#stop mounting the cheese

[wise-emperor]

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[daycourtofficial]

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 8

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author’s note: this is ridiculous and incredibly self-indulgent but I don’t care I had so much fun writing this. This is the iconic karaoke chapter and I’m so excited 😌

(Masterlist)

Azriel drove the two of you through town, his motorcycle moving through traffic with ease. Your hold on him continues until he eventually pulls into a parking lot, stopping right in front of a small restaurant nestled beside an Insomnia Cookies store. You were quite impressed with how well you handled the ride - you had kept your gasps and nerves to a minimum.

Until you realized you had to get off the bike.

“Uhhh,” you say, looking at the ground as if the two or three feet away from the asphalt was a ravine.

He chuckles, sensing your hesitation.

“Hold onto my shoulders and just slide off.”

You breathe deeply, preparing yourself for the worst case scenario - either falling off the bike or death. You’re not entirely sure which is preferable.

You follow Azriel’s advice, your hands bracing your weight on his shoulders, sliding off with relative ease. You put your hands up in the air, jumping around at how proud you are of not dying. Azriel just chuckles, shaking his head as he mounts the bike, helping you pull off your helmet.

You two go in, and you look around to see only a one other couple at a table, eating what can only be described as the most delectable smelling sandwiches you’ve ever encountered. You spend a moment looking at the massive menu trying to figure out what sandwich you want. Azriel waits on you, and when you nod to him that you’re ready, he steps forward to the counter.

“Can I get a 12 inch triple meat and a 12 inch meatball sub, and whatever she’s having,” he says, motioning for you to tell him what you want.

You’re a bit surprised, and you desperately want to crack a joke about a 12 inch triple meat, but you bite your tongue, asking for a philly cheese steak instead.

Azriel pays, and you thank him as you two find a table.

“So�� 12 inch triple meat, huh?”

Azriel snorts, “it’s Cassian’s go to.”

“What’s on it?”

“I’m pretty certain they just shove a bunch of different kinds of meat on bread, layer a bunch of cheese on top, and warm it up.”

“Hmmm,” you hum, “very on brand for him.”

The guy who took your order brings you your sandwiches in little baskets, one sandwich packed away in a bag.

Cassian’s triple meat, no doubt.

“How’d you like being my backpack?” Azriel asks, biting his sandwich, half of it coming out of the end.

“Excuse me?” You ask, taking a bite of your own, trying to keep the contents inside of the sandwich as you eat.

“My backpack. You were riding on my back, like a backpack.”

“Oh,” you push some hair behind your ear, “It uh wasn’t too bad, it was actually fun when I got used to it.”

“Yeah? Would you ride with me again?”

His eyes sparkle a bit at you, whether that was from the sunlight peaking through the window or if that was just Azriel, you’re not sure.

“Yeah, I think I would. When I was a kid I always wanted to ride a motorcycle,” you say, smiling. “How did you end up driving one?” You ask, not taking your eyes off of him

He hums, thinking about how to respond. “I always wanted to ride one, too. Then after the incident with my hands,” he holds up his gloved hands as if making a point, “after I relearned how to use my hands, all I could think about for years was riding. During my physical therapies, whenever it was getting hard or frustrating, I imagined myself older, being able to grip the handles, feel the wind on me.”

You just smile at him, unsure what to say, hoping your smile comes across as friendly as you tell him, “I just thought it looked cool.”

A smile breaks across his face, a beautiful laugh coming from him.

“It does look cool,” he replies, bunching up the paper from his sandwich once he finishes, throwing it into the basket.

“Rhys actually bought me the bike.”

Your eyes move from the paper to his face, and a somber look overtakes him.

“When we were kids he told me after those therapies that he’d buy me a bike once we were old enough.”

He shakes his head, the memories of all the times Rhys said those words to him coming in and out of his thoughts.

“I never expected him to follow through on it. But he did. He bought me the bike as a graduation gift.”

You were about to ask how an 18 year old could afford that, but Azriel beats you to it.

“Rhys’s dad is somewhat in the picture. If Rhys does things for him, mostly making appearances at family functions, he gets extra money.”

“His dad does pay our rent, and Rhys has a credit and debit card from his dad, but he also needed his dad to sign on for the bike.”

“Your brothers must really love you,” you say, reaching your hand out to cover his.

He looks up at you, hazel eyes peering into your own and he smiles, “yeah, yeah they do.”

-

You walk into the gym that Cassian and Azriel work at. It was quite large and it looked incredibly pristine. It’s full of people working out, seemingly everyone in town was spending their Saturday afternoon sweating the week off.

Azriel pulls out his phone, shooting a text to Cassian about his sandwich. The two of you chat idly about the gym, and Azriel tells you a bit about the guy who does the scheduling when you catch a glimpse of long hair in a half messy bun on the top of his head.

You see Cassian’s head come from a corner and he makes his way to you two, his grin getting bigger as he sees you next to his brother.

“How’d your date go last night?” He asks, not mentioning Az’s spare helmet in your hand or how if he blew out a breath you’d be touching his brother.

Azriel glares at Cassian over you, but you tell him, “uh, terribly, actually. He was a douche.”

Cassian grabs his lunch from Azriel, thanking him.

“That’s too bad.”

And yet, Cassian wouldn’t stop smiling at you. You go to ask him more, but he tells you, “I gotta go - I only have a few minutes to eat. Thanks,” he tells you, and before you realize what’s happening, he’s grabbing your head giving you a kiss on the forehead, doing the same to Azriel.

The two of you stand there confused as Cassian walks away, over his shoulder yelling, “do NOT forget about karaoke tonight!”

-

You stepped into your living room, to find Rhys, Mor, and Az lounging on your couches, not adhering to the bar’s theme. Rita’s did themed karaoke nights once a month and this month’s theme was cowboys.

Naturally you pulled out your Barbie costume from last Halloween, and are now looking at your non-costumed friends gobsmacked.

“Why is no one else dressed up?” You ask incredulously, as all three of them look towards you. Rhys and Mor start laughing, but Azriel lets his eyes graze up and down your body, his gaze making you wonder if you’re even wearing clothes right now.

Mor smiles at you, “we don’t follow the theme - Cassian does though.”

You huff, crossing your arms, “he made it seem like all of you dressed up!”

Rhys’s eyes dance with amusement as he tells you, “because he wanted you to dress up too.”

As if you summoned him, Cassian comes out wearing black leather pants, no shirt, a matching vest, and a cowboy hat. He looks at you, smiling wide. “You look great!” He tells you, clapping you on the shoulder as he walks past you. “Uber’s here.”

You don’t have time to turn around and change as your group is herded out the door and down the elevator. It hadn’t occurred to you to question how the five of you would fit into an uber until you got down to the curb, Mor bolting for the passenger seat as the guys get into the car.

“You can just sit on someone’s lap,” Mor tells you flippantly, before placing a finger on her nose telling you, “nose goes.”

Az, Rhys, and Cass get into the backseat, and Cass pats his lap for you, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Ew,” you tell him, clambering to get in on Az’s side. “I don’t trust you, Cass.”

You drape your legs over Rhys’s lap, your feet landing in Cassian’s hands as you get situated on Az’s lap. You shoot him a look, wanting to know if this is okay, but he’s talking to the uber driver.

You pull up your phone, typing a note into your notes app, showing it to him once he’s finished with whatever he was telling the driver.

Is this okay?

You show it to him as Cassian and Rhys are watching the end of a rugby game on Cassian’s phone on the other end of the backseat. Az reaches for your phone, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he grabs your phone. You watch him type, his fingers dancing across your keyboard, their scarred skin providing a texture you want to touch.

It’s more than fine.

He had replied, and you’re about to respond when he grabs your phone again, typing out:

Just like the way you look in that costume.

He hands you your phone back, smiling as a blush floods your cheeks. He puts his arms around your torso, holding you in place, and one of his hands gently holds onto your hips, securing you to him.

Sitting mostly in Azriel’s lap, you spend the car ride holding onto him, leaning your head into his neck for support while you talk to Cassian, who keeps threatening to tickle your feet. You tell him you get spazzy when tickled, which would give Rhys a free knee to the face.

“Please don’t, Cass. I’d like to keep my face intact for tonight.”

“Yeah because Feyre’s meeting us at Rita’s and he wants to look good,” Mor replies from the front seat, drawing out the last word.

Rhys rolls his eyes, but you do notice him unlock his phone to the messages between him and your friend, the last one asking her to let him know when she got there.

The five of you arrive to Rita’s, a bar located on the edge of campus, just close enough to be packed full of other students.

Mor leads the group in, with Rhys saying, “Feyre’s on her way.” The blonde leads your group to a large round booth in the corner, all of you piling in. Mor sits on your right as you maneuver your way in, Azriel right beside you.

Cassian sits on the edge, likely so he can get up and go sing without being too much of a hindrance. Rhys doesn’t sit down, heading to the bar to grab drinks for everyone instead.

And perhaps keep an eye on the door for a certain brunette.

The four of you sit in the booth, Cassian being uncharacteristically quiet as he waits for Rhysand to bring him his traditional shot before performing.

You nudge Az, getting him to turn his attention to his brother.

“You okay, Cass?”

Cassian shrugs him off, “I just want my shots. You know I prefer being a bit buzzed before going up there.”

You reach in front of Azriel, squeezing Cassian’s forearm, “you’re going to be great!”

Cassian softly smiles at you, his hand covering yours in a gentle squeeze, “thanks, sweetheart.”

Cassian did seem in better spirits, opting to pick up a conversation with Mor about the best shots to drink before karaoke.

You turn to Az, the two of you closer than necessary in the booth, but you can’t bring yourself to scoot away.

“So, Barbie huh?” He asks, his fingers touching the pink pleather fabric on your shoulder.

You’re confused for a moment, before realizing what he’s talking about. “Oh, yeah. Mor wanted us to go as different Barbies from the movie for Halloween - she was rollerskating Barbie, I was cowgirl Barbie, and Feyre was the pink gingham dress Barbie.”

He rests his arm on the booth behind you, and you stay as still as possible so you won’t scare him off as he asks, “no Kens?”

You laugh, “no Kens, unfortunately.”

His smile is on the verge of cracking his face in half as he says, “maybe this Halloween you’ll have some Kens.”

Before you can reply, Rhysand comes back with a tray of shots and Feyre behind him, wearing a very cute black mini dress.

“Traitor!” You shout at her, as she scooches in next to Mor.

“Rhys told me we didn’t actually dress up,” she defends, holding her hands up. Your eyes shoot to violet ones, their gaze full of mischief. Rhys smiles at you, and your jaw drops, “and you didn’t think to extend the same courtesy to me?”

Rhys’s grin grows feral, “I thought surely with all the texting you and Azriel have been doing, he would have told you.”

You turn, smacking him on the shoulder as he chuckles. “Okay, okay, I should have told you, but you were so excited about it, how could I rip that from you?”

You scoff, “I look like an idiot.”

“A cute idiot.”

Your blush doesn’t go unnoticed by everyone at the table, as Mor pokes her nose in. “I think it’s only fair if next time we come out Azzy and Rhys adhere to the theme.”

Your eyes light up, pointing to Mor, “oh oh oh, I like that idea!”

Rhys turns to cousin, “and why am I involved in this?”

“It only seems fair. You told Feyre that we don’t dress up, so you should have told her as well.”

Azriel butts in, “well Feyre could have told her too.”

Feyre motions her hand over her throat, trying to stop Azriel from speaking further.

“It’s decided then,” Mor says, “the three of you adhere to the theme for next month’s karaoke.”

You pick up your glass and clink it to Mor’s, solidifying the deal. Everyone else is groaning, slumping back in their seats, but this agreement causes Cassian to become invigorated. He’s buzzing with excitement, and at least three shots of vodka, as one of the bartenders walks up to the mic and says, “next up for karaoke - everyone’s favorite - Cassian!”

Cassian gets up, all of you wishing him luck as Mor places a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He prances up to the stage as the scattered applause dies out. The opening notes to Shania Twain’s “Man I Feel Like a Woman” come through the speakers. Cassian lifts his head to the mic to sing, “let’s go, girls”, then turns back around away from the mic. He begins swaying his hips in time with the beat, the leather pants he’s wearing making his ass and his legs look phenomenal. His vest rises a bit as he raises his arms, and you can see the bottom of the tattoo he had gotten during your drunk escapades.

“Are we sure Cassian’s not a stripper?” You ask the table, but Mor shushes you so she can watch the show.

You turn to Azriel, leaning in close to him to whisper, “Do you know how to whistle?”

Your whole body is warm as he leans close to your ear, whispering, “Yes, why?”

You miss the look Rhys gives the two of you, huddled together impossibly close in the large expansive booth.

“I want to whistle, but I don’t know how. Can you do it?”

He obliges your request, rolling his eyes as he wolf whistles at Cassian, who beams at the attention.

You giggle, whispering to Azriel, “his stage name should be 12 inch triple meat.”

You two giggle at the joke before turning your attention back to the stage. Cassian makes it through the first chorus, and he is not receiving his dues. No one is paying any attention to him, and you’re about to ask if there’s anything you guys can do, when Mor grabs your and Feyre’s arms, pulling you out to the little dance floor in front of the stage.

You guys start singing and dancing with him, hips swaying with the music. You guys are singing to each other, smiles plastered on your faces.

