#this is some SAPPY TRASHY BULLSHIT

[diazsdimples]

Just saw your thoughts on buddietommyshannon and I’d love some more when you’ve got a moment🩵🩵

Ooh I had a thought which was building on one @hippolotamus came up with. This is how the 'Cule deals with illness

Buck sleeps for days when he's unwell and it takes an ungodly amount of bribery to get him out of bed and onto the couch. Usually the promise of cuddles from any of his partners will do, bonus points if there's more than one involved. Shannon usually joins him in eucalyptus scented baths, Eddie will make him his Abeula's spicy soup and Tommy drags him outside to lay in the grass while they listen to true crime podcasts. After doing this a couple times, Tommy sets up a hammock he and Buck can lay in which is perfect for cuddles

Eddie denies he's sick and will work/ continue husbanding until he's on death's door, unless someone calls him out on it first. Unfortunately for him, Shannon has been married to him for the best part of her adult life and can sniff out a bullshit excuse for unusual tiredness from a mile away. She forces him to rest and shoves food, water, and medicine into him until he feels better. Buck reads him sappy romance while Eddie's on enforced bed rest, giving him lots of kisses and cuddles, and Tommy watches a plethora of sports games with him (or Love Island if Buck and Shannon aren't home).

Shannon gets wicked migraines when she's sick which often comes with the inability to tolerate a lot of foods. Buck has perfected a plait that keeps her hair out of her eyes but doesn't make her head feel like it's going to explode, and also massages her scalp when he's doing this. Eddie sets up the whole house with blackout curtains and has a constantly changing rotation of electrolyte drinks for her that he'll feed her so she doesn't have to open her eyes to find the bottle (he also kisses the excess from her lips so that's a win). Tommy knows exactly what snacks she can stomach and constantly has them on hand. He also takes her to get her daith pierced one day.

Tommy runs so hot when he's sick and gets fevers at the drop of a hat. He's messy when he's sick so Buck makes sure there's always a trash can by him, for tissues and other uses and cuddles Tommy while pressing ice packs to his forehead. Eddie takes showers with Tommy because he finds cooling down after them helps break his fevers, and Eddie will let Tommy rest and hold him up while he washes him (this can sometimes be an Eddie and Buck job). Shannon drags both couches in the lounge together and sets them up with a pile of blankets, puts Love, Actually on TV and her and Tommy curl up and watch trashy movies all day.

[stickycave]

A Guiding Hand

Summary: Mark has a new scene for you to star in but when you're less than eager to play your role, he takes matters into his own hands.

Pairings: no explicitly romantic pairings, fade to black sex with Captain Magnum

CW: Loss of control over your body, Rape with neither involved giving informed consent

“Now come sit on ol’ Magnum’s lap, and let's see if we can make a new member for the crew,” his tone is trying and failing to be seductive. You smile and bare it, stepping towards him. His hand and hook graze your skin and you can feel it crawl. Without even thinking, you step away.

Time freezes. An outline appears around Magnum, buzzing static holding him in time and space.

Turning away from the scene, you shake your head and hands, “nope, no go, Mark. I can’t do this scene.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” With an exasperated sigh, Mark walks into view,  a lens flare affixed to him, moving as he does as if he were being viewed through a camera in another place rather than here and now with your own two eyes. “I worked hard on this script, your job is to follow it.”

“We’ve never done a sex scene before!”

“I’m aware of that, I'm stretching my creative limits.”

“Well can’t you stretch it with other characters? Or yourself?”

“Myself? Why would I do that when I have you?” he throws his head back in a laugh, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, guiding you along with him as he walks, “you’re the dashing darling gem of this world, it’s only natural you are the one to inspire longing and lust in others.They already all adore you.”

He guides you down a path, the images of men, women, and more flickering like holograms along the way, all people in the stories he's written who fell in love with you at first sight. 

You sigh, “but Magnum is the only one who said I was like a child to him. Can't you at least pair me with someone else for this story? It just feels weird with him,” you squirm at the thought, a small shiver of disgust running through you.

Mark tuts, “but that's what makes it intriguing! Anyone can write some sappy love story of the lead ending up with the obvious choice. It takes a genius to write the complicated push and pull, the blurring lines of a mentor figure and their right hand into lust and desperation! And I don't do anything less than genius.”

“More like a trashy paperback novelist,” you cross your arms, unconvinced. 

His hand squeezes your shoulder, “look, you're apprehensive, I understand that. But you'll see the vision once it's over.”

Shaking your head, you step away, his hand trailing from your shoulder down your arm, “no, I'm not doing this scene. Pick a different guy or a different lead for this one,” sliding down your arm as you pull away, his hand reaches your wrist and clamps around it. 

“I wasn't asking,” he tugs you towards himself, a firm arm wrapping around your waist as he holds your wrist up. And suddenly, you're dancing a waltz. “I am the director, remember? You follow my lead,” he spins you both to emphasize his point, “but if you're truly not willing to act in the scene, I'll do it myself.”

His hand releases your wrist, but it stays in the air, no matter how you strain it. 

“Mark? What are you doing now?” Panic tinges your words. He lets go of you, but you continue to dance, holding onto the air, some invisible partner in your arms. He stands to the side, chuckling as you furrow your brow in confusions, pulling and shifting against the force moving your body without any concern of your own will.

“I told you. I’m doing it myself,” he sits, a director's chair manifesting itself behind him as your body waltzes back towards the scene with Magnum. The more you struggle, the tighter the force feels, like strings threaded to the insides of your joints.

“Mark! I'm serious, stop the puppet bullshit now!” 

“The scene needs to happen one way or another, old friend. And you chose ‘or other.’”

The scene starts up again, and as you try to protest, your voice comes out but not your words. 

“Magnum, I don't know. You're the captain, and I'm your right hand, can we really…?”

His hand grasps your hip, hook coming just under your chin and you can see in his eyes he has no idea that it's not really you who's responding to him.

Mark keeps a watchful eye on the unfolding scene. He's never gotten to puppet you before, and the control he has over the scene because of it fuels the perfectionist in him. Maybe he should do this more often.

[spinnerprincess]

17 - Alvin/Ludger/Milla

I do not believe in love at first sight.  But god damn. (Look at you.)

It’s awful with Ludger because he doesn’t notice it, like, even a little. Probably because he’s younger than Alvin. Not so much that he feels sketchy about it, just enough that there’s a gaping hole where the words “experienced enough to notice that Alvin’s in over his goddamn head again” should be. 

Ludger is contradictory. He’s gentle and kind to Elle and generally soft-spoken, when and if he even speaks at all. Also, he fights viciously, with little hesitation or mercy, and when he’s angry it’s the kind of cold anger that can give a whole room chills, yet flip hot at a moment’s notice. 

Alvin gravitates into his orbit and it takes him a solid ten minutes to realize he’s doing that. 

“You’re pretty good,” Alvin blurts before he can tell his mouth to never do that. 

“Thanks,” Ludger says, genuinely surprised. Genuinely. Like it’s a shock to him, or something, that someone might think he’s good at what he does. 

Alvin takes a verbal shot at Elize before his mouth thinks of something else uniquely unintelligent to say about that.

By the end of day one he knows he would go to the end of the world to help Ludger find his way. What’s a little risk of life and death among pals? And it is so, so refreshing to finally have someone in his life who doesn’t know. Ludger has only ever seen him be Leia’s best friend, or a helpful if slightly awful businessman. Ludger learns, eventually, but it’s still something in the past. He can see it doesn’t fully connect.

Being around him, Ludger just sees him as a valued friend. He trusts him. He trusts him. It’s a gift Alvin can’t repay and desperately wants to live up to. 

By the end of the week, Alvin’s not, urgh, in love or anything, but he knows he’s headed down a road that’s hard to come back from. He wishes that one day he could stop yearning for impossible people at the drop of a hat.

-

It’s awful with Milla because for the longest time, he doesn’t notice it. I mean, he notices some of it, of course. There’s that whole awkward “looks exactly like Milla, who stepped on me for my own good” issue getting in the way for a while. He feels out the attraction on day one, puts in in a box, labels that box “not Milla, different person, do not even think about it,” and sets it aside.

Putting the pieces together takes a while. In his head he keeps a mental tally of the ways she’s different. That she’s less emotionally stable he figures out immediately, that it’s part of why she’s somehow more real and human to him takes him much longer. He notices that she’s vibrant and clever and snappy. He notices that she wants to create good things in the world. He notices that she’s kind to Elle, cold to Jude, and never more alight than when she’s trading barbs with him to pass the time.

All of it goes in the box. 

It’s not until right up at the end there when it hits him. She mutters something about how she never belonged here, and finds himself completely off guard when his first instinct is to reply, “Of course you belong here, you always have.” He manages to keep the lid on that one, reels in the panic. 

Milla had always felt like a distant, unreachable ideal, something amazing to aspire towards. Milla? He wants to tell her it’s okay. He wants to tell her she doesn’t have to live up to that. He feels like he could stay at her side. Like that’s a place he could be. And she could stay by his.  

And if he hadn’t been, I don’t know, his usual idiot self, he probably would have noticed it from the very start. 

He probably could have noticed it in time to say goodbye. 

-

They’re worse together. They’re the worst together.

He sees the light in Ludger’s eyes when Milla bends down a little to give Elle a bowl of soup. He sees Milla grin and brag when Ludger tells her she’s a good cook, and then wilt when somebody mentions Muzét, and then retreat into the awkward silence where her entire world used to be. And then she perks up again, just slightly, when Ludger reaches out a hand. And then she turns away. Ludger frowns.

He just wants to pick them up and shove them together. It’s so clear to him that it could be something good. They both have so many ways they need to heal. They could be sweet to each other. They could make each other feel better. They could kiss each other on each other’s faces and just be done with this stupid dance already. Maybe if they became happy enough, he could convince himself that it wasn’t also just kind of the thought that they’d be an embarrassingly, extremely attractive couple, though. 

He is trying to be a good person. It’s not easy, but he thinks he’s succeeding. He’s working on it, at least. They’re helping, even if they don’t know it. When they talk he doesn’t feel the weight of guilt still pressing against his chest. They make him feel like he could climb mountains made of the shit he’s done and will do. 

Ludger has moments of brutal honesty where he says “of course I can leave Elle with you, why wouldn’t I?” and means it and it stays with Alvin for weeks. Milla’s teasing covers the fact that she seems to hang out near him without realizing it, flinching away from the others when they talk about Milla - “the real Milla,” he hears Elize say, which is the first time he’s ever though she might be less mature than he is. It doesn’t escape his attention that she hardly ever flinches around him. If he didn’t know better, he might call the friendly banter they sometimes dip into a light form of “flirting.”

It’s excruciating when it ends.

-

By some kind of divine intervention, they come back to him. Their loss is still raw even if all he’d ever really lost was long-shot opportunity. He spends a week having heart attacks whenever he sees either of them, alive and shining.

It takes some work on his part, and theirs, but eventually, they finally do that thing where they talk out their problems. They ask him to watch Elle for a while as they work towards finally making out with each other. Elle seems to notice that he’s a little melancholy about something and decides the only solution is to leave and get ice cream and watch a princess movie. 

“Precocious” is a word he would use to describe Elle, but so is “great.”

-

He’s used to not getting things he wants and he knows his heart well enough to know that someday, after he’s been kicked enough to realize he doesn’t belong there, he’ll find someone else to pine after within about an hour of meeting them. 

This is why he’s so surprised when they ask Leia to watch Elle (Elle’s first sleepover, apparently), invite him over, and ask him to stay. He crumples into their arms when he lets himself believe that they mean it. 

-

It surprises them all when he’s the first to say I love you, but then again, he’s probably known the longest of them all. It wasn’t love at first sight, but god damn. It might as well have been. It was pretty damn close. (And it’s better than he could have ever dreamed.)

