#wow that was longer than i thought

[astralspen]

Just had a thought about abilities in BSD.

Under a read more because I accidentally made a wall of text talking about this-

Oops ._.;

What if your control over your ability depends on how much you accept it as a part of you? The idea that every single ability has a consciousness, one that, no matter what, is made to protect or assist its user in some way. If you don't accept and come to terms with having a second 'you' inside you, then your ability will not work with you, simply because you are not willing to work with it when all it's trying to do is help you.

Because of this, it won't always do what you want it too at first, it won't always work, and it'll do what it thinks is best, not caring about what the user will think about it. You have to understand it was there to help you, learn that your ability is a part of you, even the parts that hurt others, the parts that hurt you, because in the end, all its doing is to fulfill the most human wish.

Survive. Live.

It's not always liking your ability, it's knowing that the ability is trying to protect you, to let you live and survive in grow no matter the cost. The pain it's caused will always be there, sometimes it will come back as a memory, and that pain comes flooding back. It's trying, and so are you. Yes, it will hurt sometimes, sometimes you'll wish you never had it, that you died instead of obtaining it, because that would prevent the pain it's caused. It's not learning to love your ability, it's learning that it embodies the part of you that wanted to survive. It's not entirely you, but a part of you. The more you know that, the easier it is to deal with and use to your advantage.

[troutpaws]

fishtober day 03:

california golden trout (oncorhynchus aguabonita)

[timethehobo]

Just finished Emmy’s personal questline and am too full of feels rn so all I have is a tiny doodle tonight. I love him sm. 😭

[clairedaring]

I still have our couple pyjamas that you bought me. Let's wear them tonight.

MY STAND-IN (2024) | 1.10

[sun-e-chips]

Waterpark au Sun and Moon now in color!!!

I still need to finish their ref sheets for art-fight but I’m so so happy to finally have them colored!

Moon’s platings are colored and textured to mimic wood grains, over that he is “painted” with varying tones of blues and teals.

Sun’s platings resemble painted Aztec stone with vibrant cool and warm colors, some of the “stone” remains bare.

Up close, guests can see that both animatronics designs have intentional weathering to really sell their imagined materials.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Redraw of my first post on this blog. Oh how far we've come B'*)

[Now with it's own redraw!]

[keuwibloom]

Ink and Dream's designs for Parallel Synthesis!

Also including some doodles of the Star Sanses in this AU-- some of them explained further below!

Parallel Synthesis Info Dump: Star Sanses Edition!

As the only mortal of the group, Blue serves as the "heart" and moral compass, and keeps the other two grounded.

Dream is the moral compass in a more figurative sense; his role as the Guardian of Positivity lets him naturally be kind and helpful and do the right thing, but often it's doing good for good's sake. He is prone to overworking and overextending himself because of this.

Dream sometimes still sees things from a more "black and white" perspective (Nightmare too but he's had 400+ years of experience over his brother AND lives with way more mortals). It's Blue who has to remind Dream that being selfish and choosing yourself isn't necessarily a bad thing, and that not everything is "black and white".

Ink proposed the team idea. He invited Dream, and later on Blue, under the condition that Blue would still return and play his part in his AU. Blue, of course, agreed.

Ink and Blue tend to bounce off of each other's energy; when one is hype the other gets hype as well. Ink is easily excitable and Blue likes to match the energy of who he's with.

Ink and Blue both prefer to be straightforward, whether it be with their feelings or with how they approach others. When Ink has issues with his emotions, Blue would help him process them through simple explanations and blunt but kind words.

Their main goal is to keep the peace in the AUs. Their missions can vary from keeping the AUs safe (from danger outside of the script) and fighting Nightmare's gang (though with less animosity after the truce), to mundane things like general community service and answering calls of help from people who know of them. Because of this, they get a lot busier than the gang, who go on missions usually more for personal gain.

Dream belongs to Jokublog

Ink belongs to Comyet

Swap/Blue belongs to the AU Community

[yume-fanfare]

angels

[artsyhamster]

Rediscovered the Disco Elysium timetable I made for myself, and figured someone else might find it useful. maybe, lol

Dates are taken from the wiki, I hope I made no error

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Two: Threshold

Chapter WC: 12,753

Chapter Warnings: drama lite, alcohol use

A/N: Posting this chapter early before I disappear for a bit! Next chapter will probably be out after Christmas. Sorry in advance for the ending 🙈

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

"Hey! You're alive!" Ahsoka says as she rushes towards you. 

You barely step out of your room before she tackles you, the force of her embrace knocking the wind out of you. You stumble backwards and hit the wall, the breath leaving your lungs in a rush as her arms wrap around your neck. You gasp for air and try to shove her away, but her grip is firm, and you're forced to wait until she decides to release you.

"Missed you, too," you manage to choke out.

She laughs and pulls away, her hands landing on your shoulders, her face inches from yours. Her eyes scan you, taking in every inch, every detail.

"Why didn't you comm? I thought something happened to you," she scolds, and she finally releases you, her arms falling to her sides. "Master Kenobi said you were fine, but he wouldn't tell me anything. Said it wasn't his place. So, what's going on?"

"Um," you start. You aren't sure how much Anakin's told her, or Obi-Wan, if they've told her anything at all, and you hesitate, unsure of how much to share. You don't want her to know the extent of your...difficulties. It's better that she doesn't. Besides, you're not really sure what to say.

"Are you okay?" she presses, her voice filled with concern. "What happened?"

"I'm fine. Really," you assure her, and her eyes narrow, clearly unconvinced. You sigh and shake your head. "Obi-Wan and I had a...fight. About me receiving my own command. He was worried about me, and it didn't go well. That's all."

"Why would he be worried about that?" Ahsoka asks, her tone curious. "Everyone knows you're a great fighter. The Council wouldn't have given you a brigade if they didn't think you could handle it."

"Yeah, well, Obi-Wan's a worrier," you say, and your stomach churns. It's not entirely a lie, but it's not completely true, either. "You know how he is."

"That's true," she admits. "He does like to fret. Especially about you."

"Yeah," you mutter, and a pang of guilt shoots through your chest. You shove it down, forcing yourself to move past it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Or him. I was just...upset. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay. We all get upset sometimes," she says, her voice softening. She smiles and shakes her head, her hands reaching out, grasping yours. "Glad you're back, though. I've missed having someone around here who doesn't talk in riddles all day."

"Thanks," you mutter, and you manage a weak smile. Ahsoka's eyes narrow, and her fingers squeeze yours, her grip tightening.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly. "I'm just tired. I didn't sleep very well last night."

"You seem...different. Than when you left." She glances away, and her voice drops. "Something happened, didn't it?"

"A lot of things happened," you say dryly.

"Something big," Ahsoka presses. She looks back, her eyes meeting yours. "What is it?"

"Nothing," you say, but you know she won't believe it. You clear your throat and take a deep breath, straightening yourself. "We should talk about it. Later. Just...not right now. Okay?"

"Okay," she agrees reluctantly. Her eyes linger on you for a moment, and she squeezes your hand once more before releasing you. "Fine."

"Where's Anakin? I thought he was going to be here," you ask in a blatant attempt to change the subject. It works, and her expression lightens, her posture relaxing.

"He is. He's just late, as usual," she says, rolling her eyes. "He sent me to bring you to the hangar. And to make sure you don’t run away again. He's worried about you."

"Right," you sigh. You glance back into your room, checking to make sure you haven't forgotten anything, and you shut off the lights. Your room is in a better state this morning, but you’re still careful to block the doorway from Ashoka’s view. The last thing you need is her finding out about your mess. "Is Rex here, too?"

"Yeah," she replies. "He's waiting with Anakin. He seemed anxious, more than usual."

"I'll bet," you mutter, your hands flexing and unflexing at your sides. You've spent most of last night worrying about your meeting, wondering what it will be like, and you can feel a flutter in your chest, a knot forming in your stomach. You try to push back against it, but it doesn't go away.

"Come on," Ahsoka says. She reaches out and grabs your arm, tugging you towards the hallway. "We're gonna be late. If we're lucky, we might even beat Anakin."

"Let's hope," you chuckle.

Ahsoka laughs, and she turns, pulling you along. The two of you hurry through the temple, weaving through the corridors, passing the other Jedi as they go about their business. They ignore you, lost in their own thoughts, and you can't help but wonder how many of them have heard. How many of them know. If any of them do, they don't say anything. For once in your life, you’re grateful for their silence.

The further you walk, the greater your anxiety grows. The halls become emptier, more barren, and you can feel the tension building, your shoulders tensing. You're almost there. Almost to the hangar. Almost to Rex.

The last time you saw him, you had hugged him goodbye and promised you would update him on the Council meeting. He had given you a small smile and wished you luck, and then, he was gone. You haven't spoken since. You've spent a week apart, and in that time, everything has changed. Everything.

A part of you wants to turn back. To go home and crawl into bed and pretend like nothing happened. Pretend like this never happened. Pretend like you don't care. Pretend like you haven't been thinking about him, wondering what he's doing, how he's feeling. Pretend like you haven't been obsessing over every touch, replaying every word, every smile, over and over and over.

You can't do that.

"You alright?" Ahsoka asks. Her eyes meet yours, and her brows raise. "You look like you're going to throw up."

“Did he say anything?” you ask, and her head tilts to one side, her mouth scrunching.

"Anakin? About what?"

"No," you say, shaking your head. "Rex. Did he...say anything about me?"

"Not really," she says slowly. She's watching you, her expression thoughtful. "He asked where you were. Wanted to know if I'd heard from you. When I told him you were out of contact, he said, 'Oh,' and that was it. Why?"

"I...I don't know. Just, making sure," you mumble, and you can feel her eyes on you, burning holes in the side of your head. You keep moving, focusing on the path ahead, trying not to think about it. "I was just wondering."

"What's going on?" she presses. She comes to a sudden stop, forcing you to do the same as her hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist. "Wait. You're nervous."

"No, I'm not," you say quickly, and her eyebrows rise, a look of disbelief flashing across her face.

