell to her death.

Footage shows the woman working out near the end of a long line of treadmills inside the packed gym before she stops and allows the machine’s belt to move her backward.

After she’s dropped off the machine, the woman suddenly stumbles backward, straight toward an open window directly behind the gym equipment she was just using.

The woman can be seen in the clip attempting to grasp onto the window frame before plummeting down three stories.

After the fall, the fitness fanatic was rushed to the hospital with serious head injuries, but doctors were unable to save her life.

An autopsy report showed that she had suffered extensive bruising and lacerations to her head.

The deceased woman has not been named, but local reports say she was just 22-years-old, according to Newsflash.

She also had gone to the gym with her younger sibling and boyfriend, who had asked her to work out with him on the second floor but she told him she wanted to use the treadmill on the top level, according to local reports.

She had only been working out for 30 minutes when she fell, local media reported.

The Pontianak City Police’s Criminal Investigation Unit is currently investigating.

Police noted that the position of the treadmill, only about two feet from the window, created a “dangerous” situation.

The gym issued an apology to the woman’s family and closed its business for three days following the fatal fall.

[fansplaining]

In the final days of 2024, we're highlighting all the incredible reporting and commentary we've been able to publish this year thanks to your continued financial support. (If you'd like to help us publish more in 2025, click that link! Even $1 a month helps.)

Next up is @hellotailor's incisive analysis of the abrupt cancellation of the The Acolyte this past August, contextualizing it within a broader pattern from the Star Wars franchise/Disney:

Bafflingly, there’s very little evidence of Disney trying to curb the toxic side of Star Wars fandom, a community dedicated to sabotaging Disney products and alienating potential customers. Time after time, actors of color have faced ruthless online abuse with minimal protection from the company that put them in the spotlight. It’s all very well to launch projects like The Acolyte and promote them with upbeat press tours, but what matters is the follow-through. And that half of the equation currently involves cancelling the show within weeks of its release, pissing off its fans, and leaving the lead actor to be harassed on Instagram by jeering troglodytes.

Read the piece or listen to an audio version via the link above!

[azerothtravel]

Lucard, huh? Wonder what that is backwa-- Hey!, Stormheim, August 30, 2016.

[naivesilver]

One of those Eliana plot moments I was dying to reach, deliberately sprinkled with some family angst 💗

✍️(◔◡◔)

There are days where Emma thinks the world must be out to make things as difficult as possible for her. 

This should not be one of those days, and yet, predictably, here they are. In a way it was almost easier at the beginning of this ordeal - Gold showed up with some new cronies, sure, but that's on par with the course. It's arguably part of their town's routine, by this point. 

Then those cronies took August. That, Emma suspects, was where everything started picking up speed as it went to hell. 

She spares a glance at Eliana, who is pacing around like a caged tiger, her movements jerky and impatient. Emma can't exactly blame her - even if her brother hadn't been the one who got taken, she must be still riding the high of his rescue, full of adrenaline and pent up energy - but it is an unnerving sight, muddy footprints tracking across the hospital floor notwithstanding. 

Emma sighs, forcibly returning her attention to the book pages that have given them all so much trouble lately. In the brief bout of lucidity he had at her house, August casually informed her that that is where their mysterious Author is, so now she's on her own trying to puzzle out how to get him out - her friend lost consciousness shortly afterwards, which made him of little help, with the addition of having to figure out where to go to get him checked out. 

In Emma's defense, she did propose the convent right off the bat, and she still wagers it would have been the better choice; magically sturdy and magically knowledgeable, it’d have been the perfect place for their needs, so they could continue worrying about pretty much everything else. Eliana, however, fought against that option so strongly that it was impossible to make her change her mind, and, as Emma has learned the hard way in the past few hours, most people will capitulate rather than arguing with someone whose face is deliberately spattered with Cruella De Vil's drying blood. 

The sound of approaching footsteps invades her train of thought. The sheriff looks up, expecting Whale or one of the members of his staff, but is instead met with Regina's flat expression. 