[frogtanii]

oh fuck, fuck, shit. this was not how things were supposed to go down.

what was supposed to happen, according to the magnificent imagination library of sugawara koushi (don’t judge him, he made the name when he was like 5), was that he’d get a little drunk after spa night and share his story with his newfound friends. he was hoping for a maybe a few hugs, no words of pity and, once again if he was lucky, a seat beside you while you watched some sappy lighthearted comedy to get his mind off of the whole situation.

what suga got instead, however, was an increasingly pissed you, ready to pounce on meiko the second you got. he couldn’t pretend that your reaction wasn’t incredibly endearing, especially since he’d never seen you get this angry in all the time he’s known you, but koushi couldn’t help but worry that after this... everyone would know.

so he raced after you down the hall, until you burst into meiko’s room with the rest of the group hot on your heels.

meiko looked up from rummaging through her bags, startled, while iwaizumi immediately jumped to her defense. you were not deterred, peering around him with such fire in your eyes that not even meiko was immune.

sugawara was actually rather impressed with the stoicism you held even when you stood face to face with iwaizumi’s biceps.

god, those arms.

“meiko, you fucking bitch,” you muttered, lowly and under your breath. the gasp meiko let out was absolutely scandalized as iwaizumi pressed himself closer to you.

“hey, don’t you dare talk to her that way,” iwa expressed, instantly drawing your attention. suga didn’t even pretend to hide the gasp that escaped his throat as he watched your eyes turn even more steely and cold.

he’d hate to be on the receiving end of your empty gaze.

“get the fuck out of my way,” your smaller hand found its way to the center of iwaizumi’s broad chest and pushed.

faintly, over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, koushi could hear atsumu yell something along the lines of get em angel! but his eyes were utterly stuck on you fiery form.

your own eyes remained focused on meiko who was now cowering behind iwaizumi’s back but for the first time ever she actually looked... scared?

koushi felt something alight in stomach (rage? hurt?) as he watched the woman who’d unapologetically taken something he’d never ever get back with no remorse, look fucking scared.

of course she would have the audacity to be afraid in the eyes of pain and not her horribly absent morality.

fucking hell. she was so going to get what was coming for her.

koushi let a manic grin grow on his face as he watched you shove iwaizumi harder to finally, finally, get your hands on the woman who’d destroyed his life.

when hajime tried to get back between you and meiko, bokuto, atsumu, and sakusa stepped up to keep him away. suga suddenly felt two solid presences appear at his sides, a quick glance out of the corners of his eyes informing him it was kuroo and kenma beside him.

“do you wanna leave?” kuroo leant down to whisper, his deep voice vibrating at the shell of suga’s ear. koushi absentmindedly shook his head no, brown orbs watching as you whispered something in meiko’s ear, her eyes immediately going wide in shock.

god, he wished he was right there next to you, listening to every piece of bullshit meiko spat out of her mouth and from the looks of it, it was a ton.

kuroo and kenma began to speak over suga but he was too occupied with you — you looked so powerful and in control as you stood over meiko, saying something else that he couldn’t hear but whatever it was, it must’ve upset meiko because her face twisted from afraid to fucking pissed.

he couldn’t do anything but watch in slow motion as meiko’s hand flew up and slapped you square across the face.

the room fell silent as everyone looked on in utter shock. (un)surprisingly, you weren’t startled at all — you actually looked pleased as you touched your cheek gently as though you were surprised it even hurt.

koushi’s theory was then proved correctly as your voice rang out through the silent room. “wow. that actually kind of stung.” kenma snorted next to him at your nonchalance as another wave of admiration overtook him.

suga knew he must have been looking pretty enamored by you but it was only amplified as the whole house watched your hand fly down into meiko’s face, slapping her at least twice as hard.

now, kenma straight up cackled as you and meiko fell into an all out fight where you clearly had the upper hand.

behind your little defense squad, iwaizumi attempted to fight past the wall of strong men to get to meiko, but there was no way he could get past bokuto’s arms that were big enough to rival his.

unfortunately for suga (and kenma who was having the time of his life), all the noise from the thrashing and screaming (coming mostly from meiko) had attracted quite the crowd. daichi and osamu immediately rushed to yank you off of meiko who was now lying on the ground yelling and sobbing.

she was an absolute wreck, her mascara smeared across her face, extensions pulled every which way and a bright red handprint plastered on her left cheek as a black eye seemed to be coming in on the same side.

you, on the other hand, whilst being dragged away by osamu and daichi, looked absolutely stunning.

your hair was a mess, blood was running from your nose down your to your chin, and you had a feral grin spread across your face but even still, to suga, you’d never looked more beautiful.

at first, koushi thought it was because he had a minor blood kink (don’t ask) but after more thought, he discovered that it was more than likely due to the fact that you had physically fought for him.

you’d decided, on some merits unknown to him, that he was worth getting bitchslapped for and that meant more to him than you could ever know.

“hey,” kenma’s soft voice shook him out of his thoughts as he gently led him out of the room. “they’re putting yn in her room so we’re gonna go there, ok?”

koushi thinks that kenma could’ve led him straight into a pit of lava if that’s where you were. he just desperately needed to see you, to thank you for what you’d done for him.

suga needed to prove to you that your bloody nose wasn’t in vain — that he was somehow worth fighting for.

℗ poker face

a boy worth fighting for

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - ahaha get the mulan reference?? wow m so funny ALOS this chapter sucks ass cs i’m so bad at writing fighting (&& it’s 1a m so tired) lmao pls just take this w a grain of salt ;-; don’t forget to feed me <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

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the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[fixatedonfandom]

Confessions

TF2 RAREPAIR WEEK IS HERE AND I HAVE BROUGHT SNIPERPAULING

For @tf2rarepairweek

Warnings: blood and gore mention, but typical Medic-level stuff. It is not present in the fic itself.

Notes: -Pauling's first name in this is 'Francine', so that's why she's called 'Fran' throughout the fic. -the book is totally made up for this, just imagine some trashy mom romance lit and that's pretty much what I had in mind for it. -Sniper is playing it so, so cool, but I need you to know that he's a nervous wreck even worse than Pauling is. I tried to portray that in the letter. I love Sniper.

