#though I think I probably won't be able to refrain entirely from talking about my interests over there as well

[littledesertfox]

Kinda thinking about whether I should post some of my art on here should I find the time to draw again ... on one hand I think it'd be nice to share it, but on the other hand I'm worried that somehow, people who know me from my regular account will stumble across this one and recognise my art style, and I'll be called out/cancelled because they probably won't understand this community🤐

[bakubakunyanyaa]

thank you for taking my argument into consideration and being a good sport about this! i'm afraid i'm going to have to disagree with you yet again, though.

yes, jon tends to close himself off under duress - that's how he initially copes. hovewer, we know he's willing to overcome this - both because he took georgie's advice in s3, and because it's what he does in s4 - obviously not all the time, he closes himself off in that season as well, but he does a fair share of reaching out.

i think it's unfair of you to claim that jon doesn't respect martin in s5 when he's spent the past two and a half seasons developing that respect. going from being cruel in s1, to reluctant trust in the latter half of s2, to listening to him through s3 (martin's plan for the unknowing, for example) and giving his full trust and respect to martin during s4. i don't think he would have spent an entire season saying "im so worried about martin but i have to trust him so i won't intervene" if he didn't respect martin as a person.

jon definitely has communication issues, but they've got nothing to do with his supposent lack of respect for martin.

i really wouldn't base an analysis of their entire relationship off of how they act in season 5, because they are both at their literal worst point in that time. they've spent the entire podcast slowly drifting towards each other which also matters, and although we didn't see it, i imagine those couple weeks in scotland would give us a way better idea of what their communication actually looks like.

in s5, both jon and martin are frankly unfair to each other at many points. their worst traits are amplified tenfold. jon's communication issues are encouraged - you said he witholds information from martin, but he sees literally everything, so it's honestly hard not to. his respect for martin is challenged by the ability to read his mind - something probably very tempting, it would be so easy to just look in his head and know exactly what to say - but he doesn't because martin is upset by this. he's trying to cling onto his humanity and refrain from enjoying the fearfest so badly, and martin definitely doesn't react ideally by encouraging him (for example, kill bill).

martin really struggles during this as well because most of the stuff jon sees is literally incomprehensible to him - jon is forced to live through the 'statements' while martin goes on a walk, which doesn't really give him the full picture. and that's not something jon's keeping from him. martin literally can't understand this and doesn't really want to. he asks about jon's mental state but actively refuses to/cannot understand the extent of his pain (which is fair as jon's literally feeling all the fear of people on earth, but doesn't really do their communication favors). his perception of jon is skewed here - since the archivist can comprehend so much more and has power in the new world, martin tends to put additional pressure on jon by asking him things he isn't actually capable of doing or doesn't really want to do, often without understanding the full picture. this happens often and consistently - so jon is forced to try and explain these horrible things to martin over and over again, and martin continues to only see a fraction of what jon is going through. this isn't a normal situation where they can practise good communication. it's the end of the world.

that's a new factor in jon's poor talking skills: the fact that a lot of the answers martin wants are incomprehensible to him and difficult to understand when he's not experiencing the new world as the archivist. jon doesn't keep information to himself because of a lack of respect; he does it because of the nature of the information itself. he explains things to martin when martin asks, but as i said martin consistently isn't able to fully grasp and understand the information given to him, which eventually would get incredibly frustrating. he also keeps important things from martin in order to protect him - which isn't really a good thing either - but it doesn't come from a lack of respect like you said. it's not good, but it comes from a good place.

jon makes a lot of mistakes through the journey and keeps things from martin that he should have communicated, yes; but upon being confronted for this, he does take martin's opinion into consideration and sometimes above his own (for example: jude perry domain.)

also i don't think jon not being into poetry is him looking down on martin's interest considering this conversation happened in regards to a statement jon was forced to live through in the stranger domain which was a poem, and that he says he "used to dislike it" right after? like he actively says he mellowed out on it and that he 'used to' hate all poetry but doesn't anymore. it's a vague statement but i'm willing to interpret it as the exact opposite of what you've said. he actively changed his mind about something he didn't like, and i would like to believe it's because of martin - what other reason would there be?

