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hitlikehammers · 1 day ago

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Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

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#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #future fic #post s5 #angst with a happy ending #miscommunication #romance #tenderness #fluff #rock star eddie munson #steve harrington stays in hawkins #fuck buddy #but does it count if you’re exes and your still friends and you do it all the time?#like it can’t even be reunion sex because one party is always finding and excuse to come back #and it can’t even be make-up sex because they didn’t FIGHT they just…were DONE #chasing your dreams #(and recognizing when those dreams sometimes change)#yes eddie walked away from a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love #(he had his reasons I promise)#yes he makes detours to hawkins almost confusingly often for a successful musician 🤨#(YES he ends up in steve’s bed every time)#happy ending #stranger things #eddie munson bingo #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

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wickerwax · 2 days ago

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Imitation, and Other Forms of Flattery (Codywan First Kiss Bingo 4)

There was a tubie on-board The Negotiator.

There should not have been a tubie anywhere near the star destroyer, not unless they were doing some sort of refugee carrying, or helping out with a- a- a migration or resettlement or something – there should very specifically not have been a clone trooper tubie on The Negotiator while they were in hyperspace after leaving Coruscant.

They hadn’t even been near Kamino in weeks!?

Cody felt like he was having a stroke. He was pretty sure the Kaminoans had bred those out but the tubie - and his General cuddling it - were winning that battle against Kaminoan engineering.

“Hello there, Commander,” said his General, continuing to cuddle the tubie. It looked at him with big, dark eyes, and something in him quailed that he could ever have been so small as that. This was not office-appropriate.

“General,” he replied, strangled. “Sir, what-”

“We had a stowaway, it seems.” the man interrupted smoothly, smiling. “Luckily we hadn’t gotten very far -”

The ship shuddered gently as it exited hyperspace.

“-Ah, excellent. We’ll have one of the Seeker ships out here in no time to retrieve her.” The tubie snuggled against General Kenobi’s neck, starting to giggle at the tickle of his beard. A small brown hand buried itself in the ginger-blond. He stared.

“Sir,” Cody said, because that only explained the barest tip of the iceberg of what was going on, “Why would – I mean, that’s a tubie. General.”

Kenobi looked down at the impossible creature and Cody watched that soft-eyed smile get wider. “Oh. Oh. My apologies, Cody dear. Zanah here is one of our younglings, she’s a clawdite – she’s been fascinated with your brothers. They do say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

The tubie -Zanah – blinked hugely at Cody. Abruptly, she released his General’s beard and flopped sideways, both hands grabbing for- for him. “Co-ee!” she said, as Kenobi shifted his grip to accommodate her new orientation. “Co-ee, up!”

“Manners, Zanah,” the Jedi scolded fondly.

“Up, Co-ee, please.” she amended instantly, batting her eyes.

“You’re already as up as it gets without General Skywalker here,” Cody told the tubie. She seemed unappeased. He found the picture they made, his General’s freckled face close with that small, very familiar one, vaguely discomforting in a way he really didn’t want to explore. “I can’t help you with up more than the General can.”

Zanah scrunched up her face – his face, once – and tears welled up in those brown eyes.

“Please?” she half-lisped, and Cody broke. He stepped into their space, arms lifting automatically, and got a child to the chest before he was ready (he was never going to be ready. Not this child – not this close to Kenobi).

The tears vanished like magic as she squirrelled herself into his arms. She settled her curly little head on his shoulder and nestled in like she was -

“Oh,” Kenobi said softly, and Cody made the mistake of looking up. Neither of them stepped back post-child-transfer, and grey-blue eyes now filled his metaphorical viewscreen. “A nap is probably a good idea.”

He could tip his head forward and they would be touching. Cody adjusted his hold on the – on Zanah. “You said a Seeker ship was coming?” He kept his voice low and private – to avoid upsetting the tubie snuffling into his shoulder. Not so his General needed to stay closed in this moment with him just to hear. It was – strategic.

The Jedi hummed quietly. “They already knew she was missing – it doesn’t tend to take us long.” Smiling at close range like that was a kind of lethality Cody wished he had taken into account. He could see the shadow of a dimple beneath that coppery beard, the exact angle the corner of his mouth curled up. “So it was a matter of direction. I’d give it a half hour, at best. It took me nearly that to retrieve her from Waxer and Boil.”

A suspicious absence, now that Cody knows. “I’m surprised they didn’t follow you in here, General.”

“Ah, well, they mentioned something about an appropriate send-off.” Kenobi’s gaze dropped to the small, slumbering creature, who had apparently had a very exciting morning. “She does seem charmed by you, Commander.”

He should slide the fragile little bundle back into Kenobi’s far gentler, peace-knowing hands and go disrupt his senior officers almost-certainly out of control plans. He patted her back instead and allowed the oddly sticky grip on the neck of his blacks to remain. “She has limited experience, I imagine, sir.”

The Jedi laughed quietly at him. “Or, my dear Commander, you are simply a very charming man.”

While he was distracted over that, his General had clearly come to some sort of resolution. He laid a warm hand on Cody’s shoulder and nudged him down into his seat, as across the room the kettle lit up and started to heat. “If you are to play sleeping mat, darling, I can at least see you properly acquitted with chair and caf.”

Sitting, his arms occupied by cradling a Jedi youngling who thought their faces were fascinating enough to voluntarily wear – who so immediately classed Cody as a desirable holder and space to sleep – he had nothing to do but watch General Kenobi make the drinks. There was an economy of movement there – having done this exact thing so many times – and his face was lowered like he was focusing but – he couldn’t be really. Who focused that much on tea and caf when their hands so thoroughly knew their work? No, Kenobi was thinking.

He, too, might be considering strategies to avoid the worst of Waxer and Boil’s excess. Their idea of an appropriate send-off could be anything from a late-stage kidnapping to a hazardous-to-the-ventilation number of contraband balloons.

He hoped it was the balloons.

He could make them clean up that mess and consider the consequences of excess. Not – not disguising the tubie as one of the MSE droids or something ridiculous.

The cup of caf clinked as his General set it on the table and Cody jolted. The Jedi was smiling again, blue eyes gleaming cheerful amidst their multitude of irritatingly-appealing eye crinkles. He did not comment on Cody’s frown. Only touched two fingers back to his shoulder and murmured, “If you lean back slightly, you should only need the one arm to keep her stable – at least for as long as it takes to sip.”

Carefully, Cody shifted himself backwards. Zanah snorted into his shoulder, and he felt an unpleasant dampness forming as she drooled in her sleep. She kicked. Her tiny foot bounced off his ribs and he felt a completely disproportionate kind of pain at how little force there was behind the hit.

“There you go,” Kenobi’s voice was so soft. He looked like he was holding back from leaning in himself and Cody had no idea what to do with that thought. Slowly, he lifted the non-weight-bearing arm resting against Zanah’s back. She kept sleeping, and Cody got a caf mug deposited with great care into his hand.

“Thank you, sir.” Cody hesitated, then continued, “Will she get in trouble?”

The Jedi retrieved his own mug and took his neighbouring seat before answering. “Will she be punished? No, of course not. But there will be conversations with her carers about letting someone know where she is – about how we worried she was lost or hurt. Gently, at what level she can best understand. And – apparently she managed a rather impressive notice-me-not – her crèchemaster will be on the lookout for that sort of – well, it’s kind of like a gap in your senses, it’s far more difficult to add noise to properly cover that absence – ah, that is to say, we shall adjust to meet her where she is. There may be changes.” He sighed, staring down into his tea as though the faintly steaming liquid held answers and not floral complexities I find comforting when surrounded by all this durasteel, Cody dear. “It is easier when the Temple is less empty.”

Cody hummed, comforted himself by the now-familiar tangle of scents.

“So, no. She won’t be in trouble, Cody, not like that.” he finished, glancing over - smile ebbed away into regrettable wryness. Previous conversations – tiptoeing around Kamino and its approach to the raising of their units – lay between them like a napping kamoradon. He could almost hear the not like you were. The I’m sorry for what was done. The I would see every brother of yours given home and hope and childhood were it in my power. He chose to leave the kamoradon un-woken. It wasn’t him that those teeth were pointing at.

As well, it wasn’t like he didn’t know about the meetings with senators – Kenobi pulled him in on as many as he could, was hardly the only Jedi asking their troops for input on the progress and wording of bills. Was aware, as well, that the Jedi Order at large had had no idea of their existence until his General – his General – had all but stumbled across them. The Prime had a lot to answer for – it was probably the only uncomplicated reason he had for wishing sometimes that the man had made it off Geonosis.

Zanah hurked in a sudden breath that took all of her tiny body and he had to replace the caf tableward with a clink to stabilise her. Her face lifted up towards him and she slapped a hand to his cheek in a clumsy pat as he blinked at her. The hand was not any less sticky for having already grimed his collar. “Co-ee sad?” she said, looking like she would mutiny about it if he was. Little gods, his officers would let her.

“No, no, I’m okay.” he said hurriedly, half-aware of his General’s attention getting sharper. “I was – ah, I was worried about you, Zanah.”

Her face – vod but not – scrunched. She said, voice wavering, “Zanah sad?”

His lungs grew knots. “No – Zanah, everyone is okay. It’s all okay. You were having a nice nap, yeah?”

Blinking hugely – but not yet watering – she considered him from right up close. She patted at his face again, nearer his scar. “Face hurted?”

The relief was enormous. He breathed out like a flood scouring a wadi clean. “Yeah- yes. Yes, it aches a little. It’s okay now, thank you.”

That solemn little face observed him. He could see his Jedi in that expression, and on that face it ached. If he looked sideways he might see it twice over, so he concentrated on making himself look calm and peaceful for the tubie – the youngling.

She narrowed her eyes. Nodded firmly. “Needs a kiss better. Master Urlu says it kind- kindest sooda sting.”

“Kindness soothes the sting,” General Kenobi repeated smoothly, “Well done, Zanah. What if Cody doesn’t want a kiss?”

Cody was not looking. “Cody might want-”

“Hafta ask what’s their kindest. Kind-ness, Master ‘Nobi.” Zanah said, overlapping, wiggling excitedly at the Jedi Master, “What helps.” She arrowed back in on Cody as he swallowed. Master ‘Nobi. “What helps, Co-ee? Cody?”

“A kiss would help,” he allowed, ducking his head down. She planted a kiss over the scar with an enthusiastic smack. His General was poorly muffling a laugh. He was having altogether too many feelings for a Marshal Commander on a warship and none of them were about combat, save for that which he would indulge in if someone upset this tubie.

“Master ‘Nobi, kiss help!” Zanah said, doing more of her delighted wiggling. He was focused on making sure she didn’t overbalance and didn’t take enough notice of the laugh to his side strangling quiet. When she jabbed a hand out towards the General, he compensated automatically and followed her gaze to a paling Kenobi.

Cody suddenly registered the stare-down occurring. Zanah was dramatically furrowing her less-than-impressive eyebrows, while General Kenobi was raising his with an air of studied innocence. “Just so, your kiss helped Cody feel better.”

“Master ‘Nobi! You gotta ask.” she maintained. “Master Urlu-”

“Cody,” The Jedi said, pretending he wasn’t clinging to his tea, “It simply must be asked, it appears. What would help you, my dear?”

He had a mad, brilliant, shooting-star idea. He could space himself. His mouth said, his mouth repeated, “A kiss would help.”

Zanah crowed. Kenobi’s pale filled back in with pink. “Ah.” he said.

“Quite,” he said.

“Wonderful modelling, positive reinforcement around affection between friendly adults,” he said.

Cody had clearly lost his mind and all he could think to do was smile. Encouraging. Zanah crowed again, and his General put his mug down too loudly.

“Right,” he said, and leaned over. He ruffled Zanah’s curls until she giggled and did her ineffectual best to push him at Cody’s face. Still, the man moved his focus. Once again, this close, his eyes were sabre-bright. Lightning against storm clouds. Hard to look at without getting dazzled. “Last chance, Commander.”

“I’m looking forward to being soothed by your kindness.” he replied, utterly incapable of melting butter or any other dairy-based product. Too smooth – Kenobi’s legendary side-eye made an appearance, and also he seemed to be about a foot above his own head while somehow still almost nose-to-nose. “You asked, General.”

“I have been utterly railroaded and I’m not sure it wasn’t planned.” his General muttered, twitchy. He touched a hand to Cody’s shoulder again – barely felt, hardly worth a mention, burning – and ghosted a kiss over the scar curling Cody’s eye. “Better, Cody?”

“I’m not, uh, not sure I felt that.” he managed, half his voice getting lost in-between his lungs and his lips.

This close, he thought he heard the Jedi say, you’re going to be the death of me, but then Kenobi was pressing his mouth firmly to his scar, soft and warm and impossible, and Cody lost the whisper in favour of replaying the touch as his General drew back, looking – unsure.

“Better?’ he asked again and Cody fished up a bright smile for him and for Zanah, bouncing against his shoulder and beaming upwards.

“Much.” he said, as something sunlit and fluttering went bacchanal in his chest. “Much better.”

The pink in General Kenobi’s cheeks darkened a touch. He sat properly back into his seat, averting his eyes and taking up his tea as anchor. “Excellent! Well then-”

His comm chirped loudly. Kenobi lunged for it. “Ah, the Seeker’s ship has arrived. Zanah, my darling, your chariot home is here.”

“Master Urlu?” she asked.

“Shall we go and find out?” he asked her. His shoulders had smoothed back out with a task at hand. Cody’s face still tingled.

Zanah squealed and reached for him and Cody’s tubie was neatly stolen away. His General paused - at the door before Cody’d even managed to get to his feet. “Perhaps, Commander, you might waylay our excellent officers before any especially extravagant plans come to fruition? I’ll delay so you, and they, can make their goodbyes, of course.”

Cody’s eyes narrowed. “Coward.” he accused.

Kenobi took the hit and grinned. “On this? Undoubtedly.”

@codywanfirstkissbingo number foooour is "uncertain kiss" and it's also my swapsie <3333 cl

#my writing #star wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #codywan #cwfkb2025 #click the title to go to the ao3 version ^^#accidental child acquisition (temporary)#i get a lil silly with this one but hey its cute its fine

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 hours ago

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Every Light

Summary: The reader is driving along a long stretch of highway when a mysterious stranger on a motorcycle shows up and decides to have some fun with her...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, implied smut

A/N: This fic takes place post 15x20 (with some canon fixes adjustments). Also, we all know (including Jensen) Every Light is 100% Dean coded, right?

____________

Your fingers tapped against the wheel with one hand, your other hand hung out the window of your car, dancing in the wind. Music blasted through the speakers of your SUV, Ramblin’ Man pouring out as you drove down the long stretch of quiet highway on the bright summer day. The barren Texas flatlands stretched for miles before you, not a single car in sight.

You let your foot go heavy on the pedal, racing across the plains, the warm wind nice across your cheeks. Driving all day from Phoenix to Austin wasn’t exactly fun, but you were in a good mood. A great mood. One of those rare moments of peace and serenity where you just felt still and whole.

You happy little bubble popped when you drove past a crossroads, a slick black motorcycle turning onto the highway behind you. Fuck. It was probably a cop. You’d been making good time too.

You sighed as it came up on you fast, tension rising in your bones as you waited for a siren, lights, something.

The motorcycle pulled up on your side, crossing the dotted yellow line and keeping pace with you. You turned your head, getting a better view of the bike. Okay, definitely not a police officer. Not unless Texas shelled out for jet black racing bikes with no markings. The rider was in head to toe sleek black leather, tight against his body with padding built in you were sure of. You couldn’t see past his black as night tinted visor. He, and it was most definitely a he based on those shoulders, turned his head toward you before raising his hand, giving you a wave.

You raised your eyebrows behind your aviators. The rider gripped the handlebars again, starting to weave his bike left and right ever so slightly before he straightened again. You tilted your head when he lifted his right hand and signed a simple gesture.

“Hi.”

Okay…what were the odds some crazed person knew sign language? Probably lower than average and if worst came to worst, you’d just gun it until you hit a town.

You waved back to him, the man sitting up more and returning it. Then he was leaning back even more, popping a wheelie. Your heart skipped as he tore down the highway besides you, only setting the bike down when you flailed your arm for him to get it down on the ground. He finally did so, pointing at himself and looking around when you frowned at him.

“Behave down there!” You shouted out the window, even though he’d never hear it. He simply kept driving next to you, playing as he did so, doing something even more reckless each time he got you to laugh or smile.

But eventually you were coming up on a town and the roads were about to get busier. He made a quick gesture with his hand before taking off ahead of you, getting in front of you in your lane and disappearing down the road.

“Boys,” you mumbled, trying not to think of the last thing he’d signed.

“I had fun, sweetheart. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Six Hours Later

You’d wearily made it to Austin and after a quick shower at your hotel, you headed out to grab dinner at a local bar.

“Hi,” said a handsome man when he took a seat next to you at the crowded bar top.

“Hi,” you said politely, returning your gaze to scanning the menu. The stranger's eyes lingered though, your head turning slightly to find a smile on his face. “Can I help you?”

“No, just funny running into you again today.” You raised an eyebrow, the man chuckling. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

“I’ve never met you before in my life.”

“Darn it,” he said, feigning a sigh. “Here I thought I made an impression. Did I not do enough wheelies?” Then he signed, “Sweetheart,” with his hand, flashing you a wink.

Your eyes went wide, the man smirking. “You! That was completely reckless.”

“So was going a hundred down the highway, rebel,” he teased. He turned his body to face you, smiling hard. “You’re telling me I wasn’t the best part of your day?”

“You’re a menace,” you said, picking up your drink.

“And that wasn’t a denial.” He waved down the bartender, pointing at your drink and holding up two fingers. “So. You like me better as the silent mysterious type with a helmet over my face?”

You rolled your eyes, taking the new drink. “It takes more than a pretty face to win me over, babe.”

“How about a ride on it?” You blinked.

“A ride on your…” you swallowed, the man chuckling.

“My bike. Although you are more than welcome to ride anything of mine you like,” he said. You scoffed, ignoring the fact you hadn’t been with anyone in far, far too long and here was a man handsome as sin offering himself up to you. “Alright. I pushed too far. My apologies.”

“…Why do you know sign language?” you asked.

“My sister in law is deaf. I actually just became an uncle,” he said with a proud smile. “I had to finish up some work before heading back home for good. I’m going be a firefighter actually.”

He looked so…boyish for a moment that you smiled at his genuine pride.

“Good for you,” you said. “I’m just passing through myself. My old friend just had a baby up north.”

“So what’s to stop you from cutting loose tonight? I’ll even pay for dinner like a proper gentleman.” You glanced away, the man tilting his head when your eyes darted back. “I promise to be as well or badly behaved as you want.”