You’re lost in the moment when you feel Cassian’s warm hand wrap around your wrist dragging you up on the stage. He has his other hand on Mor, so you quickly grab Feyre’s wrist, all three of you assisting him with the vocals on the “oh, oh, oh”.

It was ridiculous - the four of you on this tiny stage, everyone at Rita’s not caring as you all danced and sang, the three of you providing backing vocals for Cassian.

Three of the most important people in your life singing to Shania Twain.

It was ridiculous. It was everything.

The song ends, and you can hear Rhys and Azriel clapping enthusiastically as the four of you head back to your table.

You slide back into Azriel’s side, his smile making everything inside of you burn for more of it. You spend the rest of the night drinking as Rhys and Cassian regale you all with stories of karaoke nights of the past, the unspoken words hanging between them, but not making their way into the discussion.

The past nights of singing were nowhere near as fun as tonight was.

[shirefantasies]

hii i’ve read all your hobbit fics and i love them. i was wondering if you can do one with the company who underestimated the readers fighting abilities and when a pack of orcs attack they seem to be doing better than everyone else. like they got this bloodthirsty look on their face and it terrifies them while also in their heads like “oh yeah that’s the one i wanna marry” feel free to ignore this keep up the good work🫶🫶

I love this! I can so see like, all the dwarves having this exact moment 😆 Warnings: some blood/violence mentions

Fiery, Fierce, Fabulous!

Balin

He had been working with you a bit, lightly sparring with his sword and an old spare, but it was all just playful. Swords, it seemed, weren’t for you, but all that changed in Balin’s mind was furthering his desire to protect you. The orcs were upon you seemingly in an instant, not giving your company a single break. Exasperated, Balin made to run forward, stopping in his tracks when he saw you. In a heartbeat you had pulled out a bow and arrow, launching quite the volley into the growing crowd of enemies and picking off a surprising number of the ghastly running figures. It was like you knew exactly where to shoot past the armor despite them being outfitted differently. Balin had always looked upon you with affection, a special care he’d not given many before, but as he watched you bloom into a capable warrior of your own right, he knew it was love.

Dwalin

You were usually off helping Bombur cook, so he supposed he’d written you off as a fighter. Not that knowing your way around a good meal was no merit. In fact, you’d been explaining how you made your cheese sauce so good-something you called a ‘roux’- when the howling started. Wargs, all mounted with riders coming in an ambush, a flurry of scimitars and axes raised. Jolting up from the rock you sat on, you unsheathed a sword from who knows where, seeming to briefly perceive the raise of Dwalin’s eyebrows before you ran off. One of the first into the fray along with Bifur, you swung, taking the eye out of one warg and catching the leg of the rider, who slipped enough for you to run him through. Barely pausing, you took another hack at the warg before moving onto another loose orc, unceremoniously lopping his head off. He always knew he wanted someone at home who could have dinner waiting, but up until that moment Dwalin assumed he’d marry someone he could protect. The grin that spread across his face, the pound of his heart, the irresistible focus across your face, though? They all told him you were his One.

Thorin

His company is small, but they are fighters. At least all the ones he can vouch for. Having never seen you in a fight was one reservation he had to your joining, though your presence is soothing above all else. The sense, the trust you have for him, your willingness to do what is right in the dwarves' eyes. Not to mention the way you constantly remind Thorin to focus on the good, resistant to it all as he may have once been. When the orcs come, he sees apprehension glint in your eyes before it quickly evolves to focus. You reach for some article hanging at your back, something Thorin had assumed to be a frying pan handle. Erroneously. Very. You've pulled out a spear, parrying attack after attack and even catching the brunt of a blow meant for Dori. Your weapon looks quite regal in your hand, beauty to be found even in a bloodbath. Perhaps especially so. You were no charge to them, you were one of them. Somebody the others looked up to, respected. Somebody Thorin himself could depend on. Never did he think the day would come, and yet in that fight the king-to-be knew he looked upon his One.

Oin

The company had taken you on as a healer, knowing your skills would be beyond valuable; thus, you worked and trained beneath Oin. Even handling scrapes, your touch is so gentle it warms his heart, filling it with pride…and maybe a little something else. That same heart drops when an orc grabs you by the arm, yanking you and lifting you up like little more than a doll. His hands tighten upon his staff. Unnecessarily, it seems, for your other arm swings and sets the orc cursing in its dark speech and dropping you. Promptly stabbing him with the large knife you still held, you take out both of his neighbors for good luck. Cheering in encouragement, Oin thinks to himself that it’s about time he had a talk with you.

Gloin

You’re quick with your words, he’ll give you that. Always with some joke or barb to shoot back at the others when they tease you. Gloin swears you could make up a story for anything, and sometimes he can’t help but imagine hearing your voice reciting some little tale under the stars, to him and him alone. Naturally, when Azog sends his ilk after you, Gloin’s first instinct is to stand in front of you, an arm outstretched in cover. Cover you promptly ignore, rushing forth, unstrapping a pair of axes from your back, and unleashing hell upon the great ugly things. What better story to tell of how he knew he found his One?

Bifur

Not everyone took the time to try to listen. Most people waved a dismissive hand at signs, flailed and pantomimed in some cruel mockery or otherwise concession. Not you. You pulled him into nearly every conversation, made little jokes just for him. Made the world feel like it was just the two of you sometimes. Was it ridiculous? Maybe. Then again, a little showing off couldn't hurt, just in case. Wait, since when did you have an axe? And since when were you so swift with it as to chop the arm off an orc like that? And since when did you start looking so good splattered with blood? Bifur must've been staring, for suddenly there you were giving a merry laugh, asking if he liked those moves, wholly his One. Oh, that was it- he was a goner for sure.

Bofur

From the moment the company had entered Bag End, you’d been right there up front singing and dancing along with the dwarves. Privately Bofur thought of you as the company’s songbird the way you performed and found a song for any moment. Protecting your pretty pipes is all he’s thinking about, in fact, when goblins swarm you down in their town. Hoisting his mattock, he’s ready to do what he must…. Only for you to take them out yourself, swinging your own blades with a rhythm all your own. You’re like a tornado the way you tear them up! Scary? Maybe a little. But beautiful? Definitely a lot. Despite the goblin-hole you’ve landed yourselves in, Bofur chuckles and smiles to himself. What can he say? He loves you.

Bombur

More than once does it occur to Bombur how badly he wants to make you smile, see you relaxed and comfortable every minute of the day. His heart positively thumps out of his chest at the way you lay your hand over his, thanking him for the meal he made or the extra blanket he gave you. Your safety is all he thinks about running headlong into battle, weapons ablaze. You won't be afraid if... thwack! Bombur's thoughts are utterly interrupted by an orc tumbling headlong, another soon joining them with a strike by your twin staffs. Twirling them about your head, you part the crowding battle with a look of impressive calm. The first words you speak in that battle are to ask him if he's alright, followed by a compliment to his own kill count. Clashing with orcs as he may have been, Bombur couldn't help smiling merrily as he got to watch you, further cementing your status as his One in his mind.

Dori

The two of you bonded over Bilbo’s china, each of you having favorite plates and cups amidst all the dishes you used, washed, admired. He thought of you as someone who enjoyed the delicate crafts in life, appreciated the little flowers and traces of gilding on the one that was Bilbo’s mother’s. Just like him! Pessimistic as he could be, he didn’t much fancy the sight of you in battle- after all, you had had no cause to be forced into such a situation, right? Wrong, it seemed! Upon the first ambush you were asking him for a weapon, rolling your eyes when he gaped and grabbing up his flail, shattering a shield immediately and smirking when you caught his eye again. Heart leaping, Dori wonders for the first time in his life if maybe he isn’t the only one meant to care for his brothers, suddenly seeing someone else more than belonging in his family.

Nori

You were such a sweet little thing, so shy and kind it took everything in Nori not to sweep you off your feet at every little gesture. Instead, he opted for teasing you, slinging his arm around your shoulders to watch you get flustered or taking things to get a rise out of you. Or at least a cute look of confusion. Now, he thinks, is my big chance when you’re all being chased, assailants quickly escaping archery range and getting ever closer to his blades. You rush forward at his side, though, offering a sunny smile that contrasts heavily with the massive hammer in your hand. Nori slits a throat, you wallop the dickens out of several more orcs. When it’s all said and done he can’t help but tell you what a great team you make, taking that opportunity to finally sweep you off your feet.

Ori

All your blades were ornamental, carven with flowers into their wood handles and swirls patterning the metal. One had beasts upon the cross-guard and pommel. Ori knew this because you’d shown him, pride glittering in your eyes at the beautiful things. You loved his art and collected your own, pressing flowers and gushing over Bilbo’s trinkets. It was what inspired him to make you little gifts in the first place, in fact. Panic shoots through Ori’s chest when orcs barrel your way. Something flies through the air and he gasps as he realizes it’s your little flower knife sailing straight into the throat of your enemy. You take up the beastly dagger next, slicing another throat and finishing off the one Ori startles with his slingshot. His heart leaps when you congratulate him, thanking him for helping save your life as he reminds you you did the same. He can’t help staring as you walk away, completely smitten.

Fili

Maybe he shouldn’t play favorites, especially among friends and family, but you are by far his favorite in the whole mess of travelers the dwarven prince has fallen in with. Fili is addicted to the sound of your giggles at all his jokes, the way your lips circle in surprise when he shows you all the weapons he boasts. Perhaps that’s why he assumes you haven’t any, but you know what they say about that. He should’ve known better with the way he keeps most of his concealed. A pair of daggers immediately swung about still come as a more than pleasant surprise, pride glowing in the smile Fili flashes you. You are beyond special, he sees it now: you’re the one for him.

Kili

You get so bashful every time he sends a wink your way, your smile an absolute balm for his soul no matter what the day brings. He loves the way you get his attention only to hand him a flower you plucked from the roadside with a little for you. Kili himself practically can only imagine the surprise he feels when he sees you cross your blades and decapitate two adversaries in a row like they’re nothing, a look he can only describe as fiery passion across your face. Practically feeling as though he’s in a dream, Kili knows through the haze it’s more than flirtation, he’s head over heels. This must be that ‘One’ feeling Gloin and Bombur always talk about.

Bilbo

Seems like you're always by his side. Offering him a hot drink, chatting on watch, sharing blankets. It's like a little piece of home followed him off on this absurd journey, and thank the stars. He's struggling to adjust to the rowdy bunch you two have fallen in with, but you? A gentler soul indeed. Bilbo's heart sinks at the sight of orcs at your heels, wishing never to have need of the blade he was given. You tell him none of them will get near him, causing him to peer up at you with wide, confused eyes before you whip out a crossbow and start shooting. Your marks go tumbling off their wargs, blood bursting from across their chests as the mob thins. Gaping, Bilbo swallows and shakily thanks you, his gaze darting to and from your eyes shyly. You're something new, something quite between home and an adventure, he dares say.

[jungle-angel]

The Little Bookworm (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob can't get enough of your kids being obsessed with books

It was the gloomiest of fall days with the skies over Montana having gone darker than expected, almost as if night were setting in at lunchtime.

Auggie had been perched on the little bay window seat in the living room, the rain battering the diamond paned windows while the woodstove in the living room made the house warm and cozy. Bob didn't particularly like having the tv on all day, but The Nightmare Before Christmas seemed like the perfect background noise on a day like this and with Halloween fast approaching, it made it even better.

Bob smiled a little seeing his little mini-me completely engrossed in one of the books you had gotten him. Auggie had always loved pulling books from the shelf, no matter how big or how small they were and loved making up his own stories to tell you, Bob and the rest of the family.

"Auggie, come and eat," Bob called from the kitchen.

Auggie giggled and shut his book, running right for the kitchen and seating himself into his chair. Bob had definitely outdone himself this time, grilled cheese with bacon, a side of kettle cooked potato chips and a kosher dill pickle on the side.

"Whatcha reading buddy?" Bob asked him.

"Um.....I dunno," Auggie chirped with a big grin on his face before taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"You don't know?!" Bob questioned, pretending to be shocked.

"It's about these three guys and a bad guy who doesn't like them so they've gotta stop him," Auggie explained.

The more Auggie chattered, the more Bob couldn't control the broad smile on his face. The Three Musketeers had been one of his favorites growing up, one that his father had grown up reading as well. Now that Auggie was reading it, he was proud beyond words that his love of the book had been passed down to his son.

As soon as lunch was done, Bob took a look at Auggie's bookshelf and made a list of other books that he didn't have, noting that they would most likely be his Christmas gift that year. He made his way upstairs while Auggie scooted back to his little corner, hoping you were still up in your shared bedroom and sure enough, you were.

"Still working away Mrs. Floyd?" he asked, scooting in next to you.

"All I can do Bob," you told him.

You had been needle-felting all day as a movie played out on the tv that was mounted on the wall. Bob felt awful that you were on strict bedrest, but after the last ultrasound appointment, you both knew it was what you and your baby girl needed. Luckily Reagan and her husband, Elijah, lived close by in case anything came up, but it still made Bob nervous whenever you got up in the middle of the night to pee.

Yet he was in awe at the Halloween decorations you had made for Auggie's kindergarten class, little pumpkins that looked like fairy houses, witches in their pointed little hats and little brooms in their hands, fuzzy little bats with googly eyes and silly looking little spiders, black cats with slinky little tails, ghosts with their mouths wide open and even two little figures that turned out to be Jack and Sally and even a little Zero from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

"Did you do all this while I was downstairs?" Bob asked, picking up the soft, fuzzy little figures.