jon throughout season 5 is, in practice, being tortured by being forced to live through the torment of all of humanity (believing he caused it) and supernaturally compelled to enjoy it, which i think scares him more than anything. the person most important to him is physically not able to understand this. you can't tell me that wouldn't affect how a person communicates with that person very negatively.

is their communication awful and bad? yes. but consider this: it's them at their literal worst points! they both make so many mistakes, they both withold information in an effort to protect the other and they both don't understand each other's reasonings for certain actions. and they still make a consistent effort throughout all the season to amend those mistakes after they happen, admit fault, and try to be better after. when one of them gets called out by the other for giving into the anger and fear, they talk about it. this didn't happen in any other season. at the beggining, martin didn't stand up for himself to jon, and jon probably wouldn't have listened. later, martin wouldn't have reached out to jon. jon would isolate himself instead of keeping himself grounded by holding martin's hand. they aren't perfect, but their treatment of each other progressed forward. and this is their literal worst nightmare. is it not really working out? yeah. but this lack of communication doesn't come from a lack od respect or love of each other but is instead warped by their circumstances. i'm not saying that if the apocalypse didn't happen, these issues wouldn't exist at all: but in this scenario, they're multiplied and unavoidable. jon and martin don't even have a chance to properly communicate here. it's unfair to say that if they got that chance, it would be like in season 5: because the opportunity simply doesn't exist here.

now about what happened in the panopticon. i do think jon wanted to die - in that he would rather die and kill everyone (including martin) than let the fears spread to the multiverse. it's not surprising, after being forced to carry the guilt for causing the change, that he was suicidal and his guilt pushed him to believe that it would be best if he sacrificed himself. hovewer; some things you said about what he did are quite literally just untrue according to the episodes themselves. he couldn't have known about the bomb being set off because he thought they didn't have anything to make it blow up. it's quite a big thing that happened, that he was supernaturally compelled to forget about possesing/not possessing his lighter. he did expect melanie and georgie to try blow it up: and thought they couldn't. and then, while it came to light that he gave georgie the lighter, the panopticon started to crumble and he realised martin was going to die crushed under it because of him - he backs out of the choice he made that mattered to him so much he went behind the backs of all of his allies and the person he loved most, and tried to save martin from his poor decisions one last time.

he didn't become the pupil so he could spare himself any suffering by quick death - it's the opposite. he was going to sacrifice himself to make things gentler and end them as fast as possible for everyone, leaving him the least one alive. he was ultimately going to kill martin, too, but not in the way you describe. he didn't let martin sacrifice himself so he could die or anything like that. he thought ending the world would be better and the rest thought possibly spreading the fears across the multiverse would, and in his guilt and drive towards the center of the eye, decided they were in the wrong because they didn't speak the words; weren't responsible for the apocalypse. he was the one who started it, and in his mind, he chose to end it instead of pushing it further.

yes, he betrayed martin and broke his promise; it's terrible and tragic. but what happened in the panopticon was not something he expected. making him forget about the lighter was the last strand in the web's plan. what he thought was going to happen is that he was going to become god, slowly start killing everyone, and until it was over he and martin could be together.

this is all terrible yes. i'm not defending his betrayal or anything. it's an impossible scenario and it's hard to know what a person should do in this situation, which is kind of the point. but he didn't let martin follow him so he could die in that place, crushed under the rubble. not because he wanted to kill himself like you claim. the choice jon made affected martin but it didn't have much to do with him - jon thought he was responsible for the entire world, not just martin. he decided to kill them all because he wanted to "spare" all of humanity, not because he wanted to die so badly. i mean, i imagine he did, and him being okay with his own death definitely affected the choice, but i think on the scale of reasons why he did it it wasn't the major one. was it a bad choice he made? i don't know. what's your solution to the trolley problem? and he obviously went about it badly. but in jon's head, it was the furthest thing from a selfish choice.

and he definitely didn't mean to 'let martin die for him' so he could be sucked into other realities with the fears. that's what he was trying to avoid! telling martin to cut the tether was his last attempt at fixing the mistake he made. it's a tragedy, and it's their literal worst moment, yes - but to claim jon let martin die for him? when he realised it all went wrong, he was trying to save him, and pushed all the reasons he had for his betrayal aside in the attempt. he didn't listen to his guilt and decided that he would send them away if it meant he and martin had a chance of being saved.