You looked him up and down, the man still sporting those boots and padded pants.

Oh fuck it.

“I ain’t getting on the back of that bike without a helmet.” His grin turned devilish, even when you held up a finger. “Calm down, big boy. Let’s see how you last through dinner.”

“You holding on tight?” asked Dean nearly two hours later when you were on the outskirts of the city. Only Dean. Tonight was a one time thing and that meant no last names, no histories, just plain old fun.

“Yeah, why?” you asked when he chuckled beneath you.

“Cause I’m gonna blow your mind, sweetheart.” He revved the engine and took off like a bat out of hell, going faster and faster, so fast your heart was in your throat. “Here we go!”

“What are you-“ You screeched when he popped a wheelie with you on the back, setting it down after only a few seconds. “Dean!”

“More you say?” Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Morning,” mumbled Dean, a kiss pressed against your temple. You groggily opened your eyes, the clock flashing that it was ten. You felt him pull the sheets up over your bare back, Dean running a hand over your head. “Wake up beautiful. You need a shower before you check out.”

“Yeah,” you yawned, sitting up in bed, watching him dress. He smirked as you openly eyed his body, Dean cupping your cheeks in his hands when he finished. “One night, right?”

“You deserve better than me, Y/N. You’ll find him someday. Until then though, just know you are the best I’ve ever had.”

“You say that to all the girls,” you laughed, Dean smiling.

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” he said, kissing you once more. “Careful driving today.”

“You too. And don’t flirt with girls like that anymore. You’ll kill yourself on that bike.”

“Only flirt with you, got it,” he said. You playfully punched his arm, Dean letting your hands linger one last moment before pulling away. “In a another life, sweetheart.”

“Bye, Dean.”

You hadn’t planned on getting such a late start to the day but your night with Dean had been worth it. In a way, you wished you’d forced the issue and gotten his number at the very least. Sure, the motorcycle ride and sex were great but he was good company, funny and silly but something grounded to him that let you know you were safe with him. Eileen was always on you about living a life more outside of hunting and now that you’d officially retired, you were about to start living it more.

Including telling her all about your wonderful hookup.

You pulled up outside a house in Lawrence in the suburbs just after seven, barely up the front steps before the front door opened and Eileen hopped out, pulling you into a big hug.

“I missed you too,” you laughed, giving her a big squeeze, holding on tight. While you’d talked, you hadn’t been able to see her in person since she came back from the dead and this reunion was long overdue. “Come on, let me see the baby.”

“He just went down for bedtime. But he will happily see you in the morning,” she said, taking your hand and dragging you inside. “We just got the grill going out back.”

“Good. I’m starving and miss your burgers,” you said, letting her have another round of hugs with you. “Well if I can’t see the babe yet, you gotta let me meet your husband.”

“You know he has a brother that’s single,” she grinned, taking you through the house and to the back deck where a very tall man worked over a grill. “Sam! Y/N’s finally here!”

“Well it’s about time,” he said, picking you up in a hug. He smiled gently as he set you down. “I’m so happy Eileen has a friend in town.”

“Maybe you guys can give me advice on how the whole retirement thing works. I’ve just been traveling around aimlessly the past few months,” you said, taking a beer when Eileen offered it.

“You’ll figure it out,” said Sam, the rumble of an engine on the street out front echoing through the yard.

“That’ll be his very single brother,” said Eileen. You rolled your eyes. “Oh come on, he hunted too! You guys would so get along now that you’re both retired.”

“I’ve dated other hunters and it never worked out, thank you very much,” you said.

“You’re lucky I managed to grab the last bag of franks,” said an all too familiar voice. You spun around, Dean, your Dean from last night, standing right in front of you wearing jeans and a white plain t-shirt. He dropped the package of hot dogs, both of you staring at the other.

“I told you he was good looking!” joked Eileen.

“You?” asked Dean.

“You’re Dean fucking Winchester?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

“You’re Y/N Y/L/N, Eileen’s bestie?” You both nodded, Sam picking up the package and looking at you both like you were nuts.

“Uh, do you two know each other?” asked Sam.

“Some would say intimately,” said Dean.

“We’ll be right back,” you said, grabbing his bicep, ignoring the strength in it as you dragged him down the steps and around the corner of the house. You stared at him, Dean running a hand through his hair. “I thought you were a fireman!”

“I’m about to start my training. I was in Phoenix, cleaning up one last job but…someone had already fixed the sigils,” he mumbled. “You?”

“Yes, me,” you said, closing your eyes, putting your hands on your hips. “I worked out of Washington mostly. Eileen asked if I would clean up a sigil on my way down here. I-I’m staying here for a bit to help with the baby while I find a place in town.”

“So you’re that friend of hers…” he trailed off, eyes darting around your face. His lips parted but no words escaped them. An unpleasant crack tore through your heart. Gone was the happy go lucky flirt from twelve hours ago. Instead a man filled with horrors beyond imagination stood before you, a desperation in his eyes that made your skin crawl.

“You were wrong back at the hotel.” He shook off whatever thoughts were running through his mind, confusion entering the forefront of his mind. “This morning you said I deserved better than you.”

“You do,” he said without missing a beat. “I’m-”

“Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about you. We all have,” you said softly, taking one of his hands in yours. He swallowed, closing his eyes. “You deserve the world and I’m not just saying that because of last night. You more than did your part.”

“I’m not the guy from last night. I am severely fucked up-”

“Oh get in line, Winchester.” He blinked rapidly, brows furrowing. “You think you’re the only one with daddy issues and who’s died and seen the shit hunters do? No, you’re not. There’s plenty of us who have. I retired because of you. I retried because Eileen told me her friends the Winchesters saved us all and I could quit. I should quit. She told me to live my life. So you and me? We’re going to live our lives as fucked up as we are. And last night…fuck, I had fun. You had fun. I forgot about the nightmares and I think you did too. You think Eileen and your brother aren’t as screwed up as us? Of course they are but they aren’t scared to do the hard thing and move on. So why not us too? It doesn’t have to be together but-”

“Shut up,” he said, slamming his lips to yours. It was hard, rough. Something possessive underneath the surface that had you sucking in air when he pulled back, tugging your bottom lip along the way.

“Kissing me won’t make me shut up, Winchester,” you breathed, Dean ghosting over your lips, cradling a hand against the back of your neck to keep you close. “We aren’t strangers anymore. You want more, you got to give me more.”

“You want a visitors pass to the insane asylum in my head?” he laughed dryly.

“Visitor pass? Honey, I live there, just a different ward is all.” He flashed his eyes open, green orbs hesitant. “I ain’t doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I’m screwed up too and you’re going to have to give as good as you get. I need that. You need that. So either walk away if you just want to be friends-”

“Odds are this crashes and burns,” he said. Your hands slid to his cheeks, smirking up at him. “What?”

“Good thing I got my own firefighter then.” He raised an eyebrow, smiling when you tilted your chin up. “Stealing my moves?”

“Just remembered you were warned, sweetheart.”

“We’re going to work on that self-talk.” You tiled your chin further, Dean meeting your mouth, a smile in it. For the first time in a long time, in years, you let yourself think about a future and what that looked like. Dean pulled away slowly when Sam called for you both, his thumb brushing your chin.

“I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it with some help,” he murmured, trailing his knuckles down your arm, stopping at your hand to lace your fingers together.

Yeah, the future was looking a little brighter these days.

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#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x female!reader #dean #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean one shot #dean winchester one shot

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jetii · 2 days ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Revelation

Chapter WC: 14,918

Chapter Tags/Warnings: alcohol use, drama, blood/wound care, some description of vomiting, general drunken messiness

A/N: i don't even know what to say about this chapter. just. prepare thyself.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

“For the last time, no.”

You quicken your stride as you descend the ramp into the hangar bay, the words spilling from your mouth with far more frustration than is probably warranted, but you don't care. You've already had this conversation five times today, and you're done. Done.

Booker easily matches your pace, his strides longer and quicker than yours, and the smirk on his face only makes the annoyance inside you grow stronger.

"It's just one night," he says, the words coming out easy and confident. Like he's certain he's going to get his way. And that only serves to piss you off even more.

"No," you repeat firmly. "We're not doing this."

"Come on," he protests. "One drink. It'll be fun. Good for morale."

"Not happening," you say. You reach the bottom of the ramp and turn towards the door leading out of the hangar, and just as you're about to step through the entrance, he plays his trump card.

"The 501st will be there."

You freeze, your footsteps coming to an abrupt halt, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see the triumphant look on his face. The urge to throw something at him is overwhelming, but you push the temptation aside and keep walking, the tension in your neck and shoulders growing with each passing second.

"Rex is coming, too," Booker continues. He leans forward, his head appearing over your shoulder as he gives you a knowing look. "He'll probably appreciate having another stick in the mud there. You know. To balance out the rest of us."

You stop, and Booker nearly collides with you, a small 'oof' escaping him. You glare at him, and he flashes you a sheepish grin.

"I'm not a stick in the mud," you retort.

"Uh-huh," he says skeptically.

"I'm not!"

"So, you're telling me that you have fun? That you enjoy letting loose and drinking and dancing and having a good time?"

"I can have fun," you snap.

"Right," he says. He rolls his eyes and sighs, his hands rising to rest on his hips. "Sure."

"I can," you insist.

"Uh-huh," he deadpans.

“I can!”

"Really?"

“Really.”

You glare at him, and his smirk widens, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Well, if that's the case, I think it would be a good idea for the General of the 419th to attend the post-battle celebration. Don't you think?"

You groan and press your palms against your face, your fingertips digging into the skin. Why are you even considering this? You have no idea why you're suddenly willing to cave, and a part of you wants to chalk it up to the stress and the exhaustion and the fact that it's been weeks since you've had a proper night off.

But the truth is, a small, secret part of you wants to go. You want to feel normal. And for the first time in a long time, you can actually picture yourself out there, enjoying yourself. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Just this once.

You sigh and lower your hands, turning back to Booker. Your gaze moves past him and lands on the group of troopers milling about. They all seem to perk up, their postures straightening as they try to appear more serious and focused. As if the mere act will make them more appealing and less likely to cause trouble.

It's cute, really, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. On the one hand, going to a bar with your troops would be inappropriate. You're their commanding officer, and it would send the wrong message to them and the Republic and the entire galaxy.

But on the other hand, what's the harm in one night? One small, insignificant, forgettable night. A few hours to unwind and enjoy yourself. And maybe see Rex. Just for a bit. To say hi. Nothing more. Just a friendly hello.

Your gaze travels over the men, and the small smile on your face grows wider.

"Alright," you concede. "Fine. One drink."

Booker lets out a whoop and slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a half hug. You roll your eyes and shove him away, trying to hide the smile that's threatening to break free.

"Atta girl," he chuckles. He tilts his head. "You need a ride?"

"Nah." You give him a wry look. "But I do have an outfit to find."

"I'll pick you up at 20:00," he says. "Don't be late. We're going to get hammered."

"Of course you are," you sigh, and you keep moving, turning and walking backwards as you point at him. “These are things you should not be telling your general, by the way. For future reference."

"Got it," he calls back. He winks and raises a hand in a salute, and you spin back around, making your way towards the doors. The sound of the clones' laughter carries over the air, and the grin that's been threatening to break free finally spreads across your face.

Maybe this will be fun after all. And if not, at least you'll get to see Rex.

You're already regretting this.

The moment you step into 79’s, Booker in the lead with several other troopers close behind, the music and the noise and the people make your stomach turn. The club is packed, the air hot and humid and thick with sweat and booze, and the crush of bodies is stifling.

It’s an environment that would’ve enticed you before the war, but now, all it does is make you want to retreat to the safety and silence of your quarters. You've had more than your share of nights out, but they were nothing like this. They were quieter. Less crowded. More civilized.

"Wow," Dash mutters, his tone awed. "This is amazing."

His eyes are wide, and the expression on his face is the very definition of wonder. You can't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm, and you reach out, giving his arm a light squeeze.

"Stay close," you tell him. "And watch your drink."

"I'm not a kid," he grumbles, and you arch a brow.

"No, but I'm your superior officer, and if something happens, I'll have to answer for it. Got it?"

He gives a sullen nod, and the troopers around you chuckle. Booker turns around and flashes you a smile, his arm slung over Snap's shoulder.

"What about us, General?"

You roll your eyes, and a chorus of 'General' goes up, the men all looking at you expectantly.

"I don't think I can stress enough the fact that I am not a babysitter," you reply dryly. "Or a mother. Or any sort of authority figure. Don’t get arrested, and don’t embarrass me.”

There's a loud chorus of cheers, and several of the clones give Booker a congratulatory pat on the back, clearly taking the statement as permission to do whatever they want. You let out a small sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that this is your life now. You're going to end up in some sort of trouble tonight, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

The men are already moving towards the bar, and you follow, keeping a close eye on them while scanning the crowd and searching for Rex and his squad. The crowd is a sea of blue and orange and white, and you spot several familiar faces, but not the ones you're looking for.

It's not long before the group is broken up, leaving only you and Wise standing together. He's silent, his posture rigid and his jaw set. His hands are clasped behind his back, and the look of open disdain on his face is almost comical.

You give him a sympathetic smile and lean closer. "Not your scene?"

Wise shakes his head, his nose wrinkling as he surveys the room.

"No, sir," he grunts. He takes a step closer and puts a hand on your shoulder, leaning down. "If you need me, I'll be over here. Alone."

"Alright," you chuckle. "But don't disappear. This is supposed to be a team-building exercise."

"You’re funny," he says dryly. He pats your arm shoves his way into the sea of people, and you let out a sigh, the smile slipping from your lips.

It's going to be a long night.

You're contemplating following him to the wall and trying to avoid being hit by the gyrating bodies, but just as you're about to turn, a hand appears on your shoulder.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” a voice drawls behind you. “Haven’t seen you around here before. You—“

You smack the offender's away in a flash, and you turn and put your hands on your hips.

Fives immediately freezes, his eyes widening in horror. His gaze darts between the hand that's still hovering in the air and the furious expression on your face, and he swallows hard, the color draining from his cheeks.

"Sorry, sir," he stammers. He clears his throat, his gaze darting between you and his boots. "I didn't think...that is, I didn't expect—"

"Yeah, I know what you thought," you cut him off. You let out a heavy sigh and rub the bridge of your nose. "You can't treat every woman here like she's a potential hookup, Fives. Not unless you want to get thrown out on your ass."

"Yes, sir," he replies, his voice contrite. "I'll remember that. Sir."

"And don't call them 'gorgeous,'" you groan. "It's creepy."

"Yes, sir," he mumbles. He takes a step back, his cheeks flushed, and he gives you a pleading look. "I'm really sorry. It won't happen again."

"It better not."

You narrow your eyes, and Fives winces. You stare at him for a long moment, letting him sweat a little, before nodding, satisfied that he's learned his lesson. He exhales loudly, and a grin spreads across his face, his embarrassment replaced by the usual mischief.

"In my defense though, you do look gorgeous tonight," he quips. "Sir."

You snort and shake your head, trying to hide the smile that's threatening to spread across your face.

"Thanks," you reply wryly. "But, still. No."

"Understood," he nods. He clears his throat and gestures over his shoulder. "There's a table over there. With some of the guys. If you're interested."

You hesitate, glancing at the crowded dance floor and the sea of people around you. The last thing you want is to stand here and wait for Booker and the others to return. Or worse, get dragged onto the dance floor.

"Sure," you nod. "That sounds great."

"Right this way, sir," Fives replies, his tone formal. He makes a sweeping motion with his hand, and the two of you weave through the throngs, dodging elbows and swaying hips. When you reach the booth, Echo and Kix are already there, deep in conversation with Jesse and Hardcase.

“Look who I found!” Fives announces as the two of you approach.

The clones glance up at his shout, and their expressions change from confusion to shock in an instant.

Hardcase nearly spits out his drink, and Jesse's mouth drops open, his eyes wide and startled. Only Kix keeps his cool, offering a polite nod, and Echo does his best to conceal his surprise, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrays his true feelings.

"Nice to see you, General," he greets with a warm smile, and you return it.

"You too, Echo."

"What are you wearing?" Jesse demands, and Hardcase gives a loud cough, covering his mouth and looking away. He gestures at your clothing, his brow creasing. "Sir."

You look down at your attire and shrug a shoulder. Your robes and tunics have been replaced with a a cropped white shirt, a jacket, and a pair of leather pants. It’s far from the most scandalous thing you could have worn, but it does show off more skin than you normally would. And you're well aware that the effect is heightened by the fact that you've actually put effort into your appearance.

"I'm undercover," you explain. You cross your arms over your chest, the motion drawing more attention to the low neckline of the shirt, and they all glance away, their gazes darting in opposite directions.

"Underdressed is more like it," Hardcase mutters. Kix smacks the back of his head, and Hardcase lets out a quiet grunt and rubs his temple, his eyes watering slightly. "What was that for?"

"Be respectful," Kix hisses. "She's a general."

"Well, she's also—"

"Careful," Fives warns. His eyes dart to yours before quickly looking away. The five men shift uncomfortably, and you can't help the small smirk that forms on your face.

"Why are you here?" Jesse asks after a moment of awkward silence, his voice strained.

"I was invited," you tell him. You tilt your head and give him a pointed look. "To have fun. Let loose. Blow off steam. All that."

His eyes narrow. "By who?"

"Booker."

A chorus of groans and sighs echoes around the table, and Jesse rolls his eyes and lets out a soft scoff. He gives you a sidelong glance, and he shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "Of course he did."

"That's great, sir," Fives interrupts with forced enthusiasm. He looks at the others. "Isn't that great? The General wants to blow off steam. Just like us. Isn't this fun?"

"Fun," Hardcase echoes weakly. His eyes meet yours, and he forces a smile. "Yes, sir. So much fun."

You grimace. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should've just stayed home and meditated or done some training or...anything else. Anything. But you're here now, and the last thing you want is to make things even more awkward for these poor men.

"I'm not going to bite. Or report you. Promise," you assure them, and their shoulders relax slightly. "But if you're uncomfortable, I can leave."

"No," Kix replies quickly. The others nod vigorously, and he gives you an apologetic look. "Sorry, sir. We're happy to have you. We just...didn't expect to see you here. That's all."

"I can understand that," you agree. You glance around the club, taking in the sea of faces and bodies, the crush of people making the space feel smaller and hotter than before. "I didn't think I'd come either."

"Can we get you anything?" Fives asks as you slide into the open space next to Echo.

"A drink would be great," you reply, and he jumps up, the movement so sudden and quick that you have to fight the urge to laugh.

"On it, sir."

Fives hurries away, and the tension in your shoulders eases as the rest of the group turns back to their conversation. You let out a soft breath and settle into the cushions, resting your chin on your hand as you look around the club.