"Yep," you answered proudly. "Kay told me that while the kids were outside playing in the yard, Auggie, Gabe, Nicky and Pete were all collecting sticks and wanted to bring them home. I figured I could use them to make a little Halloween tree."

Bob remembered having been a kid at that type of school and having had Kay's mother for his kindergarten teacher. They were wonderful days, learning how to make fresh bread and soup for lunch, playing with his friends, listening to stories and plenty of playing outside. Yet they had been tough too. Bob remembered some days when his father had gotten a deployment notice. He would hide out in a corner of the classroom and cry until Kay's mother had to gently coax him out. Bob had made damn sure that Auggie, Patrick and any other children you might have, would never have to go through that when they started school. But luckily, Bob and the rest of the Daggers had been fully and honorably discharged by the time Patrick had been born.

"You've gotta teach me how to do this because I'm curious now," Bob chuckled.

"Believe me I will," you told him. "I need a partner so I can keep from getting bored."

Up the stairs came those familiar little feet you heard running through the house day after day on the weekends. "Daddy, Daddy," Auggie chirped again. "Can you read to me?"

"C'mere buddy," Bob said, lifting him up into the bed with his book and putting him between you both.

You rode out the rest of the rainy afternoon, reading The Three Musketeers and the adventures they had lived. Auggie was practically jumping with excitement whenever Bob read the swordfight scenes, the both of you happy and proud that he was your little bookworm.

[sxfterhearts]

neighbourly visits

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ idol!jiung x non-idol!reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: fluff inspired by recent events, childhood-neighbours!au

♡ word count: 2,422 words

♡ author’s note: ah choi jiung i wish you only good things. >_< i hope you get better soon and no longer feel any pain... i'm sure it was hard for you to stop activities, but i hope you take the time to rest and relax!!! i have not known you for long, but i want to know you for a long time ♡ also pics cred to the lovely tumblr owners!!!

♡ sequel: backstage visits

//

“Hey stranger,” You called out from behind the sliding door that was left ajar, your head peeking through the gap to peer inside the hospital room.

“Hey yourself.” Jiung replied with a light chuckle.

You walked in. Walls covered in flowery 90’s wallpaper greeted you warmly, along with a mounted television playing news silently in the background, a small sofa and coffee table set in the corner and a large window with views of skyscrapers dotted along the side of the Han River. And of course, a single hospital bed with your ex-neighbour-turned-idol lying right on top of it.

“It’s a nice room.” You commented, curious eyes scanning your surroundings.

He scoffed. “Yeah, except now there’s a stain at the bottom of the walls from yesterday.” Jiung admitted sheepishly, hands coming up to rub the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.

“Ah…” You trailed off, setting down the two plastic bags you brought with you on his overbed table. “From when you flooded the bathroom?” You questioned, gentle and careful, nose scrunching up adorably.

“Don’t remind me…” He looked away. “I was so embarrassed! Oh my goodness… The head nurse laughed right in my face! I mean, it sounds like she thought it was funny, but I felt so bad.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, plus, who doesn’t like Krispy Kreme donuts?” “I hope so…”

“Anyways, I brought the goods, like you asked.” Your eyebrows cocked towards the bags, while you dragged a fold-up chair closer to his bedside.

Jiung’s eyes lit up at the mention of this. “You did?”

“Of course, who do you think I am?” You laughed, fingers moving to unpack the food. “Half and half wings, gold king and bburinkle flavoured, one pack of bburinkle cheese balls, and a large tteokbokki.” As you announced the order, you brought out the takeaway boxes one by one – soy sauce, sweet honey and garlic flavoured, then cheese powder flavoured wings; the mozzarella cheese balls that you both enjoyed and the large container filled with spicy rice cakes. “Oh, and Cass beer!”

“Y/N…” Jiung uttered, his mouth quickly salivating at the mention of his favourite meal: chicken and beer. “Are you an angel?”

You laughed out loud, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. You turned around, heading to the adjoined bathroom, hoping to hide your flustered expression. Too late, though, Jiung thought that shade of pink looked the cutest on you. “I think you’re just hallucinating from all the drugs they’ve put you under.” You replied. 

“I have been dreaming about this meal since I got admitted last week. You’re really saving my life, neighbour.” Jiung breathed out, still amazed at the generous spread of food. 

As you walked out, you saw Jiung swinging his legs to the edge of the bed. “Woah, hold on soldier, where do you think you’re going?”

He stopped, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “To wash my hands.”

“No need for that. Sit down and rest – doctor’s orders, remember?” You reached into your handbag and pulled out a hand sanitiser, passing it over to him. “Use this instead. Plus, it’s BHC. They’re professionals. There’s gloves.”

At that, Jiung rolled his eyes at you. “I’m fine,” He drawled out, yet accepting your offer and sanitising his hands. “It’s not like I’m severely injured or anything.”

You gave him a pointed look, fully sceptical. “Right.” 

“I’m serious!”

“A ruptured thigh muscle, Jiung. You ruptured your thigh muscle.” You deadpanned, your motherly instincts firing up. “That’s a big deal! Just sit down and eat your chicken, okay?”

“Fine…” He grumbled, pouting as he pulled on his gloves. 

“So, how are you feeling about it?”

“About the leg? It’s fine. Honestly, it doesn’t even hurt that much.” Jiung paused to take a bite of the cheese ball, eyes closing in pure bliss as he did so. “So good. This always hits.”

“Okay, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean?”

You sighed, reaching for a can of beer and opening it for him. “You know what I mean…”

He accepted it, taking a big gulp as he thought through his response. “It’s… fine.” Jiung looked down, suddenly taking a lot of interest in the box of fried chicken in front of him.

“Are you really okay? You were preparing for such a long time. Your mum even told me that you were practising non-stop, even on Seollal, and most of Christmas through to New Years. She said she could only send you banchan this year and was really sad about not seeing you back home.”

“Hey,” He looked up. “Are you here to visit your sick neighbour or to guilt trip him for not visiting his family?” Jiung said before biting into a bburinkle flavoured wing.

“Firstly, ex-neighbour. You moved out years and years ago. Secondly, I’m not trying to guilt trip you. I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, why do you care if you’re just my ex-neighbour?” Jiung countered in a quiet voice.

“That’s not what I - ” You stopped, sighing. “Okay, we both know you’re not just my ex-neighbour.”

“What am I then?” He looked you straight  in the eye.

The two of you engaged in a tense staring contest before the eye contact and the intensity behind his lids freaked you out. “My… My friend, okay? Geez, that’s not the point. Stop deflecting, Choi Jiung. I’ve known you for over a decade and you’re still the same. Always trying to avoid talking about your feelings.” You huffed, passing a pair of chopsticks to him and sliding over the container of tteokbokki. 

Jiung nodded his thanks, accepting the cutlery and digging in.

Silence ensued as the words hung over the pair of you. You ate quietly while Jiung slurped up his rice cakes like a starved man. He set down his chopsticks once he took a big bite, sighing. “Okay, fine. You got me. I’m not okay.”

“See! Jiung, you have to talk about your feelings.” You stopped, hands coming up to make vague gestures in the air to emphasise your point. “It’s important! You can’t just keep everything inside. Like,” You picked up a can of unopened beer. “Like this. If you keep it bottled inside and shake it too much, it’ll explode completely and make a mess. Please, just talk to me about it. How are you feeling, Choi Jiung?”

He grimaced internally at the use of his full name, the name his mother would use whenever she got mad at him. “Yeah, I’m not okay. I’m so not okay, Y/N.” He sighed again. At this point, you grew slightly concerned that he would then hurt his nostrils from heavy sighing. You shook the silly thought away to focus. “I’m not okay, because, you know what, yeah. You’re right. We have been practising for so long, and so hard. And I was so excited, and had so many sleepless nights trying to figure out how to do my solo, and what lyrics would go well for the song, and how to set up the stages, and what outfits would go together, and, and…” He took a deep breath to calm himself. Jiung could feel his eyes heat up and the corner of his lids prickling, tears beginning to gather slowly but surely. “And for all that to be taken away from me, it just feels so, so unfair.” His voice sounded so small and vulnerable, your heart cracked a little bit for him. A stray tear escaped, rolling down his cheeks.

Immediately, you use the ends of your sleeves to dab away at his tears. Nodding, you encouraged him to go on.

“And… And I really wanted to visit Japan. Shota was gonna bring us to all these places, we were gonna have dinner with his family, and I was really looking forward to being back in America. I really wanted to walk around LA again, and see the huge trees, and…” Jiung paused again, trying to compose himself. “And I’m just really sad I can’t see the fans. I feel so bad, like I let them down, and I know that for some of them this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing to see us and I let them down and - ”

You didn’t allow him to continue - you simply stood up from your seat and sat next to him on the bed, enveloping him in a hug. “And that’s enough, I’m not gonna let you continue talking down to yourself like that.” You said in a hushed voice. You weren’t too sure why you were whispering, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Jiung shut up promptly, closing his wet eyes, and burying his face in your sweater. He breathed in your scent, a mixture of your fabric softener and jasmine, and felt at ease. He was transported back to simpler times - growing up in a high-rise apartment in the outskirts of Seoul, catching cicadas by the stream next to your house, and running around the parks until the sun went down.

You stayed like this for awhile, and it was like time stopped for you. You could barely breathe from how close you were to Jiung, someone you had admired for a long time now - initially from up close, close enough to count the eyelashes on his pretty face. And now from afar, through a screen. Initially, you wrapped him in a hug to stop him from talking about how he let his fans down, but now, you were just enjoying his warmth. Jiung hugged you back tighter, and you could feel the ends of his orange hair tickling your neck.

It was Jiung who broke the silence. “You feel the same - smell the same, even.” He mumbled, lips too close to your skin for you to maintain a healthy heartbeat.

“Yeah, well…” You hated yourself for pulling away, but you had to do it to check up on him; make sure he was okay.  “Moving out to the big city made me crave familiarity. So I had to ask Mum to send me a picture of the softener she used for our clothes when we were growing up.”

Jiung smiled at that. “That’s nice.”  He liked the idea of you calling your mum about something as simple as laundry. Often, he felt like his calls back home were the opposite of mundane - his mother would ask him where he was flying to that weekend; he would reply with the destination and tell her that he was working on a few new songs. She would tell him to eat well and not sleep too late; he would reply in the affirmative, hiding the fact that most of the time they were recording in the wee hours of the morning. It seemed like you were worlds apart. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel more than grateful to have a friend like you in his life to keep him grounded. Someone from his previous life, as a child, before he was P1Harmony’s Jiung - when he was just himself, just plain old Choi Jiung. A boy from Anyang. A boy with big dreams. Just a regular boy.

“Also, I’m sure your fans understand. And they’d want you to rest! Trust me,” You paused, “Everyone on SNS has been commenting to wish you a speedy recovery but also saying that this is a great opportunity for you to get some well-deserved rest. You guys never seem to rest these days. A comeback and a tour? You must’ve been so busy..”

Jiung laughed, amused. “You read the fan comments?”

“What? Of course! Why are you surprised?”

“Wow…” Jiung replied. “You know, we kinda lost contact when we were in high school but when you reached out again a few years ago I really did think it was because you suddenly missed me. Now I know why…”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you reach out because you were a fan? I always believed your story - I thought it really was because you bumped into my mum back in Anyang and she passed you my new number.”

“I mean…” You fumbled. Now it was your turn to be embarrassed. “That happened! I swear!”

“But…?”

“No buts! That is definitely what happened.”

“Right… So who’s your P1Harmony bias? Tell me.” Jiung teased, lips curling into a cheeky grin. He passed you the beer, urging you to drink. “Drink up and tell me. Don’t worry, I can set you up with them. Just tell me.”

You took a huge gulp as you whacked him on the arm.

“Hey! That hurt!”

“You deserved it.” You mumbled.

“So, who is it?” Jiung still wouldn’t let it go. 

“You don’t need to know.” The tips of your ears were warming up now. You distracted yourself by munching on some wings, hoping he would just drop the topic already.

“C’mon, I deserve to know, at least.”

Just then, your phone, which was on top of the table, lit up with a Kakao notification. Your eyes widened in alarm, suddenly remembering that you had just recently changed your wallpaper to a (very cute) photo of Jiung from their most recent music video. With your clean hand, you reached over to grab it before Jiung could see it.

But alas, you were too slow. “Oh…” Jiung mused, getting all cocky. “I get it now.”

“What do you get? There’s nothing to get.” You forced out a laugh, flipping your phone the other way and burying it under your seat.

“Y/N…” Jiung drawled out the syllabus of your name in a teasing yet slightly dangerous way, as if he had an evil master plan. “Tell me something, and be honest.”

“Nope, I refuse.” You said, shaking your head vigorously.

“Do you like me?”

You continued shaking your head no and chewing in silence.

“Be honest, I’m not gonna judge you. Am I your bias?”

“Shut up, I refuse to answer.”

“Ah, so I am right.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“You didn’t have to say it, Y/N. I can tell… Just admit it. You like me.”

“No! This is so embarrassing…”

//

{ epilogue }

The nurses filling out their charts at the station giggled and gossiped over their dinners. 

“So, what do you think is gonna happen?”