thanks for hearing me out! once again, i do not mean anything personal by this, i've been very excited to finally talk about their dynamic in depth! have a great day :)

Thoughts about jonmartin from a future therapist (in grad school)

Half of you are going to hate me and half are going to love me for this, but I need to say it: jonmartin is toxic. Yes, even S5 jonmartin.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the ship as much as the next person, but looking at it from a therapeutic standpoint is so hard not to do (for me lol). I’ll explain:

Jon and Martin’s bond is 100% trauma-based.

In reality, this can go okay if the trauma bond moves from shared traumatic experiences to things the couple actually has in common. But Jon and Martin never have a chance to get their relationship out of the survival stage.

This too might have been acceptable if we hadn’t seen what their relationship was like before the trauma bond. Jon hated Martin, and not just out of a misunderstanding - he fundamentally disliked Martin because of who they both were as people.

Jon only started to like Martin after he was socially isolated from his peers.

As much as I’d like to believe otherwise, this looks to me like a survival technique. Every single person in Jon’s life hated him - except for Martin. It’s only human for Jon to latch onto the one person who wasn’t actively hostile towards him on a daily basis.

His dislike of Martin’s personality didn’t go away, as evidenced by his sniping at Martin’s quirks in S5. He suppressed it so as to cling to the one person who didn’t hate him.

Martin has no boundaries or self-respect.

Martin’s self-esteem is extremely low. Understandable, due to the cast’s behavior towards him throughout the whole podcast. His crush on Jon - despite Jon’s open dislike of him is S1&2 - never wavers.

When Jon commits crimes such as stalking his coworkers in S2, Martin is the only one who stands by him. This is the textbook recipe for an abusive relationship: one person does bad things and the other person is blind to it because they don’t believe they deserve or can have better.

This pattern continues even in S5. Martin does 95% of the communication, often forcing it onto Jon in a variety of ways: arguing, cajoling, wheedling. In a good relationship, Jon would meet Martin halfway, but he doesn’t.

If things are this bad in the height of the trauma, what happens after?

If Jon and Martin had survived after S5, my prediction for their relationship would be this:

Jon would come down from survival mode and fairly quickly realize that he is still annoyed by his and Martin’s fundamental differences. He would become snappish and completely closed off, like he was in S1.

Martin, still unable to see that he deserves better treatment, would cling tighter to Jon the more Jon tries to push him away.

After that, it’s more up to conjecture than anything else, but I don’t think they would fall apart right away. Rather, they would continue this cycle of Jon retreating and Martin’s forced communication until one or both of them has had enough.

In conclusion, I love them both. And I love watching their dynamic, I’m still a huge fan. I just think they need so, so much therapy. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk ✌️

[willowwhispersspeakeasy]

Hii, can I ask for mc that's scared of drunk people? I have trauma from my dad that always got drunk and I have to lock my dors.

Also sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language ^^"

MC scared of intoxicated people w/ demon bros

warnings: gender neutral reader, alcohol and intoxication, trauma mention, violence mention

Lucifer

he's weary upon learning this. having a few drinks is one of his preferred methods of burying his stress relaxing and it can sometimes leave him intoxicated

he will refrain from drinking in front of or around you and inform his brothers to do the same

Lucifer can have violent tendencies however he rarely drinks enough to escalate them more then usual. he'd never forgive himself if he frightened you or caused you to have a flash back

Mammon

he will also halt drinking around you entirely.

you'd have to reassure him that it isn't the alcohol itself that frightens you but rather people being or acting intoxicated for him to even think of indulging again.