It's busy tonight, the crowds a mix of civilians and soldiers, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. It's not exactly what you'd call an ideal environment, but there's something about the atmosphere that makes it feel...normal.

Like nothing else matters. Like the war isn't even happening.

A smile lifts the corner of your mouth, and when Echo catches sight of the amusement on your face, his own expression softens. He nudges your arm and leans forward, his voice low enough that the others won't hear.

"Don't take it personally," he murmurs. "We've just never seen you dressed like this before. It's a bit..."

"Inappropriate?" you suggest. "Unprofessional?"

"Surprising," he corrects with a slight shake of his head. He checks that the others aren't listening before continuing, "You're a good-looking woman. The guys just aren't used to seeing you like this. Give them some time to adjust."

You arch a brow and give him a skeptical look, and he shrugs and sits back, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lifts his glass to his lips.

“Yeah, I get it,” you sigh. You run a hand through your hair and shake your head. "Rex reacted the same way the first time he saw me without the robes."

Echo's eyes widen behind his glass, and he sputters, shooting forward and slamming his glass onto the table. You jerk in surprise as the other men start, and he gives a violent cough, his face turning a bright shade of red.

"What's wrong?" Kix asks, reaching around Hardcase to clap him on the back. "Too strong for you?"

"No," Echo wheezes. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat, his eyes watering as he struggles to regain his composure. After a moment, his breathing evens out, and he wipes a hand over his mouth. "So the Captain's seen you out of uniform, huh?"

"He what?" Jesse blurts out, his head whipping around, and you groan and press a hand against your forehead.

"Not like that," you explain hurriedly. When Jesse's wide-eyed expression doesn't change, you throw your hands up. "I meant, like, in regular clothes. Off-duty. Casual. You know. Not Jedi robes."

"Right," Echo nods.

"Makes sense," Kix agrees.

"Good," Hardcase says firmly. "Glad we cleared that up."

They exchange a glance, Jesse raising his eyebrows, and Kix bites his lip and gives a slight shake of his head. Hardcase glances at you before his eyes move to Echo, who's recovered from his coughing fit, and the look he gives in return makes it clear that the four of them have come to some unspoken agreement. Whatever it is, it doesn't bode well for you, and an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

This was a bad idea.

Jesse leans forward and gives you a knowing smile, resting his chin on his hand. The knot in your stomach twists higher.

"What?" you ask warily.

"We know," he says smugly. Hardcase nods, and the two men's expressions turn decidedly smug. Your brow furrows as he leans in closer. "We know."

"Know what?" you press. Hardcase's smirk grows wider, and the uneasy feeling in your gut increases. You have no idea what he's talking about, but the smugness is a sign that he thinks he has the upper hand. And that's never a good thing.

"That you and the Captain are—"

"Fives is back," Kix interrupts loudly. He shoots the others a pointed look, and the men glance up, the teasing grins on their faces faltering as Fives reappears, his arms laden with drinks.

He takes one look at your face and comes to an abrupt stop. The drinks wobble, the liquid sloshing dangerously, and he glances between the other clones and you, his brow furrowed.

"Uh...what's going on?"

"Nothing," Kix says, but his attempt to diffuse the situation is drowned out by the sound of Hardcase's voice as he leans over, pushing the empty glasses aside and reaching for the new arrivals.

"General Anathorn and the Captain are a couple," he announces gleefully, his hand closing around the nearest glass and pulling it towards him. "That's what's going on."

Kix groans, burying his face in his hands as Echo's head slumps to the table with a thud. Jesse grins and holds up his hands, and Hardcase gives a triumphant cackle and begins passing the drinks around the table.

Fives freezes, his eyes wide.

"What?" he breathes. "Really?"

"No!" you exclaim, and the sound is loud enough to catch the attention of the people around you. You shoot the men a dirty look, and several of them avert their eyes, doing their best to appear as if they haven't been listening. "Absolutely not. We're not."

"You're not?" Hardcase asks, the question half-whispered, and the look you give him is so venomous, he visibly flinches.

"We are not," you confirm, enunciating each word clearly.

"Oh," Fives says as his face falls. He sighs and shakes his head, setting his beer on the table and pulling up a chair. "Damn. Here I was, hoping he’d finally gotten his shit together."

"We all were," Echo adds glumly. He takes a sip of his drink, and his eyes move to you, the slightest hint of sympathy in his gaze. "But I guess not."

Your face scrunches up in confusion, and you tilt your head. They're joking. They have to be. It's just another joke. Another way to tease Rex. And the fact that you're here has given them an opportunity to get under your skin too.

But there's something in their tone, a seriousness that you haven't heard before, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up

You look around the group, and the men stare back at you, their expressions solemn. Your mouth goes dry. It's almost like they believe it. Like they truly believe that you and Rex are a couple. Like they've talked about it before. Like they've been expecting it. Hoping for it.

Your mind races, the wheels turning furiously, trying to understand why they'd even say such a thing. As far as you can remember, the two of you had been careful. You'd made sure not to cross any lines around the men or act in a way that would cause rumors to spread. And while in private, things had gotten a bit...complicated, there was nothing about your behavior that would indicate you were involved. Nothing. So why do the clones think otherwise?

Unless...

No. That's not possible. You're overthinking this.

You've misheard. Misunderstood. There's a logical explanation. There has to be. There always is. You'll have a laugh, and you'll get your answers, and the men will be back to teasing Rex about his lack of a love life. And it'll be fine.

You can feel their eyes on you, waiting for you to respond, and your cheeks burn.

"You're kidding," you say. You force a laugh, but their expressions remain serious, their mouths set in straight lines. You shake your head and scoff. "Rex and I are just friends. There's nothing going on. We've never—"

You cut yourself off, the words getting stuck in your throat, and Jesse's brow creases. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. His expression is thoughtful, and his gaze moves to the drink in front of him, studying it for a moment.

"So, there's nothing going on between the two of you?" he asks quietly.

"Nothing," you confirm. "There never has been."

Jesse's mouth forms a hard line, and his jaw clenches, his fingers drumming against the tabletop. He nods slowly, as if coming to some sort of internal decision.

The knot in your stomach makes its way to your chest as he looks up, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes are steady and intense, and there's a weight behind them, a solemnity that you've never seen before. It's unnerving. And more than a little scary.

You swallow hard, the air thick, and his mouth opens.

"That's too bad," he says softly. "Because he loves you."

You blink.

The words are soft, but they cut through the noise like a blaster shot, and your blood runs cold. You sit up straight, your back stiff. The pounding of your heart is deafening, and you feel like you're about to pass out. Your ears are ringing, and you're not even sure you've heard him correctly. It's like the words have been spoken in another language. One you don't understand. But at the same time, the meaning is perfectly, excruciatingly, crystal-clear.

There's a long, terrible pause. And Jesse's face is blank. Emotionless. The others are frozen, staring at him with shock and disbelief. The silence stretches out, a heavy, oppressive thing, hanging over the group. Your chest aches, and you're certain your heart has stopped beating. This can't be real. This is just a joke. It has to be. Right?

“He doesn’t,” you whisper.

Jesse's lips part, and his shoulders lift in a small shrug, the motion casual and easy. The reaction is so at odds with the emotions roiling inside you that you can barely comprehend it. It's like he doesn't even care. Like this is all just a game to him. Like he's not dropping a bomb on your entire world.

"Sure he does," Jesse replies. He picks up his glass and brings it to his lips. "He's in love with you."

You shake your head, and you're dimly aware of the burning in your eyes.

"No, he's not," you insist.

"Yeah," Hardcase chimes in. "He is."

"He has to be," Fives adds, his voice gentle. "It's the only explanation."

"For what?" you demand, the words coming out hoarse. "For what?"

"For the way he looks at you," Kix says. "The way he acts around you."

"And the way he's always trying to save you," Echo continues. He takes a deep breath and leans forward, his eyes pleading. "He's always so worried about you, sir. We've all noticed. He's constantly checking up on you, looking out for you. Making sure you're safe."

You shake your head again, your chest aching.

"It's because we're friends," you argue weakly. "That's what friends do. It doesn't mean anything."

"Except he does it with you," Fives replies. "Constantly."

"Always," Jesse agrees.

"He cares about you," Kix says. "A lot."

"Like, a lot, a lot," Hardcase adds. He leans closer, his eyes meeting yours, and he gives you a small, encouraging smile. "It's okay, sir. You don't have to say it. We get it."

Your gaze darts around the group, searching for any hint of deception. For any sign that they're joking. Or messing with you. But all you see is an array of faces, each filled with pity. And sympathy.

You look down, focusing on your hands, and you take a deep, shaky breath. Your head is spinning, and the your eyes are still burning, but the feeling in your chest has shifted from pain to hope. There's a small flicker of joy, the first spark of a flame, and it's so bright, so overwhelming, that it's impossible not to cling to. The words are like a balm, soothing and healing, and you want nothing more than to bask in the warmth and the light and let it fill the dark, empty spaces inside.

"I'm sorry," Fives says quietly. "We didn't mean to upset you. We thought you knew."

"It's okay," you mumble. You dab at your eyes and let out a wet laugh, and you raise your head, meeting his concerned gaze. "Thank you. For telling me. It's..." You trail off, unable to find the words, and Fives nods in understanding.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine," you say, and the words sound hollow, even to you. "I'm glad you told me. Now, I can..."

The rest of the sentence dies on your tongue. You have no idea what you're supposed to do now. How can you go back to the way things were? How can you pretend like you don't know how Rex feels? Like the idea of him loving you doesn't fill you with the most intense, euphoric joy? You can't. But you also can't risk losing him.

Not now. Not ever.

You take a deep breath, and the flicker of joy turns cold, the flame snuffed out by the harsh reality. If he's really in love with you, there's no way this can end well. Not with the war, not with the Order.

It's just not possible, and that's the hard truth of the matter. No matter how many times the two of you have danced around the subject, the fact remains that, in the end, it's all just a fantasy. Something that will never come to pass. It's not meant to be, and nothing will change that. It's not fair, and it's not right, but it's the way things are. It's the reality, and no matter how much you or him might wish otherwise, it will always be there.

Your gaze moves over the faces around the table, and you try to find the words, to express the mix of emotions that are churning inside you. But, just as before, there's nothing. And so, instead, you sit there, your eyes moving from man to man, and they look back at you, their expressions ranging from sympathetic to resigned.

"What's going on?"

You blink, and a familiar face comes into view, blocking out the others.

Booker stands next to the booth, his hands on his hips and a look of confusion on his face. He stares at the men, and they shift uncomfortably, their eyes moving from him to you, and back again.

"You okay?" he asks, his brow creasing. He glances at the half-empty glasses and bottles and gives a small shake of his head, his mouth twisting into a wry smirk. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens."

His gaze moves to you, and he freezes, his expression shifting from smugness to concern. He takes a step forward, the teasing glint vanishing.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "What happened?"

"Nothing," you say quickly. "I'm fine."

He frowns and glances around the table, his eyes narrowing as he studies the others. The men avert their gazes, and Booker's frown deepens. He leans down, placing a hand on the table and bending towards you.

"How many drinks has she had?" he demands.

"She hasn't had any," Kix tells him. He clears his throat, his tone defensive. "She was just talking to us. Having a good time. Like you told her to."

Booker's scowl grows darker. "Well, it doesn't look like it."

Kix's mouth snaps shut, and his eyes widen. A chorus of angry retorts and denials rise up, and they all begin speaking at once, their voices blending together into an incoherent mess. It's loud and chaotic, and the other people in the bar are starting to turn, curious to see what's causing the commotion.

"What the hell are you implying, vod?" Jesse demands, and he pushes himself to his feet, his jaw set and his fists clenched. Booker immediately straightens, his eyes flashing. You wince, and Kix grabs Jesse's arm, yanking him back down.

"Not now," he hisses.

"Yeah, listen to him," Booker sneers. "Before I—"

"Booker," you snap, and the commander goes rigid. He swallows hard, the color draining from his cheeks.

"Sir," he replies, his tone contrite. You give him a long, hard look, and his shoulders sag, the fight leaving him. "Sorry, sir."

You gesture at the empty space beside you, and after a moment, he moves around the table and settles onto the bench. His eyes flicker towards Jesse, and he holds his hands up in a placating gesture, but Jesse merely glares back, his jaw clenched. The silence that settles over the group is heavy, and it's only broken by the sound of Echo's voice.

"So," he drawls, "anyone here know how to play Sabacc?"

A wave of relief washes over the group, and several nods follow, accompanied by murmured assent.

"Good," Echo replies, and he looks at you. "Care to join, General? We could use another player."

"Sure," you nod, grateful for the change in subject. "It's been a while, but I'm not half bad."

Booker snorts, and you nudge his side, a smirk lifting the corner of your mouth. His own lips twitch, and he leans back, the movement bringing him closer to you.

"Don't let her hustle you, boys," he warns. "She's a shark.”

"Don't listen to him," you chime in, and the men chuckle. You reach for the drink that Fives had brought earlier and bring it to your lips, the glass cool against your skin. "He's just a sore loser."

Hardcase's eyes light up, and he leans forward, a smirk spreading across his face.

"You're good?" he asks, his tone hopeful. "Like, really good?"

You shrug, feigning modesty, and his grin widens.

"Prove it," he challenges, and a chorus of agreements echoes around the table.

"Yeah," Kix says. "Come on. Show us what you've got."

Your eyes meet Booker's, and the mischievous grin on his face mirrors your own. You arch a brow, and he gives a small nod, the smile spreading further.

"Alright," you say, before you lift the glass to your lips, taking a long sip. The liquid burns the back of your throat, and you grimace, setting it down. "Deal me in."

Hardcase lets out a triumphant whoop. "Now we're talking!"

Four rounds and four drinks later, the mood has shifted, the tense atmosphere giving way to one of levity. The Sabacc game is in full swing, and the conversation flows freely, the drinks and the laughter and the banter making the night feel less awkward.

After a while, more of your men and a few members of the 501st appear and join the group. You’re squished in the booth, surrounded by a dozen clones, and even though the club is loud and crowded and you can barely move, you find yourself enjoying the company and the chaos. It feels nice, sitting here with the men. Normal.

As normal as it can be, given the circumstances.

At some point, Booker slides an arm around your shoulder, the two of you pressed closer together, and he tilts his head, his voice low enough that the others won't hear.

"You having fun?"

"Surprisingly," you reply, and he grins and gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“Told you,” he murmurs, his voice filled with pride.

You roll your eyes and elbow his ribs. "Don't get too cocky. This doesn't mean you were right. It just means I'm being a good commanding officer."

"Sure," he scoffs. He tilts his glass towards you, the liquid sloshing precariously. "Cheers to that."

You clink glasses, and the two of you take a long sip. The alcohol burns the back of your throat, and you cough and grimace, shaking your head. The taste is terrible, the smell even worse, but you've long since stopped caring. It's helping, and that's all that matters.

"Hey," Booker says suddenly. He jerks a thumb towards the bar. "Isn't that the Captain?"

You perk up and turn, searching the crowd. It's hard to make out individual faces, and the music and the lights and the throngs of people are a confusing, dizzying blur, but eventually, you spot him.

Rex is standing by the bar, his arms crossed and his posture tense. He's talking to Cody, the two of them engaged in a serious conversation, and as you watch, he shakes his head and turns, his gaze scanning the crowd for something.

The moment he catches sight of you, his entire demeanor changes. His eyes widen, and his lips part. You watch as his gaze roams over you, a look of surprise and shock on his face, and his brow furrows, his mouth opening and closing. He doesn't seem to be able to tear his eyes away, and a thrill of pleasure runs through you, the feeling only intensified by the alcohol coursing through your system.

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment, and Cody follows Rex's gaze, a confused expression crossing his features as he spots you. He shakes his head and mutters something, and Rex gives him a quick glare before his gaze moves back to you.

He tilts his chin toward the door, the gesture barely noticeable, and without thinking, you nod. He gives you one last look before downing the rest of his drink and starting towards the hall leading toward the back alley.

You wait for Rex to disappear into the crowd before standing, the motion drawing a few curious glances from the others. You clear your throat and give them a reassuring smile.

“I'm gonna get some air," you tell the group. Booker frowns and starts to follow you, but you put a hand on his shoulder and push him back down. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"If you're sure," he says slowly, and when you nod, he lets out a quiet huff and sits back. "Okay. Just shout if you need me."

"Will do," you promise. You make your way across the club, the crowd parting before you, and it’s a relief when you duck into the hall. There are a few people milling around, but it’s far quieter here than the main area of the club, and you can hear yourself think again.

The back hallway is a maze of rooms and alcoves and side halls, the space designed to provide the patrons a place to go for a bit of privacy. Most of the doors are closed, though a few are open, the sounds of conversation and laughter and the occasional moan spilling into the hall.

You ignore them and continue on, turning the corner and passing a group of clones who are clearly too drunk to realize who you are. One of them wolf whistles and calls a compliment, the words slurred and crude, and you roll your eyes and keep walking. You pass a few more troopers, and then, just as you're about to reach the exit, a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist.

You turn, expecting Rex, and instead find a stranger. One of the clones from the group earlier. His pupils are blown, his expression laced with a mixture of lust and booze, and his fingers tighten around your wrist as he leans towards you.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing back here?" he slurs. "Looking for a good time?"

"No," you say. You tug on your arm, but his grip only grows tighter, his fingers digging into your skin. "Let go."

"Aw, c'mon," he croons, taking a step closer. "Why don't you come with me? Let's have a bit of fun."

"No," you say again, and this time, you’re able to free yourself. You take a step back and cross your arms over your chest, giving him a firm look. "Not interested. I’d recommend that you forget about the idea, trooper."

"Don't be like that," he coaxes. He reaches for your hand, and you jerk away. "Don't be rude."

He takes another step forward, and you shift, the wall pressing against your back. You take a deep breath and force yourself to remain calm. You can handle this. You've dealt with worse. Much worse. This isn't anything you can't handle.

The clone leans in, and the scent of alcohol and sweat and whatever cologne he's wearing is so strong, you almost gag. Your hands curl into fists, and you can feel the Force building inside you, the energy crackling through your veins. But before you can do anything, a firm hand lands on his shoulder.

"Is there a problem here?"

The clone whips around, his face twisting into a scowl. But the moment his eyes land on Rex, his expression falters, and he swallows hard.

"Captain," he manages, the word coming out slightly strangled. Rex arches an eyebrow and looks at you. You shake your head, and his attention returns to the other clone, the look on his face making it abundantly apparent that he's not amused.

"You should leave," Rex says flatly. "Now."

The clone glances at you, the look on his face uncertain. Then, his expression clears, and he smirks.