“Gosh, watching them is so frustrating. Like, just confess already!”

“I know right! I almost want to do something about it. Like slip them a note or push them into each other or something.”

“Ah, the beauty of young love…”

[cailinsblog]

Swiss Adventures: Nico hischier x reader

………………………………..

Has German in it but I have translated it

Nico Hischier, the pride of Switzerland and a renowned NHL player, had conquered many battles on the ice, but none compared to the overwhelming joy of becoming a father. His wife, Y/N, had given birth to their precious daughter, Lily, whose arrival filled their lives with boundless love and happiness.

As the off-season approached, Nico's heart swelled with excitement at the thought of bringing his newborn daughter to his homeland. Switzerland held a special place in his heart, with its majestic mountains, pristine lakes, and charming villages. He couldn't wait to share its beauty with Lily and introduce her to his own childhood memories.

With bags packed and hearts full, the Hischier family embarked on their journey to Switzerland. The moment they stepped off the plane, the crisp Alpine air welcomed them home. Nico's eyes sparkled with pride as he held Lily in his arms, whispering words of love and promises of grand adventures.

Their first stop was Nico's hometown of Naters, a picturesque village nestled in the shadow of the Swiss Alps. The quaint streets were lined with cozy chalets adorned with vibrant window boxes overflowing with flowers. Everywhere they went, they were greeted with warm smiles and hearty "Grüezi" (hello) from locals who recognized Nico as their hometown hero.

Nico's parents eagerly awaited their arrival, bursting with excitement to meet their granddaughter for the first time. As they embraced Y/N and Lily, tears of joy glistened in their eyes, their hearts overflowing with love for the newest member of their family.

"Willkommen in der Schweiz, kleine Lily," (Welcome to Switzerland, little Lily) Nico's mother said, her voice filled with tenderness as she cradled the tiny bundle in her arms.

Over the days that followed, Nico and Y/N immersed themselves in Swiss culture, from indulging in cheese fondue and chocolate to taking leisurely strolls along serene mountain trails. Each moment was captured in their hearts, creating memories that would last a lifetime.

One sunny afternoon, Nico took Lily on a boat ride across Lake Lucerne, his eyes shining with pride as he pointed out the snow-capped peaks in the distance. "Das ist der Pilatus, Lily," (That's Mount Pilatus, Lily) he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "One day, you'll climb to the top, just like I did as a boy."

As they explored the charming city of Zurich and wandered through the historic streets of Bern, Nico couldn't help but marvel at the sight of his daughter experiencing the beauty of Switzerland for the first time. With each passing day, Lily's laughter echoed through the mountains, a symphony of joy that filled Nico's heart with immeasurable love.

As their Swiss adventure came to an end, Nico reflected on the journey they had shared as a family. From the breathtaking landscapes to the cherished moments with loved ones, their time in Switzerland had been nothing short of magical.

As they bid farewell to Nico's parents and boarded the plane back to the United States, Nico held Y/N and Lily close, knowing that their bond had only grown stronger through their shared adventures. With a smile, he whispered to his daughter in Swiss German, "Bis bald, Schweiz. Wir kommen bald zurück." (Until soon, Switzerland. We'll be back soon.)

And as the plane soared into the sky, the Hischier family carried with them the memories of their Swiss adventures, a testament to the power of love, family, and the magic of home.

[bridgertonbee1814]

My House of the Dragon OC Part One:

Princess Aemma Velaryon

The firstborn child and only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Harwin Strong, claimed by Laenor Velaryon

Elder sister to Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon III and Viserys II

Named after her maternal grandmother, Queen Aemma Arryn

Aemma's birth was marked by controversy, firstly because she wasn't a boy and Rhaenyra was without an heir, and secondly because she looked nothing like either of her parents, with dark brown curls and grey eyes that bore a suspicious resemblance to that of the Lord Commander of the City Watch.

Her appearance, however, didn't seem to bother King Viserys in the slightest. He adored his first grandchild and a week of festivities, including a feast and joust, were held in honour of her birth.

Aemma was gifted a silver cradle egg that hatched the she-dragon Starjumper. The hatchling would grow into a beautiful beast with glittering silver scales, pale purple wing membranes and violet eyes.

Jacaerys was born when she was two years old, and Laenor took her down to the dragon-pit for the first time to select his cradle egg.

When she was six years old, Rhaenyra took her for her first flight on Syrax, her own mount still a juvenile and not big enough for a rider.

As a child, Aemma was energetic and curious. She spent most of her time with her brothers, Jacaerys and Lucerys. In her early childhood, when her brothers were babes and too little to play with, she could often be found with her uncle Aegon. The two were just three years apart in age and developed a childhood friendship; Aemma's curious nature and Aegon's penchant for getting into mischief bonded the two. They enjoyed exploring the hidden passageways within the Red Keep, playing practical jokes on their parents or siblings, and had a friendly rivalry that grew as they became older. It was not uncommon to see the two children flying through the castle corridors in a heated footrace or balanced on the branches of a tree in a contest to see who could get to the top first, often to the horror of their parents.

She was also close to her aunt Heleana, as they were the only girls near each other's age in the Red Keep. Aemma would help Helaena to catch insects in the castle gardens for her collection. The two princesses took lessons together with their septa every day. However, Aemma was not naturally inclined to the feminine skills of embroidery, weaving and music she was required to learn as a princess, often skipping her lessons in favour of exploring. This often resulted in her being brought back to her parents for a reprimanding with her fine clothes covered in dirt and tidy braids undone.

Aemma loved all creatures, as well as dragons, and was known to foster birds that fell from their nests and nurture them back to health, and visited the stables often to view the horses. She even had a fondness for the rats that roamed the Red Keep. When she was seven years old she learned the castle employed rat-catchers and was horrified. She hatched a plan to save one, luring it out with cheese crumbs and coaxing it into her pocket, where it stayed for almost the whole day. Her plan hit a snag, however, that evening when she and her parents and brothers went to dine with the remainder of the family. The creature must have been unable to resist the smell of so much food in one place, and before she could stop it the rat had leapt onto the dining table and was sprinting towards the nearest platter. The resulting scene was pandemonium; the Queen let out a shriek of horror and spilled her wine, poor, sweet Helaena froze in terror as the rodent scurried across her plate, and Ser Laenor leapt from his seat and raced to the other end of the table in an attempt to cut off its path as her brothers shouted wildly. Aegon, revelling in the chaos, laughed so hard Aemma feared he might fall out of his chair. It was King Viserys who finally caught the rat, unsheathing his dagger and impaling it on the tabletop with one strike. It took a week and many apology cakes for Aemma to speak to him again.

As she grew older, Aemma developed a love of history and reading, which endeared her to her grandsire Viserys. She would often spend time with him in his chambers as he worked on his model of Old Valyria, asking questions about past monarchs and the houses that perished in the Doom.

In some ways, Aemma had an unconventional education. Rhaenyra had not wanted her only daughter to be at a disadvantage as she had been simply because she was a girl, and requested that her sworn shield, Ser Harwin Strong, privately give the princess lessons in basic self-defence as her brothers would have been. Since she was prohibited from training with a sword or any other large weapon, Aemma was instructed in hand-to-hand combat and close-range knife wielding. As she grew she became a skilled fighter, but she struggled to show control and restrain herself. The young princess was known for her strong temperament and felt everything very passionately, which made her easy to provoke. On the occasions when she became truly enraged, she was a force to be reckoned with, often getting into physical altercations with her brothers or uncles over childish spats. There was one particular occasion when she was ten and had to command Starjumper to burn a goat for the first time. She'd been reluctant to, feeling sorry for the animal and not wanting it to suffer, and Aegon had made fun of her and called her babyish. Her resulting fury had ended in the dragonkeepers needing to break the two apart.

This incident did not endear her to her step-grandmother Queen Alicent, who viewed such behaviour as unladylike. The two shared a tense relationship at the best of times, Aemma's forthright and more rebellious nature clashing with Alicent's expectations of her as a young princess. The queen rarely missed an opportunity to comment on her looks, stating how it was a shame she did not inherit her mother's white-blonde hair or her father's colouring. It was only as Aemma grew older and began to notice the whisperings surrounding herself and her brothers that she realised those comments were thinly-veiled slights.

Feedback is welcome and greatly appreciated!

@sylasthegrim @vaokses @princessbellecerise @nebulaafterdark @zaldritzosrose @novaursa

[writingsofwesteros]

I had a thought (because I'm obsessed with Corlys+Rhaenys having a third, and Helaena needs more love fr)

So it's pretty much agreed that the one recognized innocent green (in the eyes of the blacks) is Helaena, right? Imagine after blood and cheese, she doesn't take Jaehaera and run to Alicent's room, but down to the Dragon pits to Dreamfyre. She's upset and protecting her daughter, but she's still frazzled and not thinking straight. She just wants to feel safe, and nobody does that like Dreamfyre for her, so she mounts her dragon with her daughter and takes flight. Not going anywhere in particular, just away from it all. She's a dreamer, but she's still a mother. And none of them respect her, she's just an ever growing weird oddity to them, not understood. She knew she couldn't save her son, had been seeing it over and over, and been ignored when she tried to tell anyone about her dreams. But he can still try to keep Jaehaera safe, and the babe in her belly (Maelor, who I'm pissed they cut out of the show fr) is not going to have that ending, not like her boy. She just flies and flies, Jaehaera the only thing on her mind as she relives blood and cheese again, getting far from that place. Only... before she knows it, she's gone too far, too close to Dragonstone while lost in her grief and thoughts... and who meets her in the skies, but the same beast she tried to warn them about beneath the boards and was ignored still, Meleys. Only now, when Rhaenys sees that it's Dreamfyre, Helaena clinging to her, blood and tears on on her face and neck, her daughter holding to her chest for dear life... she stops. This is Helaena, she's a dragon dreamer. And the state she's in, there's no threat. But she knows Daemon, and the council, they'll just see a green. A Hightower. and throw her in the cells, or worse. So instead, she doesn't interfere, not yet, just flies alongside her, trying to catch Helaena's eye, but not wanting to add to her fear stricken face. Rhaenys is trying to put the puzzle pieces together, what happened to her sweet dear niece? Where is her son.. why is she here? Covered in blood and tears... her mind turning, making note that Daemon had disappeared and then reappeared without a word, and now this? Gods' what did he do or order done to Viserys' younger girl...

Helaena is truly scared now, she thinks she's going to be captured and gods know what by Rhaenyra, because who can blame her? Her whole life she's been told by her mother and grandfather and brothers that Rhaenyra will kill them all if on the throne, and after what just happened to Jaehaerys, she doesn't know what to do. But Rhaenys isn't doing anything to her... just... being there. Watching her. Trying to catch her eye. It's odd. She's not accustomed to it, people usually think her mad and do everything to avoid her gaze. Helaena's so lost in her thoughts and confusion and... linger of. Some feeling. She can't place. That she doesn't realize Rhaenys and Meleys have silently steered them away from Dragonstone, towards Driftmark. Until Rhaenys calls out her name, saying it's alright, she will be protected by her husband's guards until she sees Rhaenyra, she vows it on her father aemons memory, before dipping down, Meleys moving to land along the shore. Helaena is still afraid... but Rhaenys kept her from Dragonstone. From Daemon... and she doesn't want to go back to King's Landing... and she's so tired.. she takes a risk, and tells Dreamfyre to land... odd? Why does she have a sense of deja vu... she has been dreaming about the sea as of late...hmm...

POOR BABY GIRL!!!!!! The idea of Rhaenys and her dragon being a calming presence as they seek not to spook Helaena who cradles her love. She can hardly think at this moment never mind realise what is even happening.

She hardly remembers anything before waking up in an unknown room with soft covers over her that did not itch

[gl1tchy-4rt]

🧀 🧡Yee-haw Cheese Wife (she has oregano freckles) 🧡🧀

Meet Rebecca Emmental; Vigilante's Wife

She helps Vigi on the farm and occasionally on the duty of capturing outlaws.

She is a member of the "Cheese tribe", hence the headband on the hat.

Their Story!!:

During his duty of capturing outlaws, Virgil's Weenie mount got hurt and they ended stuck in the dessert with no food, no water and no medicine to ease the poor creature.

Virgil, defeated and exhausted merely started to close his eyes expecting to wake up dead, as he slipped into unconsciousness, he apologized to his hometown and his Peepaw...

But he woke up somewhere else, inside a tent, and he was alive, turns out that some members of a nearby tribe found him, among those people, was Rebecca, He and Rebecca quickly became friends and she helped both him and the weenie mount to heal from their wounds.

The tribe assured Virgil that he could stop by anytime and that they would be on the lookout of the outlaws and 'Becca (as Virgil had nicknamed her) told him that she would visit him from time to time.

While they did separate during the events of the Pizza Tower, but after it crumbled, they got back together again and eventually they got married.

What a happy couple :3

Anyways see y'all in another post

Okay buh-bye!! :D

[asaarii]

Hi! I would like to make a request. Aphelios x Fem!Albino!Lunari!Reader. Reader has completely white hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, and red eyes. She absolutely cannot be in the sunlight. She also has not very good eyesight and hearing (which is typical for all albinos). She goes out on assignments mostly at night, when the sun can't harm her skin. Yes, unlike other Lunari, she wears completely white clothes so as not to be noticeable among the snowdrifts. Thank you very much!