Synop: Pauling is a closet sappy romantic who has resigned herself to likely dying alone due to her having no free time to meet people and fall in love. One day she’s leaving from the RED compound after performing a preliminary for the team’s upcoming contract negotiations when an arrow thuds into the ground in front of her. There’s a letter tied to it. It’s a love letter.

~~~

First is Soldier. Note: attempt to have a brief discussion about the necessity of keeping his raccoons on base. Be prepared for battle, or to be ignored entirely.

Then Heavy and Engie, who should be easy.

After that is Spy. Note: he requested a renegotiation in terms of payment method. Discuss.

Then Pyro and Scout. Note: Do either of these guys know how to keep a bank account? I don’t even think Scout can count high enough to reach the number he’s getting on his paycheck

Then there’s Medic. Hopefully it will be easy. Note: He asked for the gallbladder of an animal I’m not sure I have the right clearance to discuss. I don’t know how to break this to him.

Sniper's after that. He’s pretty financially literate. He and Spy will probably be the easiest ones.

After him there’s Demo. Should be easy enough. Note: encourage more sober, structured experimentation. No point in paying him for research if all of his discoveries keep exploding.

Then…

Francine spared a glance at the hardcover book placed tantalizingly in the passenger seat of her car.

“Fair Love and War”

She should have known this book was going to be the death of her the moment she picked it up and read the synopsis. It had everything she ever wanted in a novel: a fantastical setting, packed with action and drama; a two-dimensional, fill-in-the-blank protagonist for her to project herself onto; and, of course, the tall, mysterious, foreign, emotionally-distant love interest who got her caught up in all of his insanely dangerous adventures. She hadn’t even had it for a week, but she’d still managed to read twenty four chapters in the little crumbs of off-time she’d chipped off of her daily work schedule. She was coming upon the climax of it all: the protagonist and the love interest had just had a major falling out, spurred on by some ridiculous misunderstanding, and the lover has just sent her a long note detailing how deeply he’d fallen for her. The protagonist had just began to peel the lip of envelope up when Fran had to get in the car and rush to the RED base for some kind of stupid preliminary meeting with each of the RED team mercs about their upcoming contract renegotiation. The Administrator’s order had all been very last minute, and timed so perfectly that Fran was fully willing to believe that the Administrator had been reading over her shoulder the entire time, calculating the ideal moment to interrupt her day with bureaucratic bullshit.

Fran sent another glance to her book. The bland, stick-thin protagonist was woven into a complex, artsy embrace with her foreign lover on the backdrop of a hotel room, a dark storm raging outside the window. There weren’t any hotel room scenes in the book, though, so she couldn’t see the relevance.

No hotel scenes so far

Oh, those two were so going to bang after she read that note. Fran just knew it. The suspense was so painful it was palpable, but she wasn’t allowed to let it distract her from the real world. 

She pulled off into the secret exit and reached the RED base soon enough. As she gathered her papers into her bag, she sent one long, forlorn look at her book, and unceremoniously shoved it in there alongside her files. Just in case she got some down-time in between meetings. You never knew.

-------

Several long, frightening, arduous hours passed before Fran realized she was not going to have any down time.

For the most part, the preliminaries went as smoothly as they could. Heavy, Spy, and Engineer had given her no problems beyond Heavy’s language barrier for some things. Soldier had tried to declare war on her, but she was able to negotiate a peace agreement with him and the raccoons before things got too far. Pyro had spent most of the session coloring on her notepad and mumbling agreements to everything she said. Scout had hit on her, which was as normal as it got with him, and he also didn’t even remember the name of his primary bank, but that wasn’t her problem to deal with.

Medic… had not been easy. 

She caught him at a bad time, it seemed, when she pushed through the infirmary doors (after he didn’t show up to their scheduled meeting time) and found him elbow deep in something that looked like it was still alive. She didn’t know what it was. She didn’t care. She’d dismantled enough bodies to know what one looked like, and what she saw was not that.

Then he invited her to hold one of the creature’s jittery, pulsating organs while he sawed through its spinal column, and she politely declined. This was followed by a loud wailing alarm and more twitching from the creature, and that invitation turned into an anxious demand that Pauling complied with before she realized what she’d gotten herself into. Medic went to sawing, Pauling held the thing’s organs in her hands while he worked, and she became a de facto laboratory assistant against her will.

That whole ordeal took almost two hours. 

Afterward, when she finally got him to come away from his creature to do the preliminary, he’d had a long, inexhaustive list of different organs that he needed for different upcoming projects, along with some visual aids for what some of these organs looked like fresh, just so she didn’t get jipped by any of her black-market organ dealers. Apparently, he’d remarked, that was a real risk with some of the stuff he’d been looking for. It had happened to him, and he’d been out twenty thousand dollars because of it but became one human corpse richer. Pauling didn’t ask for details. She never wanted any more details ever again. 

They’d parted ways with Pauling having to break it to him that no, she couldn’t find the gallbladder he’d been looking for, and she was not allowed to acknowledge the existence of that animal to begin with. He took it well, seemingly, but then told her he had another special request that she could fulfill for him instead.

That left Pauling by herself, staring down a file of gorey images of alien organs and a sticky note detailing what this replacement request was going to be, muttering to herself all the while of how much she needed a raise.

“...of course he wants me to put me on the case of getting samples of the Loch Ness fucking-” 

Someone cleared his throat.

Fran squeaked, slapping Medic’s folder shut and hovering her other hand around her pistol, but it was just Sniper, standing in the doorway. She’d almost forgotten that he was next.

Sniper was dressed rather casually, missing his hat, vest, and shades and wearing a loose red button-down and brown slacks. His frame barely took up half the width of the doorway, but he had to duck to enter the room.

Now, Fran wouldn’t admit it even under threat of torture, but Sniper…was a hell of a man. When she read "Fair Love and War", her eyes skimmed over the flowery descriptions of the main lover in favor of her own, more colorful interpretation that was, purely coincidentally, much lankier, much better with a rifle, and much more Australian. Sniper was never going to know about it, but that didn’t change the fact that whenever Fran laid eyes on him, or heard his voice, she felt...

“Er…” Sniper watched her slide Medic’s folder off the table, and, with a sheepish-looking smile, asked, “Long day, then?”

“I…uh…” Fran snapped out of it, ignoring her thrumming heartbeat and steadily-heating cheeks. “You have no idea. God, you have no idea,” she admitted. She tried to let the tension bleed out of her. Sniper was easy, sexy though he may be. He was normal, relatively, and he wasn’t going to show her images of…things. “I understand that Medic is the best man the Administrator could’ve chosen for the job but sometimes…God I could just throttle that guy! How the hell does he expect us to get him a sample of the nervous tissues of an animal the U.S. Government hasn’t allowed us to legally acknowledge the existence of? And to have the audacity to pull me in and have me hold the-the stomach of something I hope wasn’t a real animal. It had no blood, Sniper! How did he do that? Why were my hands dry after I handed it back to him? Oh, it was so gross-”

The sound of Sniper chuckling snapped her out of it, and Fran felt her face flush hot.

“Not! That you care about that!” She laughed nervously. She then leaned all the way down to her bag to grab her clipboard so she could hide her face. 

Sniper sat down across from her, the metal chair squeaking when it dragged across the floor. 

“I-I don’t mind it,” Sniper remarked, sounding awkward. “You, er, y’sound like y’needed to get it off your chest.”

“Well, y’know…” But Fran didn’t know, and was just trying to push words out of her mouth so they didn’t settle into an awkward silence. 

“Yeah…”

Too late. The silence came, and it was as awkward as Fran feared it was going to be.

“Anyway!” she almost squealed. She dropped her clipboard on the table and clicked her pen a couple of times, nearly fast enough to match how fast her heart was pounding. “I am, uh, here to do a preliminary for your upcoming contract negotiation in a few weeks.”

“Yeah. I know,” Sniper said. “I got the notice.”

“Right. The, uh, the notice.” God, Fran couldn’t even think of anything other than the thin scar that cut across Sniper’s razor-sharp cheekbone, and the rasp of his voice that made her feel like it was tracing its fingers across the nape of her neck. "The notice I sent. For you guys."

Sniper was nodding, clearly amused. “Yeah. The notice.”

Fran swallowed. “Do you, uh…have any questions? About the notice. I mean- the preliminary!”

“You feelin’ alright, Miss Pauling?” he asked.

“I am great! I’m perfect. Never better,” Fran breathed out. “Sorry I’m…I’m just distracted. I’ve been really, really distracted today.”

“Yeah? Admin works you right to the quick, I know.” Sniper leaned back in his chair, scratched the back of his neck. “You, er…you ever have any spare time? Ever?”

If this were anywhere else, with anyone else, would he be asking me out right now?

“Nope!” she replied before her thoughts got away from her. “I only get one day off a year, you know? Always…always doing work. Always, uh…working.”

“That, er, sounds rough.”

“It is.”

The silence came back with vengeance, and it was more awkward than before. Fran clicked her pen a few times more.

“So, uh, the-the preliminary. Any questions? Concerns?”

Sniper looked to be thinking for a moment, then shrugged and said, “None from me. S’long as I’m still gettin’ paid.”

“Of course,” she laughed politely. “Contract negotiations will be up around…next week? Two weeks. Sometime around then. If you have any specific requests before I go on, let me know. Believe me, there is nothing you can ask for that’ll be worse than I’ve already got.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Nothing. Ask me anything.” 

Sniper had a question on the tip of his tongue, she could tell. He seemed to be deliberating whether or not he should ask it. At least, he settled on a shake of his head, and Fran’s shoulders deflated.

“Great,” she said. “Well, I know everything else seems to be in order, so, if you really don’t have any requests or comments, feel free to go!” she chirped.

Fran stood to shake his hand, and hadn’t realized the clasp of her bag had been undone. As she stood, the side of her bag tipped and spilled a pile of papers, manila folders, and one certain book onto the floor for God and everyone to see.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She tried to lunge for the book before Sniper could see it, but Sniper, like an infuriating gentleman, had already crouched down to start gathering the things she dropped. He took one look at the title, then at Fran, and Fran wondered if now would be the most opportune time for her to retire.

“This yours?” He asked, observing the racy illustration on the cover.

“No!” She exclaimed. “No, it’s for as- uh, it’s for a friend! I’m holding it for a friend.”

“Friend? Here I was thinking you had no spare time for friends.” He started to open it up to the last page she’d dog-eared. Fran was frantically shoving papers back into her bag, and was this close to snatching the book out of Sniper’s hands when he handed it back. “Any good?”

Yes,” she said, then caught herself. “I mean- I-I don’t know, really, but I, uh, I heard it was good. Really good.”

“Right. From your friend.”

“From my friend.”

Sniper didn’t look like he bought a single second of it, but he tipped his head and nodded like he did, so Fran pretended that he did.

“So…same time next week for the renegotiations?” She held out her hand for him to shake, and his hands practically swallowed hers in size. It made her sweat.

“Same time. S’long as you send out a notice beforehand.” He winked. Fran wanted to kiss him and die.

“I-I’ll, uh, I’ll do that! There’ll be a notice. A great notice. You, uh, you’ll definitely…” She released his hand. He started towards the door. “...notice it.”

He smiled again, with his perfect teeth, and it tugged a little on the scar on his rugged cheek. “You do that, Pauling.”

“...Bye!” She waved for half of a second and turned her back on him to sit back down at the table, turning her stuttered words and embarrassing sentences over in her mind and wondering if this is what it was like for Scout to talk to her. God, she just wished she had the boundless, idiotic confidence to go along with it. 

“Hey, er, Pauling?”

Fran looked back up. Sniper was hovering in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat.

“What’s up, Sniper?”

He opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment and started to say, “Do you maybe, er…”

She waited, holding her breath, a ‘yes’ poised on her lips if he was about to ask the question she wanted him to ask.

Instead, he turned back. “Nevermind. Sorry. Hooroo.” Then he was gone, and left Fran to decipher what the hell that last word was.

-------

Demo’s preliminary took no time at all, and Fran was doing the closest thing to speed walking that she could do in her heels on the gravel. She could hear “Fair Love and War” calling to her from her bag, like a whistle on the wind. A fairly loud whistle. Kind of obnoxious, too. It sounded like feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew-

Thunk

Fran yelped, papers scattering, at the arrow that thudded into the dirt right between her feet. 

No time to think, Fran drew her pistol from her back hostler and whipped around, aiming high.

The sun baked the earth like an apple turnover, and not even the waving what lines formed the mirage of the person who just shot at her. The arrow might as well have come from the rift between worlds.

No one there…

With no one to shoot, Fran lowered her pistol, but the hairs on the back of her neck still stood like the prickles of a cactus. The arrow looked like it had come from nowhere, but it hadn’t. She’d just been shot at. But the only person on base who had access to anything resembling a bow and arrow was Sniper, and if this was Sniper’s attempt at killing her then she just might have to fire him for being such a piss-poor shot. But Sniper didn’t miss.

(She’d thought of Medic, and the crossbow she knew he had, but she disregarded that too, because she knew a crossbow bolt from a wooden arrow like she knew RED from BLU)

Fran stood still in the parking lot, waiting for the whistle of another shot, but none came. It felt a little pointless to take cover at this point because if this mystery assailant really truly wanted her dead, well, she’d just been standing still for about forty five seconds, and she wasn’t dead yet.

So Fran holstered her gun, and knelt to gather up the papers she’d just scattered to the wind. She was level with the arrow, and as she reached down to grab a file, she saw something.

A white sheet of paper was tied to the shaft of the arrow. There were little letters written horizontally in black pencil: ‘PAULING’

Her hand hesitated to reach for it, but what did she have to lose? It could have been anthrax, of course, but, if it was, then why not just kill her with the arrow? Anyway, she had Respawn, too. 

Fran tugged the arrow from the ground and worked at untying the paper until it unraveled. She set all of her other papers aside to read.

~~~

‘Dear Miss Pauling,

It feels a little odd to call you that in a letter like this, but as I’m writing this I realize I don’t know your first name. Hope you don’t mind much.

I wasn’t sure how to say this in person, honestly. I’m not the type of bloke that’s good with words. Not sure why I’m even writ- I thought it’d be a good idea to write about it anyways, but I knew I had to say something eventually. This has been a long time coming for me. Please don’t make fun of me Don’t make fun of me for this, alright?

I lov-

I’m in lo -

I have feelings for you. Romantic ones, not just friendship ones.

I can’t tell you when they started, but they did. One day I looked at you and I think I forgot how to form words. Maybe that’s why I’m quiet around you. I don’t think there’s anything I can say that would impress you,

I think you’re bloody gorgeous, one of the most attractive women I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot of w- Seeing you come visit us out here in woop woop from time to time is a blessing in itself. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.

You’re sharp as hell, and you can banter with the best of them. Don’t think I’ve ever known a sheila lady who can stick it to the men like you have. It’s like you’ve got a script to follow every time you speak. I’ve never seen you waver in your words. A bit intimidating for a bloke like me.

I don’t think there’s a man on this earth who deserves you, but if you’ll have me I’d like to try to be one.

I lied in our meeting today. I did have a question I wanted to ask. But like I said, I’m not too good with words.

If you’ll have a go with me, there’s a dinner place in town we can talk. Next wee- Week after next- Whenever you’re not busy. I know the Admin works you to the bone. If you ever feel like taking a sickie, you know where to find me.

Or not. If you don’t want, go ahead and toss this letter and we can pretend I never wrote it. I’d just figured it’d be better to say how I felt before it ate me alive.

Lo-

Sniper’

~~~

The sweat from her hands had started to eat into the paper, making it damp where it was pinched by her fingers. She didn’t half notice it.

She read the letter again. Then again. A fourth time. She scoured every mark on the page, looking for the joke, the trick, anything that would stop her before she made her next move.

In every single pencil stroke, she read nothing but raw, nervous honesty, scribbled by a man that needed so desperately to play it cool he scratched out half of the things he wrote. There were smooth shallow indents in the page, so Fran knew he’d written something on top of this page in whatever notepad he tore it out of. Probably writing and rewriting, scratching out sentences in sharp swipes,striking through all of the sensitivity he’d tried so hard not to show.

On wavering legs, Fran stood up, the paper clutched tighter than anything. She turned back to the base building, looking, cursing the sun for glaring on her glasses and cursing her fingers for all the smudges on the lenses. She couldn’t see Sniper, but Sniper rarely wanted to be seen. And, surely, he could hear her.

So she cleared her throat, filled her lungs with air, and bellowed, “I’m free next week! At 8!”

She didn’t know if she was, actually, but she would be now. 

There wasn’t a response. She didn’t need one. She’d see him next week regardless.

All of Fran’s papers were still scattered in an arc around her, and she had to gather them up before she could leave. After just a second of deliberation, she decided to take the arrow with her too. If Sniper needed it back, he should have thought twice before shooting it at her.

Plus, she could always return it to him later.

Fran slowly, carefully slid into her car, and placed the note and the arrow in the passenger seat on top of her bag. Her old book was still sitting inside it, buried under the folders and request slips she’d written out that day. She wasn’t thinking of the book, though. It didn’t even cross her mind.

She didn’t turn the car on immediately. Instead, Fran took one more hard, long look at the note, and reread the Sign-off at the bottom

‘Lo-

Sniper’

Then she buried her face in her hands and squealed.

~~~

Thanks for reading! I didn't edit this so please let me know if you see any mistakes. I'm just glad to get this out before the day is done.

See you tomorrow!

[unbridgeabledistances]

ok i have an inbox full of prompts, but i was making valentine’s day plans & all of a sudden felt very inspired to write some valentine’s day gallavich! featuring uncle mickey, homemade cards and a lot of domestic fluff- i’ll probs have a part two up sometime this week!<3

--

It was a lazy, slow-paced Sunday afternoon at the Gallagher house. Mickey had been lying on the couch passively watching trashy reality TV for god knows how long—and apparently at some point he’d fallen asleep, because now the TV volume was just a low hum, and he was being woken up to the startling crash of the kitchen back door slamming shut, and the rustling of shoes and coats being taken off and discarded by the front door.