Mammon isn't the most responsible of demons and he may come home smashed one day without planning to. he'd probably bolt away upon seeing you since he'd be worried he'd upset you

Leviathan

Levi doesn't drink much if at all. he doesn't care for alcohol and dislikes the feeling of being intoxicated anyway so you won't have to worry about him getting drunk.

he will offer his room as a safe place if you do become frightened by someone in the house (the door usually remains locked anyway)

if you want to talk about your trauma he'll listen. hes not great at helping you work through it though unfortunately

Satan

Satan only drinks on special occasions anyway. he will respect your boundaries and refrain from drinking around you.

he actually might be able to help you work through your trauma though.

he's as level headed of a demon as they come, and hes gentle with you if you wish to share your experience

Asmodeus

hes a little upset. Asmo loves a good party and a good party needs some kind of specialty drink in his opinion.

he understands people who dont want to drink themselves, but the idea of being frightened or upset by other people being intoxicated??

he'll be respectful enough not to drink in front of you, and he won't invite you along to his parties (as much as it pains him)

Beelzebub

he doesn't drink much since it just makes him hungry.

his more protective nature will come out with this information.

he will steer you away from parties or rowdy adult spaces, opting to drag you off to get a snack with you instead.

Belphagor

also doesn't drink much since it makes him sleepy.

he will yell at his brothers if they come home drunk one night and frighten you

he will be like Levi in that he will make sure not only his and Beel's room is a safe place but also the attic

[running-with-kn1ves]

Hiya, I’ve been a bit under the weather with some surgery recovery, and your blog gives me comfort, so I started thinking, what would the soft yandere god act like with his darling if they were feeling very unwell, or the spoiled elf if he was in the same scenario?

Hope you’re doing well in these crazy times! 🥰

Oh no I hope you're doing well!!! Surgery sounds serious;; legit rooting for you! But I'm so glad my blog provides some sort of comfort 😭😭 that's literally amazing-- and I'd be happy to talk about these special boys <3

Considering how unknowledgeable the god Is on humans, he'd probably be a tad confused at first. His darling's usual behavior has turned lethargic and wooshy, no longer as skittish and combative; he's alarmed at seeing the lack of color in their face, thinking they may be on the brink of death. Why, they nearly look like one of the husks he's so used to working with! 

But after a (long and convoluted) explanation, the god will start to understand that their weak state is only temporary. Even then, he'd need reassurance from a manual on human health or even another god to make sure his beloved isn't at risk. 

Not only that but the god will indulge far less in his darling, trying to give them space and time to recover, lest he set them back even farther. But it's so hard, strenuous even, to keep his hands to himself. He keeps wanting to go back to pester them, to bring them hot drinks and books while he forces them to lie in bed. He'll try to keep his needs at bay, refraining from kissing or feeling them up; but he can only hold back for so long. 

He'll do his best to be as soft as possible, making sure they're fast asleep, tucked under the covers and snoring lightly. The god's hands will hover above them at first, but once he plants that first kiss on their parted lips, he can't stop himself. His large hands will barely graze their skin as he lightly grinds against them, whispering sweet nothings into their ear. 

The god knows his sweet darling's needs come first, so of course, he thinks to service them while they rest. He knows it'd be too much of a fight if they were awake-- so instead, he keeps them asleep with a certain concoction obtained from a fellow god. 

He'll caress their most sensitive spots, relishing in their dazed moans and sleepy humps against his hands. Waking up with wrinkled clothes will rise his darling's suspicion, but the god will look away with such a flustered face he won't be able to muster anything out, much less the truth. 

--------

I think the elf would first be pretty selfish upon hearing about his servant's unwell state. But seeing them and hearing of why they are so feeble, his childish behavior will be wiped away. They will quickly take priority, any duty he has as a member of high society to his family would be swept away. 

Instead of the teensy bed they're used to sleeping in, (when not in the elf's bed) they're moved to a bedroom next to his. But his darling better expect 5 star treatment through their entire recovery from the best doctors and servants he can offer. This is the perfect chance not only for the elven royal to feel like he can prove himself, but to have a little fun in teasing his darling; they can't run away now.

He'd definitely be the type to dress up in a little costume to cheer them up, saying all sorts of cheesy lines just to make sure they don't get too bored being cooped up-- as if they could with how many things he's shoved in their room and his pestering. Though the costumes hardly fit as they were made for elves of average size rather than his big build. Seeing his arms rip out of the frilly fabric is almost too much, but their flustered expression helps heal his damaged pride. 