Snowfall ft: aphelios reader: fem wc: 1832 IM SO SORRY THISD TOOK SO LONG JUST TO COME OUT MID. also trying out a new style guys pls dont hurt me cheese

If Aphelios was your eyes and ears…

You squint at the figures from your position in the underbrush, hidden beneath the snow-covered leaves with Aphelios at your side. You attempt to lean in closer, but a hand on your chest stops you. Aphelios shakes his head, holding up three fingers as an indication.

The beat of your heart quickens and you’re lucky to have your lover by your side to keep you from doing anything rash. Though unable to speak due to having consumed the noctum poison prior to your expedition, he quickly signs for the two of you to move quickly.

Winters on Mount Targon are cold, almost comparable to that of Freljordian true ice. Harsh and unyielding, it bites at any exposed skin, seeping into the bones of any unsuspecting trespassers.

Over the years you’ve gotten used to the howling blizzards, bundling in all white to match your hair as a form of camouflage in the high snow piles. On the other hand, Aphelios does not match your sentiment for the art of stealth with his brazen blues and purples that stand out against the pure white snow.

Not that he really needed it anyway, he was strong enough to fend for himself, after all.

The snow crunches beneath your shared footfalls, quickly covered by the raging blizzard. If you listened over the howling wind, you might’ve heard Alune’s near-silent whispers, warning her brother of the oncoming danger.

But you don’t, all you see is his head swiveling, eyes widening a fraction before he’s tackling you to the ground, his chest pressed to your back as his hair tickles your cheek. His breath comes out in frosty puffs, chakram held tightly in his grasp as the sound of footsteps of Mount Targon’s intruders grows closer.

From your place on the ground beneath Aphelios, you see the projectile thrown at the two of you lodged deep in the chunk of a tree. It’s only when Aphelios sits up do you see that the spear had grazed his arm, cutting through the thick fabric and marring his skin with an ugly cut.

He doesn’t wince when you prod at the bleeding wound, numbed to the pain by the poison in his veins. Despite his lack of pain, you still quickly wrap his wound, knowing he’ll complain about it later if you don’t. He pulls you close as soon as you’re done, observant eyes squinting at the heavy blizzard and ears focused on the small shifts of movement through the snow.

You stay situated at his side, trusting his senses as you dart your gaze around despite your dulled vision. 

So long as you were by his side, you felt safe.

…you were his voice.

Even outside of the effects of the poison, Aphelios was a quiet man. Not many knew the sound of his voice, or even if he spoke at all. Those who did didn’t hear it often.

Other than you, of course.

You spoke on his behalf during general meetings or gatherings of soldiers. He almost always whispered in your ear, making sure to press his lips against the shell of your ear just to make sure you wouldn’t miss a word he said. You would nod, offering input before relaying the message to the rest of the group.

Younger soldiers would peer curiously between the two of you, unused to seeing the stoic super soldier so…content. The older soldiers would laugh lightly, teasing the two of you by asking Aphelios to speak up, garnering a glare and eye-roll from the obsidian-haired male.

A dynamic built upon your shortcomings that flourishes beneath the beauty of the moon itself.

Quite literally, actually, considering that you couldn’t be out in the sun for long periods of time.

Not that he really cared, seeing that he grew up guided by the moon alongside his sister.

Regardless, he’s nothing if not observant.

He sees the way you long for the warmth of the sun, despite being unable to stay under it for long.

So while you sleep during the daylight hours, he sneaks out of your shared residence, venturing to a meadow nearby seemingly untouched by the harsh winter snow.

He brings back flowers, white ones specifically as they remind him of you.

He presses them with guidance from the priestesses back at camp who giggle at his act of affection

“She’s really happy to have someone like you,” they would often say.

And though they couldn’t see the crimson that speckled his cheeks from beneath their eye-coverings, they still hear the near unnoticeable flustered twinge in his voice as he offers a hum of agreement.

Just as sneakily as he snuck out, he sneaks back in, placing your gift nearby before crawling back into bed with you.

He trusts you with his whole life, which means a lot coming from him.

You and Alune had each guided him in your own ways, and he can never express how truly grateful he is to the both of you.

Together, he and his sister were a weapon, a force that knew only of the destruction of any who stood in the path of the Lunari.

But with you, he’s merely a man.

And by the gods, does he love you.

The light of his life.

That’s how he would describe you.

In both appearance and personality, you are his beacon; the brightest star in a hopeless night filled with war and the unending cycle of death. 

You, on the other hand, look at Aphelios as though he was the one to hang the moon and stars themselves in the sky.

In spite of his cold demeanor and rather off-putting aloofness, he never treats you less than anyone else, even if you can’t see or hear as well as others who have been trained since birth to hear and see nearly every shift in a general vicinity.

White hair is not an uncommon trait for Lunari, hell, Alune herself bears it, but what really drew Aphelios in was the striking red eyes that widened upon seeing him.

He enjoys staring into them, losing himself in the same color of which he once loathed.

Red had once been his least favorite color.

To him, it represented nothing more than carnage and bloodshed, ranging from the dulled color of blood smeared across the ground after a battle well-fought, all the way to the bright streaks left behind after each practiced swing of his severum. He preferred lighter, more calming blues, as opposed to striking reds. Though, that was simply his opinion.

He was sure that he would keep this opinion till the day he died, finding no positive things to associate with the aforementioned color.

During the rare moments when the poison was still in effect after a battle, Alune would speak to him, asking about how things were going, pointing out small changes in her brother that others had yet to notice, and simply talking to spend as much time as possible to be with him.

When she had caught wind of his least favorite color, she grew curious. Of course, her brother was free to feel however he wished about something as mundane as a color, but this did not relent her subtle teasing.

“You know, brother…” She starts. Aphelios does not like the playful lilt in her voice as he pauses his trek back to base to listen. “Those of other regions often associate the color red with that of love.” He can hear her attempt to negate her laughter through the waning connection and rolls his eyes at his sister's antics. She continues, though her voice is softer now and the ache of battle is beginning to take its toll on him, “Perhaps your disdain for the color is a sign that you’ll never find love.”

Her voice soon fades into a dull ringing, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Love was never a concept he truly ever focused on, too busy with training and defending the Lunari from any outside threats. Though, he recalls Alune watching the older couples during the midst of their training, eyes wide and curious with child-like wonder as they whispered declarations of love before setting off on their respective expeditions. She had always been fond of the concept of romance, being swept off her feet by a force unlike any other. Aphelios, on the other hand, was not a fan of the idea of being caught off guard and left in such a vulnerable position, but Alune had merely rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out as their training resumed.

That being said, he was unsure of how his distaste for a certain color correlates in any way to his love life. Too entrapped with his thoughts, the usually keen soldier fails to notice the figure in front of him. 

His eyes widen as he bumps into you, luckily catching you with his scarily quick reflexes. Your gazes meet, and the first thing he can’t help but notice is the color of your eyes. The striking shade of red only highlighted beneath the soft light of the moon. You’re quick to scurry off after a multitude of apologies to the prized soldier of the Lunari, who merely blinks blankly at you in response.

When next he and Alune have time to indulge themselves outside of battle, Alune is quick to learn that maybe, just maybe, red isn’t so bad a color.

BONUS:

Snow drifts down in slow, small clumps, covering the rocky floor of your temporary residence in a fluffy white sheet. Winters on Mount Targon were always blisteringly cold, even more so during the night.

You stick your hand out, allowing a few of the snowflakes to land on your hand before watching them melt. The light of the full moon beckons you forth where the sun doesn’t, pulling you from the confines of your claustrophobic home and out into the world.

The sound of snow crushing beneath careful footfalls draws your attention away from the falling snow, your pure white robes swaying with your sudden jolt of movement. You squint your eyes in an attempt to discern who the perpetrator is through the increasing snowfall before relaxing, tense shoulders slumping in relief.

“Phel,” you greet your lover with a gentle smile when he gets close enough. Snow litters his hair, seemingly dying the inky strands a similar color to that of your own. It’s a silly sight, and you giggle, running a hand through his hair to clear it of snow, even if it starts to regather as soon as you do.

He hums in response, leaning into your touch before placing a soft kiss on your forehead as he pulls you in a hug. You relish in his warmth, and wrap your arms around his waist in turn, nuzzling into the thick fabric of his jacket.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, basking in each other’s presence beneath the moon and snow. 

©asarii 2023 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site

[coyote-nebula]

tomato

Jason gets a weird phone call from Tim.

Prompt: "You owe me." Word Count: 500 Genre: hurt/comfort Characters: Jason & Tim Setting: Minefield AU

🍅

“First of all: you owe me.”

It was a bold way to start a conversation, he’d give Tim that.

“That right,” Jason said, skeptical. He pinched the phone between his ear and shoulder while he laced a boot. “Mind refreshing my memory on how I incurred this particular debt?”

“I convinced Bruce one of his batarangs ricocheted into that nitro, remember? And blew up the evidence incriminating you in that drug ring case?”

Jason chuckled. “Just for the record, I sold them one batch, and it was strategic planning that Bruce went and screwed all to hell.”

“And who made sure he didn’t know that?… Me,” Tim said firmly. “I’m here to collect.”

Jason leaned back on his couch. “This better be good if you’re already this defensive.”

“Well,” Tim started, then stopped.

Jason waited.

Strangled, Tim said, “…One sec,” before a tap and silence.

The screen still showed an active call. Jason put it back to his ear.

A prolonged moment later, Tim came back on mid-throat clearing. “’Kay. So anyway.”

“Did you just put me on hold?”

“So anyway,” Tim repeated. “You know the soup you made? The one you put with the grilled cheeses?”

“Tomato,” Jason supplied. Then, pointedly, “the one I showed you how to make.”

“…Yeah.” Tim cleared his throat again. Another pause. “Actually. On second thought—”

The tap and silence happened without warning this time.

“The hell,” Jason muttered, checking the screen twice to make sure the call hadn’t ended. He got up and pulled his keys off the hook, hovering by his apartment door while he put the call on speaker and pulled up his tracker app. Tim’s dot was at the Manor with Damian’s, which wasn’t that reassuring considering the conversation they’d had last week about fooling trackers.

“…Still there?”

“Are you dying?” Jason demanded. “Because if you are and you didn’t lead with that—”

“I’m fine,” Tim said, sounding not fine. “In fact, I changed my—“

Another tap and silence, but this time the sound came back a half second later to loud coughing. Tim gasped and hacked some more.

By the time he groaned wearily and came back to the microphone, Jason was halfway to the ground floor.

“Your services… are no longer required,” Tim said roughly.

“The hell they aren’t,” Jason said. “You sound like shit.”

Another, comprehending, pause. “Oh. Huh.”

Jason sighed. “I’m coming over.”

“Everybody’s gone,” Tim said, defeated. “I’m supposed to be watching Damian and doing food this one night. And…”

Mounting his bike, Jason paused to listen.

“I have all the stuff,” Tim mumbled. “It’s the only thing that sounds edible. And I tried, I just… stared at a tomato for like, forty-five minutes, and then accidentally napped, and—” He stifled a cough. “Damian can eat cereal. I’m going to bed. Don’t come.“

“Tim,” Jason said. “I meant it when I said to call if you need something.”

“I don’t need this,” Tim said sullenly. “I want it.”

Jason started the bike. “That’s good enough.”

🍅

view on ao3

[kckt88]

The Fallen Queen.

Summary:

Having fled Kings Landing, Rhaenyra returns to Dragonstone unaware of what awaits her.

Warning(s): Fear, Swearing, Riots, Death.

Word Count: 1564

Author Note: A companion piece to Wedding & Consummation/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/Petitions & Final Tributes/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/Blood & Cheese/A Time for Grief/The Gullet/Harrenhal and the Rivers & The Gods Eye.

But can be read as a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

A day after Daemon and Caraxes had disappeared into the night, the City Watch drove the first nail into Rhaenyra’s coffin. Bartimos Celtigar and his tax collectors were set upon by the guards and common folk alike, torn to shreds in the streets of Kings Landing.

The riots soon began. Smallfolk charged the Red Keep armed with makeshift weapons, hurling insults at the top of their lungs while they raged.

“Maegor with Teats!”

“Rhaenyra the Cruel”

“Long live King Aegon!”

“Justice for Queen Helaena”

“For Prince Aemon and Prince Jaehaerys”

“Fuck the Whore of Dragonstone!”

And then the castle gates fell.

The Queens Guard tried to move her and the children into Maegor’s Holdfast, but Rhaenyra refused. There was no one coming to save her from this siege. Hiding in Maegor’s Holdfast would only leave them trapped. Their only hope now was to escape.

One by one, the Queens Guard left her side, running to the aid of the castle guards who tried desperately to keep the growing swarm of smallfolk from breaking into the Keep itself. And now Harold Westerling, her only remaining Queens Guard, needed to leave her in the care of a solitary household guard because the mob had finally started to overpower their defences.

They would not stop; they were coming for her head.  

“Mother. What do we do?” asked Aegon tugging on her sleeve.

“We wait for our opportunity and then we fly,” said Rhaenyra.

Their window of opportunity would be small. Syrax, and Stormcloud were chained, the castle’s courtyard. There were not enough guards to defend them, and rioters were streaming into the courtyard in droves, all meeting their death in continuous bursts of dragon fire. And still they kept coming.

Once there was a break between the sea of rioters, Rhaenyra would rush her children to the courtyard where they would mount Syrax and make their escape.