“Alright Franny, let’s set this stuff up on the kitchen table.” Mickey heard Ian’s voice sail across the room, his eyes still closed to block out the cheery sunshine teeming in the living room.

Mickey tried to doze off again, attempting to block out the bright light infiltrating his eyelids, but it was no use— whatever Ian and Franny were doing, murmuring and clanging in the kitchen, there was no way for Mickey to escape the sound now and drift back into his sunwarmed sleep. He begrudgingly shoved the scratchy crocheted blanket off of his lap, stretching as he rose and stumbled into the kitchen.

He wasn’t expecting the carnage that he saw when he turned the corner; the kitchen table was covered in an explosion of sheets of multicolored construction paper, all reds and pinks and whites, with tiny multicolored stickers and tubes of glitter and shiny ribbons arranged and spread wide across the countertop, scattered with glue sticks and pairs of scissors and an exploded box of crayons. There was a small mountain of cut-out hearts piled high on the table, smattered with glitter-glue and blocky handwriting.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, taking in the scene. “What’re you two Picassos up to?” he asked drowsily.

Ian looked up, his eyes light. “Look who’s awake!” He gestured at the table emphatically, like it was Christmas morning. “Isn’t it great? Me and Franny grabbed all this stuff at the dollar store for less than ten bucks. The glue sticks definitely kind of suck, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

Mickeys eyes scanned to Franny, who was hard at work trying to cut a shape out of a piece of red construction paper, her brows furrowed in concentration. Ian kept chattering on as he unwrapped another sheath of the paper.

“Debbie left Franny with me since some rich lady called her with a weekend handywoman emergency that popped up at the last minute, so now I’m helping Franny make her valentines for school.”

Mickey scoffed. “Fucking valentines?”

Ian rolled his eyes as he contentedly started to glue together two pieces of paper. “Yes, Mickey, valentines. You know, those nice things that normal people give to each other on Valentine’s Day, along with a box of chocolates or some shit and a note about how much they love each other—”

“Yes, I know what they are, smartass. Don’t know why you didn’t just buy the little cardboard ones at the store though.”

Ian smirked, his eyes still focused on the paper beneath him that he was smudging glitter on. “Yeah, well. Franny wanted to make them, and I thought it’d be kind of fun.”

Just then Franny gasped triumphantly, raising a lopsided and crumpled paper heart up for Mickey to see. “Look, Uncle Mickey! I cut a heart! Uncle Ian showed me how!”

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, who had a sheepish look on his face. “Didn’t know you had so many hidden talents, Gallagher.”

Ian flashed a grin. “I used to be really into art class in elementary school, what can I say.”

Franny looked up at Mickey with wide eyes. “Do you want to make valentines with us? We have to make twenty-seven, because that’s the number of people in my class.”

Mickey faltered. Sitting here gluing fucking glitter to pieces of paper was not exactly what he’d had in mind as his plans for the weekend…

“Uh. That’s okay kiddo. I think you two’ve got it covered.”

Franny seemed to readily accept Mickey’s answer, instantly looking downward again and grabbing a fistful of crayons from the table to continue enhancing her masterpiece. Ian, on the other hand, tore his gaze from his own valentine.

“Oh c’mon Mick, you don’t wanna help?” Ian asked, his voice goading and his eyebrows raised.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.” He turned, walking over to open the fridge and grabbing a beer from the top shelf.

“C’mon, just one valentine. Franny can show you how to cut out a heart shape, right Fran?”

Franny nodded vigorously. “Yes, I know how!”

Mickey took a swig of his beer and sighed. “Jesus, fine.” He pulled a chair between Ian and Franny, slowly scraping it on the linoleum, and then perched on the edge uncomfortably. “Alright Franny, show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, so the first thing that you have to do is pick which color is your favorite. What’s your favorite color?”

Mickey had taken another sip of his beer, and now he sputtered slightly. “I don’t know Franny, you pick for me.”

Franny’s face melted into a pout. “But you have to pick, Uncle Mickey, it’s your favorite color!”

Ian bit back a laugh, his eyes still bright and cheerful. “Yeah, Mick, c’mon. What is your favorite color? We’ve never gotten this deep in our relationship before.”

Mickey gulped again from his beer can and flipped Ian off in the process. “I don’t fucking know. Never thought about it before.”

Franny held the stack of construction paper up to Mickey. “Look! There’s red, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and green—”

Mickey cut her off. “Uh, give me a green one.”

Ian smirked. “Green?”

“Fuck you, it was the first color I thought of.” Of course, that wasn’t really true—if Mickey needed to have a favorite fucking color, it was obviously going to be green, like the green eyes that met his gaze every morning and were the last thing he saw before he went to sleep at night— even if he would never be caught dead admitting that sappy bullshit to Ian.

Ian looked like he was holding back a smile. “Right,” he mused. “Hey, Franny, pass me a blue paper? Cause y’know, that’s my favorite color.”

Mickey gently shoved Ian in the square of his chest. “You’re being fucking soft.”

Ian let a crooked smile burst onto his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Mickey leaned back in his chair, holding the piece of thick green paper in front of him appraisingly. “Okay Franny, what’s step two?”

Franny stretched her body across the table to reach for one of the strewn pairs of scissors. “Now, you fold the paper in half, and then you cut out the shape of half of a heart, like this.” She drew an example of the curved pattern on the backside of Mickey’s paper with the tip of her finger. “And then you unfold it and it’ll be a perfect shape!”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Mickey took the scissors from Franny’s grasp, and held them up to the paper. It was just a fucking half circle with a little indent at the top— this wasn’t going to be too difficult. Ian and Franny went back to being absorbed in crafting their valentines, while Mickey started to botch and slash at his piece of construction paper.

When he was finally satisfied he unfolded the shape, the outer shell of the paper falling away. It was… well, it was kind of a heart, with two slanted sides and a wonky top half. It looked more like a blob attached to an angle than anything else.

Ian looked up from where he was doodling on a glittery heart and snickered.

“That’s uh… that’s a good first try, Mick.”

Mickey slammed the piece of paper down onto the table. Fucking arts and crafts, he was never good at this shit even when he was little—he fingers were always too fumbling, too clumsy for him to make anything delicate and pristine. Ian’s hands should have been as ungainly as his, but instead they were quick and nimble, smoothly cutting perfectly-rounded circles and gluing neat lines of glitter.

Franny noticed that Mickey was done cutting his shape. “Good job Uncle Mickey! Now you just have to draw on it, and put on stickers and glitter.”

“Yeah Mickey, let’s see those artistic skills.”

Mickey aggressively flicked some flecks of glitter from the table in Ian’s direction, then picked up a crayon and gripped it with an iron fist. What the fuck was he supposed to draw? This was a valentine for kids at Franny’s school, the fuck did kids like anyways? He started to draw some sort of stick figure, but the arms were too long and the head was too small, so he tried to color over it and make some sort of tree or some shit…

As Mickey scratched at the paper, he looked over at noticed suddenly how content Ian looked—how blissed out and settled he was, just running a crayon over the colorful paper and shaking bits of glitter onto pools of glue. If Mickey was being honest, he hadn’t seen Ian this light and happy in a while; he’d had a hunch in his shoulders for months after the wedding and the pandemic and all the minimum-wage job bullshit, the shadows of expectation hanging over him and causing a deflated weariness in his gaze that was impossible to ignore. But right now, Ian looked like he was having as much fun as Franny was, practically vibrating with satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on his drawing and reaching to place his completed valentine in the growing pile.

Mickey snatched the paper out of Ian’s hand, slightly crumpling it around the edges. “Wait a second. How the fuck did you do that?”

The valentine was immaculate, the heart symmetrical and traced in a thin outline of glitter. In the center of the paper there was a perfect little cartoon of a dog in a top hat, with an air bubble that read “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ian shrugged. “Watched a lot of cartoons when I was little. And I’ve always kind of liked to draw.”

Mickey shoved the valentine back in front of Ian. Goddamn perfect fucking husband who’s good at fucking everything. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, suddenly losing all motivation to play along.

Ian smirked, then reached to rest a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck. “Giving up already?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Ian’s smile just widened. “Here, how about I cut the fucking shapes and you glue stuff onto them. That’d still help me and Franny a lot, right?”

Franny nodded. “It’s okay Uncle Mickey, I was bad at cutting the shapes too at first.”

Mickey huffed. Okay, so maybe he was horrible at this shit, but the least he could do was suck it up for Franny’s sake. “Fine,” he muttered, and grabbed a glue stick and a bottle of glitter.

A few minutes passed and they settled into a comfortable silence, enveloped in the sound of the scissors gliding and Franny scribbling on paper.

Suddenly, Franny looked up as Mickey reached across the table to grab a pad of stickers.

“Hey Uncle Mickey, what do you and Uncle Ian do for Valentine’s Day?”

Mickey didn’t really know how to answer that question— he darted a glance over at Ian, trying to signal as much. Could you ruin the spirit of Valentine’s Day for kids in the same way you could fuck up Christmas? “Uh, nothing really.”

Ian chimed in. “We used to like Valentine’s Day when we were little like you Franny, but now that we’re big we don’t really celebrate it. Right Mick?”

“Yup.”

Franny’s brows were furrowed again, this time in contemplation. “But. You love each other, right?”

“Sure, Franny. But we don’t need a special day for us to remember that,” Ian explained.

Franny seemed appeased enough by that answer to resume her drawing. “You don’t give each other valentines or candy or anything?”

Mickey almost laughed. Of course he and Ian had never celebrated fucking Valentine’s Day; if he was being honest, he didn’t remember even really thinking about Valentine’s Day before now, other than it being a day when Mandy came home crying in middle school because the boy she liked didn’t ask her out, or buying all the half-priced chocolates in red and pink wrappers at the drugstore a week later with his brothers. With all the shit in his life the past few years, frilly fucking holidays like Valentine’s Day were just… not on Mickey’s radar.

But maybe— maybe this year was different. This year, for maybe the first time in his life, Mickey felt secure and steady in a way that he never had before, like the ground was solid beneath him and wasn’t going to cave in at any minute. He had a fucking husband that he loved—why couldn’t they celebrate Valentine’s Day like a normal goddamn couple? Ian didn’t seem to be too bothered that they both didn’t give a fuck about the holiday, which was all the more reason to catch him off guard. He kept pressing stickers down onto the construction paper, his mind starting to churn.

By the time they’d made the twenty-seven fucking valentines, Mickey had made up his mind; this year, he and Ian were going to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

part two here!

[twilightofthe]

In celebration of Mutual Acquaintances.. Satine: 5, 6, 7, 8, 28, 31, 42, 47, 48; Obi-Wan: 7, 8, 12, 14, 27, 31, 33, 47, 48; Padmé: 4, 6, 7, 8, 12, 18, 19, 28, 33, 34, 39, 42; The Disaster Boi: 10, 12, 14, 18, 20, 22, 28, 29, 31, 33 and bc we all need more sexuality headcanons, 13 for ALL of them

Whooo-WEE here we go, thank you!  Get ready for VERY VERY LONG Rambling!