The mayor is still playing double agent, technically, but the only other supposed ally of Gold is on the opposite wing of the hospital, bound to her bed and with enough gauze wrapped around her neck to satisfy a mummy. Even if she were to spot Regina, which is unlikely, it would simply look like another attempt to swipe the illustration of the door from Emma’s hands, albeit in a more crowded environment than usual.

“Still no word from Gold,” Regina announces, her gaze moving between the other two women. “He’s probably huddling somewhere with Maleficent until he gets another bright idea, since this one worked so well.”

Emma sighs, stashing away the pages again. The less people see them, the better, even at this point. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse, honestly,” she says, her voice terse and unamused. “Did you come all the way up here just to tell me there was no news?”

“I wish. No, Gold’s off the radar, but you’ve got another visitor.”

“Really? Who?”

“The Mother Superior. She’s come to check up on August, since they used some…unusual magic on him.”

For a brief, surprisingly lucid second, Emma feels a stab of regret about not having asked Regina to speak in private. She doesn’t get much more time than that, anyway; a second seems to be enough for Eliana to register what she’s just heard, freezing on the spot halfway through her brooding - her head swivels around, looking at the mayor with her purple-ish eyes as wide as saucers, but her face is completely expression-less, a waxen mask stained with red from the chin down.

Then, what feels like just another second later, she rushes past them both, stomping out of the door without looking back.

“Crap.” Emma stands up so abruptly the rickety hospital chair almost falls backwards, cursing more under her breath as she grabs Regina and sets out on Eliana’s trail. “Did you really have to say it where she could hear? Where is the Mother Superior, anyway?”

Her friend all but glares at her, though mercifully she falls in line with Emma pretty easily, as if picking up on the urgency of the matter. “At the entrance. I told her to wait until I asked if August could have visitors. But what-”

“That girl went for Cruella’s jugular only a few hours ago, do you think it’s safe for Blue of all people to be around her?”

“Well, if Blue couldn’t guess that her kid would be here, that’s on her, not me,” Regina scoffs moodily. “Personally I’m on Eliana’s side- that dog lady wanted Henry, Emma. If she’d gotten to him like she planned, I wouldn’t have stopped at the jugular, and neither would you.”

The problem is, she’s right. Emma has nothing against Eliana. Eliana is, by and large, a nice enough person - she grew up with Ruby, and Henry likes her, and August, who despite everything is still one of Emma’s closest friends, thinks the world of her, like the besotted younger brother he is. She might have a penchant for butting heads with her mother and Emma’s, sure, but she doesn’t look the type to go for unwarranted violence, and besides, what Regina said is true: without her, Cruella De Vil would have tried to take Henry instead, in the hope of luring his family out for good.

But Emma’s personal opinion matters little and less, right now. She is still the sheriff, and she is still the Savior: while babysitting a young woman who’s barely gotten off the adrenaline rush of biting a chunk off a villain is not her top priority, she’d rather avoid having a matricide in her hands anyway, in the midst of all that chaos.

Thankfully, the Mother Superior is still relatively in one piece when they stumble into the hospital's hall, though she looks far from pleased. She and her daughter are both small women, nearly of an height, but where the fairy's wearing sensible shoes and exuding her customary air of authority, Eliana has turned into a looming, haunting presence, as though her wild hair and the way she's standing up ramrod straight were making her appear larger than life. 

"Nobody asked you to come," Emma catches her hissing as they draw closer to the pair. "You're not welcome here."

Blue scoffs, with the same look of annoyance one might have after stepping on a chewed gum. "This is not the time for your childish games, Eliana. I need to make sure your brother is in good shape, and- oh, God, what happened to you?"

"You did." Eliana leans forward so that she's almost nose to nose with her mother, her voice lowering so much it's almost inaudible over the din around them. 

"You're what happened to me, and to August. So many of the things Gold did to him, they were because of what you did to him first - look at yourself, Mother. You're a fucking disease. I'm not letting you get close enough to poison my baby brother again."