"It's alright," he says, though his voice has lost some of its bravado. "We were just having a bit of fun. She was asking for it."

Rex's nostrils flare, and his expression darkens. It's a look that would've sent a chill down your spine if it were directed at you. You've never seen Rex this angry before, never seen him so livid. His entire body is rigid, and the anger rolling off of him is so strong, you can practically taste it.

"Careful, vod," he says quietly, the words dangerously soft. "That's no way to talk to a General."

"General?"

The clone shifts, his eyes darting from you to Rex and back again. He blinks, his brow furrowing, and the realization dawns on him a moment later.

"Wait a minute," he mutters, the words half-slurred. He takes a step forward, and Rex immediately moves in front of you, blocking his path. "I knew you looked familiar."

"Leave. Now."

"But—"

"Before I make you," Rex threatens, and the clone hesitates, his eyes flickering between the two of you. You glare back at him, and the clone shrinks under the weight of the stare. He wets his lips and gives a jerky nod.

"Fine. I was tired of her, anyway," he mutters, turning away. He glances over his shoulder and sneers. "Kenobi should keep his Jedi on a shorter leash. Not my fault she’s dressed like a whore."

You inhale sharply, and Rex surges forward. His fist connects with the clone's face before the man can react, the blow landing with a force that sends him stumbling back. Rex follows him, grabbing the front of his armor and slamming him against the wall.

The clone yelps, the sound muffled by the hand covering his mouth, and he tries to squirm out of Rex's grasp, but Rex holds him in place, the strength and power behind the grip leaving no doubt as to who would win in a fight.

"Apologize," Rex orders. When the clone doesn't immediately comply, he raises his fist again, his knuckles bruised and bloody. "Now."

"I'm sorry," the clone manages, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. Please."

"Not to me," Rex snarls, and the clone's eyes widen. He twists in Rex's grip and glances over his shoulder, the expression on his face filled with panic. You shake your head and cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow and staring him down.

"I'm sorry," the clone wheezes, his breath ragged and desperate. "Please, General. I'm sorry."

"Better," Rex says coldly. He releases the clone and takes a step back, his shoulders squared and his fists clenched. "If I ever hear about you harassing any woman like this, you won't have to worry about the war anymore. Understand?"

The clone nods frantically, and Rex stares at him for a long moment before nodding.

"Get out of here," he snaps, and the clone scrambles past the two of you, his gaze focused on the floor. Rex watches him go, and once the two of you are alone, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

You watch him, waiting, and it's not until he opens his eyes that you speak.

"Rex, are you—"

"Are you alright?" he interrupts. His voice is tense, and his jaw is clenched, the muscle twitching. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," you assure him. He exhales heavily and presses a hand to his forehead, the relief in his expression enough to make your heart clench. "I'm fine."

"Good," he breathes.

He closes his eyes again and leans his head against the wall, his breathing slow and measured. You stand next to him, giving him the space and time to compose himself. After a few minutes, he lets out a ragged sigh.

"Are you okay?" you ask quietly.

"Yeah," he says. "I will be. It's...it's been a rough night."

"It's been a rough year," you murmur, and he lets out a soft huff, his lips curling into a smile. "You shouldn't have done that."

Rex looks down, his gaze focusing on the bruises forming on your wrist. He reaches for your arm, and you let him take it, the gentle brush of his thumb over your skin sending a shiver through you.

“You can’t go around punching people just because they look at me wrong," you tell him, and his gaze flickers up.

"I know," he mutters with a grimace, pulling away to wipe the blood off his knuckles. “But he insulted you. He called you a...well, I'm not going to repeat what he said. I'm not going to sit back and let someone disrespect you like that. Especially not a brother."

"He was drunk," you say, and he scoffs, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

"Doesn't matter," he says. He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. "Look, if someone treats you the way he did, then I'm gonna have a problem. You deserve better than that."

"Rex," you protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

"You do," he says firmly.

He's staring at you, his expression so intense and earnest and full of emotion that it makes your heart ache. It's nice, the knowledge that he'll stand up for you, the fierce protectiveness a welcome change from the indifference and neglect of the past.

But his reaction also serves as a reminder that his feelings run deeper than friendship, and the memory of what Jesse had said resurfaces.

Rex loves you.

You swallow hard and look away, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. You can't think about that right now, not after everything that's happened tonight. It's not fair. Not to him. Not to either of you. Not while you're both drunk and vulnerable and raw.

You step away, putting a bit of distance between the two of you.

“There you are," a familiar voice interrupts. Booker comes around the corner, his gaze flitting between you. “Did you see one of Keeli’s boys come through here with his tail between his legs? He didn’t bother you, did he? Because I can...oh."

He comes to a stop in front of Rex, his mouth dropping open as he takes in the bloodied knuckles, the look of annoyance on the Captain’s face, and the tension in the air.

"He did bother you," he says flatly. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," you reply. "It was nothing. Rex took care of it."

"Rex took care of it," he echoes, and you nod, crossing your arms over your chest. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his hands curling into fists. "Alright. Alright. That's fine. Good. Fine. So where is he?"

"Booker," you start, but the clone is already looking at Rex, his eyes hard.

"No, it's fine," he says. His voice is light, but the expression on his face is anything but. "Really. Where is he?”

“You’re not going anywhere, and that’s an order,” you tell him, and when he opens his mouth to argue, you give him a hard look. His eyes flicker from you to Rex, his shoulders tensing, and after a moment, he lets out a heavy sigh and gives a stiff nod.

"Yes, sir."

"And you are bleeding," you snap, turning to Rex. You grab his wrist, tugging him closer, and inspect his knuckles. They're a mess, the skin torn and bloodied, and he winces, his fingers curling. "Let's get this taken care of, and then we'll call it a night, okay?"

"I'll be fine," he says dismissively.

"You can't go back to your men looking like that," you argue. "They'll ask questions, and—"

"I said I'll be fine," he cuts you off. When he sees the irritation on your face, he lets out a heavy sigh and gives you a pleading look. "Look, it's nothing. It's fine. Really. I'll take care of it when I get back.”

You scoff, but he holds your gaze, the stubborn set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes making it abundantly apparent that he's not backing down. Unfortunately for him, you're far more stubborn than he is. And you have no intention of letting him win this fight.

You turn and pull him towards the restroom, the motion making him stumble slightly. He grunts and tries to pull away, but you hold fast, tightening your grip and not looking back.

“Shut up and walk,” you mutter, and Rex sighs but allows himself to be led, his wrist still clutched in your hand.

"Wait, wait," Booker calls, hurrying after you.

He catches up just as the two of you reach the women’s room. There’s a line of a half-dozen women outside, but you ignore them, catching the door just as a Twi’Lek leaves and shoving Rex inside. Booker tries to follow, but when the women outside the restroom protest, he gives them a sheepish look and takes a step back, his hands raising in surrender.

"I'll, uh...I'll just stay out here," he calls after you as you close the door, cutting off his protests.

You lock the door and turn back to Rex, whose gaze is roaming around the room, his expression somewhere between shock and bewilderment. You roll your eyes and grab his arm, tugging him over to the sink.

"Stop gawking and put your hand under the water," you tell him, and the command snaps him out of his stupor. He turns the faucet on and puts his hand under the spray, hissing quietly. You lean closer, inspecting the wounds. "How does it feel?"

"Not bad," he says. His eyes lock with yours in the mirror, and a hint of a teasing smile appears. “You should see the other guy.”

"It's not funny, Rex," you snap. "You shouldn't have done that."

"I disagree," he replies. He flexes his fingers, and after a moment, he pulls his hand from the stream. He leans against the counter and lets out a heavy breath, the humor fading as he studies his knuckles. "That brother is lucky all I did was punch him. If he'd tried to hurt you..."

His voice trails off, and his expression darkens, the threat hanging unspoken between the two of you. You swallow hard and pull away, reaching for the paper towel dispenser. You rip off a piece and turn back to Rex, and when he sees you approaching, the frown on his face deepens.

"Stop," he mutters. "Don't bother."

"Hush," you say. You move closer, pressing the towel against his knuckles, and his brow furrows. "Hold still.”

He obliges, watching you clean the wounds, and it's not until you toss the used paper towel away that he speaks again.

"You don't need to do this," he says quietly. "You should be back at the table with the others. Enjoying yourself. Not wasting your time with me."

"It's not a waste of time," you murmur. You tear off a fresh piece of paper towel and dampen it, your gaze focused on the task. "And I'm not leaving you alone until this is cleaned up."

He chuckles, and the soft noise makes you look up. The smile on his face is warm and affectionate, the fondness in his eyes almost enough to make you stop. Almost. But you force yourself to remain calm, to keep your emotions under control, and you focus on cleaning the last of the blood off his knuckles.

It's a task that would be far easier if your hand wasn't shaking, if your stomach wasn't twisting into knots, if you weren't acutely aware of how close the two of you were. It's a task that would be far easier if everything wasn't shifting, changing. It would be easier if you weren't afraid.

"Look, I'm not going to scold you. I know it's important to you, the respect thing," you mutter. You press the towel a bit harder against his skin, and he sucks in a sharp breath, his gaze flicking up to yours. "But it's not your responsibility. I'm not your responsibility."

"You are," he says, and the response is so quick and sure and certain, it makes your heart skip a beat. "You are. Always. And I know I can't always be there. But I'm always going to try. You can't stop me from doing that."

"I know," you admit with a sigh. You throw the paper towel in the trash and turn to wash your hands, giving yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The silence is broken by the water running, the quiet splashing a welcome distraction.

When you finish and turn back, Rex is watching you.

“When are we going to stop having this argument?” he asks quietly.

"When you start listening to me," you retort.

His brow furrows, and his lips curl into a pout. It's a look that's meant to appear annoyed, but the effect is ruined by the warmth in his eyes.

"I'm always listening," he tells you. "Even if I don't agree."

You give a wry smile, the corner of your mouth lifting.

"Yeah," you mutter, "that's the problem."

You tilt his hand, examining the wound. It's not too bad, but the skin is raw, the bruises already starting to form. You press your fingers against the area, and he flinches, the motion making you frown.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," he replies, a little too quickly. When you look up, the sheepish expression on his face makes it abundantly apparent that he's lying. "A bit."

You shake your head and close your eyes, your free hand hovering over his knuckles. You take a deep breath, but before you can begin, his hand moves, his fingers wrapping around your wrist.

"Don't," he murmurs, and you look at him. His gaze is steady and intent, and his touch is light, his thumb brushing across your skin. "Don't. Please. It's fine."

"Rex," you say, and he shakes his head.

"No," he says. He shifts away, pulling his hand out of your grasp. "You're exhausted, and the last thing you need to be doing is healing anyone. Especially not me."

"Rex."

"You're not doing it," he insists, his voice firm.

"I don't care," you reply, and his frown deepens.

"Don't be reckless."

"Me?" you repeat, the question more of a demand than a query. You cross your arms over your chest, and his gaze drops, his attention drawn by the movement. You let him stare for a moment before clearing your throat, and his head snaps up, his cheeks tinged pink.

"Don't be stubborn," he counters, and you roll your eyes.

"Pot. Kettle."

He huffs, the breath leaving his lungs in a quiet hiss, and the annoyance on his face is so familiar and so endearing, it's hard not to smile.

"You are the most infuriating person I've ever met," he mutters. "Do you know that? Sometimes, I swear it's like you're trying to drive me crazy."

"Likewise," you retort. He snorts, his mouth twisting into a smirk, and his eyes drop to the floor. When they return to yours, the heat has faded, replaced by a gentle affection.

"We make quite the pair, don't we?" he murmurs.

The words hit you hard, the meaning behind them even more so. You inhale sharply, and his gaze drops to your mouth, lingering long and slow. A shiver runs through you, and you're dimly aware of the fact that this is the closest you've been to him in weeks. It's easy to forget why it's dangerous, the way he's looking at you. The way he's always looking at you.

And it's getting harder and harder to pretend. To lie.

To hide.

“Give me your hand,” you tell him quietly, and he obeys without hesitation, holding his hand out to you. You take it in both of yours, running your fingers over the damaged skin. His breath catches, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing, and his eyes are filled with something more than just pain.

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, before closing your eyes.

"Hold still,” you murmur.

“You shouldn’t—“

“Shh, I’m concentrating."

Rex sighs, but he doesn't fight you. Instead, he falls silent, the only sound the music from the club and the murmur of voices, the bass pounding a steady rhythm that vibrates the floor. You open yourself to the Force, feeling it flow through you, and when you're sure that you're connected, you focus on his wounds. It's a simple injury, nothing like the time you patched up his leg. A cut. Some bruising. Easy.

But still, it takes a moment, the pain from his bruised flesh seeping into your bones and leaving you breathless. You're more tired than you thought you were, and the alcohol isn't helping, the dizziness and the exhaustion making the task more difficult.

You can feel the strain in your body, the ache in your muscles, and the heaviness in your limbs. And yet, it's worth it. All of it is worth it, the pain and the discomfort and the exhaustion, because Rex is the one who's hurting, and he doesn't deserve to suffer. He deserves better. He always has.

Finally, the last of the wounds knits itself together, and the connection breaks. Your eyes flutter open to see the skin is whole, the bruises gone, and the only sign that he was ever injured is the few flecks of dried blood still left there.

"See?" you say, your voice coming out more breathlessly than intended. "No big deal."

Your vision blurs, and you blink hard, the world swimming for a moment before coming back into focus. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, and let out a heavy breath.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly. He lays a hand on your back, his fingers pressing lightly against your spine, and the sensation makes your skin prickle. "You shouldn't have done that. It must've hurt."

"It's nothing," you assure him. "It was worth it."

"Worth the pain?" he asks. When you nod against him, he huffs a quiet laugh, his arm curling around you. "Infuriating.”

"Don’t pretend you’re not the same,” you mumble as your eyes drift shut, a small smile spreading across your face. His fingers begin tracing lazy patterns along your spine, and you let out a soft hum and shift closer.

“I’m not the one healing people against their will."

“No, you’re just the one who got in a bar fight," you point out, and he snorts, the movement making your hair sway. "Which was unnecessary. And stupid."

"Yeah, well, you're worth the trouble," he says quietly. He pulls away from you and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "Thank you."

"Anytime.”

You let out a soft yawn, and his hand moves from your hair to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking the curve of your cheekbone. The touch is gentle, and you instinctively lean into it, savoring the warmth of his palm against your skin.

"You look exhausted," he murmurs.

"Thanks," you drawl, and he grins, his head ducking.

"Sorry."

The two of you stand there for a long moment, neither of you moving, neither of you wanting to break the spell. It's easy to pretend, in the silence, that things are different. That the war is over, and the two of you aren't a Jedi and a clone. That the galaxy isn't at war. That there aren't a million reasons why nothing can ever happen between the two of you. It's easy to pretend that this is real, that the feelings are reciprocated, that everything isn't falling apart. It's easy to believe the lie.

And then, a bang echoes through the room, shattering the fragile silence.

"Is everyone alright in there?" Booker calls. Rex’s hand falls away, curling into a fist. "Because this line is getting really long. Also the door's locked. Are you guys alright? Is she alright?"

Rex frowns and lets out a frustrated sigh, his gaze flickering to the ceiling. You can't help the giggle that bubbles up and spills past your lips at his exasperation. The scowl on his face deepens, though the corners of his mouth lift slightly.

"I should've hit him, too," he mutters, and you let out a snort.

"We're fine!" you call out. "We'll be out in a minute."

"Take your time," Booker shouts back. "I'm sure no one else is dying to use the restroom."

You roll your eyes, and Rex lets out another huff, his head dropping forward.

"If he weren't a brother," he grumbles, though the words are lacking the bite. He runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. "Alright. I think we should get out of here. Before he breaks the door down."

"Yeah," you agree, nodding. "We should probably do that."

Neither of you move, though, the reluctance on both of your faces unmistakable. Rex opens his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting. Then a second bang echoes through the restroom, and he sighs, his mouth snapping shut.

He leans back, giving you some space, and crosses his arms over his chest, his expression guarded.

"Okay," he says finally, the word coming out strained. "Let's go."

"Wait."

You reach for him, and he turns to you, the surprise on his face giving way to concern.

"What is it?"

You don't know what prompts the action. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe the loneliness. Or maybe it's the look on his face, the tenderness and the vulnerability and the worry, the mixture of emotions so pure and true that it makes your chest tighten.

Whatever the reason, you don't stop yourself from reaching for him. Your hand rests on his shoulder, your thumb brushing the skin above his collar, and you stretch onto your toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. It's nothing more than a peck, a brief, chaste touch, and yet, the moment your lips meet his skin, he freezes. His entire body goes rigid, the muscles under your fingers going taught, and his breath catches, the small, strangled noise echoing in your ears.

When you pull back, his eyes are wide, his jaw slack, and he blinks, his throat bobbing. The expression on his face is priceless, and if the situation were any different, you would've laughed. But as it is, you just smile and pat his chest.

"Thank you," you tell him quietly. "For looking out for me. I appreciate it."

His mouth opens and closes a few times, but no words come out, his lips moving uselessly. After a moment, he manages a jerky nod, and a faint noise escapes his throat. He takes a shaky breath and tries again.

"Always," he croaks, the words coming out hoarse and rough. He clears his throat and straightens. "I should, um...we should...uh..."

"Go?"

"Yeah," he breathes. He gives a jerky nod. "Yeah. Let's, uh, let's do that. Let's go."

"I'll see you out there," you reply, and before he can respond, you turn and unlock the door.

You step outside and let shut the door behind you, the noise from the club assaulting your senses in full force. Booker is slumped against the wall, his head drooping, his arms crossed over his chest. You nudge him with your foot, and his head snaps up, the movement making him sway.

"Hey," he greets, his voice slurring slightly. He squints at you and frowns. "Everything okay?”

"Perfect," you tell him. You glance over your shoulder to see Rex stepping out into the hall, his gaze focused on the floor. His brow is furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, and he runs a hand over his mouth, the gesture doing little to hide the pink tint in his cheeks. "Everything's fine.”

Booker follows your gaze, and his eyebrows lift.

"I, uh...should I even ask?"

"No," Rex answers flatly. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives Booker a firm look. "And if anyone asks, you never saw us in here."

"My lips are sealed," Booker promises, miming zipping his mouth closed and throwing away the key. He straightens, pushing off the wall and staggering a bit before righting himself. "Though, if I were to say anything, it would be about the lipstick on your cheek, Captain."

Rex's eyes widen, and his hand flies to his face. He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, and his brow furrows as he inspects the smear of color on his skin.

"Oh," he mumbles, his fingers brushing the spot where you kissed him. The look on his face is somewhere between embarrassed and pleased, and his gaze flicks to you, a hint of a smile appearing. "I...um..."