"Yes, you are," she argues. She tugs on your wrist, turning you towards her. She studies you, her gaze moving across your face, her mouth turning down. "I don't think I've ever seen you this nervous. Is there something I should know?"

"I'm not nervous," you protest. You try to free your arm from her grip, but her hold tightens, her fingers digging into your skin.

"Yes, you are," she presses. She leans in, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm not,” you snap.

"You are," she insists. "I can see it."

"Well, you're seeing things."

"Uh-huh," she says, her voice doubtful. Her mouth twists, and her fingers tighten around your wrist. "He’s been acting strange, too, you know. Ever since we got back. He kept checking his datapad, waiting for a message. Any time I ask, he says he's fine, and he shoves it back into his pocket. But, I've seen him staring at it."

Your mouth closes, and you bite your lip, unable to form a reply. Your stomach twists, and the fluttering sensation increases, spreading outward, until your whole body feels like it's vibrating. It would be easier to deny it, to play it off as nothing, but you can't find the words, and the silence that follows is deafening, a heavy weight falling over the both of you.

The two of you stand there, frozen in place, neither of you saying a word. After a moment, Ahsoka's grip loosens, and her fingers drop, her hands falling to her sides.

"Are you two—" she starts, but you cut her off, speaking over her.

"We should go. Anakin's waiting."

You pull away and move around her, continuing down the hall.

Ahsoka lets out a frustrated huff and runs after you, catching up within seconds. You're grateful for her shorter stride, and you can't help but speed up, hoping to outpace her. It's a futile effort, and she easily matches your pace, her feet matching yours step for step.

"So, there is something going on," she says. Her tone is accusatory, and her head whips towards you, her eyes widening. "There is! I knew it!"

"No, there's not," you argue. You pick up your pace, but she's faster, and she manages to stay right next to you. "There's nothing. Nothing. Okay?"

"You're lying," she accuses, and her lips twist, her head shaking. "I can't believe you. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you repeat.

"Really?" she scoffs, and her voice is filled with skepticism. "Because, from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like something. It looks a lot like—"

"Like what?" you challenge, and you finally come to a stop, your gaze landing on her. You can feel your face flushing, and your jaw clenches, your mouth tightening. "Say it. Tell me. What is it?"

Ahsoka's mouth opens, and her lips move, trying to form a response. You watch her gaze flick around the empty hall, checking to see if anyone is around, before finally landing back on you. Her voice is lowered, her tone serious. "Are you two together? Is that what this is?"

"No," you reply, and you immediately wince. It comes out too fast, too quick, and you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax. You have to calm down. To control yourself. Otherwise, you're going to make things worse. Much, much worse. "No, we're not. We're not together. It's not like that."

"What is it like, then?" she asks.

"We're friends," you answer, and her eyebrow raises, a hint of amusement crossing her face. You glare at her, your voice rising. "We are. Really. That's all. There's nothing going on."

"Okay," she says, holding up her hands. "I believe you. I just...don't understand. He's acting really weird. And, so are you."

"I'm not acting weird," you protest. "I'm just nervous. About meeting my men."

"Okay," she says, her mouth turning down, a crease forming on her forehead. "Fine. If you say so."

You stare at her, taking in her skeptical expression, and you let out a sigh, shaking your head. "Listen. You know me. Do you honestly think I would be involved with him? With anyone? In a million years?"

Ahsoka thinks about it for a moment, and then shrugs, her expression shifting. "No. I guess not.”

“And Rex would never risk his position. Not like that. Not for anyone," you continue, and her lips purse, her eyes darting away. "He's not that kind of man."

"Right," she mutters.

"Right," you agree. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to release some of your tension. But your words don't help. If anything, they make things worse. The pit in your stomach deepens, and a wave of guilt washes over you. 

Because that's not entirely true. Rex is that kind of man. A good man. He would risk everything for someone he loved. For someone he cared about. And a part of you knows, without uncertainty or question, that he cares about you. He cares about you more than you care about yourself. More than he should. Much more than he should.

Rex has risked everything for you. More than once. He's risked his career, his reputation, his life. All for you. And he's done it without hesitation, without asking for anything in return. He's done it because he believes in you. Because he cares about you. He's put his trust in you, and he's supported you, and he's been by your side, every step of the way. Even when you didn't deserve it. Even when you weren't worthy of it.

And you shut him out. You pushed him away.

You've been so worried about what would happen, what everyone would say, what everyone would think, that you didn't stop to consider his feelings. Or yours.

You haven't stopped to consider what you want. Not really. What you want from him, from yourself, from this. Not once.

A sudden realization hits you.

This isn't fair. Not to either of you. You need to talk to him.

"Come on," Ahsoka says, her hand reaching out and grabbing yours. "Anakin's going to be furious if we're late."

You nod, and she pulls you forward, continuing down the hall. The two of you walk in silence, and the anxiety fades, replaced by a sense of determination. Your mind races, turning over every possible scenario, and you run through a list of ways to begin a conversation, discarding each one as soon as you think of it. By the time you reach the hangar, you've settled on the most basic approach, and you're mentally preparing yourself for whatever might happen next.

As soon as your eyes land on Rex, though, all thoughts disappear.

His back is to you, and he's standing with Anakin, talking about something, their voices low. They're facing one of the gunships getting ready to take off, and Anakin is gesturing, his arm waving back and forth, his expression animated. It's obvious that he's telling a story, and Rex is listening, his attention focused entirely on Anakin's face, nodding along to whatever it is that he's saying.

The sight sends a pang of longing through your chest, and you pause, staring at the back of his head, watching the muscles of his neck flex and tense. The urge to run to him, wrap your arms around him, and bury your face in his neck is overwhelming, and your hands twitch at your sides, resisting the temptation.

It's been less than a week since you last saw him, but it feels like so much longer. Like an eternity.

And he's right there.

Anakin’s gaze shifts over Rex’s shoulder, and his eyes lock onto yours, a smirk forming on his lips. He turns to Rex and claps his arm as he leans in, his words too soft to hear. Rex suddenly tenses and snaps his head up, turning toward the door, his gaze searching the room until his eyes land on you.

Your stomach flips and a lump forms in your throat, and all of your carefully rehearsed speeches disappear, forgotten, lost to the ether. For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you say anything. The two of you stare at each other, drinking in every detail, taking in every nuance. You can feel his relief as much as you can see it in the set of his shoulders and the curve of his mouth and the warmth in his eyes.

After what feels like an eternity, a small smile forms on his face, and Rex dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. "General."

"Captain," you respond automatically. The words are awkward and stiff. Formal. Too formal. You grimace and clear your throat before correcting yourself. "Rex."

"You're back," he says.

"I am," you nod. You take a few steps towards him, and the two of you continue staring at each other, the tension between the two of you increasing with each passing second. An awkward silence descends over the group as Rex continues to look at you with an intense gaze, and you shift your weight, the silence becoming almost unbearable until Anakin lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

"Well, this is fun," he says dryly as he looks between you. "Anyone else want to say something? Ahsoka?"

"Nope," she says, shaking her head. "I'm good."

“Great. Then, we can go," he announces, and he steps around Rex, heading towards one of the gunships. “Come on, Goldie. It's time to meet your men."

"You heard him. Let's go," Ahsoka says, nudging your arm.

"Right," you mutter, and you follow after her, your steps slow and measured. You glance over at Rex as he falls into step beside you. He's silent, his mouth turned down, and he keeps his eyes forward, his gaze straight ahead.

You want to speak. To tell him that you're sorry. To tell him that you missed him. To tell him how much you've thought about him. But, you can't. Not here. Not with Ahsoka and Anakin. So, you remain silent, your throat closing, a tightness forming in your chest.

It's going to be a long day.

The four of you climb aboard, and Anakin settles into his seat, leaning back, his feet propped up. Ahsoka plops down next to him, pulling out her datapad and tapping away. You take a seat across from them, and Rex sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. You suck in a sharp breath at the contact, and your heart leaps, a tingle running down your spine.

Rex glances at you, his eyes locking onto yours, and a wave of emotions hit you. Concern. Relief. Confusion. Frustration.

He's upset with you. He has every right to be.

But, he doesn't move away. He doesn't pull back.

His body remains still, pressed against yours, his thigh rubbing against your own.

And, even though it's wrong, and you shouldn't, even though Anakin and Ahsoka are sitting right there, even though everyone is watching, you lean into him slightly, savoring his touch.

He sighs, and his hand brushes your knee as he adjusts his position. It’s a brief touch, enough to be considered accidental, and he quickly pulls his hand away, placing it on his lap. His thumb rubs circles on his palm, and his fingers flex, stretching, and then relaxing, again and again.

You try to keep your attention on Anakin, listening as he continues his story. But it's impossible. Your eyes keep drifting to Rex, taking in every detail, every movement. Every twitch. Every shift.

After a few minutes, his hand drops to his side, landing on his leg. He stretches his arm out, and his fingers brush your hand, his knuckles grazing your skin.

You look at him out of the corner of your eye. He's still looking forward, his face expressionless.

Without thinking, your hand reaches out and closes around his. You give it a quick squeeze, and then, before he can react, you pull away.

You wait for a response. A signal. A sign. Something. Anything. But nothing comes.

The ride is short. Too short. Before you're ready, the ship is descending, the engine powering down as the landing gear touches down. The doors open, and Anakin and Ahsoka rush out, both eager to escape the tense atmosphere of the gunship.

Rex stands at the same time as you, but he waits until you're in front of him before moving towards the door. His hand lands on your lower back, guiding you, and a thrill shoots through your body, sending goosebumps up your spine. The unexpected touch nearly forces you to stumble when you step out of the ship, your boot hitting a raised portion of the gangway. You catch yourself, and Rex grabs your elbow, steadying you, his hand lingering for a moment before releasing you.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah," you mutter, and your eyes dart around, taking in the hangar. "I'm fine. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he murmurs, his tone flat. You glance at him, and his jaw is clenched, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

He's upset.