"I'd thank you to avoid that kind of language when you speak to me-"

"Or what?" The question is delivered with a sort of hysterical giddiness, but none of that shows up on the young woman's face, save perhaps for a brief glint in her eyes, a sharp, pestering flash. 

"What will you do to punish me? Will you make me stand in the corner? Will you let August get hurt again? I am tired of having to chase away his monsters myself just because you can't be arsed to do your duty. And you didn't pass anything useful down to me, otherwise I'd have needed less time to burn that cursed island to the ground, back then."

Eliana points at the crusted blood with surprising ferocity, all but livid with anger. "But this? This is yours alright, Mother. This is how you would have solved things, too, if you weren't too proud to get your own hands dirty, so don't tell me you're here to help, now. You already did more than enough when you gave us both life."

She spits the word out so venomously that it catches even Emma off guard, though the sheriff still takes the split second the Mother Superior spends faltering to cut between them, wary of possible escalations. "Okay, ladies, that's enough. Blue, thanks for checking in, but I think we're managing just fine for now. We’ll call if we need anything. Eliana- you need to get some sleep. August will be fine. He's in good hands."

"He is," the younger woman agrees readily - except she doesn't look that much younger, at present. She is still fresh-faced and minute, at a first glance, but when her eyes raise to meet Emma's there's a fury in them that feels ancient, burning blue and purple like gas fire. 

"I trust you with him, Emma Swan, and I trust the mayor, but I do not trust her. She already let him die once; she might do it again if you don't keep an eye on her."

There's a sharp intake of breath from Blue, and suddenly the nun is struggling against Emma's flimsy separation, face contorted in anger. "You're going too far, child," she says, her proverbial calm straining. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Call me child one more time, I'll choose some new names for you as well. What do you say about liar, uh? Murderer and liar, maybe?"

"You dare-"

"Yes, I dare, Mother!" Eliana explodes, clutching at the sides of her head as though her skull were splitting in two, fingers twisting in her tangled curls in a way that must be at least a bit painful and yet shows no sign of stopping. 

"You have no idea of what you've passed down to me, of what- what I've heard in that forest, and you still judge me for how I've acted all these years, but this is on you, Mother. Gold hates you. That's why he tricked me and why he hurt August. None of us would be here right now, if you'd just done your job with him. You should be ashamed. You-"

"What's going on here?"

There’s a beat where Emma almost thanks whatever divine intervention might have just saved her arm from being torn apart by the mother and daughter barking on either side of it. It only lasts a beat, however, as when she raises her eyes she finds out the new voice belongs only to Marco, standing in the hospital hall with his hat in his hands and a concerned look on his face.

“Great, it’s a family reunion,” Regina mutters, acidly, as Blue takes the chance to compose herself and turns around to address the man directly, as though she hadn’t just come out of an hysterical catfight in a public place.

“Geppetto, please, control your daughter better- she’s in a state, right now. She’s not fit to look after anyone.”

She probably expects Marco to side with her, just as Emma’s own father has gone along with some of her mother’s worst ideas; judging by the way her expression freezes, however, she must not be expecting him to stiffen and say, evenly: “She is your daughter, too. Not just when it suits you.”

He walks past them to reach Eliana, then, and only hesitates a moment before stepping to her side and wrapping an arm around her chest, at once protection and holding. He is not an extraordinarily tall man, Marco, but the girl looks pretty much dwarfed by his grip, even if anger is still dripping from her every pore - Emma feels safe enough to step away, then, though she keeps her guard up, just in case.

“My girl,” the carpenter says frettingly, scanning his daughter’s features up and down. “What happened? I thought it was your brother that- Is that blood? Are you hurt?”

Eliana doesn’t respond immediately, eyes still staring vacantly in her mother’s direction, so it’s Regina who steps in once again, her tone dry but not devoid of any admiration. “She is what happened to some old friends of mine. Your girl got August out- without her we’d still be running in circles.”