They would return to Dragonstone, and after getting Jace from Driftmark they would cross the Narrow Sea. Even there, she had no money, she still had some jewellery left behind on Dragonstone that she could sell. Or, as much as the thought made her whimper, she could sell her father’s crown. It wasn’t truly hers anyway, not when the realm had rejected her as its queen.

It would be enough to start the family’s new life while they transitioned to earning a living as dragon riders.

Assuming Aegon didn’t put a bounty on her head.

Rhaenyra had brief thought that maybe one day her children or grandchildren could reclaim the throne. But she shook off the thought. 

Let Aegon have it. Just let him have it. Let all the misery that comes with it be his.

After a group of rioters had been dispatched by bursts of combined fire from Syrax and Stormcloud.

The courtyard was empty. This was her only chance to save little Aegon and Viserys.

Maternal instincts kicking in, she grabbed one son in each arm and sprinted as fast as her legs would carry her. They made it to the courtyard with minutes to spare, the next wave of rioters within sight as they barrelled towards the courtyard, screaming and shouting.

Syrax roared and flailed her wings as Rhaenyra situated Aegon and Viserys into the saddle first, then climbed up.

They escaped just in the nick of time, as the common folk began throwing debris at them from below as they rose into the sky.

As both dragons disappeared into the clouds, the reign of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen had come to an end.

Rubbing Syrax’s nose in gratitude, Rhaenyra helped her children off her dragon’s back and then hugged them close to her chest. In time, she would process her losses one by one. In time, she would mourn them all: Her father, Visenya, Lucerys, and the love of the kingdom that she thought would be hers.

In time, she would feel comfortable and safe enough to grieve. And in time, she would recover. She had no choice. Aegon and Viserys needed her.

“Are we safe now, mother?” asked Aegon in a tiny voice, tears streaming down his cheeks.

She couldn’t answer him. She could not tell him another lie, not after everything. Nor could she tell him the truth and inflict another heartache upon him, and so she just hugged him harder.

“We’re waiting for your father to come and join us, then we will go to Driftmark get your brother and then we’ll fly across the narrow sea as a family” whispered Rhaenyra.

“I want father” cried Viserys.

So did Rhaenyra, she had never been so alone, so truly alone, in her life. There was always someone there with her to command her, to advise her, to nudge her in the right direction. And now that she was the only one left, she was a tree without roots.  

But Rhaenyra didn’t know if Daemon would ever be there for her again.

He’d gone to Harrenhall to face Aemond, but there had been no sight of him since he’d left Kings Landing.

For the time being, though, Viserys and Aegon needed to go inside and lay down in their own beds. They also needed food and water.

In her ignorance, Rhaenyra had failed to tell Syrax to circle the island first to look for potential hazards before landing. Otherwise, she would have seen the golden dragon in time to take the family safely away from Dragonstone.

Rhaenyra scarcely made it inside before a scuffling of feet caught her attention from behind. And when she spun around, a cold finger of dread crept up her spine.

“Welcome home. Sister” said Aegon smiling as Rhaenyra was surrounded by guards.

“A-Aegon” exclaimed Rhaenyra.

“Surprised to see me?” asked Aegon.

“What are you doing here?” snapped Rhaenyra as she moved protectively in front of her two young sons.

“When you invaded Kings Landing, I had to go somewhere and what better place than our ancestral home”.

“Dragonstone is my home” snarled Rhaenyra.

“Technically Dragonstone belongs to the heir and had he been alive, it would belong to my son Jaehaerys” said Aegon.

“I-I had nothing to do with what happened to your son”.

“Thing is, Jacaerys already dropped you in it. He told us everything. You were involved in the plot to murder my son, but you were kind enough to want to spare your grandchildren, even though you believed it was Aemond who killed Lucerys” said Aegon.

“Aemond did kill Luke,” shouted Rhaenyra.

“No, he didn’t. If you wish to know who really killed your sweet boy, I suggest you look a little closer to home”.

“What are you-“

“-It was Daemon who killed him” said Aegon.

“N-No it wasn’t your lying” exclaimed Rhaenyra.

“Afraid not. A raven from your daughter arrived just before you did. Daemon confessed to his crime, just before Aemond killed him” replied Aegon.

“D-Daemon’s dead?”

“Perished in a dragon battle above the Gods Eye” said Aegon.

“I-I do not wish for any more bloodshed. Please brother. You can have the throne; I will not fight you” urged Rhaenyra.

“Any more bloodshed? My sons are dead. My wife is dead. My nephew is dead. My grandsire is dead” yelled Aegon.

“I will leave Westeros. I will take Aegon and Viserys and fly across the narrow sea. You will never see or hear from me again” said Rhaenyra desperately.

“You will always be a challenge, simply by breathing”.

“No. I will never seek to claim the Iron Throne again” exclaimed Rhaenyra.

“How the mighty have fallen. You are nothing without your kinslaying husband” spat Aegon.

“Aegon. Please” muttered Rhaenyra nervously.

“Do you even feel one ounce of remorse for what’s happened?”

“Of course, I do. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret what happened to Aemon and your son” replied Rhaenyra.

“What about your daughter? All she wanted was for you too love her and yet you never showed her one ounce of it” snarled Aegon.

“I-I tried to. But I just couldn’t” muttered Rhaenyra.

“What did she ever do to deserve that?”

“She didn’t deserve any of it.” said Rhaenyra.

“No, she didn’t. None of us deserved it” snapped Aegon.

“Please just let me and my sons go. I will never trouble you again” begged Rhaenyra.

“I cannot let you go” muttered Aegon.

“MOTHER” sobbed Aegon as he and Viserys were suddenly ripped away from Rhaenyra.

“NO. DON’T HURT THEM,” shouted Rhaenyra as she was shoved to her knees.

“Do not worry sister. Only you shall pay for your crimes. I am no child killer” said Aegon.

Sunfyre loomed over Aegon, his fangs bared. His roar echoing the fury of his rider.

Rhaenyra closed her eyes, and in the moments before her death she remembered the day she gave birth to the most precious girl in the world. An angel fallen from the heavens, a gift that she’d squandered. How she wished she could see her just one last time and tell her how sorry she was.

“Vaera-” whispered Rhaenyra.

“-Dracarys!” ordered Aegon, his command drowning out Aegon and Viserys screams as his dragon obeyed, engulfing Rhaenyra in his flame.

“MOTHER!” cried Viserys, screaming and thrashing, to get out of Ser Arryk’s grip, but the strength of a four-year-old was nothing to a grown man. Especially when little Aegon said nothing at all, staring on in quiet shock.

[pareidoliaonthemove]

A New Policy

Part Two: VIP (Very Important imPosition)

(And since Tumblr is being a pain and I can't find Part One here, you can find it here on AO3).

Apolline Morel looked up as the door gave its discreet chime.

And swore.

She had been the Invoicing and Reception Operative at Tracy Industries’ prestigious Custom Transport Paris office for the last seven years, and had seen all sorts of eccentric – and rich – persons come through the door, and by far Francois Lemaire was the worst of the worst.

She and her colleagues had often dreamed and schemed about refusing the obnoxious idiot service, and they had initially been overjoyed at the thought that they had official permission from the highest authority – Scott Tracy, CEO and homme de rêve – to do so. Until they realised that they would have to tell Lemaire that they would not sell whatever it was he wanted.

To his face.

Apolloine, as had all her colleagues, had consoled herself that the chances of having to actually do so were remote. After all, the Blacklisted persons had all been notified that they would no longer be served by Tracy Industries businesses, non?

Non; or at least, Lemaire hadn’t got the message. Apolline’s heart sank as the man burst through the secondary doors, a damned hovercamera flitting around him, and his wife – Madeline – trailing behind him, with the air of a woman who knew she was about to witness a train wreck and was helpless (and disinclined) to stop it.

“And here we are, at our first stop towards adventure! The luxurious offices of Custom Transport Paree” – Apolline rolled her eyes as his English-language monologue made a point of over-emphasising the proper (that is, French) pronunciation of the city – “where the best designers and technicians will spare no effort – and I will spare no expense – to ensure that I, Francois Lemaire, will be in comfort as I forge yet another world first! The first person to drive up Mount Everest!”

Apolline remembered his previous ‘expedition’ to Everest. It had taken three sherpas to carry the man’s cheeses to the top of the mountain. The outcry from the amount of rubbish that had been left on the top of the mountain – not just holy, but considered an actual goddess – had been the final straw that saw the Nepalese severely restricting access to the mountain. Never mind the idiocy on the descent that saw the man trapping himself and three sherpas in an ice cave. With a yak.

Lemaire’s monologue ended with a flourish as he presented himself to the desk. The holocamera drifted out for dramatic wide angle. “I am Francois Lemaire. Adventurer. Explorer!”

A pointed cough from behind him. “Oh, and this my biographer, Madeline Lemaire.” A vague handwave behind him.

“Your wife.” It was muttered, and not meant for Apolline to hear. Apolline met the woman’s eyes, and was surprised when she smirked. “Give it to him good” was mouthed silently.

Apolline didn’t have a chance to acknowledge Madeline, Lemaire had resumed speaking. “And I have come here today, to Custom Transport Paree to order the construction of a car that will enable me to be the first person to drive up Mount Everest!”

He struck a pose, clearly expecting some kind of accolade or ovation.

Apolline smiled at him, tightly. “Does Monsieur have an appointment?”

He stared at her, bewildered. “I am Francois Lemaire,” he repeated. “Explorer? Adventurer? World Famous? First person to visit Halley’s Comet? I brought the Solar Wind off you people!”

Apolline typed into the computer, as she tried to figure out how to handle this. “Francois … Lemaire …”

The computer beeped before Lemaire could list more ‘accomplishments’.

Apolline looked at the display. Apparently Lemaire had also brought a bathyscape, Artic snowcrawler, and submersible from them as well.

Across the client file display in big, violent red letters was the words ‘Account Closed. Blacklisted’. Apolline’s eyes widened. Management wasn’t taking any chances here, were they?

She took a deep breath, and went for broke. “I am sorry, Mr Lemaire, it appears you do not have an appointment, and that you no longer qualify for a client file.”

Apolline had once been visiting friends in Sicily when Mount Etna had undergone it’s biggest eruption in recorded history. The effects of the volcano had nothing on Lemaire’s reaction.

“I AM FRANCOIS LEMAIRE!!!” he screamed. “I AM WORLD FAMOUS!!! I AM RICH!!!! YOU CANNOT REFUSE TO BUILD MY MOUNTAIN CLIMBING CAR!!! I WANT IT!!! AND YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE IT TO ME!!!”

Apolline got to work on the computer as the man continued his tantrum. DM channels; where was … Ah, here. Blacklist: Situation. She started typing rapidly.

Name: Apolline Morel

Section: Invoicing and Reception, Custom Transport Paris

Details: Francois Lemaire arrived office, no appointment, demand construction of ‘mountaineering car’ to be ‘first person to drive up Mt Everest’. Became hysterical on being told no longer qualifies for client file. Request assistance.

She hit send and eyed the time display discreetly inlaid into the desk’s surface. Response within ten minutes, the memo and training packages had said. Well, she’d be testing that promise out today.

She didn’t think she could stand more than ten minutes of this.

They were seven and a half minutes in and Apolline hadn’t seen evidence of Lemaire drawing in a breath as his high-volume tirade continued non-stop. Behind him, Madeline was disinterestedly examining her nails as the holocamera zoomed around the room erratically, closing in and out from Lemaire and careening around in circles, apparently controlled by Lemaire’s hand gestures, his wild gesticulation had sent it haywire.

She was just about to try again to speak when in the ceiling a previously unknown holoprojector flared into life.

Lemaire was finally silenced as everyone in the room stared in shock as a hologram – a very high quality, almost solid appearing hologram – of Scott Tracy appeared standing behind the desk, next to Apolline, as large as life, and almost as physically real.

Mr Tracy turned to Apolline. “Ms Morel,” he said, smiling slightly at her. “I am sorry that you have had to deal with this. Please, take an extended lunch break – with full pay.”

Apolline quickly swiped her employee card at the terminal, logging her out of the system and securing the terminal, and she stood, fighting the urge to curtsy to her employer.

“I am sorry to have bothered you, Mr Tracy. Thank you for your assistance. If you need me, I shall be in the employee lounge, sir.”

Scott smiled, and nodded. “Thank you, Ms Morel. Please take your time.”

He turned back to Lemaire as Apolline backed away, awed to be in the presence of the legendary Scott Tracy, even if said presence was a holographic one.

In the background, Madeline grinned at her, and gave her a discreet ‘thumbs up’ – Apolline smiled back at the woman, and mouthed ‘thank you’ to her.

Holographic Scott Tracy had turned his attention to Lemaire as Apolline ordered the elevator to take her to the second floor. “Now, Mr Lemaire, I believe there are some matters we need to clear up…” was the last thing she heard as the elevator doors closed.

It seemed like every member of Custom Transport Paris’s staff was crammed into the employee lounge.

Apolline barely had time to register this fact when Andre, her manager, seized her by the arm. “Apolline, are you all right? It must have been awful, dealing with that terrible man!”

“I’m fine. But what’s everyone doing here?”

“Word got around that Lemaire was here. We all wanted to see what would happen when you refused him service.”

Apolline snorted. “Thanks. Nobody thought to help me?”