"Don't worry," Booker says with a lazy grin. "Your secret's safe with me.

The words hang in the air, and Rex's expression hardens as a jolt of panic races through you. Booker seems to realize the double meaning, his mouth dropping open.

"Uh, I mean...the, uh, fight. Not that other thing. Not that there's an 'other thing' or anything. Because there's not," he stammers, and Rex gives him a withering look. "I'm, uh...yeah, I'm gonna stop talking now."

"Good," Rex nods.

"Good," you repeat, and you clear your throat and turn, gesturing down the hall. "We should get back. The others are probably wondering where we are."

Booker lets out a sigh and runs a hand over his face, his eyes squeezing shut.

"They'll live," he groans.

You arch an eyebrow at him, and his shoulders droop. The earlier bravado has faded, the fatigue and the alcohol taking their toll, and his face is pale, the circles under his eyes pronounced.

"I'm ready to leave," he mutters, his voice slightly hoarse. "My head's killing me."

"That's because you've had too much to drink," you scold, and he scoffs, giving a weak wave of his hand.

"I have not," he says. At your disbelieving look, he smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck. "Maybe a little. Would it be alright if we went back to the barracks?"

You consider him for a moment, and when he doesn't seem to be joking, you sigh and nod.

"Fine. We'll call it a night," you concede. You turn back to Rex. "Are you coming with us?"

"I'm gonna stay a bit longer," he replies. "See if I can track down Hardcase and the others. Make sure they don't get into any more trouble."

"Oh," you murmur. You feel a slight pang of disappointment, but you force a smile and nod. "Alright. Sounds good. Have fun. I'll see you later, then."

Rex steps forward, reaching out and resting a hand on your arm. His fingers slide down your skin until they find your wrist, and his thumb brushes the soft skin just above your pulse point. The touch is featherlight, and yet the effect sends a shiver through you.

"I'll message you later," he promises, his voice quiet enough for only the two of you to hear. “Let me know when you get back safe, alright?"

"Of course," you tell him, and his face softens. His hand slips from your wrist and down to your hand, and he squeezes gently before releasing you.

"Have a good night, sir," he tells you, his tone shifting back to formal. Without another word, he turns and disappears around the corner, leaving the two of you alone.

You watch him go, the disappointment and the affection inside you mixing until the butterflies in your stomach are almost unbearable.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" Booker asks, and you startle.

"Everything's fine," you assure him, though your voice sounds a little too breathless to be convincing. You shake your head and meet his eyes, trying to keep your face neutral. "Let's go. I think we could both use a good night's sleep."

"Fine with me," he agrees.

The two of you make your way down the hall, and once you've pushed through the crowd and stepped out into the street, the cool night air hits your skin. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, the fresh air chasing away the last of the fogginess in your brain. When you open your eyes and turn to Booker, he's leaning against the side of the building, his head tipped back.

"Are you going to make it?" you ask.

"Mhm," he mumbles. He takes a deep breath and lifts his head, his expression determined. "Yeah. I'm good. Let's get going."

The two of you begin walking towards the barracks, the streets quiet except for the occasional vehicle and the chatter from the bars. Booker's pace is slow, his steps heavy, and you glance over at him, taking in his slumped posture and glassy eyes. He looks tired. Drunk. And you have a feeling that by morning, he'll regret the number of drinks he's had.

You sigh and move closer, and he glances at you.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," you tell him. You loop your arm through his and pull him toward you, the motion making him stumble slightly. His brow furrows, and you smile. "You just look like you need a bit of help."

"Thanks," he grumbles, though his arm tightens around yours. He leans his weight against you, and the two of you continue down the sidewalk, your steps falling in sync.

"So," Booker starts after a while. "What happened back there?"

"Nothing."

"Didn’t look like nothing."

"Drop it, Booker," you tell him, your voice firm. "It's none of your business."

He lets out a heavy sigh, and for a moment, you think he'll listen. Then his arm tightens around yours, and his head drops to the side, his frustration giving way to a pleading look.

”At least tell me if you’re okay," he pleads. "Please."

You consider him for a moment, and the genuine concern in his eyes makes you swallow.

"I'm fine," you murmur. "Honestly."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly. You give him a gentle nudge and offer him a smile that you hope is reassuring. "I'm alright. Really. Why do you ask?"

"Because," he starts, before he sighs and looks down, kicking a stray piece of trash. "Because you've been through a lot lately. And well...you seem upset. And if he did anything, or said anything, or—"

"It's not him," you say quickly. The interruption seems to surprise him, and you take a deep breath and try again, the words slower and more controlled. "It's not Rex. I swear. He'd never hurt me."

You hold his gaze, willing him to see the truth in them, and he finally nods and glances away, his shoulders sagging.

"Then, what is it?" he presses. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up. "I thought...I mean, earlier, at the bar, I thought that we were having a good time. But you looked upset when I came to check on you, and then you disappeared, and Rex looked like he was ready to kill someone, and you two were alone for a long—“

Booker stops abruptly, forcing you to a stop, and the sudden change in momentum causes you to stumble. You're about to complain, but the look on his face makes the words die in your throat.

"You two weren't..." he begins. He lets out a noise that sounds like a cross between a cough and a choke, his hand flying to his mouth. "Oh. Oh, no."

Your stomach drops, and the blood rushes to your face. You try to pull away, but his arm is like a vice, the grip unwavering.

"That's not—"

"I'm so stupid," he mumbles, cutting you off. His gaze is distant, his expression dazed. "Why didn't I see it before? The looks. The touches. The way you two act together. I'm such an idiot."

"We're not—"

"When he came in looking for you in the medbay, and the way you looked at each other. And he brought you that blanket the other day, and after, in the woods…" he continues, the words tumbling out faster and faster. He blinks hard and turns to you, his mouth hanging open. "Wait, wait. Is he the one you've been messaging? And calling?"

You hesitate, the truth caught in your throat. The answer must be written on your face, because his jaw snaps shut, and he takes a step back, releasing his hold on your arm.

"Oh, Maker," he breathes. "You and him? Really?"

"No," you deny immediately, shaking your head. You cross your arms over your chest and take a step forward, lowering your voice. "Nothing's happening. Nothing can happen. We're friends. That's all."

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, the words heavy and sour, and you swallow and shake your head.

"We're just friends," you repeat, the words a little easier this time. "It's nothing. So don't get any ideas, okay?"

His gaze flits over your face, the concern on his expression shifting into something softer.

"Do you want something to happen?" he asks quietly, and you stiffen. "Is that why you've been acting weird?"

You open your mouth, but the words refuse to come, the answer stuck in your throat. You can't force them out, either the truth or the lie, and so you turn and keep walking, leaving him to follow or not.

After a moment, he sighs and catches up with you. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. It isn’t until you’ve walked two blocks in silence that he clears his throat and glances at you.

"I think it's nice."

You blink and turn to him, the surprise making your mouth drop open.

"What?"

"You and Rex," he says with a shrug. "If something did happen, I'd think it's nice. It's better than...than a lot of things. If you two were happy. It'd be good. Really."

"But—"

"Look, if it's a Jedi thing, or a rank thing, or a...whatever thing, I get it," he cuts you off. He gives a sharp shake of his head. "I don't agree, but I get it. And I understand why it's complicated, but..."

He trails off, and you look at him, waiting.

"But what?" you prompt, and his brow furrows as he turns to look at you.

"But just so you know, if you do feel that way about him...well, there are ways around it," he tells you. Booker gives a small shrug, the movement lacking the confidence and arrogance from earlier. Instead, it's a simple gesture, a hint of vulnerability that's rarely seen. "Things we can do to keep it a secret. To protect the two of you."

"We?" you repeat, and he smirks.

"Yeah, 'we'," he confirms. "I could help, if you wanted me to. And I know the rest of the boys wouldn't hesitate, either. Any of them. If you told them, they'd do whatever it took. They'd cover for you, help hide it, whatever. The 501st too. Hell, maybe even the 212th would join in."

"Really?"

"Really," he nods. He turns to you and offers a crooked smile. "I'm not just saying that, either. I'm serious. If you asked us, we'd do it."

"Booker, I..."

You trail off, and he looks at you, waiting. The street around the two of you is empty, the late hour and the cool breeze keeping people indoors. It's just the two of you, and the silence feels deafening. You glance around, your gaze falling on a bench, and you make your way over, Booker following without question.

Once you've sat down, you take a deep breath and release it slowly, looking up at the night sky.

"You can't say anything. To anyone," you tell him quietly. You glance over to see him looking at you, the seriousness in his eyes mirroring the tone in your voice. "Please. Not a word."

"I won't," he promises.

You search his eyes, looking for a lie, but you find none. He holds your gaze, steady and sure, and the anxiety in your stomach fades slightly. After a moment, you nod and turn back to the sky, staring at the stars.

"Rex and I, we're not...It's complicated," you begin. "There's feelings, but...they can't come to anything. There's too much at stake. For both of us. And I won't risk his career for my own happiness. I can't. I won't. No matter how much I want to."

"But—"

"No, Booker," you cut him off, shaking your head. "You know what would happen to him if we got caught. He'd be court martialed or sent to reconditioning. Maybe worse. And I'd get a slap on the wrist and a stern talking-to. But for him...he'd lose everything. And for what? Just so we can be happy for a little while?"

"Yeah, but—"

"And that's not even considering the other complications," you add. You lean back against the bench and tilt your head up, watching the clouds roll by. "It'd never work. The long-distance, the stress, the pressure. How could we ever have a future? A real future. We can't."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is," you insist. You look at him and sigh, the disappointment and the regret settling in your stomach. "You know it is. There's no future for us. Not really. So whatever this is, it can't go any further. It won't. Because he deserves better. More."

"And you?"

"Me?"

"What about you?" he repeats. He rests his forearms on his knees, leaning closer. "Don't you deserve to be happy? Even for a little while? Doesn't he?"

"Not if it means putting his life on the line," you say. "Not if it means losing him. Because that's the end result, isn't it? Whether we get caught or not, I'll lose him."

"You're gonna lose him anyway."

You blink and stare at him, and he gives a one-shouldered shrug, his expression resigned.

"That's the reality, isn't it? We're clones," he points out, the words making your heart clench. "We're not meant to have forever. None of us. But does that mean we don't deserve a chance? At least a little happiness? Before we're gone?"

His words settle heavily in the silence, and you shift uncomfortably. After a moment, you let out a heavy sigh and meet his gaze.

"That's not fair," you tell him, your voice thick. "And it's not right."

"Maybe not," he admits. "But it's the truth. Us clones don't get a lot of choices, but this is one thing we should have a choice in. We should be able to make our own decisions, and our own mistakes. That's not yours to worry about. And he'd choose you. You know he would. In a heartbeat."

The words echo in your mind, the truth in them settling into your bones and sinking deeper, until it's almost suffocating. The thought is both wonderful and horrible, and it fills you with hope and fear. Hope that the two of you can have a future, no matter how brief, and fear that the future will be ripped away, leaving nothing but pain and heartbreak behind. It's a painful cycle, and the uncertainty is almost too much.

Your shoulders sag, and you lean forward, resting your head in your hands. Your fingers tangle in your hair, the motion tugging at the strands, and a small part of you wishes that it would hurt, that the sharp pain would chase away the confusion and the fear and the doubt.

"I don't want him to," you whisper, the words coming out choked. You swallow and try again. "I don't want him to give up everything he's worked for. His entire life, his identity, his freedom...I don't want him to throw that away, just for me. I'm not...I'm not worth it."

"Hey, hey," he says gently. "Of course, you are."

You shake your head, the movement causing the tears to spill down your cheeks. You let out a shaky breath and press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to stem the flow. It doesn't work, though, and the tears continue to fall, the quiet hiccuping sobs making your chest ache.

"Oh, c'mere," he murmurs.

He reaches over and wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. You curl against him, pressing your face against his chest, and his fingers stroke your hair, the touch comforting. You close your eyes and let the tears fall, the weight on your chest easing slightly.

You don't know how long the two of you sit there, his hand in your hair and his arm around your shoulders, his quiet murmurings of reassurance filling the silence. Eventually, the tears dry up, the hiccuping sobs becoming sniffles, and he lets out a chuckle.

"This is nice," he murmurs. "This is the most affection I've gotten from you, ever."

You roll your eyes and huff a watery laugh, and you pull away to glare at him.

"Seriously," he adds, smirking. "I like this side of you. Very snuggly. You should let yourself cry more often."

The comment makes your eyes well up again, the tears threatening to fall, and the smug expression on his face melts. He frowns and pulls you closer, his fingers continuing their soothing motion.

"Too soon?" he asks quietly, and you nod. "Sorry. I'll stop."

You nod again, and the two of you sit there, his fingers working through the tangles. The silence lasts for a few moments before he clears his throat and speaks, the words coming out slowly.

"Do you love him?" he asks, and you swallow hard, the question catching you off guard. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," you admit, the word escaping before you can stop it. You pause and shake your head, the confession spilling past your lips. "I think so. I do. I love him."

Booker doesn't say anything, the only noise the wind blowing past and the occasional passing vehicle. You sit there, your eyes shut, your heart pounding, the confession weighing on you. It's the first time you've said the words out loud, even allowed yourself to think them, and the weight of them is enough to leave you breathless.

When Booker speaks again, his voice is quiet and careful, the words soft.

"Does he know?"

"I don't know," you whisper. "I don't think so. I don't...we haven't..."

Your words trail off, the sentence unfinished, but the unspoken meaning is apparent.

"Oh," he murmurs. His hand moves to your shoulder, his grip gentle. "Oh, well...that makes things complicated, doesn't it?"

"You think?"

The dry response makes him huff a quiet laugh.

"Well, if it helps, I'm pretty sure he loves you too," he says, and your heart skips a beat. "I mean, it's not exactly a secret. The way he acts around you, the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you...it's pretty kriffing noticeable."

"Really?"

"Definitely," he nods. "I knew the first time I saw you two together."

You pull away and look at him. "How can you be sure?"

He lets out a short laugh, the noise tinged with disbelief. "How can I be sure? Are you serious? Look, I might not have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, but even I can see it. I can't imagine a clone being as close with a Jedi as Rex is with you and not loving them."

"It's not like that," you protest. "We're just friends."

"Friends don't kiss each other."

"I kissed him on the cheek."

"Right, because that's such a normal thing to do," he scoffs, and your cheeks heat. "You two aren't friends. Or if you are, you're friends with some seriously confusing boundaries."

"Booker," you say warningly, and he shakes his head, raising his hands in surrender.

"Look, the point is," he begins. He lowers his hands and lets out a heavy breath, his expression softening. "It's a tough situation. And it's complicated, and risky, and...well, honestly, it sucks. But it's also a good thing. It could be a really good thing. For both of you. You just need to stop being a coward."

Your eyes narrow, and an offended huff leaves your throat.

"A coward," you repeat. "Really?"

He nods. "Really."

"You really have a way with words, you know that?"

"So, I've been told," he agrees. He offers a small smile, the look fading into one of thoughtfulness. "And maybe it's the alcohol, but I'm feeling a bit philosophical right now. So here's another piece of advice. Do what makes you happy. Life's too short to be miserable. And if anyone tries to make you feel bad about it, they can go fuck themselves. Or better yet, we'll beat them up for you. The boys would love a chance to take a swing at someone."

You snort, the noise escaping before you can stop it. The visual is ridiculous and absurd, and yet, somehow, you're sure he's not kidding. If anything, the idea of the men taking turns laying into anyone who gives you grief, and thoroughly enjoying it, is the most believable part of his speech.

"Thanks, Booker," you tell him, and his grin broadens. "That was, uh, surprisingly insightful."

"It's a gift," he replies. He stands and holds out his hand, and you take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You sniffle and wipe your cheeks, giving him a grateful smile. It's a bit wobbly, and it's a struggle to keep your lower lip from trembling, but you manage to hold it together.

You let go of his hand and wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing gently. He stiffens, clearly not expecting the embrace, but after a moment, his arms fold around you. His chin comes to rest on the top of your head, his body warm and solid.

"Thank you," you mumble into his chest, and you pull back slightly, tilting your head to meet his eyes. "Really. Thank you. For listening, and...well, everything else. I really appreciate it. You’re a good friend.”

He ducks his head, his cheeks turning pink, and he runs a hand through his hair.

"Don't go soft on me," he mumbles, the words laced with embarrassment.

"Right," you laugh, and you cross your arms. "Sorry. It's just with all the compliments, and the advice, and the kindness, and the compassion...I thought that we were friends. But if you'd rather we go back to being strangers..."

You turn and begin walking away, and a hand closes around your arm, stopping you.

"Hey, no," he protests, pulling you back. "Nope. No take-backs. We're friends. Good friends. Best friends, even. Just don't expect any more kind words or deep conversations, okay? At least not when I'm sober."

"Okay," you agree. You hold out your hand, and he takes it, his grip firm. "Deal."

"Deal," he nods.

Booker looks down at your hand, his grin faltering slightly, and you notice for the first time just how much he's swaying. His face has gone from flushed to pale, and his eyes have a glassy sheen. His jaw is clenched, his mouth pressed into a tight line, and his gaze is fixed on a spot somewhere above your head.

"You alright?" you ask. When he doesn't respond, you step closer, peering up at him. "Are you going to be sick?"

He blinks, his brow furrowing, and he turns his attention to you.

"Yeah, just..." he mutters, and before he can finish, a gag escapes, the sound making your stomach turn. “I’m gonna go throw up in that trash can now, if that's okay with you."

"That's fine," you say quickly.

You take a step back as he shuffles away, stumbling a few feet before stopping in front of a nearby trash can. He leans over it, his shoulders heaving, and you wince and look away.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you call, and he lifts his hand and waves his arm in a dismissive gesture.

"Never better," he chokes out.

The reply is followed by a retching noise, and you grimace. You sigh and walk over to him, pulling his hair back and giving his back a few reassuring pats. The two of you stand there, the sounds of traffic and gusts of wind filling the air, until he finally stands upright and takes a shaky breath.

"Sorry," he mutters, his face pale.

"It's okay," you assure him. You take a step back, giving him room to breathe, and he sighs and runs a hand over his face.

"Let's never do this again."

"Agreed."

Booker nods and takes another breath, his brow furrowing. "I don't feel so good."

"Come on," you tell him, reaching for him. You wrap an arm around his waist and help him stumble forward. "We'll get back to the barracks, and I'll fix you up. Then we can put this whole mess behind us."

He nods, his movements jerky, and he lets you lead him down the sidewalk.

“You’re a good friend, too," he mumbles after a while.

You glance up at him, and his head is drooping, his eyes half-closed. You let out a quiet laugh and squeeze his waist.

“Thanks.”