SATINE

(5) Cleanliness habits: Oh, she’s a total neat freak.  Everything in her office is minimalist style and organized to a T.  If someone moved something even an inch, she’ll be hounding everyone about who was messing with her stuff.  Constantly washing hands, very clean, doesn’t like dust on stuff at all (has a bit of a dust allergy, actually.  Lily pollen getting everywhere is a Problem for her).  She’s practical, however, and if she HAS to get down and dirty, she will-- of course not without a suitable amount of icky faces made plus a side of complaints xD

(6) Eating habits and sample daily menu: Ok so we’ve got canon showing her eating meat, but don’t tell me Super Pacifism Lady wouldn’t IRL be that one ubervegan friend of yours on Facebook who’s constantly posting weird things about it and you gotta be like “aight Katie chill”.  ANYWAY, so I’d say Satine in canon eats healthy-ish?  She’s not the biggest fan of breakfast foods and is always up in the morning doing stuff, so she sometimes forgets to have anything besides black coffee.  She’s not a particularly picky eater so she’ll eat whatever the cook is serving that day, but she prefers simpler meals, and can cook for herself (which came in handy during the Year On The Run because neither Obi Wan nor Qui Gon can cook for shit (my canon is no one in that line besides Anakin can cook and I’ll die with it) and eventually Satine was like “guys, I’m sorry, but no, u can’t try and protect me and then poison me at dinnertime.  I’ll cook”).  She does like to pair her evening meals with whatever drink she’s having that night.  I also h/c her as a functioning alcoholic, so she’s always got SOMETHING to drink, but she is trying to work on restraint and control because when she was younger it got... Not Good at one point.  She also has a sweet tooth though, and she really likes chocolate!

(7) Fave way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time: Satine is a... twitchy.... individual with a stressful job, so she is kinda conditioned into stressing the heck out if she’s got too much free time.  Therefore, a lot of her free time is spent trying to relax.  Cleaning is theraputic for her, so she does clean (yes, there is a cleaning droid but it is nOT GOOD ENOUGH) when she can.  She likes that Mando sword box game we saw Sabine and Fenn Rau playing in Rebels, it clears her head and lets her practice problem solving.  She likes going for walks too.  She’ll sneak down to the kitchens and just make a bunch of sandwiches.  She does enjoy beautiful things, so I’d say shopping for dresses or browsing art galleries is good too.  I also think she’d be the type to read and write poetry, then save bits she likes.

(8) Indulgences: Look, Satine likes Nice Things, ok?  She does consider fancy wardrobe and buying nice paintings a bit of an indulgence, but she adores color so she excuses that as promoting happiness for the people. As so she does a fancy ship and other fancy trinkets around the house. She’s not a huge fan of most people touching her, but she allowed a massage once... she would be amendable to perhaps another in the future.........  Scented candles are nice too, clears the head.  She refuses to consider chocolate an indulgence because it is obviously the gods’ gift to humanity, excuse you.  Are we calling lusting over her secret forbidden boyfriend an indulgence????

(28) Who is their best friend?  Their worst enemy?  The sad thing about Satine Kryze is that canon wise, she is extremely lonely.  Literally everyone she trusts betrays her at some point-- which also makes worst enemy pretty hard too.  In my verse, this has led to her kind of shutting away from friends because people always leave her-- though I’d say she’s always been close with Padmé; she sent aid to Naboo after the Federation Blockade and got to know and became extremely impressed with the young Queen, and they kept in touch afterwards.  Whether they could be together or not, I’d always say Obi Wan was her best friend too because that’s ALWAYS necessary in a relationship, and they clearly stayed in contact and knew each other like the back of their hands.  I’d honestly say her worst enemy is herself, cliché as it is, because girlie makes a LOT of mistakes-- and then never learns from them or even acknowledges they exist besides an “oh whoops, that happened, we fixed it, everyone as you were”.  I get it wasn’t meant that way, but she legit committed ethnic cleansing against her political opponents.  I hate to say it, but there are very valid reasons for a lot of people to Not Like Her (none of the guys who attack her on the show count because they’re literally all douchecanoes fuck them), and she kind of shoots herself in the foot trying to fix the problem but making it worse.  I h/c her as having a lot of self-loathing problems because she is trying to fix things but nothing ever works and that must be her problem so she must try harder without ever confronting what exactly her problem is.

(31) Most prized possession: Woah, never really thought of that.  As much as I want to say “pressed flower from Obi Wan”, that’s a little too sappy.  I’m going to go with this.  There is a famous Mandalore version of The Art of War, and Satine has an uber-extremely-rare first edition copy given to her from her father, who was a master strategist and had the wealth and power to collect nice things like that.  Satine may be a pacifist, but she has her family’s warrior’s spirit, and she enjoys adapting the book’s battle strategies to her own political fights and how she shapes her own life.  It’s an actual old paper book, so she keeps it in a locked box under her bed and only ever reads it by candlelight with special gloves on to protect the pages.

(42) Hobbies: Like I said before, cleaning, writing poetry, the occasional cooking.  Oh!  Whenever she has Korkie over, she lets them pick the activity they do.  This may or may not lead to Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore getting very invested in Space Mario Kart.  She’s good at it too!  So yes, gamer girl, and she also likes looking at art and she’s also also pretty good at dancing and yoga, which she does a bit of both for exercise.  She also enjoys watching shows at the theater, but she’s weird in the way where she refuses to watch TV or movies because they’re “not as good”.

(47) If they were to fall in love, who or what is their ideal:  I’d say trust is the most important thing for her, given how many things go wrong in her life.  Someone she can trust to be herself around instead of The Duchess and can both support her when she’s falling but also call her on her bullshit (or try to, anyway) when needed.  Again, she likes nice things, so she tends to fall for super attractive people lol.  Another thing is, she likes to feel safe.  She goes for the protectors, those who fight for everyone and can come back and hold her tight in a hug if she feels like she’ll fall apart because she sometimes needs someone to protect her too.  They also have to be as smart as she is (only smarter if they’re not a dick about it) so she can have intellectual conversations (indignant yelling matches), and she needs someone who can match the firecracker she can tend to be, someone who can jump right in after her.  Not a weakling, basically xD

(48) How do they express love: She just says it (”I love you”), if they’ll let her.  If they don’t let her or she can’t for some reason (*coughOBIcoughcough*), she becomes frustrated because she isn’t always the best, emotion-wise, and she worries she’ll make the wrong gesture or do something to mess up, so frustration can build towards the other person so she can also be very snappy at them.  In general though, familial or romantic or platonic, it’s just lots of soft smiles that no one else sees, letting them see her in casual clothing, teasing them or telling jokes, trusting them enough to tell them about the confusion and stress inside her head.

OBI WAN

(7) Fave way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time:  Obi Wan is of the opinion that time enjoyed is never wasted, so he only views wasted time as exactly that: time that could be spent doing something but is instead being wasted not doing anything or doing something he doesn’t like.  His favorite things to do when he has time to himself are read (he’s not picky, he’ll read most things with an interesting plot, though he does enjoy a good mystery or historical nonfiction), watch trashy tv shows (he’s only watching them to judge how bad they are, it’s Anakin’s fault, really, he watched them first, and Obi Wan just needs to know what happens next--), sketch random objects (he’s a pretty good artist, and it’s relaxing), do research on stuff because he is a NERD, go bug Anakin and/or Ahsoka because he honestly delights just sitting in their company and hear them talk about their day, drink with friends, spar (with Anakin, preferably, he’s the most of a challenge because he knows him so well, and he’s the only one who doesn’t hold back at all), sit in the Temple gardens and check on Qui Gon’s favorite flowers he planted there and bask in the serenity of it all.

(8) Indulgences: Ooooohhhh this is hard because Obi Wan is so Obi Wan about that sort of stuff, it can be difficult to read what he would do xD  I’ll say he indulges in food?  That while Jedi probs have a pretty strict health food diet, on the weekends or once a weekday he indulges in getting nice stuff for breakfast, ice cream for dessert, fried food at Dex’s because why not, it tastes good and Anakin did a good job today or he did a good job today and that deserves something, so oh well, he’ll just work out harder tomorrow.  He’s also has some very nice old teas he saved from Qui Gon The Absolute Tea Snob he’ll have when he feels he needs it, and he’s got a cabinet with like four bottles of different really good, expensive alcohols that he’ll drink when he REALLY feels he needs it.  I’ll also say this, boi is vain about his hair.  Will never admit it in a million years, but he is, so he’s probs got at least some sort of haircare products that aren’t exactly necessary, ya know xD.  He also does like his creature comforts when available, so I’d say he’s got a couple super fluffy blankets and maybe the thread count in his sheets are a bit higher than average cuz hey, soft things are nice.  He also indulges in being lovey and mushy to the people he cares about 

(12) Favorite book genre: Hey, I kinda talked about that!  So yeah, I’d say he’ll probs try anything, but he likes mysteries and thrillers since with a book the Force can’t give you any Bad Feelings about anyone, so the surprises are genuine surprises.  He also likes historical nonfiction because he is a NERD, but he’ll absolutely pick up whatever’s at the top of the Galactic Times Bestseller’s List if it’s there and give it a chance

(14) Physical abnormalities (including injuries/disabilities, illnesses, allergies): His right hip acts up in the cold from an old slug wound there (Anakin does indeed tease him about being an old man), over half of his teeth are fake or replaced because come on, have y’all seen how often he’s been hit in the face?  Scars literally everywhere because everyone and everything has tried to murder him at some point or another.  I h/c him with ADD, depression, anxiety, and dyscalcula (he had to really work to be good with numbers) as well as PTSD because basically all of the Jedi do at some point (someone HELP THEM).  He also has TMJ, which I also have and I project my issues.  It gets worse when you’re stressed and grind teeth, so it’s valid.  Idk whether it’s canon or fanon that he has some food allergies, but I am ALL FOR IT with him just... forgetting about them???  And then eating some food and be like “hwoops I’m dying lol” while Anakin is like seriously Master again? and legit ends up the Mom friend with a list of foods like “is there gonna be this food in it?  Cuz he can’t eat it” and then he’ll eat it anyway cuz it looks good and Anakin is all “what do you have in your MOUTH” and he’ll be like “uh” and yeah, that sounds funny

(27) Biggest regret: WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS.  ok so we all know how literally everything about Obi Wan’s life is a mcfreaking nightmare.  We ALSO know he blames himself for literally everything.  So yea, he’s got a looooot of regrets.  I’d say his biggest though is not being a good enough Jedi (in his opinion) to save those he cared about (Qui, Satine, Anakin, Pads, the entire dang Jedi Order, etc.).  Maybe just not a good enough person, in his eyes.  If he hadn’t screwed up somehow, everyone would still be here and fine and omg someone help him

(31) Most prized possession: Luke Skywalker.  Ok, not actually, but y’all can’t deny Luke was Obi Wan’s greatest treasure.  I’d say actually tho it’s holos, of people he loves and cares about, in a kind of album he keeps to himself.  He hates having his own picture taken, but he loves seeing the smiling, laughing faces of everyone he knows (and is reminded of them when they’re no longer here).

(33) Concept of home and family: He always feels like other people overcomplicate this.  Home is where you feel safe to always return, where you belong, and family is those you love and wish to spend your life with.  Now, the fact that he only really allows himself to acknowledge the Jedi as a whole as his family and doesn’t exactly allow himself to dwell on specifics like what Anakin means exactly to him, what Ahsoka means, what Qui Gon meant, because he does love everyone as a family, why does he have to define it?  That’s a whole ‘nother basket of his issues lol

(47) If they were to fall in love, who or what is their ideal:  Obi Wan Kenobi has always been attracted to chaos and danger like a moth to a flame, so anyone he loves is gonna be a whirlwind of an individual.  He likes someone who can challenge him, who can test him.  He likes someone who’s loud and bright, the stars at the center of solar systems that everyone else can’t resist orbiting around and Obi Wan is no different.  He likes snappy humor and the amusement he can get from playfully bugging them into hissing at him.  They have to match him as a team, they have to be able to work with him (and he knows he’s not always the easiest to work with) and have his back.  He likes passion, he likes dramatics, he likes the kind of strange ones that other people find a bit hard to get along with, but he couldn’t love them any different from themselves.