You can feel the tension between the two of you, and you can't tell if he's mad, or frustrated, or hurt, or what.

All you know is that it's your fault.

Rex moves forward, and you fall into step beside him, walking in silence. The air is cool and crisp, and it smells faintly of fuel, a pungent, acidic smell that hangs in the recycled air. The hangar is busy, full of clones rushing about, performing maintenance and loading supplies. There are gunships, shuttles, and dozens of fighter ships parked in neat rows, all waiting to be used. It's a sight you're still not used to, and the thought of soon having not just one, but three such ships at your disposal as soon as you reach Kamino is almost overwhelming.

Anakin leads the way, his long strides quickly bringing him to the end of the hangar, and Ahsoka is close behind, her head turning this way and that, taking in the activity. You follow, and Rex walks beside you, keeping his distance, his hands folded behind his back. The four of you wind through the hangar, weaving between groups of clones, all of them wearing their distinctive blue and white armor. A few nod or wave as the group passes by, their helmets tucked under their arms, but most ignore the Jedi and carry on with their work, focused on their tasks.

Once you're through the hangar doors and inside the main corridor, the crowds thin, and Rex slows, his hand reaching out to grasp your elbow. Anakin looks over his shoulder and nods, and he and Ahsoka keep moving, leaving the two of you alone in the empty hall.

You come to a stop and turn to face him, and his fingers slide down before falling away.

"General," Rex starts, his voice formal and stiff. His shoulders are squared, and his arms are locked at his sides. "It's good to see you again, sir. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your quarters."

Your brow furrows in confusion, but you try not to let it show. It's not your first time on the ship, far from it, and the walk to the quarters is one you've taken many times before. Still, you follow after him, matching his pace, keeping a small distance between the two of you.

As you walk, you steal small glances at him, taking in the way his hand is twitching, the way his fingers are drumming against his leg. You can tell he wants to say something as much as you do, and you try to think of a way to start the conversation, to break the ice, but nothing comes to mind, and the two of you remain quiet until Rex lets out a small sigh and clasps his hands behind his back.

"So," he says finally, his voice low. "I heard about your promotion. Congratulations."

You grimace and duck your head. "Thanks. It...wasn't what I expected."

"It rarely is," he agrees. He pauses and turns his head, meeting your gaze. His expression softens, his brow furrowing, and his tone turns gentle. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," you answer. You bite the inside of your cheek and look away, breaking eye contact. "It's fine."

"No," he says firmly. His voice is filled with frustration, and his hand shoots out, grabbing yours and squeezing tightly, pulling you to a stop. "I'm not asking about the damn promotion. I'm asking how you are."

Your heart skips, and you can't help but stare, caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanor. You open your mouth, about to reply, when a group of clones passes by, their footsteps echoing off the metal floors. Rex lets go of your hand and steps back, returning their salutes with a nod, and you do the same, your mind racing, your body frozen in place.

When the last clone passes, his hand moves to the small of your back, pressing against it as he guides you forward. His touch is firm, but gentle, and he keeps his pace slow, letting you set the speed, matching his steps to yours.

"You should've commed," he murmurs.

"I know," you mumble. Your throat is tight, and you swallow, forcing yourself to continue. "I'm sorry. I should have. I know."

"What happened?" he asks, barely audible. His eyes scan the empty hall, making sure no one is around. When he's satisfied, he continues. "I was worried about you."

"You don't have to worry," you insist.

"Yeah," he scoffs. "That's not going to happen. No matter how much you want it to."

"Rex," you protest, and your stomach twists, a pang of guilt shooting through your chest. "You don't...you shouldn't...I mean, it's not..." You trail off, unable to find the right words, and your hands move to your belt, fiddling with the hilt of your lightsaber.

"Not what?" he presses. "It's not my business? Not my problem?"

"No. Yes," you mutter. You shake your head and take a deep breath, gathering yourself. "I don't know."

He watches you, his eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail. He sighs and shakes his head, his hand dropping away to activate the panel outside the lift. The doors open with a hiss and he waits, motioning for you to enter first.

You hesitate, and his hand reaches out, brushing against your hip, urging you forward. You step inside, and he follows, the door sliding shut behind him. His thumb presses the button for your floor, and the elevator begins to rise, the cables whirring softly.

"I know I don't have to," he says finally, his voice low and rough. He looks away, staring at the wall. "I know that. I don't care."

"You should," you argue weakly. "You should care."

"Well, I don't," Rex counters. His head turns, and his eyes lock onto yours, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You should know that by now."

"Yeah, I guess I should." 

You hold his gaze for a moment before looking away, unable to handle the intensity of his stare. Your hand returns to your belt, fidgeting with the hilt of your lightsaber, and a heavy silence falls over the lift, the only sound coming from the machinery as the elevator continues its slow ascent.

"I...I'm sorry," you say finally. "For worrying you. For making you worry."

"It's okay," he replies softly.

"It's not," you counter. Your hands clench into fists at your sides and your gaze moves to the floor. "It's not. You're...you're important. You didn't deserve that. Any of it. I should've called. I should've checked in. I should've—"

"Hey," he interrupts, and his hand lands on your arm, his fingers gripping your bicep, pulling you toward him. "It's okay."

You turn toward him, and his hands slide to your shoulders, holding you firmly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles through the thick material of your tunic. Rex's head dips down to meet your gaze, and his eyes move across your face, searching.

"It's okay," Rex repeats softly. His eyes flick down and then up again, and a small smile tugs at his lips, his fingers squeezing gently. "I'm glad you're back."

You nod and force a small smile, and he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. You hesitate and then return the gesture, burying your face in his neck, breathing him in, the familiar scent filling your lungs, calming you. His hand moves up and down your back, rubbing it soothingly, and his cheek rests against the side of your head, his lips brushing against your hair.

"I missed you," you whisper, the words barely audible. It's the first time you've said them aloud, the first time you've allowed yourself to admit them, even to yourself, and you cling to him, savoring the warmth of his body, the comfort of his touch.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his breath tickling your ear. "Me too."

Your heart leaps, and you pull away, looking up at him, taking in the softness of his expression, the tenderness in his eyes. A lump forms in your throat, a sudden sense of vulnerability washing over you.

"Rex," you start, and the rest of your words die on your tongue. You swallow, trying to speak, but nothing comes out, and your mouth snaps shut.

The elevator door slides open, and the moment is gone. Rex jerks away and takes a quick step back, putting distance between the two of you, and you take a steadying breath, willing yourself to calm down. The hallway is empty, but there's no telling who might be lurking around the corner, and you can't risk anyone seeing the two of you like this.

Rex steps out into the hall and looks back, checking to make sure you're following. You nod, and he moves ahead, leading the way, his hands once again clasped behind his back.

"I have your new quarters set up," he says as you fall into step beside him. "General Skywalker and Commander Tano will be down the hall, but you'll have some privacy. I thought you would appreciate that."

"Yeah," you mumble. "Thank you."

"They're not as nice as the ones you had before," he continues. His tone is flat, and he keeps his gaze fixed forward, not once glancing at you. "But, they're functional."

"I'm sure they're perfect," you assure him.

"Right," he nods. "Anyway, there's a briefing packet in your quarters. It has everything you'll need to know about your new command. I know it's a lot, but I'll be here to answer any questions you have."

"Very thoughtful of you," you say, a small smile playing on your lips. "I didn't think you could get any more organized."

He snorts and gives you a sideways glance. "Well, someone around here has to be."

You laugh, and the tension eases, the two of you slipping back into the familiar rhythm of banter and teasing, the same way you've done countless times before. You can't help but notice that there's an underlying sense of something more beneath the surface, an intimacy that's not quite the same as it was before. But it's subtle enough to be easily disregarded, and the two of you make small talk, discussing the ship, the crew, the new assignments, the upcoming battle on Bothawui. It's a pleasant distraction from the stress of your current situation, and by the time the two of you reach your rooms, you're almost relaxed. Almost.

Rex opens the door, and you step inside, taking in the space. It's a simple room, furnished with a bed, a small table and chair, and a built-in closet. It's not as large as your last room, but the large window that spans the wall more than makes up for any perceived lack of space. It's a stunning view, and you walk toward it, peering out at the stars and ships that fill the vastness of space above Coruscant.

"What do you think?" Rex asks from behind you. His voice is hesitant, and you can feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting.

"It's beautiful, Rex."

"Good," he says, relief evident in his tone. "I'm glad."

"You know me so well," you joke, and he laughs, a low rumble that sends a shiver through you. You turn and smile at him over your shoulder, and he smiles back, his expression softening.

"I try," he chuckles. His smile fades, and his gaze moves around the space, his posture stiffening. "There's, uh, also some paperwork for you. On the desk."

"Right," you mutter, and you move to cross the room towards the desk. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he says quietly.

You've only taken a step before you still, your eyes falling on a bottle of wine sitting next to a stack of datapads, and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The bottle is tall and slender, the glass a deep green, and a card is placed neatly in front of it, your name written across the front in a familiar scrawl.

"Rex," you start slowly, a note of amusement in your tone. "Why is there wine on my table?"

"Ah," he mumbles, and he rubs the back of his neck, his shoulders hunching. "I...may have had something to do with that."

You turn to face him, and his face is red, his eyes darting everywhere but at you. A laugh bubbles up, and you cover your mouth, trying to hold it back, but a small giggle escapes, and Rex's face falls, a crease forming on his forehead.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

"You," you snort.

"Me?" he replies, his tone incredulous. He shakes his head, his lips pursing, and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. "I knew this was a bad idea. I should've—"

"No," you cut him off. Your hand reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him toward you, and you smile at him, a warm feeling filling your chest. "I'm not laughing at you. I promise. It's just...so sweet. No one's ever given me anything like that before."

"Really?" he says skeptically. "I can't believe that."

"Well, it's true," you assure him, and he relaxes, his features softening. You let go of his arm and glance at the wine, a wave of fondness washing over you. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he murmurs. He shifts awkwardly and clears his throat. "I was worried it would be too much. But I figured you'd need it. To celebrate."