You tighten your grip on him, and the two of you keep walking, the silence more comfortable than it was before. You look up at the stars, and despite the pain in your chest, the heaviness in your limbs, and the tears on your cheeks, the knot inside your stomach eases slightly.

You're not sure what will happen. Whether Rex really does the same way. If the two of you will have a chance, a real chance, or if this is all you’ll ever be. You don't know if the war will ever end, or if it'll consume everything, and you don't know if either of you will make it out alive. But the one thing you do know is that the path you've chosen, the road ahead of you, is a better one than the life you had before.

Because even if it's not meant to be, even if it's too much or not enough, at least you have people who care about you. And that's better than nothing at all.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees @awkwardwookie

@sugarrush-blush @lunaastars @capricornrabies @champagnejaig @silly-starfish

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #roy writes #event horizon #next chapter's vibe is very different btw just putting that out there #you know how much i love an emotional rollercoaster

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retiredteabag · 11 hours ago

Note

sorry for informality but i was stalking reading your pinned post and you’re in grad school at twenty!??!!!

unless i’m tripping or misunderstanding something, academic weapon tips please because holy shit that’s insane! what’s ur field of study if you want to talk about it/don’t mind me asking? any application tips/things you wished you knew before getting there/habits you wished you’d formed sooner? independent research has always been difficult for me because of how much i depend on structure (adhd imposter syndrome anxiety lets go) so if you’re working on a thesis/something similar, how has the process been in your experience?

i’m in undergrad atm and heavily debating going further, so i’d love to hear from someone my age who’s actually doing it! also unrelated, but i’m a certified notion/goodnotes girlie if you vibe with those as study resources!

🎸 tagging with an emoji in case i pop back around, yk?

I'm sorry to say, but my tips might come off as sort of typical... but I hope they're at least a little helpful!

I am currently in a masters program within the analytics field. Research/independent studies vary widely depending on the area of specialization, however, my program has an intensive practicum that is similar in nature. I have not started it yet, but what I can say for sure when it comes to research: make sure you are picking a topic that you could speak about for hours/answer argumentative questions about.

For applications, I would say to narrow your options down as much as possible and look into each program before applying. Know the curriculum and standard outline and what stands out to you as you decide.

^ on this same note, you will likely need at least one interview in the application process. Speak slowly and enunciate. Taking a moment to think of the proper words will always be better than speaking quickly without much thought. Most people say to use "down-speak" in these interviews, but in my experience, matching the examiners tone and energy makes the whole thing much more comfortable.

For study tips, I have a large notebook that I keep on my desk where I write down every assignment and the date that it is due. This is just for organization purposes, I find a physical copy helpful for a few reasons but also because crossing them off feels rewarding :]

Time managment is incredibly important. Everyone says this because it is true. Prep everything, organizing your day into chunks. Since you also like structure, this probably wont be an issue. I would also get comfortable with being self-aware of your priorities. There will come a time when you will need to choose between academics/work and other areas of your life.

Keep your spaces clean. Dedicate a day or so to just organizing/doing a deep clean. It will help you stay focused and minimize external anxiety. It’s also much easier to keep a place clean if you have put in such an effort.

Participate in class. I cannot make this clear enough. I promise it is not embarrassing to ask questions or "try". You will learn far easier if you put effort into the classroom/lecture setting.

It is a pretty typical "tip" is to just ask questions. Even if you feel like you might understand, just ask to make sure. And in this same vein, go to office hours if you need to.

Prioritize sleep lol, that and mental rest. You can't always be studying. For me, it is a real challenge to work and be full time in school so it's important to carve out those sections of "you time".

Try not to be on your phone tooooooooo much, I know it’s hard but I make an effort to not be on my phone while eating. Don’t use entertainment as a distraction, I find that it just delays anxiety :(

Lastly, apply for scholarships and know that you absolutely can appeal for more money.

I hope this was useful. Do know that it REALLY depends on your area of study and 5-year-plan. I would recommend not going to grad school unless you're absolutely sure it is worth it.

Good luck!

#aboutretiredteabag #I'm sure you're doing great!#The fact that you're thinking about the future shows that you care #I cannot highlight enough how important self care is as well #definitely prevents burn out #this is probably self-explanitory #but also be sure you know why you are going to grad school and what you want to do with your degree #I keep hearing horror stories about that...#anyway #congrats on uni and I hope you have a happy #healthy #and peaceful academic year!#yall are my favorite 🫶

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adieutristana · 18 hours ago

Note

Could you do a second part of the request for Sevica's niece x Jinx? I would love to know what happened with Reader and Powder

Please 💞

of course! thank you for the request <3

i’m no longer quarantined (yaaaay!) but that means back to regular posting pace, sorry :( hope u guys enjoyed 4 fics in half a week.

this is a part 2 to this fic! this will be the final part of this story, i hope it's not obvious but i was struggling with the direction

characters included; jinx, powder (act iii au), sevika (familial), ekko (platonic)

summary; you and powder make amends, though you know that you have to get back to your universe.

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, s2 spoilers, mentions of drinking and smoking, powder majority of the story, angsty in the beginning, jinx at the end, brief arguing, universe hopping or whatever that's called, happy bonus at the end

men dni.

"all done,"

you smile, putting your hands out behind powder in a grand gesture that says 'ta-da.' pink ribbons adorn azure locks, carefully woven into both of her twin braids. a nod to the pink streak through her hair, and frankly- she looks beautiful. you don't want to stroke your ego, but you did a damn good job.

tension still hangs in the air, but seems to slowly slip with every second that passes. powder's jealousy is on the backburner for now as she looks over her hair in the mirror, her eyes curious. the sight is bittersweet. she looks happy, enamored with her new hair. a smile is tugging at the corners of powder's glossed lips, and those blue eyes are looking up at yours with such merriness. the braiding seemed to do the trick.

though the twin braids bring you back to jinx, your jinx. it's a delicate balance, a sort of tug-of-war in your mind. on one hand, this powder looks genuinely happy. she isn't the broken down girl you know and love. her cheeks are fuller, her skin has more color to it, she's taller, her smiles are more frequent, and they're real. the version of you whose body you're occupying clearly loves her, and she clearly loves this alternate you in return.

you love her back, at least you think you do. this is still jinx, just... less tortured. or rather, jinx is the distortion of powder. it's confusing, really, and you don't think you can spend too much time thinking about it before your brain starts to hurt.

you could grow used to this, if you allowed yourself to. but you knew you couldn't, not when jinx was waiting on you. probably worrying herself absolutely sick. you'd promised your girlfriend you'd be back soon, a few hours tops. but it'd been much longer than that by now, the next morning having come and gone.

you knew jinx and how she thought. she'd probably fully convinced herself by now that you were gone. that you'd disappeared into the lanes or maybe even piltover to find yourself someone better, just to leave her to wither. no matter how many times you swore to the girl that you would never, the insecurities still lingered in the back of her mind. they were likely at the forefront now.

"damn, i look... good," powder starts, pulling you out of your daze. she lets out a light chuckle, a mix of a gasp and laugh. "never thought i'd see you play hairstylist, but you did pretty great."

you give a gentle smile in return, situating yourself behind powder in the mirror and draping your arms around her waist. you place your chin on her shoulder her smile widens and she gives a satisfied 'hmm' sound, powder's head leading to the side against yours. a picture-perfect couple if you've ever seen one.

but it isn't real. at least, this iteration isn't. part of you wishes it was, wishes that you had something with the powder you knew as a little girl. in a zaun better than you could've ever imagined. you wished so badly that this is who powder became in your world, instead of jinx; as much as you loved her. but no matter. 'no use in dwelling,' your aunt would tell you in times like these.

though you knew that wasn't the case, and the other part of you felt that this was wrong. even though you're in her place, you're not the one powder loves- not really. a different version of her, sure, but you can't help feeling like you're lying to powder.

yet, what are you supposed to do? tell her the truth, that you'd somehow ended up in a parallel universe where things were remarkably better than the one you'd come from? that the version of her you knew and loved had been mistreated and neglected for much of her teenage years, only to go on to become a pyromaniac? that zaun had somehow moved backwards?

you nuzzle closer to powder's touch, the scent of strawberry shampoo and fruity perfume filling your senses. you supposed you could keep this charade going for a little longer, at least until you figured out how to return to your home universe.

the way powder is looking at you through your shared reflection and smiling, so at peace, you know that this isn't all bad. you may not be the one powder knows, but you can act the part. you can make her happy. you can indulge for a little bit.

"somethin' on your mind, babe?"

she asks, her smile unwavering. you shake your head in response, your grip around her waist tightening the slightest bit.

"no, just looking at you." you hum. "you look beautiful right now, you know."

"oh yeah? what about the rest of the time?"

powder reaches behind her to playfully poke your side, earning a short giggle from you. you shake your head in mock resignation, giving an amused huff.

"you look great all the time. i just happen to think i enhanced that beauty a bit."

you chuckle. powder rolls her eyes, her smile never faltering.

"miss humble over here. braided my hair once, and now her ego's off the charts."

she jests. you're quickly coming to recognize these playful jabs as a way the girl shows affection. it's not far off from jinx at all. but still, this moment of holding powder from behind, feeling the quiet warmth of her body against yours and seeing that smile in the mirror. you wish that you could freeze this moment in time, frame it even. capture it so that it never slips away from you. though again, you know this won't last. it can't.

✧.*

"any developments?"

"we've got... something."

ekko offers, his tone more resigned than you'd hope to hear right now. you let out an exasperated sigh, your gaze falling to the ground of the dank alleyway. though you raise your hand and wave off, a gesture to urge your friend to continue.

"heimerdinger and i are trying to work on a time machine. something that can rewind time a little, maybe even bring us back."

he says, though he sounds uncertain. you can't say you blame him, necessarily. this entire situation is so confusing.

"when will it be done?"

you ask, eyes wide and looking into his as a sort of silent plea. a heavy sigh escapes ekko, and he slowly shakes his head.

"i don't know. i'm sorry, just... these things take time."

"i don't have time." you plead. "jinx is probably back home, already convinced that i up and left. hell, she's probably figuring out some kind of revenge plot while we're talking."

any other time, those words would be a joke, but now your tone is anything but joking. you know deep in you that jinx is a wreck right now, even if you're not physically with her. not to mention your aunt, not to mention the way of life that you're used to.

"i'm sure she is. and the firelights probably aren't doing much better."

it's true, they're most likely not. no hextech here, no firelights, no jinx, no shimmer ravaging the streets. from the outside looking in, you two would be seen as idiots to have something so good, and want to throw it away for the fucked-up place you'd come from. but jinx was too important to you, ekko's work too important to him. you pause. you'd been sleeping at powder's, but with the absence of the tree and bases in this version of zaun, you couldn't help but worry for your friend.

"where are you staying, by the way?"

"on campus at the academy. the dorms are pretty nice, actually. there's a kitchen, laundry room, and lounge in the building, so i'm all set."

you nod slowly. you should've figured, with him being one of the academy's most esteemed inventors in this world. but still, it was nice to hear that he wasn't just sleeping on benzo's couch.

"you're staying with powder?"

"nope. i'm an apartment owner here, apparently."

"no shit," he breathes out, a bewildered expression on the boy's face. neither of you could've imagined having your own space in zaun of all places, so to know that it was possible.. wow.

silence hangs in the air for a moment, and you're not sure what else could be used to fill it. what else is there to talk about, really? the impending sense of dread both of you have, or the lingering anxiety that you'll be trapped in this reality forever?

"just... keep me updated, okay?" you sigh. "i just want to get back and tell jinx that everything is okay. no matter how nice all of this is."

"when we make progress, you'll be the first to know. we're getting somewhere, i promise. it's in the beginning stages, but i can't do anything when i don't have the means yet." he pauses. "you understand."

you do understand. you don't necessarily have room to not understand right now. he still looks uncertain, but he's giving you a gentle smile in an attempt to reassure you. it doesn't do much for your nerves necessarily, but it's a kind gesture regardless. now all there is to do is wait. gods, you hated waiting, but what other choice did you have?

you quickly exchange addresses in the case of developments or an emergency, before parting.

✧.*

powder had told you to meet her at her hideout, instead of her apartment. that's something that hadn't changed, at least. even in this universe, powder had found and made use of the wind turbine structure you'd see jinx turn into her home. it was different, of course, there were railings around the metal blades.

the decorations were easier on the eyes, much more inviting. although it was still very true to her usual chaotic manner, with messy decorations strewn across the space. her signature crude drawings decorate her dresser, her desk, old makeup palettes scattered around anywhere that'll house them.

but the most striking difference was the altar set up on one of the platforms, dedicated to vi. her big sister, who you'd seen alive and well just days prior. only in passing, but still. your girlfriend's relationship with her sister was strained at best, a near-fatality at worst. but something told you that if jinx knew her sister was gone in a parallel universe, if she was gone in your universe, she'd be utterly destroyed.

but not powder. powder was still fragile, you could see it in the way her jaw clenched at certain words, the way her eyes flitted when she got in her head. but powder could handle it. she didn't let it consume her, like jinx did. she didn't necessarily have a choice when it came to her state, but it was still an interesting contrast.

"hey, you!" powder beams, throwing her arms around you from behind. she presses a flurry of rushed kisses your jawline and cheek, then ending with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "took ya long enough! what's with the hold up?"

"sorry, babe. just got a little sidetracked."

you hum, leaning into the touch. you turn around in powder's embrace, looking into those sapphire eyes that could make anyone weak. you capture the girl's lips in a chaste, yet sweet kiss. a fleeting moment, but you put all of the affection that you can into it.

"sidetracked? with what?" she asks. "you're always the focused one."

you purse your lips, and you try to think of a good excuse. you were with ekko is where you where, but you can't tell powder that. not after the outburst she'd had just a day prior. but what if she found out anyways? wouldn't it be better for her to find out from you directly, rather than being told by a bystander?

you'll tell her the truth. she knows you and him are just friends. she knows that.

"i was talking to ekko."

you mutter, and powder's expression immediately hardens. like a switch being flipped, her smile falters, and her grip around you loosens.

"oh."

"powder, we were just talking." you plead, your hand running through your hair.

"yeah. just talking, i know."

she says, although it's clear that she's not fully convinced. she shakes her head, a deep exhale escaping her.

"talking about what, though?"

she asks, and your heart nearly drops. you can't lie to her, not while she's in this state. you've seen it. jinx slips into it more often than you can bear- trying to hold herself together whilst her emotions are threatening to bubble to the surface and explode.

you'd sound like a mad woman if you told her the truth. but what other choice did you have?

"look, pow," you start. "i'm gonna sound batshit crazy when i tell you this. but you have to listen to me."

your tone is stern, a 'no-bullshit' air about you. powder nods slowly in agreement, and waits silently for you to continue.

"i'm not... from here," you begin.

"huh? you've always been in zaun."

she's tilting her head in that confused way, and it's adorable- but you have to focus.

"no, no. i know that," you say, scrambling to find the right words. "i mean... this world. i came from a parallel universe or whatever they call it, and i have no idea how to get back. it's the same with ekko. everything is the same here, but different."

you sigh, pausing to catch your breath as you ramble on. powder's eyebrows are furrowed, yet she doesn't interrupt you. she's listening intently. that's a good start, you suppose.

"i mean, zaun is somewhere livable. people whose corpses i've seen are standing right in front of me, and there's none of that fucked-up tech there is where i come from. and you're different. you're happy, and you're healthy. the version of you that i know is someone i don't think you'd recognize."

your shoulders slump, and you're growing more restless as you talk. it's a word-vomit of sorts. you know you probably sound out of your damn mind to the girl in front of you, but you just can't stop now that you've started.

"and i love her. i really do. and i love you, but it feels like i'm lying to you, because i'm not the me that you love. i'm just in her body right now, and i'm trying to figure out how to give it back."

it’s odd, baring your feelings like this to a girl you simultaneously know like the back of your hand and don’t know at all. if powder was looking at you before, she’s looking through you now.

“…please say something.”

you breathe out. powder presses her lips into a thin line, her gaze finally parting from yours.

“say i believe all of this. say it’s true, and you’re not making up some crazy story to shut me up. if i asked ekko what you were talking about, would he have the same story?”

“yes, powder. he would.”

she lets out a heavy sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. powder’s expression is unreadable at best, though she doesn’t seem angry. just… confused. shocked. in disbelief, maybe even denial. though before you can say much more, there’s a knock at powder’s door.

“i’ll get it,” she mutters, turning over her shoulder. she makes her way to the door slowly, turning the knob and opening it to ekko of all people.

“what are you doing here?”

“here for your girlfriend.” he says, hoping that’ll suffice. you’d told him that powder was jealous and he’d need to tread lightly, hopefully placing emphasis on the word ‘girlfriend’ would leave a good impression on her. “we just need a minute to talk. i’ll give her right back, i swear.”

powder pauses for a moment, scanning over his expression for any hints of deception or trickery. but as usual, there is none. just someone who wants to have a conversation with her girlfriend, even though that certain someone is one she’s been wary of. she sighs.

“babe, ekko’s here for you!”

she calls out. you make your way to your feet, striding towards the door while your friend comes into view. his demeanor doesn't give anything away, but he typically doesn't just... show up at people's doors. not the ekko you know. so this must be something important. powder steps aside, allowing ekko into the hideout and turns around.

"i'll be here when you're done," she says, glancing over her shoulder before returning to her desk.

ekko gives one more cautious look to the girl, before turning his attention to you.

"right."

you purse your lips, anticipating his next words.

"we've got something. it wasn't easy doing it, and it won't be easy to get back, but we can do it now." he says, his sentences rushed. "we can do it whenever you're ready- now, if you want."

you quirk an eyebrow.

"now?"

"only if you want to."

you shake your head slowly, wordlessly, crossing your arms in contemplation. you'd definitely prefer to get back to jinx as soon as possible, but now you're having second thoughts. god, after all that you'd done and thought about this entire time, now you're having second thoughts? you confuse yourself, you think. but none of this situation makes much sense to begin with.

"i... yeah. sure." you pause, drawing a sharp breath in. "but what happens to the other me? like, the one that's here?"

ekko's eyebrows knit together, and he takes a moment to consider your question. mentally going over everything that he'd gathered, and everything heimerdinger had told him.

"i think we'd go back to how we were- our other selves, i mean. it was just.. us in their bodies for a while, but they'll go back to normal. they should, anyways."

"what if they don't?"

"listen. do you wanna go back, or not?"

god damn, he's right. this is what you've both been wanting from the start, and while you worry for your other self, you have to put this first.

but still. powder. you barely know this version of her, but you know that she's a good person. a smart girl who loves and gives. she deserves to be happy, she deserves the version of you that she knows and loves so dearly. you can only hope that she'll return to powder after you're gone.