“I think you had plenty of help, without us.” Andre gestured at the security hologram of the lobby and reception desk on display in the centre of the room.

Apolline stared. A holographic Lemaire was scowling at the equally unimpressed holographic (double-holographic?) Scott Tracy. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“After you left Mr Tracy ‘reminded’ Lemaire that he had been blacklisted, and no Tracy Industries companies would serve him.” Andre started.

“And Lemaire kicked off about how that it was illegal,” snickered Juan, one of the designers.

Andre glared at him. “Mr Tracy’s just finished going through the legal details of why and how that is allowed,” he continued. “Mr Tracy either has a very thorough knowledge of business and customer service law, or he has been very well briefed, very quickly.”

“Shhhh!” someone hushed from near the hologram. “It’s starting to get good!”

Everyone pushed closer to the hologram, those in front sitting or kneeling down to allow a better view for those in back.

The tiny Lemaire was pouting, “I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss, nobody died! Anyway, if the car that your company provides fails, you run International Rescue. You can stop people dying because your company provides inferior products.”

There were outraged gasps around the room. Most of the designers were casting longing looks at the door with clenched fists, but were being held in place by their friends from other departments.

Lemaire kept going. “Is that why you started International Rescue? So you can play the hero when your substandard products fail and put people in danger?” He was attempting to poke the hologram in the chest with his fingers. “You put me in danger! I could have got back from Halley’s Comet if your company had given me a safe spaceship.”

Scott Tracy’s eyes blazed. “MISTER Lemaire. I must warn you that, as per the signage, for security purposes the premises integrate security cameras, and that what you are saying is slander.” A hand appeared from behind Mr Tracy, disappearing into a red and black checked sleeve, and lightly touched his shoulder. Muttered words and Mr Tracy made a visible effort to calm himself, before speaking again and the hand disappeared.

“Mr Lemaire, your stated purpose for commissioning a quote ‘mountain climbing car’ is to ‘drive up’ Mount Sagarmatha–”

“Um, No! I’m going to drive up Mount Everest! I said that VERY clearly. Mount EVER-REST.”

“Mount Sagarmatha, and after your disastrous previous ‘expedition’ – and the numerous crimes you commited during that time–”

“What ‘crimes’? Now how’s slandering who? I committed no crimes!”

Mr Tracy stared. “You mean other than making false statements to gain your climb permit? Fraudulently claiming you had climbed other 8,000ft peaks? Fraudulently claiming you had appropriate insurance. Mistreatment of the Sherpas you hired? Interfering with burial sites?”

Lemaire shuddered. “I was not going to share a camp site with corpses,” he declared. “After all that fuss they made about ‘polluting’ the mountain, you think they’d clean up the corpses. Health hazard, that is.”

“Mr” – and there was no mistaking the disdain in that title – “Lemaire, Mount Sagarmatha is a recognised burial ground. It is dangerous to try and remove from the mountain anybody who cannot realistically be saved. What you did – pushing the bodies off the mountain – was a crime. And as such, the Nepalese Government deported you and banned you from ever returning to their country again.”

Lemaire waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not going back to Nepal. Why would I want to? Much better to drive up Mount Everest from Tibet. The route is all planned.”

There was a sigh. “In any case, other than approved helicopters at both North and South Face base camps, no mechanised vehicles are permitted on Mount Sagarmatha or Mount Chomolungma. Even Thunderbirds are forbidden under normal circumstances. As per our agreement with both the Nepalese and Tibetan Governments, International Rescue do not respond to calls from the Holy Mountain, other than at the request of the governments.” The disembodied hand returned, resting comforting on Mr Tracy’s shoulder.

Apolline shuddered. How many calls for help from dying mountaineers had they been forced to ignore? He heart ached, but she realised that the phrase ‘Holy Mountain’ was how Mr Tracy reminded himself that his help, there on a literal goddess, was not appropriate.

Lemaire sniffed. “Nobody will deny me. Nobody turns away the money I can pay. I’ll drive up Mount Everest. I’ll be the first person to do it, and the world will be watching.” He turned away. “And I’ll make sure everybody knows that Tracy Industries refuses to serve customers.”

Suddenly Lemaire spun back, again stabbing fingers at Mr Tracy’s holographic chest. “And don’t get any ideas about stealing my idea! I’ll sue you into poverty if I find out you’re even thinking about driving up Mount Everest before me!”

Lemaire turned again and flounced out of the building, the holocamera faithful tailing him, with Madeline reluctantly behind. Scott Tracy’s hologram remained, standing in front of the reception desk, hands on hips and frowning at the retreating ‘explorer’

In the employee lounge, people erupted into cheers and catcalls at Lemaire. There were backslaps and hugs all around.

All of which fell to awed silence as the hologram of the reception lobby disappeared to be replaced by the lifesized Scott Tracy. An eyebrow went up at the packed room, before he spoke. “Ms Morel?”

Apolline stepped into the holograms reception field – although she suspected from his reaction that when Mr Tracy accessed it, the reception field was greatly expanded – assisted by a push from Andre. “Yes, Mr Tracy?”

His eyes raked her, assessing, “I wanted to make sure you were alright after your … unpleasant … experience earlier.” His eyes darted around the room. “And I must say, I am very pleased to see you so ably supported by your colleagues.”

Mr Durand, the General Manager, stepped forward. “Please forgive us, Mr Tracy. Mr Lemaire has in the past been an unpleasant person for many of our staff to deal with. When it became apparent that he had returned, despite his Blacklisted status, many people hoped for the satisfaction of seeing him turned away.”

Mr Tracy nodded, thoughtfully. “I hope I didn’t disappoint.” A pause. “And, to further reassure you all, the recording of Mr Lemaire’s statements here today will be forwarded to the Nepalese, Tibetan, and Chinese Governments. If anyone is foolish enough to supply him with the vehicle he is trying to purchase, he will be stopped before he can get anywhere near the mountain.”

There was a general murmur of approval throughout the room, and Mr Tracy frowned again. “Mr Durand, you said that Mr Lemaire has been unpleasant do deal with in the past. Can you please forward to an elaboration on that to my email? And sometime in the next fortnight, please provide a list and broad details of any comparable clients. It appears we need to educate some of our customers as to how to behave politely in public.”

The General Manager nodded, as another murmur of appreciation went up around the room. Mr Tracy turned back to Apolline. “Ms Morel, I am deeply sorry that you had to deal with that outburst earlier. If you feel you need it, please do not hesitate to take time off. I will make sure you receive full pay for any time.”

Apolline gathered herself. “Thank you for your kindness, Mr Tracy. I am perfectly all right. I do not need any time away from work. And it is I who should apologise to you. I am sorry that I disturbed you to deal with this matter.”

Mr Tracy smiled easily. “No apology necessary, Ms Morel. I am afraid we did expect something like this when we instigated the Blacklist, it’s why we set up the Blacklist DM. The people we have been forced to refuse custom are … not known for their social skills, and tend to operate with little regard for safety and the welfare of others.”

Apolline bowed her head. “Then I am sorry that you have to deal with them, Mr Tracy. Hopefully, this will be the last time.”

Mr Tracy sighed. “I doubt it, Ms Morel. Unfortunately, other companies will build what he wants because they cannot afford to turn away commissions. And they will wash their conscience by saying it falls to others to ensure the rules he will break are upheld.”

Someone else spoke up then. “Do you really not rescue people off of Mount, uh –”

Mr Tracy smiled. “The highest mountain in the world? It does get rather confusing about the name issue, but it was only fifty years ago Nepal and Tibet agreed on the official height of the mountain. And as for agreeing on an official name … Well, miracles do happen.” Then he sighed. “And yes, as I told Mr Lemaire, unless we get official requests from the appropriate governments, we do not respond. It is part of the agreement International Rescue has with the Council of World Governments that allows us to operate. We wouldn’t park a Thunderbird in a church, we will not park one on the mountain. Everyone who climbs the mountain does so knowing the risks, and they must accept the consequences.” He seemed to wilt, “It’s hard, but we must do it.”

A klaxon sounded, and a voice announced, “International Rescue, we have a situation.”

Mr Tracy glanced over his shoulder, before turning back to his employees speaking rapidly. “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to go. But thank you again, Ms Morel for your sterling work in a difficult situation, and thank you, everybody, for your support of your colleagues. It’s always a pleasure to see people who work together and look after each other. Mr Durand, I look forward to working with you to ensure our people are treated correctly. Tracy Island out.” The hologram fizzed and blinked out, the view of the empty lobby returning.

“Wow.” Apolline didn’t realise she had spoken until Andre placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Do as Mr Tracy says, Apolline, take some time. I’ll take over the desk for the rest of today.”

Apolline shook herself, and went to speak, but she saw the rest of the company nodding at her, encouragingly. She reconsidered. “Thank you, Andre. I think after this morning a break from reception will be welcome. I will work on invoicing today, if I may.”

Andre glanced at Mr Durand, and they both shrugged. “If you feel that’s best for you, Apolline,” he said.

Mr Durand nodded. “And before everybody returns to their work, may I please request that you provide me with details of past … unpleasant encounters, both with Mr Lemaire and other clients, as Mr Tracy requested. Hopefully we will be able to prevent further such displays.”

The room broke up, Apolline snatching her lunch from the refrigerator before joining the huddle of Invoicing and Reception staff returning to their backroom offices. As she joined in with her own stories of horrible customers, she felt a sense of pride. Not just in herself, but in her colleagues – her friends. Coming to work was still a pain many days, but Tracy Industries went out of its way to treat its people well.

And today proved how far out of its way it would go.

Notes:

I MAY have been fantasising a bit about employers who actually care about and support their employees.

I may also have been catching up on some reading / viewing and had a convergence of Mt Everest (name used for simplicity) related 'texts' (most of which is 'Dead Lucky: life after death on Mount Everest' by Lincoln Hall) - and I now understand MORE about the logistics of doing so, and understand LESS about why anyone would be so insane as to wish to do so.

I hope everyone has employers and colleagues as supportive as Apolline has.

[losttrailsmaps]

Here are some maps from my Castles & Forts map pack!

Below are some quest ideas for you to use with these maps.

Funny Quest Ideas:

The Great Cheese Heist: Rumors swirl around the kingdom of a mischievous group of mice stealing the prized cheese collection from the castle's pantry. The players are hired to catch the cunning rodents before they cause further havoc, navigating through hidden passages and solving cheesy puzzles along the way.

The Ghostly Jester: The castle's residents are being haunted by the ghost of a once beloved jester who just won't stop with the terrible puns and pranks. The players must find a way to appease the spirit or risk being subjected to endless slapstick comedy.

Serious Quest Ideas:

The Vanishing Prince(ss): The heir to the kingdom has mysteriously disappeared within the castle's walls, leaving behind a trail of cryptic clues. As tensions rise and suspicions mount, the players must unravel the truth behind the disappearance before the realm falls into chaos.

Curse of the Black Knight: A cursed suit of armor has been unleashed within the castle, possessing those who come into contact with it and wreaking havoc on the inhabitants. The players must confront the malevolent spirit behind the curse before it consumes everything in its path.

[margindoodles2407]

How taco Tuesday saved the galaxy please!

HAHA You are in LUCK, this is a bunch of BULLET POINTS so you get the WHOLE THING

MUAHAHAHA

HOW TACO TUESDAY SAVED THE GALAXY

AKA The AU Where Nothing Goes Wrong And Everyone Gets To Be A Big Happy Family (AKA TAUWNGWAEGTBABHF)

A Star Wars Crack-Treated-Seriously Fix-It AU by Margin and Margin's Friend

The Premise

All the bad things that happen in the Star Wars prequels are prevented because Anakin and Obi-Wan established a tradition of Taco Tuesday with friends when Anakin was a young padawan.

The Premise, Broken Down

Tacos are an invention of Tatooine. They’re easy and inexpensive to make and can be garnished with practically anything. When Anakin was a child, Shmi would make them often for this reason, but they were so poor that she could hardly ever afford anything other than cheese and the spicy peppers that somehow thrive in the planet’s arid climate. (To this day, cheese and pepper tacos remain Anakin’s favorite.) Though they weren’t anything much, the simple love and care that Shmi put into the meagre meal established them as Anakin’s most favorite food.

After the events of The Phantom Menace, and early into Anakin’s apprenticeship, he shyly mentions to Obi-Wan that he misses his mother’s cooking. Intrigued about Anakin’s native culture (because he was the only member of the original party who didn’t get to go on that field trip to Mos Espa) and earnest to find ways to understand and befriend his young Padawan, Obi-Wan begins to research traditional Tatooinian cuisine- and Anakin gives him tips as they haphazardly learn to make tacos together. They both highly enjoy their experience, and before they realize quite what’s happened they’ve established a tradition of making tacos together every Tuesday night.

As time passes, they begin to invite friends over to share their taco-making exploits.

In the early years, this means a lot of visits from Obi-Wan’s best friend Quinlan Vos and his own apprentice, Aayla Secura (because the Anakin-Aayla childhood friendship happened and you CANNOT and WILL NOT change my mind).

About three years after TPM, 12-year-old Anakin spontaneously invites Master Yoda over, without Obi-Wan’s knowledge, and he shows up about halfway through dinner, leaving Anakin delighted and his poor master very confused. Yoda continues to just show up, uninvited, from then on, and after the initial shock wears off, taco night without Yoda is unnatural and unheard of. 