"Or to drown my sorrows," you counter dryly, and Rex scoffs and shakes his head.

"Maybe both," he says, his tone playful.

"Definitely both," you reply, and he grins, his head ducking, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

The two of you stand in comfortable silence, and your eyes meet his, a warm tingle running through your body at the intensity of his gaze. Rex swallows and clears his throat, his hand reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt.

"I should, uh, leave. Let you get settled," he says. His eyes move to the door, and his head turns slightly, his shoulders stiffening. "If you need anything, just comm me. I'll see you at the briefing later."

"Of course," you nod, and he steps back, heading for the door. When he reaches it, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you. You can see the conflict in his eyes. You know what he's feeling, and it's the same thing you're feeling. It's a question. And it's one you're not sure how to answer.

"Rex."

His brow furrows, his head turning to face you. You take a deep breath, summoning your courage, and speak before you can second-guess yourself. 

“You’re not going to make me drink alone, are you?”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he blinks once, twice, before breaking out into a small smile, a light chuckle leaving his lips.

"No, sir. I wouldn't dream of it," he says, the teasing lilt in his tone bringing a smile to your face. "I'll uh, come by after the briefing. We can...talk. If that's okay."

"Yeah," you breathe. "That's okay."

Rex nods and gives you a quick grin before disappearing out the door. As soon as he's gone, your smile disappears, and your shoulders slump, the weight of your responsibilities hitting you all at once. It's been a long week. One of the worst weeks of your life, and you're exhausted, your mind racing, your emotions stretched thin. But the thought of spending more time with Rex is a welcome distraction, and it helps take the edge off, giving you something to look forward to.

You walk over to the desk and pick up the card, studying the handwriting on the front. It's a simple message, written in bold, blocky letters, but the sight of his handwriting brings a smile to your face, and you open the card, reading the brief message inside.

Congratulations. You deserve this.

Yours,

Rex

The words make your heart flutter, and a wave of affection washes over you, making you feel light-headed and giddy. You've never seen him write, never known he could, and the thought of him sitting down, taking the time to put these words down on flimsi, fills you with an overwhelming sense of tenderness.

It's not the first time he's made you feel this way, but it's the first time he's done it knowingly, and the realization sends a rush of heat through your body, a tingling sensation running through you, making your heart race and your palms sweat. It's a feeling you've felt before, a feeling you've tried to ignore, and you've always pushed it down, buried it, pretended like it didn't exist.

But, it does. And now, the thought of him coming back later, the thought of being alone with him, fills you with an excitement and anticipation you haven't felt in a long time.

You want to be with him. You've wanted to be with him for months. And if you're honest with yourself, a part of you has always known it would come to this. The two of you have been growing closer for months, spending more and more time together, and it's gotten to the point where it's difficult to imagine your life without him in it. You've found yourself thinking about him constantly, wondering what he's doing, worrying about him, and every time he walks into a room, your stomach flutters, and your heart pounds, and a surge of affection rushes through you, making you dizzy and breathless and stupid, and—

“Force,” you mutter. You drop the card on the desk and place a hand on your forehead, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. This isn't the time for this. You're supposed to be figuring out how to run an entire fleet of starships and troops and a thousand other things that require your full attention. This isn't the time to get lost in fantasies or wishful thinking.

But, even as you think it, a part of you doesn't care. 

You’ve already proven yourself a failure when it comes to focusing on the important things. Why stop now?

With a frustrated sigh, you drop your pack on the bed and open it, taking out the clothes you’d hastily packed the day before. Everything is wrinkled, and a few pieces are torn, a reminder of how stressed you'd been. You can't help but roll your eyes and mutter a string of curses under your breath. You've spent an entire week on edge, and the last thing you need is to start your journey off with a reminder of how truly unstable you are.

With a shake of your head, you quickly fold the items and place them in the empty drawers, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening the edges. It doesn't take long, and you're done within minutes, the only item left is Yaddle’s lightsaber.

Your fingers run over the cool metal, the engraved symbols rough beneath your skin. You lift it, holding it up to the light, studying the intricate designs. It's a beautiful piece, and a sense of calm settles over you, a faint buzzing sensation traveling up your arms and spreading throughout your body.

For the first time since the meeting with the Council, you can finally breathe.

It's not the end of the world.

You have a plan. And even though it's a bit crazy, even though it's more than a bit complicated, and even though there are a thousand ways for everything to go wrong, it's a start. A solid beginning.

And that's enough.

You turn and place the lightsaber on the desk, next to the wine bottle, and a small smile crosses your face. The sight of them together is strange, but comforting, and you can't help but laugh. Rex has a habit of bringing out the unexpected in you, and the fact that he's managed to do it even in your darkest moments is something you'll never stop being grateful for.

"Oh," you mutter.

That's a dangerous thought.

With a deep sigh, you check your appearance in the mirror and head to the briefing, doing your best not to think about what might happen later.

Later turns out to be after dinner.

The meeting is long and exhausting, and by the time the briefing ends, you're ready for a shower and a bed. But, Anakin and Ahsoka are still going over the battle plans, and there's no way you're going to interrupt them. So, you take a seat beside Rex, listening, adding a comment here and there, until finally, the meeting ends and everyone disperses, heading off to get some rest.

Rex stands and stretches, and the two of you make small talk, exchanging pleasantries and discussing the upcoming mission. But when the room is empty, and the two of you are alone, he glances at you and tilts his head toward the door, his eyebrow raising in a silent question. You nod, and he leads the way, guiding you back to your quarters, the two of you walking in silence.

The ship is quiet and dimly lit, the lights in the hallways turned down for the night cycle. It reminds you of the last time the two of you walked the Resolute’s halls toward your quarters. Much has changed since he escorted you back from the medbay that night, but the small glances and subtle touches are still the same, and the familiarity makes you smile, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.

When the two of you arrive at your room, Rex stops and waits for you to enter first. You press the keypad and step inside, and he follows, the door sliding shut behind him. Once the door closes, he takes a deep breath and rubs his face, and the exhaustion hits you at the same time, a heavy weariness settling in your bones. The stress and strain of the past few days has caught up with both of you, and the two of you look at each other, both letting out a tired laugh.

"Long day," he says with a rueful smile.

"Very long," you agree.

You move to the closet and hang up your outer robe, and Rex stands still in the center of the room. His posture is stiff, and you can tell he's nervous, his thoughts racing, his fingers drumming against his knee.

He's not the only one.

“I’m going to go change into something more comfortable," you tell him as you slip off your boots and toss them in the closet. "Why don't you open the wine?"

"Uh, sure," he mutters, and he clears his throat, nodding to himself. "Yeah, I can do that."

"I'll be right back," you say, and you disappear into the small refresher, closing the door behind you.

You lean against the sink and stare at yourself in the mirror, taking in your messy hair, the bags under your eyes, the way your face is drawn and pale. You're a mess. No wonder he's acting so skittish. He's probably terrified of what you'll do next. Or say.

With a deep sigh, you splash water on your face and change, the sound of a cork being removed reaching your ears. By the time you've changed and stepped back out, Rex has opened the bottle, leaving it on the desk. He's standing at the window, watching the blue-white streaks of hyperspace passing by the ship, his back to you.

You walk over and stop next to him, glancing at his face, taking in the sharp angles and strong lines, the stubble along his jaw, the crease between his brows, the slight downward turn of his mouth. His expression is a mix of concentration and uncertainty, and you can tell he's deep in thought, trying to find the right words.

"Hey," you murmur, and he starts slightly. His gaze moves to yours and his expression softens, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Hey," he says softly. His gaze moves down and then up, his eyes lingering on your face before they flick back to the stars. "Nice view."

"Yeah," you agree. "It is."

"How are you doing?" he asks. His voice is low and hesitant, and his brow furrows, his lips pursed. "I mean...you know."

"I'm fine," you reply automatically.

"Don't lie," he says, his tone gentle, but firm.

"What am I supposed to say?" you mutter. Your hands move to your belt, fiddling with the buckle. "That I'm pissed? That I'm disappointed? That I'm embarrassed? Because I am."

"I get that," he says, and he turns, leaning his hip against the window, his head turning to face you. His shoulders are hunched, and his arms are crossed, and he's looking at you intently, his eyes scanning your face. "Do you want to tell me what happened? With the Council?"

"Not really," you admit. "It was stupid. I was stupid. I said some things. Made some assumptions. It's done."

"Assumptions?" he repeats.

"Nothing important," you say dismissively. The bottle of wine sitting open on your desk suddenly seems much more appealing than before, and you move toward it, searching for the right words to explain what happened.

"It was..." You trail off, trying to think of the best way to describe it, and then give up, shaking your head. "A disaster."

"A disaster?" he repeats, a note of concern in his tone. He turns fully to face you, his eyes searching your face, his lips pursed. "What did they do?"

"Nothing," you mutter.  Your hand reaches out and grips the edge of the desk, steadying yourself. "They didn't do anything. It was like all the evidence we gathered didn't even matter, and I was just wasting their time."

"They didn't listen to you," he says slowly. It's a statement, not a question, and his face is grim, his expression tense. "About Dooku."

"No, they didn't," you agree. You open your desk drawer in search of two cups and take out the ones inside. They're simple, metal mugs, but they'll work well enough for the wine. You'd drink it straight from the bottle if you could, but the thought of Rex watching you do that makes you cringe. “And I didn’t react well."

Rex's eyebrows shoot up, and he watches you, his head tilting to one side. "How badly?"

You don’t respond, your eyes focused on filling the cups with wine. You can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, and a flush rises to your cheeks, shame and guilt and frustration swirling inside you. You set the bottle down and grab the glasses, moving toward the window, trying to avoid the question.

"How badly?" he repeats, his voice rising slightly, his tone demanding.

"Not well," you admit. "I got a little angry."

"A little?" he snorts.

"Okay, maybe more than a little," you mutter, and a small laugh leaves his lips. You turn to look at him and roll your eyes. "It's not funny."

