you've seen the alternate ending for the confrontation between padme and anakin right? the one where she goes to him with the intent to kill him and brings a long ass knife?
No. There is no universe in which Padme tries to kill Anakin—or not like that, not with a knife, not on Mustafar. Not in the open like that, when her waters break and all she can think about is the birthing pains—
There is a universe where she tries to kill him in the bed they share, though. His golden-yellow eyes opening at the last moment and freezing her in place. Her arms tremble as she tries to bring the knife down between his ribs, puncture his lungs, all that sweet bright blood—
He reaches up and flicks at the frozen blade with a finger. It shatters into a hundred thousand silvered shards, all across the room. Impossible to put together again. He kisses her, afterward, and they pretend she doesn’t sob into his open mouth.
There is a universe where she tries to poison him slowly. Foods she knows he loves—Tatooine delicacies, the sugar syrup-soaked delights of Naboo, Coruscanti pastries fried in butter. Padme Amidala is a new bride, pale and eager to please, shouldn’t she cook for her new husband? her master? even her mother cooked for her father—
He feeds her so much asperic-laced fruit that Padme stops producing milk for a time. Luke and Leia howl at all hours and into the night, demanding their mother and her milk; Padme has to turn over onto her stomach and sob into the mattress. (She wants to turn and beat Anakin with her fists. Look what you made me do! she wants to howl, but she knows he wouldn’t listen, not at all.)
There is another universe—no, not that one, the other one—where Padme kills him. She does. It takes too long, too many bills that turn her stomach and “enforcement actions” she hears through the long-winding vine of gossip. He is not what she thought he was. Not if he can…
Still, it surprises her, the amount of blood he’s still able to lose, even with the cybernetics, all that unforgiving red pooling on the Senate floor. Padme wonders if the Emperor is watching this, if he is listening to the screams and the bellows for order! order! on the Senate floor or if Padme is alone, cradling Anakin to her breast as he bleeds and bleeds and bleeds. An unfortunate side-effect of the vibroblade Padme placed in his chest—all that bleeding.
I love you, Anakin says, wheezes. He has lost so much blood. And yet, it is so little, compared with how much he has and will shed.
I know, Padme says, kissing her husband’s brow. I know, my love.
Afterwards, they ask her where her children are, when they search her apartments and find no sentient soul there. Padme thinks of Alderaan and Tatooine and her children, her little Luke and Leia growing up in the sand and the snow. She hopes they learn her name, sometime.
Far from here, Padme Amidala says. Far from you.
(Amidala, Padme, the Imperial Registry lists. Assassin.)
Hey guys!! I’ve answered all of the questions I’ve had about Cuban language, culture, snacks, etc. for your Cuban Lance fanworks! If anyone has a question that’s not on here, you may feel free to ask!! (Just don’t expect it to be quick bc finals are here, sorry)
Hello! I just read all of your stories and I love them!! You write so well! Anyways, I was wondering if you could possibly write a fic where Jack is watching one of the Samwell games (after he graduated) and Bitty gets checked really badly and he freaks out?
Okay so this is a liiiittle different than what you requested, but I couldn’t not write it when I thought of it. Warning for some unfriendly chirping, but nothing too extreme.
Bitty was having a great game. He was dodging check left and right, and had even managed to dole out a couple of nudges back. He’d scored the goal that put Samwell on the board late in the first period off a sweet pass from Ransom and kicked the third off with an assist on Tango’s backhand goal. Shitty had hardly sat down in his seat the entire game, cheering and waving his new favorite sign “GIMME THE 4-11 TONIGHT” and getting a dusting of glitter all over the hair and fries of the guy in front of them. Jack, for his part, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands twitching at his sides when he wasn’t using them to gesticulate wildly as he cheered on his boyfriend and their friends.
Meanwhile, down on the ice, Bitty was pissed. One of the d-men on the other team had been chirping them in an especially unfriendly way all night, and it was getting on his last nerve. Usually, Bitty had a pretty thick skin when it came to that though. Years of torment at the hands of bullies in Georgia and being probably the smallest guy in the NCAA made him good at shaking it off. He’d close his eyes, take a deep breath, and remember the day he’d finally told his MooMaw what had really been giving him such a tough time at school. She’d set down her cup of tea and leaned over the table to pinch Eric’s chin between her weathered fingers, and told him, “You’ve just gotta turn the other cheek baby,” and then her eyes took on a wicked gleam as she added, “and let ‘em kiss your ass.”
Tropea, Calabria. The 780 km of coastline make Calabria a popular tourist destination in summer. Low industrial development and the lack of large cities mean that there’s only minimal marine pollution. The region is considered by many a natural paradise, which attracts tourists from all over Italy. Foreign tourism is still low, but it’s a growing market. The most popular seaside destinations are Tropea, Capo Vaticano, Pizzo, Scilla, Diamante, Amantea, and Soverato. The interior of Calabria is rich in history, traditions, art, and culture. Fortresses, castles, churches, historic centers, and cemeteries are common elements. Some mountain locations attract tourists even in winter. Sila and Aspromonte are 2 national parks that offer facilities for winter sports, especially in the towns of Camigliatello, Lorica, and Gambarie.