“And that was very brave of her,” Blue interjects, somewhat irritated, “but no one knows for sure what Rumpelstiltskin did to August yet. Emma, you know it better than I do- if it’s dark magic, then the sooner we get rid of it, the better. We’re only wasting time with this farce.”

“You’re the only one wasting any time here, Mother.” Eliana speaks softly and haltingly, but her gaze is still hard as steel, despite everything.

“My brother is fine where he is. Touch him again and I will eat you alive. This will be your only warning.”

Marco hums pensively under his breath, his eyes flitting from the girl in his arms to Regina and Emma. “If Eliana says there is no danger, then I trust her. Emma? Have you seen my boy yet?”

“Whale thinks he’ll be okay,” the sheriff replies, picking her words cautiously. “Sort of. He’s going to need some time to rest and recover, but that’s about it.”

“Then we don’t need your help right now, Mother Superior. You can leave my children alone, if you please.”

It’s a low blow, lower than many would expect from a man as mild-mannered as him. It’s easy to guess Blue might be of the same opinion, too - she looks absolutely floored by the remark, enough not to be able to get even the proverbial last word in, and it’s a miracle the whole hospital doesn’t fall onto their heads as she leaves, so enraged she appears to be.

Still, she does leave, and Emma turns back to Eliana, dread pooling in her gut. The girl hasn’t torn her eyes from her departing mother yet, either, but something has changed in her all the same; it’s as if she were being taken by a full body tremor, one that picks up pace when Blue finally walks out of the door and threatens to make her buckle at the knees, with only her father’s presence keeping her upright.

It occurs to the sheriff that she has never seen them so close to each other, before. There is some strain in that relationship, to hear August and Granny tell it, and though they must have exchanged a few words in Emma’s presence at some point, it was nothing like this - Eliana shakes and shakes, run through by shivers as though she’d gotten stuck in a blizzard, and Marco seems at loss of words over her reaction, cradling her cheek with his free hand like an additional point of support.

“Marco,” Emma ventures, ever so carefully, “August’s still sleeping. You can go see him if you want, but she really needs to get some rest too. Everything else can wait.”

“No.” Eliana squirms in her father’s hold, an uncharacteristic pleading note in her words. “I don’t want to. I can’t.”

The man shushes her gently, pulling her even closer. “Of course you can. We’ll go see your brother, and then I’ll take you home. It’s alright.”

She shakes her head brusquely, sagging further on herself. “Papa,” she says, and it’s barely more than a hoarse croak, tears pooling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Gone is the ageless air she was sporting before; now she looks like a child, and she sounds like one, too, a little kid tired out at the end of a sugar rush.  “Papa, I think I did something awful. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Oh, my girl.” Marco presses a kiss to the top of her head, in such a tender gesture that Emma feels prompted to look away and give them their privacy.

“I know that’s not true. You’re alright- Eliana, my sun, I’m so proud of you. It’s alright. You’re safe, and so is your brother. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

In the corner of her eye, Emma catches Regina turning around as well, gaze stubbornly fixed on the ceiling. The sheriff imitates her, and then thinks, idly, that she shouldn’t be feeling so gloomy about everything, about this heartwarming scene that’s unfolding behind them even as she tries to pretend she can’t hear anyone sobbing over the buzzing of the neon lights overhead.

She shouldn’t be, and yet she is, because that persistent worry that something’s bound to go wrong still clings to her, and has not left the room with Blue, as they, Eliana included, must all have hoped it would.

[aamirastories]

Part 3

I'm putting these out quite regularly now as I have a lot of this already written, but will slow down now to give a chance to catch up for those following along!

The Hikers

March 10th, 2023

My legs were on fire. I looked up. When my father said this was going to be a short climb to the top, I would love to know what scale of measurement we’d used. 

I looked down. Sure, we’d come a long way. Looking up again though, the top seemingly faded seamlessly into the clouds.

“Come on! We’re almost there!”, my father said.