If his darling let him, he'd make sure to sleep with them while they were healing. Knowing their feeble state, he tries to be a bit more lenient on their freedom-- but once they give the OK, he's never going to leave. 

Our buff elf would be insistent on giving back massages and making sure his darling is "taken care of." But really that's just him slowly getting more touchy, saying "it's fine! I'm just helping." Soon his hands are roaming where they shouldn't be, grinning at darling's little twitches and grips of the sheets as he helps them get better. 

[princess-of-the-corner]

I love the idea of Deku not being able to pronounce Katsuki at first and when he's older he kinda forgets that his name *isn't* Kacchan because he's called him that for so long

Okay okay okay so like. I don't think they'd /forget/ but I have this entire planned sequence of events in my head that does involve the names thing.

So like. I already mentioned in my AU that Bakugo kinda just. Gets slammed into realizing things are kinda fucked a hell of a lot earlier. Like, how he's acted, how things are between him and Izuku, a lot of shit. The entire different environment at UA gets him to notice.

And instead of doubling down on being a dick or even just quietly ignoring it, something spurs him into talking about it.

They do have a long talk. Like. A long, long fucking talk. About how much has happened between them. And talking through a lot of things that /both of them/ are realizing were wrong. Because yeah Izuku isn't entirely in denial by this point, but even he wasn't entirely aware of some things that they did(I am not victim blaming, but I can see why Bakugo, already under the assumption that Izuku looks down on him, would see Izuku doing things like 'calling him a cute and embarrassing nickname despite no longer being friends' or 'using the insult Bakugo made up as a Hero Name' as insulting and prompt a reaction).

After probably talking for a few hours at this point, they've agreed to work on it. Things might never be how they were, but they aren't completely broken. (Bakugo thinks it might be broken and really thinks that Izuku should tell him to fuck off but even though he won't admit it he wants his friend back and is willing to push down the guilt of everything he's done because how can he ever apologize enough?)

ANd they do discuss the name thing. Because Bakugo is like 'well I should probably call you by your name instead of the insult, right?'. And Izuku is fine with it now because it /was/ an insult but he's turned it into something with a positive meaning and the others call him that too now.

But when Bakugo tries to fully start over with the last name shit, Izuku is like 'no way in hell'. Because he doesn't want to start over, he wants to repair what's there. And that means not pretending like the past hadn't happened.

Bakugo is hesitant and is like 'fucker we have too much history to be /friendly/ yet!'. And for a moment they table the conversation.

Things aren't over yet! Because the ending of this arc is..... Okay I know half of my followers read Other Magic, so y'all know that scene where Chloé and Juleka kick the shit out of each other in the woods to fully kinda begin to resolve shit? That.

It's a planned fight, no Quirks just hand-to-hand. They go all out and ofc the rest of the class has no idea what's happening or why this is so emotionally charged.

But before they fight, Izuku is like 'Here's a deal: If I win, you have to call me by my first name again. If you win, I'll refrain from calling you 'Kacchan' all the time!"

And then yeah they do fight. And it's fun and exhausting and ultimately ends in a draw.

Izuku: "Hm. Guess we both win that bet then."

Bakugo: "Yeah. Whatever.... Izuku."

Izuku: "We should do this again sometime, Katsuki!"

And boy he wants to shout about how that was /not/ what he thought he meant by 'not calling him Kacchan' but he is having too much of an 'Oh. Oh no.' moment to protest.

(ofc they still use the nicknames most of the time but.... well. If you want it to /mean something/ then the first names are brought out!)

[shadowturtlesstuff]

Enchanted

finally finished this!!! im so happy with it, and will be writing it in thomas’s pov as soon as possible and perhaps part 2? 

Sleep evades me. My mind keeps returning to last night, specifically to a certain person I had met last night. I pull the covers higher, burying my head as I finally gave into my wandering mind.