"Sorry," he chuckles. He steps toward you and takes one of the cups. His thumb rubs over the top of the glass, and his eyebrows raise in amusement. "You have a temper. That's not exactly news to me."

"I do not," you protest, and his eyebrows rise higher, his head shaking in disbelief. "I don't!"

"Sure," he smirks.

"I don't," you insist, and he laughs again. You glare at him and let out a huff. "Fine, I do, but not...not like this."

"So, what did you do?" he asks, his expression softening, his tone becoming more serious.

"I yelled," you admit, and a grimace twists your face. "I, uh, yelled at them quite a bit, actually. Obi-Wan had to drag me out of there."

Rex's jaw drops open slightly, his eyes widening, and you look away. A hot flush of shame creeps over you at the memory of it and everything that followed. Of how quickly you lost control of yourself. Of the fear and panic and desperation that had driven you to such an extreme reaction. Of the way they looked at you afterward.

"Wow," Rex mutters.

"Yeah," you agree.

"That's..." He trails off and takes a deep breath. He turns his head toward the window and stares out into space, his hand gripping his cup tightly. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," you murmur. You swallow hard, and the room falls silent, the only sound coming from the hum of the ship's engines. "I've been an ass lately."

"Don't say that," he argues.

"It's true," you shrug. "I've been an ass to everyone. Even you. And you didn't deserve that."

"I wasn't upset," he says quietly. His hand reaches out and covers yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, and the familiar touch sends a shiver up your spine. "I just didn't know what to do. Or how to help."

"There wasn't anything you could've done," you tell him. Your hands grip the cup tightly, your knuckles turning white. "I was...I'm a mess. I am a mess."

"You're not a mess," he argues. He lets out a frustrated sigh and turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours, his expression earnest. "You're stressed. And worried. And overwhelmed. And it's understandable. Anyone would be."

"Maybe," you concede.

"I'm sorry about Yaddle," he says after a moment. "That must've been tough."

"Yeah," you say slowly. Your voice is thick, and a lump forms in your throat, a wave of grief washing over you. You try to ignore it, pushing it down, focusing on the conversation, but the tears come anyway, stinging the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. You wipe them away with the back of your hand and force a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Of course," he says softly.

"She would've liked you," you tell him. The tears continue to fall, and you swipe at them, sniffling loudly, and his hand rests on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. You glance at him and manage a shaky smile. "She would’ve liked you a lot."

"I hope so," he murmurs. His fingers trail down your arm and then drop away, and he clears his throat, taking a step back. He holds up his cup and lifts his eyebrow. "Should we drink to her?"

"Absolutely," you chuckle.

"To Master Yaddle," he says solemnly.

"To Master Yaddle," you repeat.

The two of you clink your glasses together and drink deeply. It’s…well, it’s not the best wine you've ever had, but it's not bad, and the warmth spreads through your body, easing the tension in your muscles and dulling the ache in your bones. You watch as Rex makes a valiant effort to hide his distaste, but the sour look on his face is enough to bring a laugh to your lips. 

"It's, uh, not bad,” he mutters.

"Liar," you snort. You take another sip of your own and feel your nose wrinkle, the bitter taste coating your tongue. "Force, that's awful."

"Yeah," he nods, and his face twists into a grimace, a shiver running through him. "Sorry. I shouldn’t have made assumptions.”

"No, it's okay," you assure him. "I appreciate the effort. Really."

"I'll remember to buy some real alcohol next time," he says, and his smile widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He takes another sip and shudders, a groan escaping his lips. "Ugh, no. That's terrible. Why would anyone drink this?"

"Because it's cheap and effective," you tell him. Your own face screws up as the harsh flavor hits your tongue, and you take a large gulp, doing your best to hide your discomfort. "Keep drinking. It'll get better."

"It'll get worse," he corrects. His expression is skeptical as he peers at the wine, eyeing the dark liquid. "Did I buy you...poison?"

"No," you reply with a laugh. "But it'll certainly feel like it in the morning."

"Wonderful," he drawls, and you can't help but grin, his dry sarcasm sending a rush of affection through you. He looks over at your sofa and sighs. "I'm going to need to sit down for this."

"Same," you agree, and you move to settle on the couch in front of the window, grabbing the bottle as you go. Rex follows and sits next to you, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. A safe amount of distance. Just enough to remind you both where the line is. That you're not supposed to cross it. Not even now.

"So," Rex starts. He takes another sip and his face pinches. "How did things end with the Council? Did you...did you get any answers?"

"No," you admit, taking a sip of your own and fighting back a shudder. "They just kept telling me to calm down."

"And then what happened?"

You give him a wry smile and drain your cup, setting it on the table next to the sofa before leaning back, letting the alcohol hit you fully. It’s been a while since you drank, and you can already feel the effects, a light buzzing in your head, the tension in your body fading away. "Then I fought with Obi-Wan and locked myself in my room for a week. But other than that, things went great."

"You fought with Kenobi" he says slowly. His eyes widen, and his head turns, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Why would you do that?"

"Because he was being a dick," you reply sharply. The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and Rex stares at you, his brow furrowing, his lips pressing together into a thin line. You sigh and shake your head. "Sorry. It's just...during the meeting, he didn’t stand up for me. And he was acting like he knew what was best for me."

"And did he?"

"No," you mutter, and Rex raises an eyebrow, his eyes fixed on your face. "Well, maybe. I don't know. It was hard, experiencing that again. I think we tried to pretend that nothing had changed, but things did. Things are different. I'm different."

"Yeah," Rex says quietly. He sets his cup on the table and leans back, his gaze fixed on the stars outside the window. "I know what you mean."

You study his face, taking in the lines and angles, the creases in his forehead, the faint shadows beneath his eyes. He looks tired. He looks worn. And you know it's not just from today. It's everything that's happened since the start of the war. It's every battle he's fought. Every sacrifice he's made. It's been a long year. For all of you. But for him especially.

"How are you?" you ask. The question seems ridiculous when asked aloud. Of course he's not okay. None of you are. But you have to ask. You have to know. "Really."

"I'm fine," he says.

"Really?"

"No," he sighs. His shoulders slump, and his eyes close. He tilts his head back and lets out a ragged breath. "No, not really."

"I didn't think so," you murmur, and a grimace twists his face, his brow furrowing deeply, a deep sigh leaving his lips. His hand reaches up, rubbing his face, and he shakes his head, his eyes opening, staring straight ahead, unseeing, his thoughts miles away, somewhere far beyond the view of the stars that surround you.

"It's been a long year," he mutters, and you nod, unable to find the right words. "A very long year."

"Yeah," you murmur in agreement.

The silence falls between the two of you once more, the tension returning as the reality of the situation sets in. This isn't a happy reunion between friends, or a fun night out with co-workers. This is a soldier and a Jedi, two people who have known each other for months, have been fighting side by side for almost a year, and have shared more than either of them could have imagined.

This is something else.

"It'll be okay," you finally say. You’re not sure if you believe it, and you’re not one for empty reassurances, but it seems like the thing to say, and Rex looks at you, the corners of his mouth turning up in a weak smile.

"Yeah," Rex nods. "I know. We'll figure it out."

"We will," you say confidently. You reach out and cover his hand with yours. Your fingers trace the outline of his knuckles underneath his glove, and you squeeze his hand. "We always do."

"I wish things were different," he mutters. His voice is rough, his tone heavy, and your chest aches, the weight of his words hitting you. He swallows and turns his hand, his palm pressing against yours. His thumb runs over your knuckles, and he sighs, his fingers squeezing yours gently. "I wish a lot of things were different."

"Me too," you whisper, and his hand moves away, slipping out from under yours. 

Your palm feels cold without his touch, and you resist the urge to reach out, to take his hand in yours again, and pull it back to where it belongs. Where you want it to be. But you don't. Instead, you reach for the wine, pouring yourself another glass, doing your best to ignore the hollow feeling in your stomach. 

"I can't believe you gave me wine," you tease, and he snorts, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Me either," he admits. He shakes his head, his gaze returning to yours. "But I figured you'd need it."

"How are you so nice?" 

You don't mean to say it aloud, but the words slip out, and you flush, embarrassed by your question. Rex laughs and gives you a small shrug, his lips curving up into a sheepish smile.

"I'm not," he chuckles. His head tilts to the side and he studies you, his expression thoughtful. "It's  easy to be nice when it's you."

"That's..." you trail off, not quite sure how to respond.

"It's the truth," he says simply.

"Right," you nod. You take a deep breath and turn your gaze to the stars, the familiar sight of hyperspace giving you a sense of comfort, of safety. “Well, I’m lucky to have you then."

"Yeah," he murmurs, and when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his eyes sparkling, and a small laugh escapes his lips. "You are."

You let out a huff and elbow him in the ribs, and he laughs louder, his hands shooting up, holding them in front of his chest defensively.

“I can’t believe you. I’m trying to be nice!” you say indignantly.

"Nice," Rex scoffs. He rolls his eyes and drains his glass, his shoulders shaking with mirth, and the sight makes you smile, a warm, tingling sensation rushing through you. “Since when are you nice?"

"Always," you say with a dramatic huff. You stick your nose in the air and take a sip of your wine, glaring at him over the top of your cup.

"Not always," he snickers. "Remember the first time we met?"

“Not this again,” you groan, and his grin widens, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. You can't help but roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. Yes. I wasn't nice."

"That’s an understatement," he laughs. He shakes his head and pours another glass of wine, filling it to the brim, his head turning to look at you. "I thought you were going to stab me."

"I still might," you retort dryly. Rex snorts and lifts the cup to his lips, drinking deeply. You watch as his throat bobs, a flush rising to his cheeks. When he lowers his cup, his expression is somber, his smile fading, and he clears his throat, shifting slightly on the sofa.

“You were the first Jedi I’d ever met," he says quietly. His fingers run over the rim of his cup, his gaze focused on the liquid inside, his brow furrowed. "The first human outside of the trainers I’d ever met, actually. And you were...not what I expected."