Now I knew what deja-vu was. It was hearing that every hundred or so metres. My father was an ex-Navy seal – tall, rugged with short greying hair. Our bond grew after my mother passed away and whilst I struggled growing up, Dad had really been working on his bond with me and this hike was an example of that. Years of demanding special ops missions and training have left him tough, physically and mentally and even out of service many years, he still kept himself in great shape. I on the other hand was only just beginning to get used to this increased level of torture-come-training that he led me through weekly. I was skinny and was never comfortable with exercise, though I did always prefer exploring and Dad and I always had a bond through this. I however, was exhausted.

We continued climbing up the gradual slope, my legs burning with each step. I focused on regulating my breathing as I tracked our progress, counting over 500 laborious steps upward. The ground unexpectedly levelled off into a plateau still shrouded in mist, surprising me. Where was the peak?

“Almost there!” My dad called out ahead, striding vigorously towards the blanket of clouds. I hurried to catch up, confused. We'd hiked miles, the thin, cool air signalling high altitude.

As soon as I entered the fog, it enveloped me completely. The astonishing vista left behind vanished - there was only a haze of white. We wandered sightless amidst the swirling vapor; the mountain's peak shrouded. A surreal sensation came over me, as if floating in another realm high above earthly bounds. I focused on my father's broad back as my anchor point, shadowing his tireless gait through this bizarre, muffled limbo.

Just when unease began overwhelming me, the fog thinned. Crisp blue sky emerged above while sunlight dappled the rocks golden. Scrambling up boulders, I grasped a ledge, pulling myself to the summit on hands and knees, my heart racing and my lungs on fire, before standing up. I got a little lightheaded, but my father steadied me, as the weight of the rucksack on my back obeyed gravity and threatened to help me take the quick way back down the mountain. 

I looked around. The view was gorgeous. The sky was a rich blue with only a faint wisp of cloud on the horizon. There was a nice cool breeze which I appreciated as it helped to cool my face, sweat still pouring down it. I slowly turned, taking in the vista, careful not to lose footing again. 

In the distance. What was it? I called out to my father.

“Dad? What’s that?”

It took him a moment. I pointed in the direction, and he finally spotted it, as it grew closer.

“An aircraft maybe? Seems to be going quickly whatever it is.” he replied.

“The trail though, it’s not white, it’s grey, almost black.” I added, and focused on it more, shading my eyes with my hand placed over my eyebrows. It was hard to discern a particular shape of it although it did glint in the sun, so I could only surmise it was made of some kind of metal.

It was coming more quickly now, the front of it turning a more yellow orange, and suddenly my heart began to race again.

“It’s definitely not an aircraft” my dad said. He picked up his phone and zoomed into it, getting a closer look.

As it got so close, we felt we could almost make out the shape of it, trying to work out exactly what it was, it exploded. The sound hit us about 4 seconds later, a loud bang, this deafening peal accompanied by a blast of scorching wind that sent us both backwards.

“WOW!” My dad said as he looked at me.

Where the object had previously been, a blue cloud was hanging in the air, spreading and becoming fainter as it did, the wind beginning to carry it over our heads. We stared at it for a matter of minutes before it completely faded. I could swear, before my dad looked at me that the faintest smell of what I could only describe as coriander was in the air but dismissed it immediately. We breathed air that had been endlessly hot – I could still feel the residual heat on my face. As the smoke dispersed, the sky looked pale and empty again.

“Come on, let’s head back down again. I need to write this down before I forget and post these pictures to some friends.” my dad said and began to step cautiously down the steep slope. I looked back up, no sign of where the object had been, before turning again and following him down, my path tracing his.

[evilmidnightlurker]

So we all know that the clones were ordered by a Jedi named Sifo-Dyas. That's a statement made out loud in the actual movie, that’s hard canon by most standards, right? Right.

What bugs me. What bugs me intensely. Is that deuterocanon, novels and such, apparently goes on to assume that Sifo-Dyas was a real actual Jedi. A real person really named SIFO-DYAS and not DARTH SIDIOUS spelling his name backwa anagra sideways like a vampire scribbling "Alucard" in a hotel log, cackling at his own cleverness.

It's right there, people. Who fucked this up?