Obi-Wan himself, taking note of the mounting tension between his Padawan and Mace Windu, decides when Anakin is about 15 to begin inviting the Master over for taco night as well. Mace doesn’t care for tacos, but does quite enjoy nachos- another Tatooinian invention- and he and Anakin come to the realization that Anakin’s favorite kind of taco, cheese and spicy pepper and crickets, is practically the same as Mace’s nachos in a taco shell. It is the first of many times they will learn to reconcile their differences in such a manner.

Inevitably, Attack of the Clones happens. Padme is still almost assassinated, Obi-Wan still finds out about the Clones and Kamino, Anakin is still assigned to be Padme’s bodyguard and they still fall in love. But Shmi Skywalker doesn’t die. Because in this timeline, instead of a lavish dinner in a gazebo on the shores of a Naboo lake, Anakin makes tacos with Padme and his mother in Cliegg Lars’s kitchen… using ingredients that they bought while their transport, due to a technical oversight and a malfunctioning engine, was landed for a refuel and repair on Tatooine. 

Anakin wants to share his favorite food with the woman he loves, and while in the market, Anakin can’t stop thinking about his dreams about his mother. Their transport will be stopped for a few days, due to the amount of time needed to refuel and repair such a large ship, so he decides to ask around for her while they’re here anyway. He still meets Watto, Cliegg, and Owen and Beru. He still rides to the Tusken camp where his mother is still imprisoned. But he arrives days- nay, weeks- earlier than in canon. He can still save her. Shmi doesn’t die in his arms. The Tusken Massacre doesn’t happen. Anakin gets his mother medical attention and she is saved. By the time they return, though, his and Padme’s transport has already left for Naboo, but they decide Tatooine is still safe enough for Padme, so they let her hosts in the Lake Country know they’re safe but won’t be staying with them after all, and the Larses are kind enough to provide residence for Shmi’s son and the charming woman he’s traveling with.

Obi-Wan’s broadcast still reaches Anakin and Padme, and the battle of Geonosis still happens. The Clone Wars still begin. Anakin is still knighted, still secretly marries Padme, still takes Ahsoka as his Padawan. But in this timeline, there are Taco Tuesdays. 

Even on missions, as often as they can, Obi-Wan and Anakin make time for their taco dinners in some fashion. And their stretches of time on Coruscant absolutely provide for this. Various people come and go, but by the middle of the war, there is an established guest list that meets every tuesday night:

Anakin and Obi-Wan, of course. Ahsoka, naturally, because she’s their little sister. Rex, usually with various members of the 501st trailing behind him, and Cody, as often as he can make it, with at least half of the 212th. Yoda and Mace, who have been coming without fail every Tuesday since they were first invited, unless their lives are endangered or they are halfway across the galaxy. Padme, too, desperately needs a break from her senatorial duties, and as wife close friend to Anakin, she’s more than welcome.

And that’s not even getting into the various guests that will show up at Master Kenobi’s apartment, usually without warning but always welcomed with open arms. Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and Luminara Unduli will drop by whenever it is possible for them; Ahsoka will bound in dragging sweet, nervous Barriss Offee behind her at least half the time; Aayla, as Anakin’s closest childhood friend, stops by when she’s not overly preoccupied by something else, usually trailed by her husband Commander Bly or her former master, Quinlan Vos; during particularly tumultuous sessions of the Senate where representatives from nearly every Republic and Neutral Planet are called, it isn’t uncommon to see Padme walking in while in the middle of a conversation with the ever-well-received Duchess of Mandalore. Plenty of Clones can be expected at any given gathering, as well as any Jedi and/or Padawan who just needs a meal.

There are many reasons why so many people are drawn to Taco Night: the warmth of a family, the laughter of friends, the immutable fact that tacos are so diverse that everyone can technically be eating the same thing yet have exactly what they want on their dinner. And the conversations. The discussions, whether jesting in nature or of a more serious subject. 

And it is a mix of all of these things that leaves a mark on Anakin Skywalker.

From the beginning, even back in the days when he was nine years old and it was just him, Obi-Wan, and their apartment’s tiny kitchenette, he had a sense of home. Of a love similar to the one he shared with his mother- not exactly the same, never the same, but not quite so different as he had thought, and a good kind of different. He still misses his mother, of course, but he comes to realize- in a way that his canon self never did- that love multiplies, not divides. That to love Obi-Wan, and then Padme, and then Ahsoka, and then all his other friends, does not diminish his love for his mother. That to have a new family does not mean that he has forsaken the old one. He learns the difference between empty, jealous attachment, and full, warm, self-giving love.

And he learns to listen. The conversations that his family- his large, eccentric, taco-loving family- hold can range from silly (it is perfectly acceptable to tease Obi-Wan for eating tacos with a full set of cutlery, and to laugh at the fact that Ahsoka’s tacos are meat, and only meat, including having a slice of ham as the vehicle instead of a flatbread- Togruta are carnivores, after all) to serious (why exactly attachment is forbidden, what attachment even is, if and how it is possible to reconcile the current state of affairs in the galaxy with the peacekeeping nature of the Jedi), but one thing stays the same- people listen. In this universe, over meals of bread and cheese and various meats, Anakin learns to think about the other viewpoint. To compare, contrast, and reconcile his own beliefs with the opposing viewpoint. To observe, ponder, digest, what the other person is saying before blurting out something rash, or acting on impulse. Anakin learns to listen. 

And listen he does.

For it is not merely Anakin Skywalker who is changed by these weekly dinners. In various manners, the events that transpire at Taco Tuesdays prevent horrible catastrophes taking place.

Barriss Offee’s descent into despair.

The deaths of so many valiant and virtuous men and women.

Awful tragedies within and without the ranks of the Clone Army and the Jedi Order.

Most importantly… the mess that is Revenge of the Sith.

Because he learned to listen, to think, to be mindful of his thoughts and actions while around the dinner table, Anakin doesn’t let his anger get the better of him in the General’s Quarters aboard the Invisible Hand. He does not bow to the pressure of Palpatine to kill Dooku, instead remaining firm in his Jedi principles and insisting that Dooku be kept in custody. 

Because Barriss Offee never betrayed the order, Ahsoka was never framed. She was never expelled. She remains Anakin’s padawan. And so she continues to attend Taco Tuesdays, and one late night, utterly exhausted and thus lacking the filter formed by a fully-awake and alert mind, she comments that Senator Amidala is looking a bit fuller around the waistline than usual. And suddenly it’s not just Anakin and Padme aware of her pregnancy, it’s three Jedi Masters, a Padawan, and at least seven Clones. 

(Needless to say, everyone privately arrives at the very logical conclusion that Anakin’s the father. But at the moment, there are bigger fish to fry, including winning a war and getting the senator proper medical attention.)

The Council still asks Anakin to keep tabs on Palpatine, and Palpatine still forcefully appoints Anakin to the Council. He is still not made a Master. But years of learning while lounging on Obi-Wan’s couch with a taco in hand to listen, to observe, to be mindful have changed several things about Anakin. For one, he no longer blindly trusts the Chancellor. His observations and his intuition tell him that something about the man cannot be trusted. So he is, in this timeline, less reluctant to keep an eye on Palpatine. And for another, he is more understanding and respectful of the Council’s decisions. He may not personally agree with the decision to withhold the title of Master from him, but he understands that to be on the Council at all is a great honor, and he is hopeful that perhaps, someday, he may achieve the rank of Master through his wisdom. 

Obi-Wan is still sent to Utapau. He still confronts Grievous. Grievous is still killed. But back on Coruscant, something is different. Because, Obi-Wan may not be there at the moment- but, in this timeline, he’s not the lynchpin holding Anakin’s fragile sanity together. In this timeline, Anakin is wise. And in this timeline, he is not haunted by the deaths of his mother. Of the Tuskens. Of Dooku. Of the visions of Padme’s death.

When Palpatine asks Anakin to the Opera, intending to plant the seeds of doubt about his loved ones’ safety in the young Jedi’s mind, Anakin has to politely decline. I’m sorry, Chancellor, he apologizes. But that’s Tuesday night. I already have a commitment to keep. No one hears the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise that night.

Palpatine is astronomically frustrated. He has no new apprentice. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the Jedi, finishing tending to Dooku’s severed hands, begin to question their prisoner. He knows that his plan is falling apart at the seams. So he makes a final, last ditch effort to bring Anakin to the Dark Side.

He summons Anakin to his office one bright, clear morning. And he reveals that he’s Darth Sidious. He smooth-talks his way through Anakin’s righteous anger, promising him everything the Jedi can give him and more. He will make Anakin a Master. He will make his marriage to Padme safe and known. He will give him unlimited power, and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka can be his right-hand men. They will rule a glorious empire, together.

And perhaps Anakin starts to falter. Perhaps he considers it. Perhaps it truly does tempt him, for though he is wiser in this universe, he is still only a human, proud and prone to selfishness. 

But one thought, only a single thought, crosses his mind.

He asks, “But do the Sith have tacos?”

It is a foolish question, and he knows it. Instantly, his face burns with childish shame. But he was not asking whether or not the Sith can make the Tatooinian staple, not really. He was asking, really, if the Sith can give him the love and warmth and understanding of the weekly dinner meetings. If the Sith can give him a family. If the Sith can touch his soul.

Palpatine is taken aback, for a moment. Then, a smile crosses his face. “Of course,” he promises. And he strides over to his fridge and pulls out… something. A taco, he assures, but in a bag for convenience. And made with high-end, Coruscanti delicacies, not the crude aboriginal toppings of Tatooine.

And Anakin is disgusted. Because this taco is not a taco. Not in the sense that Anakin means. It was mass prepared by droids in a factory, not individually crafted by the hands of someone who knows and loves him. It is filled with bland, blanched pastes, not the symphony of colors and flavors that represent a galaxy of cultures in the palm of his hand. It was made to be nibbled on alone, on the go, not enjoyed with all the people he loves when he made time specifically for them. It is everything that a taco isn’t. It’s empty. Void.

Soulless. Just like the Sith.

Palpatine- rather, Darth Sidious- lies dead at Anakin’s feet, his head cleanly and painlessly severed by an arc of brilliant azure.

With the death of Sidious comes the death of the War. Order 66 never happens. The Jedi Purge never happens. Darth Vader, Ben Kenobi, Fulcrum, and the Rebellion are never born, and Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ahsoka Tano, and Padme Amidala never die. The Empire never rises from the ashes of the Republic. Bail Organa is elected Supreme Chancellor in the wake of Palpatine’s demise, and he ushers the Republic into a new golden age of peace and prosperity. Padme succeeds in convincing the Senate to pass the Clone Rights Bill, and millions of men rejoice as they are free to live as citizens of the Republic. 

And speaking of Padme- nine months have passed. She does not deliver her twins, dying, on a transport ship from Mustafar, but alive, well, and healthy in a hospital on Naboo, just as she had wanted so badly. She names her son Luke, and while Obi-Wan is still the first to hold him, it is not because of Anakin’s absence or Padme’s lack of strength. Anakin is right there, holding his wife’s hand because she still has one more baby to deliver. Obi-Wan is simply giving his assistance to a friend in need. And Anakin names his daughter Leia, and it is Ahsoka who holds her, torn between excited squeals of I get to be an AUNT, good Force she is the cutest little girl and a quiet, hushed reverence for the tiny life she holds in her hands. 

One final note on the Skywalker Family. Now that the War is over, it can be properly addressed: Anakin broke the Jedi Code, not merely by violating his vow of celibacy but by concealing this truth from the Council. Despite all he has done for the Order- which is acknowledged and given its due praise and recognition- he cannot be allowed to remain in it. Yoda, Mace, Aayla, and Obi-Wan- as well as many other Councilmen and Women- all wish it were not so, but the rules are very clear. And yet, Anakin is wise in this universe. He acknowledges his fault and his deception. He humbly accepts his expulsion, because he knows full well that he deserves it. And so he remains on good terms with the entirety of the Jedi Order. He is even allowed to keep his Lightsaber- because, Jedi though he may no longer be, the Force is still with him. And after all, this lightsaber is his life. 

Ahsoka is transferred to Obi-Wan to finish her padawan training. Anakin and Padme retire to Naboo, where they raise Luke and Leia in relative peace- that is to say, as much peace as you can get when your last name is Skywalker. They are happy. They are very happy. The twins love, and are in turn adored by, their Uncle Obi-Wan and Aunt Ahsoka, on their father’s side, and Uncle and Aunt Bail and Breha on their mother’s. They are doted upon by their Grandmother and Grandfather Naberrie (Padme’s parents) and spoiled by their Grandma and Grandpa Shmi and Cliegg, and Aunt and Uncle Beru and Owen. When it is discovered that they are both incredibly Force-Sensitive, Anakin has to practically wrestle the Council to not admit them to the Creche because all his Jedi friends want to train his children. Luke and Leia have, literally, thousands of uncles and/or cousins in the Clones, who are quite protective of their niece and nephew/baby cousins. No one is exactly sure what Satine is to them, but whatever it is, she has been quoted as saying, in private conversation, that she wishes they were hers, so clearly they have a loving relationship.

And when they are old enough to eat solid food, they, too, join the still-continuing throng of family that gather in Obi-Wan and Ahsoka’s living room every Tuesday for Tacos. 

And they love it.