"Oh?" you prompt. You can't help but wonder what he's thinking. What he's feeling. The two of you have grown close, have become good friends, but there's a part of him that's always been guarded, a part of him that's kept hidden, and it's those parts of him that interest you the most.

"You were so..." Rex trails off, his eyes flicking to yours. He takes a deep breath and holds your gaze. "Stubborn. And angry. You were furious. At everyone and everything."

"I was," you admit.

"I didn't know what to make of you," he says slowly. He shifts closer, his body angling towards yours. "You were so different from what I was expecting. I was told about the Jedi. About how wise and kind and serene they were. And then I met you."

"And?"

"And I thought you were crazy," he replies.

You let out a small laugh and take another drink. You'd had your own opinions about him when the two of you first met, and while his assessment of your personality isn't wrong, it's not entirely accurate either. You were scared and confused, and you took it out on him. It wasn't fair. To either of you. But you've learned a lot since then. About the war. About yourself. About him.

"Maybe I am," you say lightly. Rex chuckles and shakes his head.

"You're not crazy," he corrects. "You're...passionate."

"Is that a nice way of saying stubborn?" you tease. Rex smiles and lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. "You were just as bad."

"Yeah," he nods.

"You were rude," you say pointedly. "And sarcastic. And infuriating."

"Sorry," he mutters.

"I liked it," you add, and he looks at you in surprise, his eyebrows raising. You smirk and tilt your head to the side. "You didn’t take any of my shit, and you were funny. I liked that."

"Really?"

"Yes," you insist. You take another sip and try to keep your tone even, to hide the excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside you. "I still do."

"I'm glad," he says quietly. There's an undercurrent of something else in his tone. Something deeper and darker and more complicated than anything the two of you have talked about. His eyes move to the wine and then back to you, a hint of regret flickering across his features. "I wasn't trying to insult you. I was just...I wasn't prepared."

"For me?"

"For you," he confirms. He drains his glass and sets it on the table next to the sofa. His hand falls to his lap, and he stares down at it, his fingers tapping restlessly against his leg. "I'd never met anyone like you before."

"What does that mean?" you ask. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing, and a hint of a smile crosses his face.

"You were..." He trails off, and his expression turns thoughtful, his eyes drifting away from yours, his gaze fixed on some distant memory. "You were fearless. You didn't care what anyone thought. You were strong and determined and fierce. And I..."

He breaks off and shakes his head. A small chuckle leaves his lips, and his eyes meet yours, the intensity in them making you shiver.

“I was in awe of you,” he says softly. “I thought you were the most incredible person I'd ever seen. And yeah, I thought you were a little scary, but...in a good way."

"Scary?" you repeat, a note of disbelief in your voice, and Rex laughs, his head ducking down, his eyes crinkling. There’s a flush creeping up his neck and he looks up at you, his smile growing wider.

"Terrifying," he says with a laugh. "But not in a bad way."

You snort. "I'm glad.”

"I'm not scared of you anymore," he tells you. His tone is serious, and the humor fades, his expression becoming solemn. "But I am...I'm in awe of you. Still."

"I..." you trail off. His words send a rush of heat through your body, a warm feeling spreading through your veins, and you find yourself staring at him, unable to speak, unable to think. The only thing you seem capable of doing is looking at him and hoping that he understands the things you can't say. Because he has to understand. He has to feel the same way. Doesn't he?

"It's true," he says, his voice low and quiet. "I don't know if I ever told you, but...you saved my life that day. On Geonosis. And...I think I knew then that I would follow you anywhere."

"You didn't have much choice," you point out, and he shakes his head, a small sigh escaping his lips.

"That's not true," he murmurs. "There were plenty of choices. There were a million choices I could've made that day. And none of them involved following you. But I did. Because I wanted to."

His words catch you off guard, and you sit still, staring at him, taking in the sincerity in his voice, the earnestness of his expression, the conviction in his eyes. It's the most honest he's been with you, and you don't know what to say. What to do. How to react.

"Rex," you breathe. You shake your head and force a smile, doing your best to push aside the emotions churning within you. "You're drunk."

“My metabolism is too fast to be drunk on this swill," he snorts, shaking his head. "But even if I was, that doesn't mean it isn't true. I followed you because I wanted to. Because I knew you were someone worth following."

"Even when I'm angry and impulsive and reckless?" you ask wryly. Rex smiles and nods.

"Especially when you're those things," he says, his voice soft and gentle. “You wouldn’t be you otherwise."

You open your mouth to reply and close it, the words sticking in your throat. You turn and stare at him, searching his face, trying to find the right thing to say, the right way to respond, but there's nothing. No words. No clever remarks. No snappy comebacks. Just the overwhelming desire to be close to him.

When you speak again, your voice is shaky, the words barely above a whisper.

"You're too good for me," you say, your eyes dropping to your cup, the wine swirling within it, the deep red liquid reflecting the lights from the stars outside the window. You glance up and find his eyes focused on yours, the tenderness and affection clear in his gaze. "You know that, right?"

"No, I'm not," he murmurs, his tone firm. His fingers brush against your hand, his fingertips trailing along the inside of your wrist, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. "And I know you're not perfect. And that's okay. That's not why I..." He swallows and looks away. "That's not why."

"Why what?" you press. Your heart pounds in your chest, your hands shaking slightly, and Rex shakes his head, his jaw clenching, his expression strained. He reaches for the wine bottle and pours himself another glass, lifting it to his lips, his eyes focused on the stars. You wait for him to speak, but he remains silent, his brow furrowing, his jaw tightening further. "Why what, Rex?"

He lets out a deep sigh and turns back to you, his gaze moving from yours to your lips, and then back again. His eyes are dark and intense, and his voice is low, barely audible.

"You know why," he says quietly.

The words hang in the air between the two of you, the weight of them heavy and thick. There's a part of you that wants to deny it, to pretend that you have no idea what he means, but the other part, the one that's been pushing those thoughts aside since the day the two of you saw each other again, knows exactly what he's saying.

He wants you.

He's wanted you since the beginning.

But, it's more than that, and you know it.

Because, the truth is, you've wanted him too.

You've wanted him since the first time the two of you worked together, since the moment he looked at you, and saw the real you, the version of yourself that's hidden away, locked away behind a mask of anger and arrogance and stubbornness. Since the moment he saw who you really are, and decided he wanted to know more, to know you, to know the person beneath the surface. Since the moment he made you laugh, made you smile, made you feel something besides the darkness and the emptiness that has consumed your life for the past ten years.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. His eyes drop to the floor, his shoulders hunching forward, and you can feel the shame radiating off him. He shakes his head, and his cheeks flush, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have...this is stupid. Forget I said anything. It was just...the wine."

"Don't be," you tell him softly.

His head snaps up and he looks at you, his brow furrowing, his lips turning downward.

"What?" he breathes.

"Don't be sorry," you repeat. You take a deep breath and lift your hand, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. "I'm not."

"You're not?" he asks.

"No," you reply as your thumb moves along his jawline, and his eyes flutter shut, a small sigh escaping his lips. “I’m only sorry that we won’t have the chance to do anything about it."

"About what?"

"About us," you murmur. “This new command…there’s no telling how long we'll be apart."

"I know," he says quietly.

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes still closed, and his face turns slightly, pressing against the palm of your hand. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and when his eyes open, his gaze meets yours, the intensity in them sending a shiver down your spine.

"Then we should make the most of the time we have left," he says softly. His hand moves up your arm, and his fingers run along your jaw, tracing the line of your cheekbone. His gaze lingers on your lips before returning to yours, and his thumb brushes over your chin, sending a rush of warmth through you

“I don’t know if we should,” you whisper, but your conviction is waning, and your body betrays you, leaning into his touch, craving the feel of his skin against yours. Rex sighs, his fingers moving to the back of your neck, his palm cupping your cheek, his thumb rubbing gently against the soft skin below your ear. 

Your head dips toward his, and your foreheads touch, his lips hovering inches from yours. You can feel his breath fanning across your face, and your hands reach out, gripping his armor. Your fingers dig into the material, desperate for some anchor to keep you steady, to keep you from losing control, from surrendering yourself completely to the desire and need that are coursing through your body.

"Neither do I," he admits. His other hand moves up, cradling the side of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. His gaze meets yours, and the conflict and uncertainty are plain on his face. He swallows hard and his lips part slightly. "But...I want to."

"Me too," you confess.

"We should stop," Rex murmurs, his eyes searching yours. "Before things go too far."

"Probably," you agree.

But neither of you move, and his gaze drops to your mouth, his thumb moving along your lower lip, tugging gently. A small gasp escapes your mouth, and his eyes lock onto yours, his lips curving into a slight smile.

"I can't," he breathes.

"I know," you say softly. Your hands slide up his chest, moving to the back of his neck, and his head dips forward, his nose brushing against yours, the tip of his tongue running over his bottom lip.

There’s a moment of hesitation. A brief second where both of you know that there's no going back. A fleeting moment when the two of you stop and consider what it will mean if you cross the line. If the two of you finally give in and do the thing that you've both wanted for months. A moment where both of you wonder if this is the right choice. If this is the path the two of you should take.

A sudden, heavy lurch of the ship snaps you out of your thoughts and sends both of you crashing to the ground. You fall forward, your hands flying out, catching yourself before your body can slam into the floor. Rex lets out a grunt as he lands beside you, his elbow hitting the ground with a loud thud.

You watch as the blur of blue and white outside your viewport flips to black, a jarring change that leaves you dizzy and disoriented. There's a low whine and a rumble as the engines power down, and the lights flicker once, twice, and then shut off, leaving the two of you in total darkness.

"What the hell?" you mutter, pushing yourself up, squinting at the viewport. Your vision is blurred, and your mind is foggy, and you rub at your eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Rex groans and sits up, and the two of you fumble in the dark for a few seconds before you call your lightsaber into your hand. The yellow glow from the crystal provides just enough light for the two of you to see each other. Rex's face is grim as he glances around the room.

"Are we under attack?" he asks. You shake your head as you reach out with the Force, searching for any sense of danger, and find none.