"...yeah. let's do it." you murmur. "but i want to say goodbye to powder first."

he nods, and tilts his head in the girl's direction as if to cue you to go on. you manage a weak smile in his direction, before walking over to powder. your heart's beat in your chest is akin to a war drum, ringing in your ears and making your hands shake.

"hey, pow." you sigh, prompting her to turn her head towards you from... drafting blueprints? what exactly is she doing?- doesn't matter right now. "i'm going back. to where i came from, i mean. i'll be gone for a little bit, but.. everything will go back to normal. you'll have your girlfriend back, your real girlfriend, and i'll be in a place i know."

her blue eyes flit downwards, and she frowns. but still, she manages to slowly nod in acknowledgement.

"okay."

is all that she can manage, and she sounds defeated. it breaks your heart, seeing her like this. you step forward, cautiously wrapping your arms around the girl's shoulders in a gentle embrace.

"everything will be okay." you whisper, feeling her arms encircle your waist. "you deserve to be happy, powder."

✧.*

you're back.

oh, shit, you're back.

you spring to your feet, having been planted smack in the middle of a busy zaun street. passersby speed past you, vendors are loudly shouting to advertise their products, and loud music can be heard in the distance.

all that occupies your mind in this moment is jinx, jinx, jinx. anything else- the fact that it feels like you haven't eaten in days, your muscles are sore from whatever the hell that time machine had done to you, or the fact that you feel like you may collapse at any moment from exhaustion are of no significance to you. you have to find you, you have to see her and know that she's okay, tell her that you're okay.

your first stop is jinx's hideout. she's almost always there, running around while tinkering with some new weapon or conspiring her next big job. but as soon as the door swings open, a deafening silence hits you. one that's uncharacteristic for your girlfriend, the only time she's ever quiet is when she's sleeping- and she doesn't get much of that.

you scramble through the different platforms, looking under large structures- lifting up blankets, looking in her cot, her beat-up couches, but there's no trace of the girl.

so you make your way to the lanes, where you figure jinx may be causing destruction. all you find is shimmer dealers and street rats scrounging for scraps.

your last hope is the last drop. jinx doesn't tend to venture much. she wouldn't be in piltover for anything right now, she doesn't walk through zaun's streets to window shop or sightsee. she sticks to her areas of interest, occasionally venturing out to tag walls, fight, or look for materials. if she wasn't there, you couldn't begin to think of where she would be. you didn't want to think of that.

you push the heavy door of the tavern open, immediately struck with the smell of liquor and stench of smoke, the sound of patrons chatting away and playing card games in the company of friends.

you scan the bar counter, the tables, the bits of the kitchen you can see, but she isn't here either. you can hardly believe what you're seeing. nine times out of ten, jinx is somewhere within the confines of these locations you've searched, but it's as if she's vanished.

however, you do see a familiar face- that of your aunt. tucked away in a dark corner of the bar at a small wooden table, filling out a stack of paperwork.

"sevika."

you start, a brow quirked and your arms crossed.

"not even an 'aunt' at beginning?" sevika jests, not looking up from the papers in front of her. she's scribbling something away, likely to do with the late silco's businesses, but no matter. you don't have time to ask what she's up to, and frankly you don't care either.

"where is she?" you demand, taking a seat across from the woman. "i've looked in the hideout, the lanes, and now here, but she's nowhere."

"where were you?" sevika bites back. the flips to another page, the pen scratching against paper almost obnoxiously. you wince at her tone, slowly shrinking into yourself- though you can't exactly explain that to her.

"that's a long story. a lot happened."

you sigh, bracing your elbows on the wood before you.

"spare me no details," she says, sarcasm lacing her words. "she's worried sick. jinx was asking me all yesterday and the night before where you were, what you were doing, because she'd heard nothing from you. but i didn't know anything, and i still don't. you're grown now, and you can handle yourself. but as your aunt, i'm supposed to know these things. by the way," she pauses, her gaze lifting to meet yours.

"walking out on a girl like jinx isn't a good idea. she's not in a good way."

"i didn't walk out on her, auntie."

she huffs, placing her pen down on the stack before her. she's got an eyebrow raised in that way she does so often, but there's still a softness to her gaze. you're family. while she's not particularly happy with you right now, especially since she's the one who has to take care of jinx in your absence, she's still forgiving.

"i don't have a clue where she could be right now, kid. but she'll be back at that hideout of hers soon enough. i'd just wait."

it's not the answer you'd like to hear; you've got a one-track mind focused solely on jinx right now. but it'll suffice. she's right, she always does eventually return there.

"...thanks, auntie sev."

"yeah, yeah. i've got work to do. go be with your girlfriend."

she concedes, making a 'shoo' motion with her prosthetic hand.

✧.*

you jump to your feet off of the torn plush couch the moment jinx steps into view in her hideout.

"jinx."

her head nearly snaps in your direction, and she runs over to you with alarming speed. she's always been a swift girl, but you don't know if you've ever seen her this urgent.

"baby? is that you?"

she breathes out, standing directly in front of you. wide magenta eyes look into yours, and you nearly begin crying on the spot. your arms throw around the girl's slender frame before you can think. you hold her tight to you, as if you're afraid that she'll disappear if you let go. usually it's her holding you like this, shaking like a leaf and struggling to keep it together, but there's a first for everything.

"yes, yes, it's me. i'm here."

"what happened? i... thought you left." her voice cracks on the last word, afraid and insecure.

"i would never. trust me. a lot happened, i'll explain later, just..."

there's a pause for a moment as you pull back slightly, before closing the distance to press your lips to jinx's. your lips move together in a slow, gentle, desperate rhythm, and you try to put all of your current feelings into them.

i missed you.

i'm sorry.

i'm never leaving.

i love you.

you slowly pull back, your eyes welling with tears threatening to spill at any moment.

"i didn't mean for any of this to happen, i promise you. i never meant to leave you, i told you i'd be back in a few hours and i wasn't." you whisper, a tear spilling and slipping down your cheek. your arms tighten around jinx, and you can tell from the way her breathing is growing labored. she's not upset, just so damn overwhelmed. "i love you, jinx, so much."

another chaste kiss to her lips to emphasize your words.

"are you okay?"

"i... yeah. i'm okay. i just didn't know if you were coming back." she trails off, voice raspy and weak. those words hit you like a punch to the gut, no matter the fact that you'd seen them coming. you hate seeing jinx so torn up, and you hate being the cause of that.

"i'll always come back, babe." you whisper, holding jinx's gaze. you slowly move your hands to rest atop her shoulders. "let's go do something."

"do what?"

"i don't know. anything," you say, your eyes hopeful. "i just need to be with you. i'll tell you everything, and we can do whatever you want. i just missed you."

jinx purses her lips for a moment, a little 'hmm' coming from her as she thinks over the possibilities. she thinks of things in her hideout, but she senses that you want to go out into the city right now. there's a lot of shops, but she's never been one to frequent them. an abandoned warehouse with fireworks.

"i know a place,"

she declares, taking your dominant hand from her shoulder and holding it in hers.

"shall we?"

✧.* bonus!

"oh, screw you!" powder giggles, flour dusting her cheeks.

"i didn't mean to!"

the alternative you is back in her body. she's got no memory of what happened the past two days, all she remembers is waking up in powder's arms to the sight of tears running down pale cheeks. you hadn't sustained any injuries, no scarring, but you were just... gone. you couldn't recount anything.

"it said put the flour in the mixing bowl, not on my face, you goof!"

you're together in your cramped kitchen trying to figure out a recipe, one of vander's that he'd written down for powder. strawberry shortcake, one of her childhood favorites that vander claims she used to beg him for. she vehemently denies this, and you go along with her whims, but you can't help inwardly laughing at the thought of a little powder begging her dad to bake for her.

"it was a mistake, pow! i swear!"

she rolls her eyes, but the hysterical giggles coming from her girlfriend tell you that she's not really angry. she shakes her head, taking the paper in her hands again to reread the instructions. she plucks a wooden spoon from one of your drawers, keeping her eyes focused on the paper.

"so it says to mix the dry ingredients, then we get started on wet."

"yeah, that's usually how it works when you bake things."

powder grunts, and a light smack lands on your shoulder, prompting another fit of laughter from you.

"my bad for not having experience with this! you said you were gonna make it, so we're making it."

you snort in response, gently taking the recipe from her hands and looking over it yourself. you set down the paper on the counter as she begins mixing the dry ingredients in the bowl- a pink and blue clay one that she'd made especially for you. it wasn't the ideal size for most of your baking endeavors, but you'd never tell your dear girlfriend that. it was perfect, because it was hers.

"i'm happy to make whatever you want, babe. just say the word." you hum, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek before striding to your fridge to retrieve a few wet ingredients.

"anything? anything, anything?"

she asks, looking back at you. her hand is still working.

"anything you want."

"i've heard macarons are really hard. would you make those for me?"

you chuckle lightly, placing a carton of eggs, milk, and strawberries on the counter.

"they wouldn't be pretty, i'm sure. but i'd make them for you."

powder lets out a happy squeal, before turning to you and stepping aside to show you her work.

"i think i'm done mixing." she smiles. "i didn't mess it up, did i?"

you shake your head lightly, a playful lilt to your tone whilst searching your overhead cupboards for a second bowl.

"you did great. it's just dry ingredients, not hard to mix those. the wet ingredients can get a bit tricky, though."

powder rolls her eyes and groans, prompting a laugh from you.

"it's not that bad. come on, let's get started on that. as soon as we're done, you'll have that strawberry shortcake."

#jinx x reader #powder x reader #arcane x reader #arcane x you #reader insert #sapphic #i am not proud of this one sorry

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alfieeespams · 1 year ago

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#ganqing #ganyu x keqing #genshin ganyu #ganyu #genshin keqing #keqing #genshin fanart #genshin impact #this is probably not good posting hours but what even ARE the good hours #The folds in the blanket were kind of a nightmare but I was listening to fic as I drew :DD

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deoidesign · 5 months ago

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Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between

#to be or not to be. that is the question #ty adam for being my model for dramatic vampire moment #musings on the thinkings about:#when to live you are required to hurt others. you must repeatedly ask yourself what the value of your life is #To sleep... perchance to dream...#ah. THERES THE RUB.#ok I actually couldnt come up with too many thoughts. I had a lot more while I was drawing this but I guess I put them in the painting LOL #reading that soliloquy and being like damn this is just like vampires #the reality of course is that the soliloquy is a debate over suicide and ultimately making the choice to live #even if just out of fear of the unknown #and vampires are about dying and then in undeath choosing to continue to live #despite the fear of eternity and loneliness and hurting others #theyre not the same. but like let me thiiink come onnnn I'm allowed to thiiink and have incomplete thoughts #I would have to write like a proper essay about this to organize my thoughts. this is the tags on a tumblr post.#anyways finished episode 79 #working on patreon stickers for this month (and next month soon)#and working on book 4. taking a pause from episodes cause I've got 3 weeks of buffer now... UGH #I'm so mad that they changed it. it would have been 5 weeks before but it's fine it's whatever #anyways yeah taking a break from episodes to make my book now!#its good stuff.#and this painting is good stuff #banger after banger from me tbh #this was a little relaxing giving myself a couple hours to muse #it's necessary for my health and I always forget that til I do a painting...#I loved doing the little landscape in the background too I should do that more! I love how plants are just like whatever shape you want #like you can make up any plant you want and not only does that plant PROBABLY exist somewhere #a weirder plant exists somewhere too. so. literally whatever you want #ok bye again for a few days while I get back to work

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icewindandboringhorror · 3 months ago

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Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

#ootd #jfashion #fashion #fantasy fashion #mori kei #....like... adjacent... lol #no idea what style this would be lol.. makes me think of like whimsical vaguely fantasy themed childrens book character #finally posting one of my aforementioned seven million drafts of actual outfits and costumes i have finished and edited #the photos for but just never feel like posting lol..#I need to find one of those people whos like 'omg i am ADDICTED to social media ugh i wish i could get off of it #im just browsing and posting like 60 times a daaaaay!!!' and take a little magical bottle and suck some of the social media #enthusiasim out of them. for moi. In exchange they can have some of my 'literally just never in the mood to post or interact with the #outside world ever' energy. We can balance each other. huzzah and so on #Though I think maybe it's part of the general thing I've heard of like.. I can't remember if it was in reference to adhd or just some sort #of general execcutive functioning issue type of thing - but the idea that things have to be ''just right'' before you do something. like #'oh i need to do this task. but i have to wait until XYZ first' or 'oh i can do this but only if X specific condition is met' or etc #The fact that I even have to be in a Specific Mindset to post. or sometimes will delay posting on social media because like 'oh well #I'm going somewhere tomorrow. somehow this matters. i cannot spend 5 minuts posting TONIGHT. clearly it will interfere #somehow schedule wise with the doctor appointment i have 15 hours from now. yes. yes. i must wait until my appointment is over #tomorrow afternoon. THEN i shall post' or etc. etc. lol. NOT even taking into account the many days #I just genuinely and physically sick and it's not even a mental thing. I just physically dont feel like sitting at the computer lol..#ANYWAY.. trying to get back into it. trying to get a business bank account.. make a proper paypal so i can start selling sculptures again.#selling clothes and sculptures.. posting about such things then of course as one must. etc... chanting to hype up and motivate myself lol #But yes. this is my favorite outfit out of the bunch so I am posting it first I guess.. maybe others later..#Also the purple dress says its from shein. which I've heard is bad fast fashion stuff. but maybe okay since its second hand? I havent #been to the bins since like 2020 or late 2019 even. and I think stuff like shein and temu has only become poular in the past few years #but I bet if I went to the bins now I might would find a good handfull of that stuff. Probably now not much different than what you #find in a walmart or a forever 21 or actual physical stores you can go to though. I hear quality of clothing is down everywhere no matter #where you get it or whatnot. What bountiful joys unfettered capitalism and exploitation bestows upon us (<being sarcastic).#Wearing one of my favorite little vests though. I love the texture of it and the clasps on it

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ennard-is-near · 8 months ago

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(This whole thing is based off the theory that Michael is still alive in Security Breach, which is hilarious imo)

A FNaF game where you are the night guard in the Pizzaplex, and the antagonist is Michael Afton. He’s not trying to kill you or anything, you just have opposite goals (You like the animatronics and the Fazbear brand, he does not). He’s also trying to get you to quit or get fired.

Things are going wrong. Stuff is being stolen and vandalized. The animatronics are being tampered with, sometimes they’re vandalized too. Things never stay how you left them. You are starting to feel like someone has broken in, which is especially bad, because you’re a security guard. It’s your whole job to keep people out.

Your character will occasionally say how bad it smells in the room. Sometimes you remark that you’re being watched. There’s sometimes footsteps or scuffling noises in the background. If you look close enough in certain rooms, you can see the faint outline of a guy or two white dots in the darkness around the light from your flashlight. But you can’t find the source of whatever this is (he’s gotten too good at hiding).

Your character will become more aware that someone really is there throughout the game. You go from asking “Hello? Is someone here?” When something strange happens to saying “I know you did this!” To the darkness because you know he’s there. You can get more hostile towards him, if you’d like, calling him a twat or whatever. You could be nice to him, too. It doesn’t stop him, when you’re nice, because he seems to have some sort of goal (you couldn’t begin to guess what) but it’s not like he’s doing that much damage and he makes your job a little bit more fun.

You never see him, though. Other than the occasional glimpse of movement in the shadows or your flashlight’s glow reflecting off his eyes (that must be what it is, right?) he stays silent and hidden. That’s why you feel you can’t tell anyone, he’s clearly good at hiding and they wouldn’t find him. Plus, he’s annoying, but he doesn’t seem that harmful. (And maybe the darkness is just making you crazy. Maybe there really is nobody there)

But things are definitely going awry. For one, the animatronics are freaking out. They’re weird, almost hostile, towards you. The staffbots follow you around but don’t speak or offer you things, and it freaks you out a little (you can fight them, if you’d like, though it’s not really a fight and more just you beating them up. You could also try and incapacitate them or just try to ignore them). The Glamrocks are scary too, obviously. They chase you, grab you and jumpscare you. (One time though, it seems like one of them is actually going to kill you. It throws you to the floor and you cover your face with your hands. But instead of feeling the impact, there’s a strange noise. You open your eyes to see it incapacitated, and you can hear footsteps shuffling away. Huh.) Even Helpy begins demanding you quit, sometimes being friendly, “No amount of money is worth doing this job,” sometimes he’s meaner, “You’re going to quit or you’re going to die.” Whoever is in the shadows is definitely messing with them in some way.

One night, Helpy tells you, “Sorry, you are going to get fired.” And that night is horrible. Shit is breaking all the time, and the Glamrocks and Staffbots are all over the place, either destroyed or with completely ruined AI. You can’t stop it (maybe you should have been [nicer/meaner] to whoever is doing this) all you can do is try and undo as much damage as possible and tell whoever is there that you really need this job. He doesn’t listen.

When 6am rolls around, your boss arrives and you’re presented with a pink slip. He tells you that your behavior is unacceptable. You either made all this mess yourself or allowed someone else to do it and neglected your job. You’ve been nothing but unprofessional for the duration of your employment, anyway. The animatronics have clearly been tamped with by someone with some knowledge of how they work, not just some random vandal. You must have been messing with them for a while to learn how they worked and took it too far. And, adding insult to injury, tells you that you make every room you’re in smell like death. You don’t have anything to say to defend yourself, you definitely can’t blame a person hiding in the darkness who you didn’t report before and have never fully seen, so you just leave.

Bonus: Here’s an image I made last night at like 2am. It’s just one of the SB rooms but I make it darker and added the flashlight and some other things.