(48) How do they express love:

PADMÉ

(4) What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy:  Assuming the people in the kitchen were not making food, Padmé would fix them with a firm Senatorial Scolding Face and ask them politely if they could move it somewhere else.  She can easily outargue any protests;  the kitchen is for cooking and she needs to make dinner!  If ppl were making food in the kitchen, Pads would roll up her sleeves and ask what she could do to help so it would be done faster and she could get started.  She grew up with her mother insisting her and Sola help out with all the household chores, kitchen duty included, so she’s a fine cook.  Anakin learned to cook from his mother too, so sometimes their husband/wife bonding time will include just making dinner together and enjoying each others’ company.  In an OT4 situation with Obes and Satine, Obi Wan is the only one out of the four of them who Cannot Cook and is legit banished from the kitchen except for making drinks/certain desserts, so it ends up with Anakin, Padmé, and Satine all talking and laughing while preparing food while Obi Wan pouts sits in the doorway and talks from there

(6) Eating habits and sample daily menu:  Ok, so you know how I said Satine can sometimes get distracted by work and skip breakfast?  Well Padmé is like that but worse.  She gets so busy with duties, she just forgets to eat for very long periods of time, and then she’ll be doing something and be like “woah, I’m hungry, I don’t think I’ve eaten today,” and Sabé/Anakin/Bail/whoever she’s with will just be like padmé nO.  When she does eat, however, she is one of those crazy people who Does Not Like Sweets.  Like, at all, they just don’t agree with her.  Anakin is scandalized.  Satine is scandalized.  Everyone is.  She just doesn’t like them.  She’ll eat fruit, but that’s as sweet as it gets.  So when she does remember to eat, or if she’s going out for a dinner, it’s usually something pretty healthy-- though Pads will confess to a weakness for nice cheeses.  There’s also this one really greasy bad fried chip thing that she’s got a secret weakness for.  Padmé’s also not a huge alcohol person; like, she’ll drink when others do, she’s not a lightweight or anything, but she won’t seek it out herself, just, something about the taste, and she doesn’t like not being in control of her head.

(7) Fave way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time: Honey, Padmé is from Naboo.  The luxury planet.  They know how to lazily waste time in style.  She loves long baths and listening to classical music, walking in nature (she loves flowers), practicing new hair styles, facials and manicures.  She also reads the gossip columns (no she doesn’t, you never heard that) because she needs the tea.  She just do.  She likes to read and study new languages (because she is Queen Overachiever) or just add to her bucket list of Ways To Improve The Galaxy.  Padmé totally has a Space Pinterest.  In reality, she trained herself from a young age how to relax so being a teenager in planetary politics didn’t literally kill her.  

(12) Favorite book genre: ROMANCE!  It’s canon that Pads is just such an ushy, gushy romantic of a person, so she likes stuff like Space Jane Austen and all the other romantic books.  She refuses to associate with Anakin’s trashy dollar romances, she thinks they’re bad writing.  He does not agree.  He also called one of her faves boring once.  They do not discuss books.  But also Padmé likes political history and civilization books cuz politician, and she’s pretty into the mysteries like Obi Wan is.  She likes religious texts too, learning about different ones, she finds it interesting.  Reading can be hard for her because I h/c her as dyslexic, but she loves it too much.

(18) Favorite beverage: Spiced cider.  She could get it homemade back on Naboo; cool and refreshing when iced but warm and tangy and perfect when heated.

(19) What do they think about before falling asleep at night: If Anakin’s not with her, she always thinks about him not being there.  She can’t help it.  If he is with her, she thinks about how much she loves him.  She also tends to do a mental to do list every night of what she needed to do before bed and if she’s gonna allow herself to sleep now or not.  She also has another mental to do list so she knows what she’s gonna do when she wakes up in the morning.  With the damned war dragging on, more and more nights are spent going to bed troubled and worried for the future. She also daydreams, though, of what she can do after.  Her happily ever after.

(28) Who is their best friend?  Their worst enemy?:  This is hard because Pads is so friendly with everyone!!!  Queen’s Shadow really made me fall in love with Padmé and Sabé, but I’ll always be a sucker for the canon and fanon where Padmé’s best friend is Bail Organa.  I’m sorry, but Bail is just a cinnamon roll of a human being, and he’s such a calm, levelheaded friend for Pads where she can be a bit overeager and chomping at the bit sometimes, but he’s also ALWAYS got her back and she can talk to him about stuff and ahhhhh and he literally raises her daughter as his own and gahhhhhh.  Is it messed up if I almost want to say Padmé’s worst enemy is Anakin?  I mean to be more general: her worst enemy is the Sith, as they destroyed the Republic and her entire life’s work and corrupted her husband and depending on if you believe the “draining life forces” theory (which I do) they killed her.  But Anakin was the one who got past her defences, took her by surprise, and unknowingly ended up playing the most active role in her destruction, which is immensely tragic for both of them because all he ever wanted to do was love her (*crying*).

(33) Concept of home and family:  For Padmé, home isn’t so much a place, but an idea of where you can feel closest and most at one with those you’ve decided to share your life with.  Yeah, she’ll always love Naboo, but you saw how choked up she got in that TCW episode where Anakin called her Coruscant apartment “home”; for her, home is a state of mind.  Family is a bit different; she’ll always have a bit of an idealization towards her own parents’ marriage and how she’s seen Sola’s, and how families developed from that.  Canon shows she’s envious because she can’t have that, the 2.5 kids and a dog with a white picket fence outside and a large backyard mentality.  She has issues over being separated from family; she had to drop the Naberrie name to go into politics, so I’m guessing there’s some distance felt there, and she can’t even publicly acknowledge her own husband as her husband, so she’ll cling to the idea of a “perfect” family as a someday, as a maybe, and working towards that someday and the long goal she can forget just how complicated and messy her real family-- her parents and sister, her husband, her husband’s new adoptive sister, her husband’s boyfriend, his weird side of the family --is.  It’s even more pronounced when everything is falling apart in Revenge of the Sith and it’s obviously falling apart and Anakin is obviously Not Fine, she tries to retreat and take her comfort in “oh but when the baby comes and we can be a Family, things will all work out perfect!  It’ll be okay!!!”

(34) Thoughts on privacy (are they a private person, or are they prone to TMI):  Padmé is an extremely private person.  She’s been in the public spotlight since she was thirteen years old.  Everyone’s always staring at her, what she’s wearing, what her opinions are, how she acts, who she’s with.  Padmé has nearly nothing she doesn’t have to share with the public eye, so what she does have to herself she tends to hoard and not show anyone except for those she implicitly trusts.  Now, whether she’s any good at keeping secrets is a whole other story, but she certainly tries!!! xD

(39) What recharges them when they’re feeling drained: Anakin can make things better or worse for her depending on the mood he’s in and the mood she’s in, but he usually makes her feel better just by showing up and being a dork.  She likes her greasy chip snacks and a good book, but she’s a sucker for a good spa day complete with fluffy, comfortable clothing.  Also, Padmé loves cat naps, and is the queen of setting an alarm and taking short power naps that actually have her waking up refreshed.

(42) Hobbies:  Is creating new outfit designs via Space Pinterest a hobby?  Because Padmé does that.  Padmé is also the type of person to have a Space Candy Crush problem, and I completely believe that Satine got her into Space Mario Kart (Satine’s actually pretty good at it and Pads isn’t good at it at all, so it’s in no way fair, but they have fun xD).  Padmé loves creating flower arrangements too, just creating beautiful things makes her happy.  She loves calling one of her handmaidens over and having martial arts practices because she needs to stay ready to defend herself, but also it’s just fun and she’s a good fighter.  Padmé’s also into scrapbooking, she makes a bunch of adorable books she puts together, and she gave one to Anakin on their first anniversary and he cried (she hides them, don’t worry).  

AHHHNAKIN...

(10) Neuroses:  Hooo boy, there’s a lot!  Okay, so Anakin is a very handsy person.  When he’s nervous or uncomfortable or stressed, he’ll always need something to do with his hands, whether that be fiddling with his clothes, tugging at his hair, messing with the digits on his mechanohand, poking at the wall patterns or other objects.  In general, he hates sitting still and has a tendency to fidget if he has to for too long.  He will also either stare you directly in the eye or dislike making eye contact at all, depending on his mood.  Fiddling with machine parts gives him something to focus his mind and his hands on, so that’s a real big help for him if they’re available, often times he just keeps scraps in his pockets for specifically this purpose.  He’s sort of aware he does this, but he doesn’t like to think about it much because that would mean thinking why, and if you try and point any of them out to him he’ll get embarrassed and probs just snap at you.

(12) Favorite book genre:  Anakin really isn’t much of a book person.  It has to do with his focus issues (I h/c him as ADHD), they just aren’t really able to draw him in enough to keep his attention.  It frustrates him because that’s another reason why ppl imply he isn’t smart, which is dumb, he can read just fine, he just doesn’t like to.  He does like the trashy penny romances I mentioned before.  What can he say?  He’s a sucker for the drama and swooning and Epic Proclamations of Love.  He’ll read books about the latest ships and speeder models too, because he’s interested in that.  He’ll also read tactical strategy books too, because of the war and all.  It’s just not his go-to form of entertainment.

(14) Physical abnormalities (including injuries/disabilities, illnesses, allergies):  Metal hand.  Eye scar.  At one point is one big giant asthmatic burn scar who’s like 80% robot.  But we’ll focus on Anakin as of now.  When he was a child, some brute in the market cracked him hard across the back with something heavy.  It damaged his spine, and Shmi was terrified for a while he’d never walk.  Thankfully, he recovered, but now his spine is funny as in it is super flexible.  Like backbends where it looks like he’s snapped in half, that flexible.  It gives him fantastic advantages in acrobatics and combat, but it also means he can do that creepy walk the girl from The Ring can do.  He has managed to successfully scare the living piss out of Obi Wan, Padmé, Ahsoka, Rex, and multiple others on different occasions by emerging from the shadows in the middle of the night doing the Ring walk.  No one was pleased.  Yoda thinks it’s hilarious though.  Anakin gets hit in the face just as much Obi Wan does, so he also only has like less than half of his real teeth still in his mouth.  Is also covered in various scars from people trying to kill him dead.  In total, I project many mental illnesses onto him, so I say he has anxiety, ADHD, BPD, and PTSD.  His super strongness in the Force means he is a complete lightweight, so alcohol is an uh oh for him; the only positive is that he never gets hangovers.  It also means that Force sensitive objects may suddenly go flying at his head when he’s just trying to casually stroll through a creepy old temple.  I also h/c that Anakin is allergic to tookas/lothcats.  No other animals, just them.  And it’s hilarious when on one occasion some kittens made their way into a briefing room and he just bursts into a sneezing fit, which, why are you all laughing at me? and then Rex points out the little kitten just perched on the top of his head.  Poor baby actually does chafe pretty badly from sand too, so his hatred isn’t completely unwarranted.

(18) Favorite beverage: Coffee with a gazillion lumps of sugar in it, protein powder because he’s all about the grind, a hint of space chili pepper, and like a dozen other ingredients that should Not Go In Coffee (one of the ingredients Is Bugs).  Obi Wan claims he tasted the concoction once and had hallucinations.  Ahsoka says she saw a drop melt the edge of the tabletop.  Padmé won’t go anywhere near it.  Anakin says they’re all cowards; it’s the only thing that can get him up and focused in the morning.

(20) Childhood illnesses?  Any interesting stories behind them?: I h/c that amongst the slaves, Shmi was the local medicine woman.  Therefore, Anakin as a child was constantly getting first exposure to all the local sicknesses and building up immunity, so besides one bout of food poisoning, he never got sick as a kid.  Once he got to the Temple... well, he was past the age where all the other kids had gotten vaccinations, Obi Wan, bless him, hates dealing with medical and was distracted by everything else and kind of forgot to make sure Anakin was up to date with everything, so he caught EVERYTHING.  EVERY LITTLE THING WOULD MAKE HIM SICK.  HE HATED IT.  OBI WAN HATED IT BECAUSE THE ONLY SICK PATIENT WORSE THAN ANAKIN IS HIMSELF.  IT NEVER ENDS.  ANAKIN IS TWENTY TWO YEARS OLD AND STILL CATCHING SHIT LIKE THE SPACE CHICKEN POX.  THIS ISN’T FAIR.