"No," you reply. "I don't think so."

"Good," he sighs, and he pushes himself up onto his feet, offering you a hand. You take it and allow him to pull you to your feet. His grip is firm and strong, and he holds your hand for a moment longer than necessary, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver up your arm. “We should—“

There’s another loud thump, and the two of you are thrown sideways, your lightsaber flying from your hands. Rex's arms wrap around your waist, steadying you as you both slam into the wall. You land on top of him with a thud, his hands still wrapped around your hips, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. You look up at him, your faces only inches apart, the sound of his breathing filling the air, his eyes wide and searching.

“That sounded like an explosion," you mutter, your hands braced against his chest. Rex's brow furrows as he nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. "An internal one."

As if in answer, the blare of the klaxons sounds throughout the ship, and the emergency lights flash on, bathing the two of you in a crimson glow.

"Attention. Attention. This is an emergency. All personnel are ordered to proceed immediately to their stations. This is an emergency. All personnel..." The computer repeats the message over and over, and you look up at the speakers, frowning in confusion.

"This can't be good," Rex mutters.

"No," you agree. Your head dips down, and you close your eyes, a deep, uneasy feeling settling in your gut. "No, it's not."

"We need to go," he says quietly, and you nod, taking a step back. His arms move away from your waist, and he hesitates for a moment before he reaches up, cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, and his expression softens, the tension in his body easing. "Later."

"Later," you echo, and his hand moves to your shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. You watch as he straightens his back, his face growing serious, and he turns and marches towards the door, grabbing his helmet along the way. You take a deep breath and shake yourself, pushing aside the disappointment and frustration and confusion swirling inside you. You can deal with all of that later. Right now, there's work to be done.

You can only hope that whatever is happening isn't as bad as it seems.

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[googleitlol]

Out of curiosity, how would Monkey King: Reborn go if Dove was there? Cause I’m loving Wukong’s character in that movie and I’m curious about how he would be to Dove!

Being 100% honest, I may have… not seen the movie yet 😅

But I have seen a few clips of Wukong in that movie! From what I’ve seen, I have a few ideas of how their relationship would be similar or different from PoM.

First off, I think MKR Wukong would be intrigued by Dove for different reasons than PoM Wukong. Mostly, he’s put off by her lack of fear of demons. She doesn’t seem to fear him at all— hell, half their talks end with her challenging him in some way. Humans don’t have the backbone for that sort of thing. It’s not like she doesn’t understand why she should fear them either, one of the things they both seem to agree on are that demons are evil beings, and that’s all they could ever be.

I feel like their fighting would be less teasing and more blunt arguments. I just know Dove would be chewing him out for that scene with the tree in the beginning. When they get past their reasons for hating one another tho, I can see things playing out differently than they do in PoM.

MKR Wukong is still the one who catches feelings first, but he’s more in denial over it. Maybe he catches a glimpse of Dove being cute with the baby spirit from the movie (side note, Dove would LOVE that little guy, they’d be besties/mother and child), and all he does is scoff and turn away in irritation because his heart is going faster now and he doesn’t understand why. He’d also probably start doing subtle things like getting her favourite fruit from the market if it’s there, just because he thinks she’d like it. Maybe in crowded areas, he’d keep his tail around her wrist or pull her close if she goes off too far. I think he’d also secretly enjoy if Dove joined the spirit in putting all those flowers in his tail 🤭

In Monkey King Reborn, I think Wukong would be so oblivious to his feelings and all the subtle shit he’s doing to show them that Dove would actually pick up on it first and be the one to ask him about his feelings (and she’s MEGA oblivious, so you know it’s bad). Blud would deny it in the moment, because that kind of talk is crazy. Who does she think he is, Bajie?! Why would he ever like a human, much less her, in that way?

That talk doesn’t go over the best, if you can imagine. But it does make him realize that… yeah, he does like her. Shit, he really does like her.

Their next talk would be him doing his best to back peddle any of the accidentally-offensive stuff he said before. Even if she does forgive him, that whole “We’re monks we can’t like each other” melodrama would still play out. MKR Wukong would probably show more of his annoyance about the situation than PoM Wukong, he’d probably go on some, “This woman is driving me crazy” rants every now and then. But then there’d be a moment where he sees her, maybe on the battlefield, or even just watching her in conversation with the other pilgrims, and he’d be content with how their relationship is in that moment, because whether she accepts his feelings or not… she makes him feel like he’s more than just some evil demon. And he loves that she makes him feel that way.

[werewolfsmile]

re: "All I’m saying is the fact that someone isn’t talking to me about Eliot Spencer every second of every day is very unfair and borderline illegal." & tags - if you want to, can you elaborate on your werewolf!eliot ideas?? i’d like to hear about it!! if not all good tho :)

Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Yes I would love to elaborate! (buckle up because i have Thoughts)

(wow this really got away from me so uhhh .... warning for 2k of ranting about Eliot as a werewolf?? list of headcanons under the cut)

From the moment I first met Eliot Spencer, I knew he was werewolf-coded. Aside from his insanely fantastic fighting abilities and the absurd amount of punishment he can take, there are many other factors that contribute to his werewolf status.

Eliot needs a pack Our boy is out here working on his own for years and look at all the good it did him! None! He carries severe trauma from his family life because he blames himself for how it all went down and doesn't think he'll be welcomed back. Plus something probably happened during his military days or early PMC days to put him off working with others. Could have been the pain of losing people all the time, could have been something more. Either way, Eliot working on his own is a defence mechanism - but a self-destructive one.

Wolves thrive in packs - like duh, they're pack animals. As my username suggests, I'm into werewolves and, by extension, wolves. I've done research for my own werewolf novels in the past, so I know that in an average wolf pack, each pack member will have physical contact with the other pack members on the regular. Like, several times an hour! (gosh if I can find the research paper this info came from I'll link it but honestly it's been years) That's a serious level of physical contact required to keep the emotional bonds of the pack healthy!

Flick back to Eliot. He loves to fight, he loves the violence and the pain, yes. He hates the killing and the blood on his hands. He actually tries to leave the assassin world behind after he meets Toby (which is before he meets Moreau, as per early dialogue in The French Connection Job). He bonds quickly with Toby. Show Eliot a little love and care and he's yours for life! He moves onto retrieval work, then somehow ends up working for Moreau.

Now, when we see Eliot and Moreau in The Big Bang Job, Moreau says, "You work alone." Which means that Eliot had that reputation when he came to Moreau. He probably only took contracts to start off with. But he accepted job after job from Moreau and was so good that he was highly respect and it's inferred he ended up as Moreau's top bodyguard/assassin. Why the hell would Eliot end up that close to a man who brings out all the worst in him? Because Eliot's a werewolf and no matter how toxic, Moreau fulfills the need for a pack bond that he's been missing all this time.

Fast forward to Eliot meeting the rest of the Leverage team. One job only - my ass. He saves Hardison's life after Hardison brought a gun to their little meeting - and we all know how Eliot feels about guns.

Wolves are designed to live and operate in packs. Eliot says it's one job only but is bonding with them all from the get-go. Werewolf trait confirmed.

Eliot needs physical touch Now, I know what you're thinking. Eliot canonically avoids physical contact with the team. He refuses hugs, especially from Hardison, growls at Parker poking his bruises (don't get me started on the growls), and shoves people (ahem Parker) out of his personal space. So why would he do all this if he needs physical touch??

Because he's one gigantic ball of angst and self-loathing and guilt.

Eliot doesn't think he deserves forgiveness or love or family, etc. That is a whole other rant, but he denies himself the physical contact he needs with others as a way of punishing himself.

However, as the series progresses, we see him become more comfortable with physical contact! He hugs Hardison several times, he doesn't move away from Parker, etc. Why? Because he's bonded with this team (ahem pack) and there's only so much he can suppress his instincts. The more time he spends with them, the more naturally the contact flows.

Eliot needs to protect others Whenever we get a scene of the team walking as a group, where is Eliot positioned 90% of the time?? That's right, at the back of the group. He lets the others walk in pairs and falls back to bring up the rear. He's keeping them all in his line of sight and constantly scanning for threats ahead, along with protecting the team from any rear attacks. It makes sense for him to do this given his military background, but it also makes sense for a werewolf to do this.

He's the only werewolf in the team. His instincts revolve around keeping the pack safe and protected, so he does that in the best way he knows how.

Not to mention how feral gets over kids!!

Wolf life is all about the pack and the family structure. Pups are integral to the pack's survival and future. Eliot doesn't have kids of his own. But that doesn't stop his instincts from blaring every time he interacts with a kid, be it on the con or off. He takes time out every time to help that kid in an attempt to calm the raging storm of instincts inside his body.

Eliot needs to feed others It's another werewolf instinct that rears its head when they're in the safety of their headquarters (ahem den). Protecting the team/pack from physical threats is just one aspect of taking care of them. Feeding them is the other major one.

None of these idiots can cook to save their lives - except Nate, but he's also drowning his liver 90% of the time, so Eliot has to compensate for that, too. The team can't operate at full capacity if they're not consuming good nutrition. So Eliot makes sure to feed them.

His humanity recognises that these are independent people - coworkers - and he can't control every meal of every day. But he can cook for them, once a week or once a job, which is just enough to satisfy his instincts that he's doing his part to care for them. Plus they love his cooking, and the praise he gets from it is an unexpected but pleasant bonus.

Eliot and team sports/kitchens This ties in with my first point about Eliot needing a pack, but all the times we see Eliot go super hard and get absorbed in the role he's playing are when he's on a team sport or he's in the kitchen. Both of these fulfill super important instincts for him - being in a team/pack and providing food for others.

Think about The Tap-Out Job. Eliot's playing a fighter but he's not pretending to be on a team. He doesn't get over-invested in the role. But what about when he's a baseball player? A hockey player? He falls into those roles hard because he's working with another team again, and this little werewolf is built for that environment. Same in The French Connection: the kitchen becomes his den, the students are his pack mates, and he goes hard at investing in them and protecting them. Never mind the personal aspect of Toby.