The cuisine is a typical southern Italian Mediterranean cuisine with a balance between meat dishes (pork, lamb, goat), vegetables (esp eggplant), and fish. Pasta is also important. In contrast to most other Italian regions, Calabrians have traditionally placed an emphasis on the preservation of food, in part due to the climate and potential crop failures. As a result, there is a tradition of packing vegetables and meats in olive oil, making sausages and cold cuts (Sopressata, ‘Nduja), and curing fish, esp. swordfish, sardines and cod. Desserts are typically fried, honey-sweetened pastries or baked biscotti-type treats. Local specialties include Caciocavallo cheese, Cipolla rossa (red onion), Frìttuli and Curcùci (fried pork), Liquorice (liquirizia), Lagane e Cicciari (pasta with chickpeas), Pecorino Crotonese (sheep’s cheese), and Pignolata. Some vineyards have origins dating back to the ancient Greek colonists. Important grape varieties are red Gaglioppo and white Greco. Producers are resurrecting ancient grape varieties which have been around for as long as 3000 years.
kind of crack fic inspired by the fact that everyone seems to think that Killian/Rogers and Tiana/Sabine are gonna bang all because they exchanged a few lines, and because beignets is totally the next tacos/pancakes. but this is maybe what would actually happen. 800 words fueled by @thesschesthair’s goats and a wikipedia article on fried pastries.
It started with the beignets. Which, he had to admit, were probably the best pieces of fried dough he could remember having. (Apologies to Henry—even better than that bearclaw.)
But then it was her own twist on a bearclaw. Sticky and sweet and—was that lemon curd filling? He made a mental note to make sure to stop by their food truck the next day.
And that was when she gave him a paczki with a chocolate-chili center—an odd, yet divine combination. Despite his intention to pay, she insisted it was on the house. He assumed it was just for his help in procuring the vehicle (which looked rather smart now that it wasn’t a crack van).
However, it continued each time he visited the truck, usually when it was parked outside the community garden. Sabine always had some treat set aside for him, in a little bag with Rogers written on it in her messy script and a little heart drawn beneath it, winking as she handed it to him and asking how the last one was. Maybe he’d become their official taste tester?
Oh, how wrong he was.
Because the next time he visited, in addition to the usual wink and a treat and the payment she refused (which he shoved in the tip jar anyways), he didn’t have a chance to get into his mini nutmeg funnel cakes before he noticed the note scribbled on the front:
My place, 7 pm. Let’s make beignets.
He got the impression she wasn’t talking about baking.
And he was surprised to realize that he was okay with that. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d given thought to romance, or to much of anything that wasn’t related to work. To be frank, he wasn’t sure he deserved it, with Eloise still out there missing.
But Sabine…they got on excellently, for sure, and she was rather attractive…
What the hell. He’d do it.
He was only slightly astonished to arrive at the apartment and see that she actually had meant beignets; it wasn’t some euphemism. As endearing as he typically found her, she was even more so while in her element, a smile constantly playing at her lips and flirty, teasing quip on her tongue as she showed him what to do. He wasn’t much help when it came to kneading the dough, but he caught on with the rest…and if some flour may have happened to land in her hair, well, she could hardly blame the guy with one hand, could she?
It was nice. It was fun. It was surprisingly easy.
And he might not have been able to help himself when they were leaning against the counter, tasting the fruits of their labors, and he casually brushed a bit of powdered sugar from her lips with his thumb…and leaned in to kiss the rest away.
It was a pleasant kiss, soft and sweet. He could taste cinnamon and nutmeg and maybe a hint of cayenne on her mouth, but even with the spice—there wasn’t any heat.
They broke apart but stayed close, foreheads almost touching and his hand hovering at her hip while hers rested on his shoulders. For an awkward moment, neither said a thing, until she spoke up.
“That was a good kiss; really good, but…”
“I know what you mean.”
“It just didn’t have that…spark.”
She paused a moment, brushing some flour off his shirt, then looked up at him and shrugged. “Well, had to try. At least I know where to go if I ever need another baking assistant!” she added with a grin.
He chuckled, relieved; he’d worried things might become awkward, but it was good to know they were on the same page. “It’d be my honor. Though Lucy might have something to say about it.”
The buzz of a phone interrupted their conversation. It was Sabine’s; she grabbed it and read the message. “Well, what do ya know: Jacinda is spending the night with Henry.”
“Good for them.” About time, too; even he was getting tired of their dance around each other.
“Yeah, at least someone’s getting lucky tonight,” she joked, bumping him with her hip.
“I mean, if you want…” he started, teasing back with a scratch behind the ear that betrayed his nonchalance.
She just giggled and placed a chaste, smacking kiss on his cheek. “We’re good.”
They quickly settled into cleaning up, though he did have one question for her: “This wasn’t one of those kissing-a-frog-to-find-a-prince scenarios, was it?”
“Ha! No,” she replied with a giggle. “No, you’re more of a pirate anyway.”
He had to chuckle at that; he? A pirate? That’d be the day. But—"Well, pirates make better friends than enemies, I’d gather.“
Beignet is the French term for a deep-fried choux pastry. They’re a common breakfast and Mardi Gras food in New Orleans, Louisiana, USA, served with powdered sugar on top and are traditionally prepared right before consumption to be eaten fresh and hot. Variations of fried dough can be found worldwide - the origin of the term Beignet is French. In the USA, they have been popular within New Orleans Creole cuisine. They were brought to New Orleans in the 18th century by French colonists, and became a part of home-style Creole cooking. Variations include banana or plantain. Café du Monde is a popular New Orleans destination specializing in Beignets with powdered sugar, coffee with chicory, and café au lait. The tradition of deep-frying fruits dates to the time of Ancient Rome, while the tradition of Beignets in Europe is speculated to have originated with a heavy influence of Islamic culinary tradition. Beignets can also be made with yeast, they’re called Boules de Berlin in French, referring to German Berliner donuts filled with fruit jam. On the French island of Corsica, Beignets made with chestnut flour are known as Fritelli.