(22) Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?: Lots of writings of stuff like “Padmé Skywalker” or “Anakin Kenobi” cuz Ani is at heart a 12 year old girl.  Ok ok ok, but actually, there would be lots of different stuff on the page.  Mathematical calculations for ships and designs because he is a canon engineering nerd and I h/c he’s a whiz at math.  Also little doodles.  Anakin’s not a bad artist himself; his style is much more cartoonish than Obi Wan’s, but it means he can do cool little actions scenes of different ships or pods, him being a badass, Yoda getting attacked by space seagulls, etc.  Maybe designs for another japoor carving (I h/c he keeps the hobby).  Or, the page might be folded up as Anakin turned it into either a boat or a hat or an airplane that actually flies, or just a ball of paper he set on fire because he was bored.

(28) Who is their best friend?  Their worst enemy?:  OBI WAN KENOBI FOR BOTH OF THEM DAMMIT ANAKIN WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS.  Alright, alright, in reality, his worst enemy is probably more of a combination of himself and his own fears, Sidious for being an evil, manipulative asshole, and society for creating his fears and traumatizing him (though mostly it’s himself because he absolutely had the choice to do the right thing, but he didn’t).  Obi Wan is absolutely his best friend though.  No competition.

(29) Reaction to extrapersonal disaster (eg Oh no, the house is on fire!  What do we do?): For Anakin “I burned down the Republic because you left for an afternoon and I panicked” Skywalker?  “Ok, no problem, I got this.  I’ve got this.  No, wait, I don’t got this.  I defiNITELY DO NOT GOT THIS, I MADE IT WORSE, HOLY SHIT, NO ONE PANIC, I NEED AN ADULT-- (Ahsoka: You are an adult) --I NEED AN ADULTIER ADULT.”

(31) Most prized possession: His loved ones ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  And we’ve got at least six movies and a tv show telling us exactly how that did Not Go Well For Anyone

(33) Concept of home and family: Hmmm.  I’d say where he feels safe and comfortable.  Again, it’s stated in the show he feels at home at Padmé’s, but honestly?  He refuses to acknowledge Tatooine cuz ya know, the slavery, so he never really had a strong childhood home, and while I want to say he considered the Temple home at one point, , I’m not sure he does because I feel he’s always on red alert for things to get worse so he never really lets himself get comfortable anywhere-- not even Padmé’s.  Family is a bit easier for him; a group of people who love each other-- and for Anakin, it doesn’t have to be blood relations but if you ARE related by blood, you’re a family member by default and he will be Very Offended by blood relations who cut away from their families because he feels if you’re connected like that, you should love each other.

[izukillme-moved]

Double Dates

For the FTLGBTales 300 Followers raffle, first prize winner @fading-away-today! I’m so sorry it took so long :( I hope you enjoy it! 

Word Count: 3943

Pairing: Fraxus, Gratsu

“Why are we even here?” Laxus grumbled quietly to Freed, who elbowed him painfully in the gut. The Lightning Dragon Slayer screeched loudly, jumping about a mile high. “Ouch! That hurt!”

“It was supposed to,” replied Freed, cool as a cucumber, and continued his conversation with Natsu about why scarves were such an essential part of fashion.

Laxus raised his gaze from his plate to look at Gray, who seemed as interested in Freed and Natsu’s discussion as he would be in a cement brick. Which is to say, not at all.

I feel you, man, Gray mouthed at him when he caught him staring. Laxus nodded slightly, not wanting Freed to notice.

What are we even doing here? he mouthed back discreetly.

Gray lifted his shoulders a fraction of an inch. No idea.

“Cut it out, you two!” Freed shouted threateningly, slamming his hands down on the table. Laxus shivered a little, blood draining from his cheeks (and rushing promptly to another place which he prefers not be mentioned here, thank you very much).

Gray, however, wasn’t prudent enough to keep his mouth shut. “Yes, Mom,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Freed leaned down so his face was level with the Ice Wizard’s. “Care to repeat that?” he asked dangerously.

Gray gulped and paled. “N – no, sir,” he said with a salute.

Freed grinned like a shark. “It must have just been the wind.”

“Y – yes sir,” Gray stuttered.

Freed finally sat down and continued to sip at his no-sugar latte, whereas Gray just stared into his black coffee, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

That boyfriend of yours is something else, he mouthed at Laxus.

Laxus smiled a little. He really is.

Freed turned a death glare on both of them.

Cut to about an hour later and even the discussion between Freed and Natsu, which had seemed like it was never going to end, had finally fizzled out. All of them sat staring at their respective beverages, which had gone cold a long time ago (except for Natsu, who was staring into an empty cup because he’d swallowed down his mocha nearly the minute it arrived).

“So,” Laxus started lamely, attempting to spark some kind of conversation and break the uncomfortable silence. Gray and Freed were both history geeks, and Igneel had taught Natsu a lot of dragon history – maybe he could bring up some random war to start a debate.

“The Battle of Fairy Tail was a brutal war, wasn’t it?” he blurted, and they all stared at him in complete disbelief.

Laxus wanted to hide. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him, just like it had the Queen Sita in the legends Makarov used to tell him.

Why, oh why did he have to say ‘Fairy Tail’? WHY?!

Then Natsu burst into laughter, and Gray followed suit.

“Laxus-” wheezed the Fire Dragon Slayer, “You caused that war, and you’re asking if it was brutal?”

Laxus felt a little stung. They still blamed him for it – well, it was natural, seeing as he’d pretty much wrecked Magnolia – but it hurt a little. His brows creased slightly.

“It wasn’t that bad,” added Gray quickly, apparently sensing something. “It’s just over-exaggerated because you were – are – a member of Fairy Tail, and that sudden betrayal made things go out of proportion. You’ve atoned enough, and you’re back with us. That’s the best result we could have gotten out of that war.”

Freed put a comforting hand on his boyfriend’s large back, rubbing small circles on it. “I was a part of all that destruction, too,” he whispered so only Laxus could hear. “It was my runes that forced guild members to fight one another. My runes that hurt everyone so badly. It wasn’t just you – I share that guilt, that burden. You’re not alone. But, we’re a part of the guild, we always will be. That’s the important thing. Not the mistakes you made, but the lessons you learned from them.”

Laxus smiled and kissed the top of Freed’s head. “Thank you,” he murmured softly.

Meanwhile, Natsu was staring at them with a mix of confusion and joy. “I didn’t know Freed was so sappy,” he declared.

Freed went a million shades of red and screeched, “Sappy?!” He lunged for Natsu. “Why you little-”

Natsu’s face turned blank. “I’m over eighty, your runes said so,” he retorted.

Freed turned purple and went for Natsu’s neck, hands making to strangle him.

Gray laughed. “All right, let’s all calm down here,” he said, flapping his hands in a placatory gesture. “Freed, relax. It was just a joke, you know he didn’t mean it. Natsu has a horrible case of foot-in-the-mouth disease,” he added, throwing a pointed glare at his boyfriend, who paled a little.

Somewhere in the middle of the sea, a certain straw-hat-wearing pirate sneezed.

“We’re not having much fun here, and it’s really obvious,” Gray continued, a spark in his eyes. “So why don’t we do this? Each one of us takes a turn suggesting a place or a thing we can do, and we decide on one, then do it. Afterwards, we split paths and go home after a fulfilling night, to more fulfilling things.”

“Not in the mood,” Natsu droned.

“I’m asexual,” Freed said.

Gray’s face flattened into a betrayed glare, which he directed at Natsu. “You were the one who couldn’t wait to get some this morning! You woke me up at five because you were horny!”

Natsu pouted. “Well, now I’m not,”

Gray rolled his eyes. “And anyway, there are other fulfilling things you can do. It’s not just sex. Like, I don’t know, watch something on the TV, or just cuddle on the couch or something,” His voice had dropped when he reached the last bit, and he was blushing furiously.

“Aww,” Freed teased, reaching forward to pinch the younger’s red cheek. “Gray is so cute. You lucked out, Natsu, unlike me.” he said jokingly.

Natsu kissed Gray’s temple and smiled. “I really did,” he said, sounding faraway.

Laxus shot up, indignantly asking, “What do you mean you didn’t luck out?”

Freed laughed. “Well, if we’re spending quality time together, we always go out on a date. We never just sit at home and watch trashy soap operas and comment on them, or cuddle, or things like that. There are some days I’d prefer to stay home and relax, you know?”

“Oh,” Laxus said in a strangled voice. “Sorry.”

A slightly awkward silence fell over the table, broken by Natsu clapping his hands loudly and saying, “All right, let’s all think of something. After five minutes, we say ours out loud.”

“Okay,” Gray shrugged.

“It’s your idea,” Laxus pointed out, putting Freed’s words to the back of his mind. Surely, he hadn’t meant it. Laxus could think on that later. “You could be a little more excited.”

“I could, but I don’t want to.” Gray said flatly.

Natsu smacked his arm. “Don’t be mean,” he chided.

Gray rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. I suggest we go to a bar and get drunk.”

“No,” Laxus shouted immediately, aghast. Getting drunk was the worst idea when you were around a certain Rune Mage, because there were two kinds of Freed. Normal Freed, and Drunk Freed.

Now, Normal Freed was the regular sweet, gentle, intelligent but also dangerous man Laxus loved. Drunk Freed… well, that was another story entirely.

“Yeah, I don’t feel like it either,” Natsu added, and Freed nodded in agreement.

“A’right,” Gray shrugged and went back to staring out of the window.

A few minutes later, Natsu shot up, chirping, “Ooh! Ooh! I got one!”

They all turned towards him, Freed asking, “What is it?”

“We could go watch How to Train Your Dragon!” he said excitedly. “It’s really good.”

“Seen it,” droned Gray, Laxus and Freed in unison.

Natsu stared at his boyfriend in betrayal. “Gray…” he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. “How could you watch it without me?”

“We went together, you dumbass!” Gray shouted, throwing his hands up. “You went thrice, for God’s sake.”

Natsu frowned for a minute, then scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, you’re right. I forgot.”

Gray face-palmed. “You idiot.”

“We could all go home,” Laxus suggested out of sheer boredom. “And call an end to this bullshit.”

Freed elbowed him again. “Laxus, no.”

“Why not? It’s not working anyway,” he whined.

“That’s why Gray came up with this plan. So that we could make it work,” Freed emphasised the last three words and shot one of his deadly glares at Laxus, who gulped and nodded.

“Yes, sir,”

“Freed, you’re the only one who hasn’t said something yet. Do you have an idea or what? Should we just go with Laxus’ plan?” Gray asked.

Natsu stamped on his foot.

“Quit abusing me!” Gray cried, and smacked Natsu’s head. The two began to brawl in their seats, and Laxus sighed. Was it possible for them to stop fighting for even a minute?

Meanwhile, Freed had adopted a thoughtful expression, tilting his head to one side, one brow dipping.

Laxus could only think, This is why I love him.

That thought was dashed within a second when Freed proposed, “Karaoke?”

What the hell?!

“That’s… not bad, actually,” Natsu piped up. “I know where the nearest one is, I went with Macao and Wakaba once. It might be fun, and Gray has the best singing voice,” he added, nudging his boyfriend, who’d miraculously kept his clothes on so far.

“I can carry a tune well enough, but I’m not as good as Natsu says I am.” Gray muttered shyly.

“Shut up, you are,” Natsu retorted. “Have you heard yourself sing? It’s one of the few things I can’t find something to tease you about.”

Gray looked away, cheeks red. “You shut up,” he retorted weakly.

“Everyone’s on board, then?” Freed asked, clapping his hands together.

Gray nodded slightly. Natsu hummed in response. Laxus sat quietly, still not believing what was going on.

Karaoke?! Are you serious?! Freed, you’ve had some crazy ideas before, but karaoke with Gray and Natsu can be explained by nothing but you having gone off your damned rocker!

“Laxus?” Freed almost shouted, waving a hand in his boyfriend’s face. “We’re doing karaoke.”