Same for episodes like The Fairy Godparents Job when we get a scene of Eliot teaching a bunch of girls self-defence. Team setting + protecting kids = happy werewolf instincts.

So, werewolf headcanons? I have a lot of different origin theories but the main one I like for Eliot is:

he became a werewolf either for a covert military op, or was bitten by Moreau (choose your own angst flavour)

if it was for the military, they were trying to engineer supersoldiers and he was deemed a failure; he has werewolf instincts all the time but only has enhanced strength, healing, etc on full moons

if it was bitten by Moreau, there's a psychic-style bond linking them, which is why he was so loyal to Moreau for so long, and also why he is so reluctant to go after Moreau

(wow this is too different theories already and i said this was my 'main one' whoops)

Eliot can only shift easily on the full moon; shifting outside of a full moon can only be caused by extreme stress and is ridiculously painful

he suffers an insanely high prey drive all the time and is so strict about his control because he doesn't actually wanna rip out the throat of Random Guard #3

he used to chain himself up for full moons so he didn't hurt anyone, but since the team found out about him, Hardison and Parker have taken it upon themselves to 'puppy-sit' him every full moon

this involves no chains but an obscene amount of dog chew toys. Eliot is never impressed. He also never chases or chews the toys. The video evidence Hardison has was obviously doctored.

Hardison and Parker found out the truth when a con went sideways and Eliot was trapped in a room with them during the full moon

he was terrified he was going to kill them - or worse, bite them - but his instincts recognised them as pack so instead he just tried to wrestle with them all night

Hardison had a major freak out when he discovered Eliot was a werewolf - it's one thing to be obsessed with sci-fi/fantasy, it's another thing entirely to see your best friend transform before your eyes

Parker was not even remotely phased, being all like, "pfft of course werewolves are real, I thought you knew that Hardison, you talk about your elves and orcs all the time!"

"Woman that is completely different and you know it!"

"What else do you think is fake? The tooth fairy?? Ha!"

Eliot is Done With Their Shenanigans

Parker only ever refers to Eliot as Sparky when he's in his wolf form

Sophie didn't actually know about werewolves before the reveal but she pretends that she did

Nate knew about werewolves before Eliot, he just chooses to pretend that they're Not A Thing

werewolves generally don't make good hitters, because the constant exposure to violence ramps up their hunting instincts aka they find it hard not to kill

of course, this doesn't matter if you're someone like Moreau who specifically wants killing machines and thus turns his top hitters into werewolves, to ensure loyalty and enhance his strength

the only other werewolf hitter not under Moreau's control that Eliot knows is Quinn, who most certainly did not pull his werewolf strength punches when they tousled in The First David Job

Quinn doesn't have a pack (werewolf or otherwise) and genuinely doesn't seem phased by this, which pisses off Eliot to no end

however, after they work together in The Last Dam Job, Quinn deems himself Eliot's Best Werewolf Bud and keeps popping up randomly to hang out on full moons, etc

Parker and Hardison are a bit weirded out (and a little jealous) of Quinn's attention initially, but soon get over that when they discover that two werewolves on a full moon absolutely play for hours like 6 month old puppies - especially with the tug rope

Eliot is Extremely Susceptible to belly rubs even in his human form, which is half the reason he pushes people out of his personal space a lot - his reputation would never survive anyone finding out

of course the entire team figures it out and take to ambushing him with belly rubs whenever he's being stubborn or annoying

belly rubs are also the only way he will relax enough when he's injured so they can treat his wounds

despite the incessant dog jokes, the ever-growing pile of dog toys, and the bowls labelled with "Sparky" and cartoon bone symbols ... Eliot absolutely adores the pack he's found himself in and wouldn't change them for the world

One of these days I will sit down and write a thousand fics for werewolf!Eliot! Till then, I'll just keep churning out the headcanons ;)

[aurorangen]

Renee and Vincent had just visited the hospital when they saw a toddler crying alone on a bench. Vincent couldn't bear to see this happening and rushed over to help. "I hate D-Daddy!" he cried through muffled sobs. "Hey, that's my son!" someone yelled. He picked up the kid and went to the guy.

It was clear to Marco that Casper was refusing to let go of the stranger's arms and he dramatically sighed, "If you don't give him back, I'm calling my lawyer!" Oh he had the audacity to blame him even though it was his own fault his son would much rather stay in this stranger's arms. And this stranger was also a lawyer.

Vincent had no idea who this problematic guy was but he was hella annoying! He had a hunch of what was happening and had dealt with cases like this before. Seeing the pleading eyes of the kid in his arms reminded him of the neglect from his own father.

"For fuck sake Marco," Petrah cursed under her breath, "Honey! Let's not make a scene, there are people here," she shot secret daggers at him, worried about her reputation. If paparazzi saw any of this-

Then Renee came over, "Calm down sir." When he wouldn't, she gave up and showed her police ID. Marco recognised her but couldn't quite place when they'd met. But she was a detective and he didn't want to get into trouble. You're in deep shit now Marco...

"I apologise for my husband's childish outburst but I can explain." With her best acting skills, Petrah explained the situation her own way. "Let me buy you some drinks perhaps?" she didn't want to get into trouble either and surprisingly settled all the misunderstandings.

[sirazaroff]

How do you think Velvet flirts with Coco?

This is one of the funniest asks I ever got and im glad cause this is just gold. Like how does the Bun™️ woo her stupid bozo??
————


I have my biased takes on what Coco and Velvet are like as characters, but to start off I wanna focus on what Vel brings to the table.

I think a lot of people have moe’d her down to a nervous/scaredy bunny girl and…that’s not her at all. She’s a real multilayered character who can and will kick your ass flat. She’s also…

- very very attentive to people

- excellent at memorizing things she sees and hears, and quickly at that

- very emotionally in tune with people, herself included

- insanely kind and helpful

- honest about her feelings and will voice her thoughts when ready

Also she’s a bunny like come on. Is baby. It’s impossible to not find her likable.

I can go on forever, but I think these are enough likable traits to work with.


Time to shift. Now we focus on what I think Coco likes in a person:

- Hot girls

- Complexity

- Someone true to their nature

- Some sense of honor

- Someone striving to learn and to better themselves

Hopefully it’s not lost here, but there’s some compatibility don’t you think? Velvet’s got some of those traits that Coco likes.

————

So where’s the flirting? It’s coming I swear, I just needed the background info to help support the answers.

Bun bun flirts two ways: intentionally and unintentionally. The latter is usually what’s happening most often.

Her intentional flirting is what you would expect. Some cheeky words, being a playful tease in her actions like when she flashed her camera in After the Fall. I think she would 1000% take advantage of her physique and incredibly vast skillsets. She is totally totally showing off during training and sparring. Coco might hide her gaze under her glasses but that dumb bitch is so easy. So so easy…

Now her unintentional flirting is basically that Velvet is just doing her thing. She’s comfortable and loved by her team. With them she’s able to be herself and have fun, and that’s what coco loves most. Seeing Velvet thrive and not feel like she has to hide herself away from the world, and with it comes moments and actions that make Coco, much to her surprise, fall for Velvet.

I guess simply put, Velvet flirts by being her cheeky self around Coco, and her leader falls for her every time.

[tesseractingrey]

I was watching some old bbc radio 1 clips and hearing their old introduction for the radio show, them describing it as putting the audience in charge, and thinking about answering fan questions for the basis of pinof, thinking about interactive introverts and giving the people what they want. For so long, their content has been SO connected to us, to interacting with us, answering our questions, giving us some element of control.

If you ask us why we watch Dan and Phil, we’d probably say for their dynamic, because we enjoy them as people and think they’re entertaining and enjoy how they interact together. But if you ask what kind of content Dan and Phil have made, it’s mainly stuff where they are trying to centers fans, not themselves. And sure, they have made lots of story time videos in their individual content, but I’m talking joint content: they’ve made an effort to make it about us, for years. Even when they started the gaming channel, then, they were trying to center the games, the competition of it all, not their dynamic.

Given everything that’s happened, it makes sense that they wanted to hold onto their privacy, and not make their relationship the center of the content. They weren’t comfortable being out, or comfortable fully inviting us to scrutinize their dynamic. So giving the audience “control,” deflecting the attention away from “we want to do this” and “we want you to know this” to “you want us to do this” and “you want to know this” as a defense mechanism. Yet they still maintained actual control, selecting which audience questions and suggestions to include, while making fans feel valued and involved.

And this isn’t a bad thing! They are fully entitled to their privacy, and this emphasis on interaction with us is a large part of why I think they built such a strong and wonderful community. And they clearly actually do like us and are glad to have us, so there’s also some element of gratitude and wanting to give back in wanting us to be included in the content.

But that’s changing, now. What Dan and Phil text each other, spill or kill, the mukbangs, this is all parts of themselves and their dynamic that they are freely choosing to share with us, to make the topic of the video. Their gaming videos are not about playing popular games, it’s just random bullshit or niche games that just give them a chance to yap, intentionally centering their dynamic in the content. And sure, there’s them looking at phan twitter, but there’s also them just sitting and watching tik toks and recording it so we can see too. We talk about feeling like a third wheel so much recently, because they are so comfortable and themselves on camera and so much less focused on directing the content towards us, and more focused on just having fun Together.

They came back to the gaming channel not to make us happy, but because it made THEM happy, because Dan genuinely wanted to again. Comparing how they talk about the content they were making in 2018 to now in the last mukbang, there’s now no feeling of owing us something, of wanting to give us what we want to make us happy. Dan said he can’t wait for Phil to Get to see us all in person, not just that they know we want to see them. They are doing this for themselves, they’ve repeatedly said that they’re shocked at the response to the gaming channel coming back: they didn’t make this choice for us.

They are now explicitly in control of their content, it’s not about us. And yet they’re Choosing to center their dynamic and be themselves, show us more of themselves than ever before. After everything, I just think it’s really special that they feel comfortable doing that, and I’m so glad that we get to see them be so happy and doing things for their own good.

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.