Anyway, sorry this post got so long and turned sort of into fanfiction. I had fun writing it, though. I was just thinking about the fact that Michael might still be kicking in Security Breach (again, hilarious. Also why is he barefoot? Put shoes on, Jesus Christ) and was like “Well, what if you had to play against him?” Because Michael making the lives of night guards harder is very ironic, even if he has good intentions. And it spiraled and turned into this. If you made it this far, wow thanks for reading <3

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #michael afton #fnaf pizzaplex #fnaf security breach #i had a vision #honestly I didn’t even put some things in this post because I thought it would get too fanfiction-y #sorry I didn’t flesh out the gameplay or what you’d actually do during the game #it would probably mostly be fixing stuff while dodging haywire animatronics #also the stupid bit at the end about getting fired was really self-indulgent #I know that and I’m sorry #also it’s all so self indulgent but I love my little cryptid guy #he’s sort of a silent shadow monster antagonist #but neither party is evil necessarily you just want to keep your job and he doesn’t want you to keep your job (both with good reason)#anyway again I think I’m done rambling I spent half an hour on this post somehow

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mulders-too-large-shirt · 6 months ago

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s3 episode 11 thoughts

dare i say it… new favorite episode?

whatever expectations i had, they were blown away. usually the episode after a two episode arc feels weird and stiff, but this? this hit every box on a checklist i didn’t even know i had.

i’m bouncing off the walls right now. i'm pacing my room and mumbling to myself while gesticulating wildly. i am filled with an energy that caffeine has not ONCE given me. and it's called "your character, that is so near and dear to you, got an episode dedicated just to exploring their inner life and workings and belief system and faith in God and the world". try it if you get a chance.

so let us begin. let me give you my verbatim notes, so you can watch the excitement grow.

oh boy! oh boy oh boy! i am excited! and i know by now to not expect any real continuation from the last episode, but i’m still excited because the last two were so good! and this one is like… good omens? with a kid that can start the end of the world?

wow. never have i thought to myself, how would mulder and scully handle biblical revelations? but here i am. wondering it.

hope the kid is chill. hope he has good vibes. mulder will like him anyway because he’s actually a huge softie but still better if he’s got good vibes.

we open on a sermon. the priest or pastor- depending on the denomination- whatever his title is, he is talking about faith. saying that miracles are real. and now he’s shaking and moaning. is this one of those churches?

OH HE’S BLEEDING from between his knuckles like some sort of blood wolverine. people are looking at him, thinking, what is going on? and this is something i am also wondering. maybe it was fake though…. little capsules in his hands, maybe???

he’s dabbing off his makeup now. as a man enters his dressing room. saying that some people really do believe. but he’s being weird.

and then this guy escalates to murder. and when he touches this pastor he’s burning up??? huh??? a firebender?? in pennsylvania??

THE INTRO WAS DIFFERENT AGAIN THIS TIME. WHY DOES IT CHANGE. i have come to know these beats VERY well!! they are like a heartbeat to me. you cannot simply alter them as you see fit!

scully looking at the body of the dead pastor/priest, talking about how it looks like rope burns around his neck. mulder crouching VERY close by.

HEHEHEHEHE mulder is like “he was bleeding from his hands like the crucifixion” and scully goes “stigmata?” heheheheheeeee i’m blushing

(talking about belief systems is apparently a way to my heart? like c'mon, tell me how you understand the universe and which elements you surrender to knowing that you will never comprehend. you look cute while doing it)

no wounds on the hands, though… so mulder licks the blood. and i froze JUST as scully makes this horrified face... i’m CRYING. yes, it is fake blood, and yes, he has some on his lips and teeth, and yes, its adorable. but what a risky move!

ohhh he was wearing a sugar pump sort of thing! yum yum. couldn't be me, i'd be slurping that.

so mulder has been tracking religious murders related to stigmatics (excellent word!)

scully’s talking about how certain people believe at any given time there are 12 stigmatics in the world. and they represent the 12 apostles. and i’m blushing terribly.

nods solemnly. i am learning a lot about myself through this show.

scully you are so preeeeetty.

okay, cut to elementary school in ohio. kevin is blowing spitballs. his teacher is bullying him into doing math on the board. when all of a sudden, his hands start bleeding!! and we see that he has the holes!!!

he’s in the nurse’s office still when mulder and scully show up. damn how did they get to ohio that fast… OHHH they had put out an FBI alert and maybe this happened more than once. yes, this is exactly what is explained mere moments after i made the initial comment.

so it happened BEFORE, and they assumed it was an incident of abuse, but it wasn’t proven. still, his dad was institutionalized after saying Kevin was chosen by God. okay! things escalated.

scully is talking to the boy. she feels his forehead and says he feels feverish. okay doctor!! and she says he is very brave. queen. smart and kind.

mulder is meeting kevin’s mom. explaining that he might be in danger from a religious fanatic.

oh! the thermometer in his mouth broke. straight up exploded. hope that was fake mercury in there.

they’re going to put kevin back “into the shelter” which i feel like would make him an easier target for a serial killer?? but on the off chance it WAS his mom, it would make him safer. so mixed feelings here.

mom yells at the teacher, teacher says she loves her job, and mulder has this excellent smile. then waves scully out to leave. it was kinda funny to me for some reason, the waving her out. quite domestic.

mulder thinks the kid did the cuts to himself to get his father back. hmm. not buying it. so they go to talk to kevin's dad.

dad claims the forces of darkness have been watching kevin. in the great war between good and evil. he’s really talking to scully and he says they just “come full circle to find the truth”. she says dude idk what that means?? and he says “you will” okay... i’m creeped out a bit!!!

kevin is back at the children’s home. telling a bunch of other kids scary stories. and he seems to be explaining a scary guy who is walking into the building as the storytelling goes on. just as the scary guy enters, all the kids leave. scary guy is looking at the wounds on kevin’s hands!

soon after, mulder is with the group of children who saw the guy. we learn here that mulder is 6 foot 1. which is very funny.

kevin was abducted by the fellow it seems he was describing before his arrival!!! and his mom seems to blame scully. she looks really upset.

they see the drawing that they think does not look like a real person, and kevin’s mom is like it’s owen, who did the yard work.

so it’s owen time. he’s carved noah’s ark and he has kevin. but he says he can’t let him go home. because it isn’t safe. he refers to himself as kevin’s guardian angel. hmm. that makes me suspicious.

owen grabs a shotgun when a car pulls up. but the agents get him to put it down and scully is on a quest to find the little dude. and he was there… but now he isn’t?

so owen says God asked him to protect kevin.

OH ANGRY MULDER IS GONNA QUOTE SCRIPTURE AT YOU!!!!! now give him some DAMN ANSWERS!

owen is like, well YOU believe, don’t you scully, because you have that necklace on. he’s calling her a BAD CHRISTIAN??? the audacity….

then owen gets up and JUMPS OUT THE WINDOW??? and runs away??? somehow??

(mulder jumped down from the porch to chase owen, and his big coat floated around him like a cape... i giggled)

now where did this dude go...?

kevin made it home!!! he’s yelling for his mom. she doesn’t seem to be there, but someone rang the doorbell. and we only see a quick glance but it LOOKS like the killer!!!

who burns off the doorknob with his firebending!!! so yes, it is the og killer from the start of the episode! he comes in and asks for kevin. saying he knows he’s here.

mom, now would be a good time to roll up with a gun.

he picks up a family photo and sees kevin in a picture then checks the closet to see if he’s in there but kevin is in the hamper. and the hamper is bleeding!!! dead giveaway.

but owen rolls up just as the firebender guy opens the hamper, and starts fighting for him!! so kevin is making a break for it!!!

he runs and runs and RUNS INTO MULDER!!!! scully is telling him that he will be okay.

they only find dead owen. no firebender.

and kevin asks scully if she was sent to protect him… she does not seem to know what to say because. do you mean like by the government... or jesus?

autopsy time!!!! she’s talking into the voice recorder like always. it always gives vlog energy. anyway, his body looks very much alive. despite the very much dead thing.

mulder interrupts this. and scully asks him to SMELL the dude. he obliges. with only a smirk!

scully says he smells a bit… floral.

OMG!! OMG I RECOGNIZE WHAT IS GOING ON HERE. they talk about it in the brothers karamazov, how a holy body is said to stay intact and even smell good when it ought to be decomposing. so the real question is: is she imagining it?

i mean, she is the body expert. so i’d want to say no. but also, this dude was playing with her head. so it’s hard to say. i'd think she would identify the body correctly no matter what, but a little smell hallucination thanks to the power of suggestion cannot be ruled out in any situation.

AND SHE TALKS ABOUT IT!! apparently it is something you learn in catechism. okay, well i just picked it up from that summer i got through that book, but we all learn somewhere. mulder is like “you’re serious?” and i feel he should be encouraging this open discussion rather than ridiculing it. AND SHE STARTS NAMING SAINTS IT HAPPENED TO!

mulder is saying that those things didn’t really happen, and i’m not taking this from alien man.

mulder has transitioned into listening mode now. OH! SCULLY! she says:

“isn’t a saint or a holy person just another term for someone who’s abnormal?”

“do you really believe that?”

“i… believe in the idea that God’s hand can be witnessed. i believe he can create miracles, yes”

“even if science can’t explain them?”

“maybe that’s just what faith is”

YES! YES I AM CHEERING AND JUMPING UP AND DOWN. we were owed a scully-centric episode, and never did i even THINK we would get something so aligned with my interests that we’d start exploring her religious beliefs and how that intertwines with her faith in science and her work. that sounds like something i’d write a fic for because it’s hyper specific to my interests. but no. this is CANON!

mulder is saying that she shouldn’t get swept up in these things (and how ironic that the roles are reversed! it’s exquisite. we’ve found his weak point, he’ll believe in anything but a Christian God)

scully is lost in thought. taking a deep breath. steeling herself.

pause. it’s a scene change. but mulder has a pencil in his teeth. it’s adorable, really. he takes it out to write something.

they pulled prints from owen’s neck!! burned right onto the skin. and they found who did it!! the man i was previously calling the firebender, his real name is simon gates, one of the south’s wealthiest men, arrested 3 years ago on a DUI.

so then he went to israel, and this is how i learned of something called “jerusalem syndrome”, where people come back from the holy land with religious delusions. i have not heard of this before. but it could be a motive. except for the whole burning fingerprints into necks thing. i'm unfamiliar with any sort of place turning you into prince zuko.

okay, so someone saw kevin with his mom the same time he was seen with a social worker??? doubles?? twins??? ghosts??

kevin and his mom are on the side of the road with a broken down car, when who pulls up but SIMON!!

she asks what he wants and he says “i think you know”, then kevin makes a break for it.

now. can an old man outrun a child? children have small legs, but boundless energy.

BUT HE’S RUNNING?? AND ANOTHER KEVIN GETS OUT OF THE CAR??? to talk to his injured mom. then running kevin DISAPPEARED!!! AND MOM HITS THE DUDE WITH A CAR!!!

sadly, it wasn’t out of excellent aim that she hit him, but rather because she had her face smacked into the ground by simon and was concussed or something similar. she drove into a ditch.

NO!!! KEVIN IS SAYING SHE DIED BECAUSE OF HIM. DEATH??? I JUST THOUGHT WE WERE DEALING WITH CONCUSSION HERE?

i guess it can be a quick trip from one to the next. but i'm sad for poor kevin.

scully is near him, telling him she promises she won’t let simon hurt kevin. OH LORD, YOU GOT HER PROMISING THINGS, SMALL CHILD.

he doesn’t want to go back to the shelter. and she says he doesn’t have to. are they going to take this small child for a bit….?

she avoids mulder’s gaze when telling him she wants kevin to come with them, saying she is not getting personally involved, but like mulder is gonna complain having a kid around.

(he actually didn't seem to have his typical instincts kick in today. how curious...)

and turns out simon rented the car under the name of one of the devil’s disciples. yikes!

so creepy simon is watching this go down despite being hit by a car.

back to the motel. scully is running kevin a bath and sees he has a big scratch on his side. from the crash… or?

mulder is fake pouting. “you never draw my bath” JCHDJSBJSND

she’s freaked out because she knows that cut was NOT there before. OH? is it the jesus spear thing??

she is busting out her theological training- he could be in two places at once, like st. ignatius! and mulder is talking about how it was all a metaphor, that bible. mulder, if you are dismissive ONE more time...

OH, I GASPED AT THIS NEXT PART. HOLD ON I NEED TO WRITE THIS DOWN:

“how is it that you’re able to go out on a limb whenever you see a light in the sky, but you’re unwilling to accept the possibility of a miracle, even when it’s right in front of you?”

“i wait for a miracle every day, but what i’ve seen here has only tested my patience, not my faith”

“well, what about what i’ve seen?”

UGH. how PERFECT is that dialogue!!! how brilliant is that exchange!!! why is what she has seen less believable than his x files and aliens and beasts? he spends so long looking to his own stars that he’s forgotten others can form constellations as well. and how often does the narrative favor him, his thoughts running like a prey animal, chasing and chasing any sort of lead. why can’t she have something that cuts her to the quick just as deeply?

sure, science is great, science is the building block of her reality. but you can’t change the way you grew up, either, the pattern recognition, the fear of the divine. and she’s never had trouble balancing the two, we just haven’t had a reason to see them interact before, because she generally compartmentalizes the day to day world and the spiritual- and how many of us can say we do the same? probably most, if we believe in anything at all. but then it comes straight to a head- and after she has been through so much as well, losing her dad, her kidnapping, her coma, losing mulder and her job (which luckily came back), losing her sister forever- is it selfish to want there to be a caring force out in the universe?

but on the flip side, that means that there is real and genuine evil, forces of the devil and hell- unless you think it’s poetry, like mulder does. but wouldn’t that explain all the suffering she’s been through? the horrific things this job has showed her? and wouldn’t it be worth it in the end to go through that all if you know it was to be defeated?

okay i just spend so long typing that up the screen went dark. SORRY SORRY I’M COMING BACK I PROMISE!!! I JUST GET EMOTIONAL.

NOOO! a weird noise was heard, so mulder kicks down the now locked door where kevin was supposed to be taking a bath. AND THE WINDOW WAS MELTED OPEN!! so scully basically comes face to face with the evil that must be real if miracles are as well. oh! i’m eating this up.

but she promised him he would be safe! so this is not looking good!

she wants to go talk to his father again. and mulder doesn’t want to, but she is NOT taking no for an answer.

kevin’s father is not coming up with an answer. the doctors have increased his meds and he’s very foggy.

she asks again about the full circle to find the truth thing. and she runs out, in a daze.

mulder gets a call that there has been a simon spotting, but she doesn’t hear; she’s pointing at a recycling bin, saying that it’s arrows that form a circle. she thinks he’s at a recycling plant; he thinks he’s at the airport.

mulder asks if she thinks she’s the one that was chosen to protect him. and she says she doesn’t know; her voice cracks as she says that if she’s wrong, she’ll meet him at the airport. OH! religious burdens, the divine pressure of fate. he watches her leave, looking troubled.

at the recycling plant- and simon IS there, saying kevin has to die, for everyone, so the new age will come. and his hands are bleeding again. all the others were false.

SCULLY AMBUSH!!! but simon is taking him into a recycling chopper. AND HE DROPS HIM IN!!! we see chopping occur!!! but it was SIMON AND NOT KEVIN THAT WAS CHOPPED!!! kevin caught himself on the ledge!!!! she pulls him up.

he says he knew she’d come, and they hug so so so tight, and she places a kiss on his head when she’s holding him, and i’m gonna cry like a baby

when they’re getting him around to leave, she says that maybe she’ll see him again sometime, and he says that she will.

and scully looks like she’s crying- i don’t think she is, but she puts her head in her hand- mulder comes in and asks if she’s okay. she says she thinks so, and he holds out her jacket to put on. it might have been the most tender thing i have ever seen. he says they need to go make a statement; she asks him to do it alone, she has to go run an errand.

again, she mostly avoids his eyes. but he agrees, and goes to make the statement alone. he doesn't press.

AND SHE GOES TO CONFESSION???? FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 6 YEARS??? she starts talking about not being able to discuss something with mulder. she asks about miracles; if she was seeing things when it comes to saving kevin, or if she was imagining them.

she doubts herself because mulder didn’t believe them!!!!!!!!!!! and usually he believes without question!!!

maybe they weren’t meant for him, maybe they were meant for YOU, he says. and she asks if this was to bring her back; he says “sometimes we must come full circle to find the truth”

and it makes her afraid!!!! that god is speaking but no one is listening!!!!

WHO THE HELL WROTE THIS EPISODE. NO. NO, HOLD ON I’M GONNA LOOK THIS UP.

KIM NEWTON. KIM. YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WHO GETS ME ON THIS PLANET. NO ONE ELSE DOES.

wow okay. i’m going to be pacing my room about this for 100 years. there are going to be think pieces about this, from me, for the foreseeable future. i’m losing my MIND.

i don’t think i could have cooked up a more perfect episode if i had tried. something centered on scully entirely (mulder has had his fair share of attention), something about faith, something where she questions what she holds close and why she holds it close and what it means that she does so at all. what it means for there to be human good and human evil and divine good and divine evil. how god speaks to people and how we listen. or hear things that he didn’t say, like simon did.

holy FUCK i literally could not think of anything better. and i have SO much to say. i already SAID SO MUCH, too. like i’m seriously bouncing off the walls right now. whatever love i had for scully before just quadrupled- and who knew this was even possible??

for things to be reversed, for mulder to try and talk her out of a belief, how bizarre that must have felt to him, and how cold it felt. how he just couldn’t see it, how his not being able to see it drove her to doubt herself, how she must doubt herself already, but that sprung everything to the surface. how she doubts that god would use her. and use her for good.

but still, despite his lack of understanding, despite his trying to get her to think rationally- he is there for her, even if he doesn't get it, even if he could have done better. the way he held her jacket while she processed everything, the way he didn't question her needing time for herself. somethings are best left unspoken.

lord, i’m gonna have to stop there because if i don’t. i just might never shut up ever ever ever. and i still need to proofread all my raw notes, and i’m sure i’ll think of something else to say.

i started this episode AN HOUR AND A HALF AGO LMAOOOO i just had SO much to pause and observe and say which is NOT a complaint in the slightest.

wow. new fave episode i think. i’ll have to add it to the list.

please let me know what you thought- are there any other scully truthers out there who lost their minds over this? did you like the episode? is it disliked and i'm strange for going on such a ramble? did you have trouble reconciling faith scully and science scully? personally i don't, but i could see how some people might. did you find mulder too dismissive? or did you think he was trying his best? some combination of both? did scully protecting that kid make you emotional? please, spill EVERYTHING. i always want you to spill everything, but now so even more than usual.

#so here we are a full two hours since i started the episode and i still have a million things to say #but my laptop is gonna die soon so maybe that's a sign #ugh mulder was so puzzling to me in this episode. he pushed back on her but i think he realized he had overstepped when she said #“what about the things i've seen” i think that put things into perspective for him #i think he realized that this is a two way street when it comes to convictions #and honestly he probably hadn't given any thought into her beliefs before beyond the necklace and the science and the #sort of “it's best not to ask” mentality. he doesn't seem like he chats about personal philosophy. philosophy yes but not personal #i do think he learned a lesson here. not to invalidate her emotions and experiences and upbringing #at least i hope so. it seems like he was trying at the end even if he was confused #and you don't HAVE to get it. you never have to get it. you just have to see that something is important to someone you love #and that is enough to know something is worth respecting #man. i tired myself out with this one but i'm sure i'll think of a million other things to add when i fall asleep #ah well. i can make many posts on one subject!#my day was otherwise pretty unremarkable so good to have something to stand out about it #juni's x files liveblog #3x11 #the x files #txf

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