“No way in hell!” Laxus recoiled. “It’s a shitty idea.” He nodded at Gray and Natsu, who were arguing quietly – or as quiet as they could get – about something or the other. “Karaoke. With those two. How can that be anything but trouble?”

Freed sighed through his nose. “Just… come with us. It might be fun. Plus, I’ll get to hear you sing! You always say no when I ask you to. Lighten up a little.”

“I like singing.” Laxus argued back. “I just don’t want to do it in front of… people.”

Freed pressed his lips together and glared at Laxus. “You’re making a scene,” he spat quietly.

And indeed, both Gray and Natsu had stopped fighting and were staring at Laxus and Freed, eyes flicking from one to the other as if they were spectators in a match of tennis.

“Okay. But I’m not singing,” Laxus warned finally.

“Aw,” whined Natsu. “I was so looking forward to seeing him! Laxus never loosens up.” Gray nodded in agreement.

Freed grinned. “Laxus is just being grumpy,” he said lightly. “Let’s go, come on!”

“I am not,” Laxus hissed under his breath, “being grumpy. I just… don’t like singing karaoke, okay?!”

Natsu got up and led Gray out of the café, Freed and Laxus following, the latter being dragged unwillingly by the former.

“Do we have to?” grumbled Laxus to his boyfriend.

Freed gave him a look. “Just do it. It won’t be that bad.”

“Yes, it will.”

Freed let out an exasperated sigh and yanked Laxus along with him. “Honestly,” he muttered, half to himself. “Couldn’t you just be cooperative for once? Drama queen.”

Laxus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, look who’s talking.”

Freed stopped abruptly. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” the blonde said nonchalantly, starting to walk at a steady pace. He stopped about a few feet from the still-frozen Freed and added over his shoulder with a sly smile, “We’ll be late if you keep standing there, you know. You might just melt like a candle, who knows?”

Freed turned red, lunging for the taller. “I’m going to kill you!”

But Laxus, surprisingly nimble for his large size, danced out of the way of Freed’s wrath just in time.

“Come on, slowpoke!” he called, continuing to follow Natsu and Gray. “Are you coming or not?”

Freed’s hands shook in barely controlled rage, but he stormed after his boyfriend anyway, not wanting to cause a bigger scene than he had already.

Damn Laxus. Knows just how to push all my buttons. he thought darkly as he stalked down the cobbled street, too busy stewing in his irritation to pay any attention to his surroundings.

And as a result, he promptly walked into six half-naked feet of Gray Fullbuster.

“Whoa!” Gray yelped, wheeling around to face him. “Freed, man, are you all right? You’ve got to watch where you’re going,”

“I’m fine,” growled Freed. “Just fine.”

Gray eyed him suspiciously. “…If you say so,” he eventually gave in, and trotted off behind Natsu.

Freed’s foul mood had mostly evaporated by the time they got to the karaoke bar, nearly an hour later. Of course, Laxus’ smug smirk did nothing to help, but Freed decided to be the bigger person and let it go.

It was proving to be harder than he’d thought. All Freed wanted to do was punch that little smile off Laxus’ face (and it wouldn’t hurt to knock in a few teeth too.)

“Uh… who’s paying?” Gray suddenly asked. “I’m… kind of broke.” Understandable. That engagement ring that was hiding in his and Natsu’s rarely-opened book cupboard had probably cost a fortune.

“Me too,” Natsu said with a shrug.

“Me as well,” Freed chimed in, grinning wickedly. Of course he wasn’t, but it would be nice to see the miserly Laxus shell out some Jewel for once.

They all looked at Laxus pleadingly. Natsu’s puppy eyes were dialled up to max power, and the Lightning Dragon Slayer found himself melting under that gaze.

“All right,” he relented. “I’ll pay. How many hours?”

“Three?” suggested Freed. “That should be enough. It’s already six, we can be done by nine and home by ten.”

Laxus sighed through his nose and paid, grumbling to himself all the while. A key was shoved into his hand, and he stared at the number before lumbering along the corridors, the other three following.

“One zero six,” he murmured to himself and unlocked the door. Natsu danced in, Freed smiling in amusement at the younger’s antics.

“All right,” Gray clapped his hands. “Natsu’s going first.”

“I am not! Why don’t you?” Natsu shouted indignantly, good mood disappearing in an instant.

“Why don’t you two do a duet?” suggested Freed, ever the mediator.

The couple exchanged dubious glances. Gray looked like he was about to puke; his face had taken on a greenish tint, and his eyes were wide and fearful as he shook his head at Natsu, who just shrugged and lifted his palms up in a ‘what can you do’ gesture.

“We’re doing it,” announced Natsu finally, grabbing Gray’s hand.

“Then it’s settled!” Freed smiled. “Pick a song and let’s go!”

Natsu flicked the TV on and scrolled through the list, stopping on ‘Close to Me’.

Gray recoiled. “No. No way. I hate that song!”

“Come on, it’s just… two minutes long,” Natsu whined. “Please?”

“No!”

“I’m sure Freed and I would be better at karaoke than you,” Laxus called in a brief moment of insanity. “You don’t need to be so worried. We’d out-sing you any day!”

The greenish tint vanished completely, and Gray’s eyes shone with a dark gleam. “That sounded a lot like a challenge. And I don’t turn down a challenge.”

That was when Laxus knew for sure that this night was going to hell.

Gray and Natsu both grabbed a microphone each. Natsu clicked on the ‘play’ button, and music began to blare from the speakers.

Natsu had been right; Gray really did sing well. His strong voice flowed over each and every note, gracefully dipping low in the deeper parts and soaring in the higher ones. Each syllable was sung confidently, and his breaths were barely heard. Natsu was equally good, swooping in just when Gray stopped, timing his singing perfectly with that of his boyfriend’s. His lighter, higher voice made for an excellent combination with Gray’s baritone.

When they finished the song, both Laxus and Freed couldn’t help but clap till their hands were sore.

“That was amazing!” Freed complimented, walking over to high-five both Gray and Natsu. “Gray, you’re a dark horse! Why do you never sing at guild events? Your voice would go so well with Mira’s,”

Gray shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Ah, I don’t like singing much.”

“Points: 9/10,” said the robotic voice of the karaoke machine.

Gray and Natsu high-fived each other. “Yes!”

“Guess it’s our turn,” said Laxus noncommittally, getting up and slinking over to the playlist.

Freed made a face when he saw the song Laxus had chosen. “Seriously?”

Laxus nodded, grinning evilly. “It’s called ‘payback’, Freed.”

“No. No. We are not doing this!”

Gray craned his neck over Laxus’ shoulder and promptly burst into raucous laughter.

“Oh my God, this is going to be priceless,” he cackled.

Laxus smirked and pressed ‘play’.

The lyrics flashed on the large TV screen, and Natsu took one look at it before joining his boyfriend in hysterics on the floor.

“I have a pen,” Laxus began, holding one hand up with a wicked grin on his face. “I have an apple!”

“Laxus, no!” Freed shoved an elbow into Laxus’ gut.

Laxus brought his hands together. “Apple pen! Come on, Freed, do you really want to lose?”

The look Freed gave him stated clearly that he was so going to pay for this later. Ah, well. Might as well go crazy when he could. This night was going to hell anyway; whatever he did now couldn’t possibly make it worse.

And if he had to do this, he was going to make it as embarrassing as possible.

“I have a pen, I have a pineapple,” Laxus sang, completely out of tune.

Freed gave him a miserable look, but joined in. “Pineapple pen.”

“Apple pen,” Laxus continued.

“Pineapple pen,”

“Boom! Pen pineapple apple pen!”

With a start, Laxus realised he was actually enjoying this. A grin had made its way onto his face at some point.

The fact that he could not actually sing, however, was a bit of a drawback. But Laxus had never been one to worry about drawbacks.

And so, he continued to sing (or rather, bray the lyrics of PPAP).

Well, at least Freed had started trying somewhere along the second repetition of ‘Pen pineapple apple pen!’

When they finally finished, three whole minutes later, Gray and Natsu just stared dumbly at the older two.

“What?” Laxus demanded.

Natsu shook his head and burst into laughter.

“That was hilarious, man!” Gray added, giggling as well. “I didn’t know you sang that well, Laxus,”

“Shut up,” Laxus grumbled.

“Points: 5/10,” said the machine.

“You shut up too!” Laxus shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the thing.

Freed glared at his boyfriend. “I can’t believe you picked that song. Seriously?”

Laxus shrugged. “Like I said. Payback.”

“Is anyone hungry?” Natsu asked excitedly. “We could get food.”

Gray grunted. “Hn.”

Somewhere in heaven, about five hundred people with dark hair and red eyes all sneezed at the same time.

Freed nodded. “That seems like a good idea.”

They all looked at Laxus, who was out cold on the floor at the thought of having to spend more money.

Then Freed shrugged and pulled Laxus’ credit card out of his pocket. “Eh, it’s on him anyways.”

“Great,” Natsu grinned and picked up the menu card, an evil glint in his eye.

When Laxus finally came to, he would regret ever agreeing to pay for anything that involved food and one Natsu Dragneel.

The first thing Laxus saw when he opened his eyes were piles and piles of empty plates.

The smell of shrimp tempura hung in the air, and Laxus’ stomach grumbled. Natsu lay comatose on the couch, one hand on his belly. A half-empty bottle of wine was clenched in the other hand. Gray had his hands behind his head, eyes trained on Laxus, and Freed… Freed was passed out next to Natsu. An empty bottle lay near his head.

It didn’t take long for Laxus to connect the dots.

“What. Is. This.” he ground out.

Natsu’s eyes fluttered open at the sound, and he looked up hazily. “Oh, we o’dered food ‘cause we got ‘ungry,” he slurred.

“And are you drunk?!” Laxus bellowed in outrage, getting up and snatching the bottle out of his hand. “How do you get drunk off half a bottle of wine?!”

But Natsu’s eyes had slid shut again; he was unconscious.

“One and a half,” Gray corrected. “He downed it like water. Freed had two.”

“Freed’s a lightweight!” Laxus threw his hands up in the air. “How did you not know this? Why didn’t you stop him?!”

Gray smirked. “Of course I knew. I just like watching people make fools out of themselves. It was really hilarious, you know; they were lurching and swaying, they couldn’t even stand up straight, and then they put on party music and tried to dance, but Natsu bonked his head on the handle of the couch, and Freed just kind of… fainted.”

Laxus pinched his nose and sighed. “We should get them home.”

Gray gave the two drunk, unconscious men a once-over. “I wish I could just leave them here, but you’re right.” He rose and stretched, then walked over to Natsu, pulling the Fire Dragon Slayer’s entire weight onto his back. “Come on, Flame Brain. Time to go home.”

Laxus kneeled down in front of the couch, his back to Freed, and slid Freed’s legs under his arms. He laced Freed’s hands around his neck, making sure the smaller boy was secure, and stood up.

“La-zus?” Freed slurred. “I – wh-”

“Shh,” Laxus said gruffly. “Hold on tight. We’re going home.”

He felt Freed’s head settle comfortably in the crook of his neck, like always. The soft, steady breathing told him Freed was asleep. Laxus looked over at Gray, who’d given up on dragging Natsu home and was holding him princess-style.

He wore the same smile as Laxus.

Gray turned his head, catching Laxus’ eye, and they both smiled.

“They’re idiots,” Gray said.

Laxus nodded. “But they’re our idiots.”

Gray hummed in agreement. “I actually ended up having some fun. Not that I ever want to do this again,” he added, shuddering.

Laxus shivered. “Hell no. If either Freed or Natsu comes up with the idea of a double date again, we do all we can to stop them.”

“It’s a deal,” Gray agreed quickly, face pale. “Let’s get out of here.”

And both Mages hightailed their way out of the karaoke bar to their respective homes, carrying their boyfriends all the way.

Little did they know that Freed and Natsu had heard everything they’d said, and were already planning more evil things to do to Gray and Laxus.

After all, as Freed said, tomorrow was a new day, and brought with it a whole new host of plans to torture their boyfriends.

@ftlgbtales