~

I stand alone, needing a break from my aunt Amelia. The music was beautiful, a soft sound that filled the entire room. The party itself was decorated in a magical way, the columns in the building encompassed in vines, the tables with floral centrepieces. It was a mixture of whimsy and magic, yet no one seemed happy to be here. Everyone I spoke to was forcing smiles, men faked laughter as they believed this was not a party but a way to make business deals and enforce their own reputation. It was absurd how no one was just admiring the effort people put into making this perfect. It was the same every month, I'd walk to the edge of the room and watch. To calm my nerves, to explore the different flower pieces, the musicians and the flickering candles from the chandelier. The gowns women wore only once to try and show their wealth, whilst I tended to wear the same, as it fit the magical atmosphere this room desperately tried to make people see, yet they were too blind by their greed, the need to prove themselves to everyone to just simply stand back and enjoy themselves.

My cousin Liza seemed to be in conversation with Dacina, the host of the party, someone I had spoken to a few times, each being more enjoyable. Her calming demeanour and charm always lifted my spirits. Her family organizes this ball once a month, her father hates it but makes a lot of business so it is always left to her to plan and design it. With the help of Illeana and lots of their servants they always make this place ethereal. Her brother, Thomas Cresswell, only ever shows up for a few hours then leaves, only being able to handle the faking niceties for so long. Dacina told me of his tolerance, or lack thereof, to society. She speaks highly of her brother, as I once did, yet I have never met Mr.Cresswell. 

The varnished wooden floor slowly gathers marks as couples danced. How I longed to be one of those dancers, being swivelled by someone I loved. They would look at me as if I was the most magical thing in the room, with a soft smile and adoration in every word he whispers to me. I would be his equal as we spun around, the world fading into nothing as we held each other. Alas, those dreams are not likely for someone cruel enough to carve the dead. 

I snap out of my fantasy as a group of older men walk towards the buffet near me. They talk loud enough so everyone can hear, shockingly talking about work. I roll my eyes at them and look away back to the dance floor. The lights above cast shadows, making the scene feel like my imagination as I sit by a fireplace to read a romance novel. If this was a novel, there would be my love interest here, watching and finding the courage to say something. There are families at the table, children clinging to mothers as the men sit and discuss whatever. My father, uncle and aunt sit together in a seemingly civil conversation. I look for Liza again, deciding I should probably stop brooding in the corner but as I look for her my attention keeps going back to the men at the buffet. Not by choice, but by their obnoxious decision to shout their conversation. 

“A woman led the strike, ridiculous, she had to go,” I heard an oldish man say, followed by murmurs of agreement, “these strikes are out of hand, demanding we pay more, absurd notions.” The man is none other than Mr. Birling, a notoriously cold hearted man, much like dacianas father apparently, both of whom value money rather than people. Even their own families. The group of men who looked the same as him, slightly wrinkled face, greyish hair, miserable faces with hints of conniving schemes being plotted against each other. Friends until one of them was earning more money and was more successful, then they were enemies again. 

The men were in a heated discussion about their business and from what I can dissect from their ramblings is that they fully believe themselves to be hard working men, a rarity these days, and they must do what is necessary for their companies. Meaning, budget cuts, strikes from workers, firing people, and any horrible decision in the name of money.  I refrain from rolling my eyes, or going over to berate them. 

“Mr. Birling would not know what a hard day's work is.” someone says quietly behind me. His voice is smooth, confident, and whilst I agree due to what I have learnt about the birling family and the conversation I had just overheard, I still wouldn't say it aloud with him being this close. Not that he pays any attention to anyone but ‘hard working men’. 

I turn my head slightly, the man behind me is tall, a smirk playing at his lips. His suit is finely tailored in a dark grey, with a peach tie. He takes a step forwards and stands at my side, staring out into the crowd, a glass of half drunk champagne in his hand. I return my gaze to the crowd. “Whatever makes you think that, surely you heard him talk about how much he works,” I try to suppress my own smirk and I also sneak a glance at the strange man. He merely takes a sip of his champagne. 

“Right of course, his words, I shall listen more closely next time.”

“As you should. You wouldn't want to misinterpret someone's work ethic and make a fool of yourself in front of a stranger.” 

“You consider me a fool now?” he turns to me now, hands pressed against his chest in fake offence. His brown eyes meet mine as I face him. His sharp cheekbones feel familiar, but I can't place where from. 

“Yes. how could you consider someone such as Mr Birling, a man with such talent and tolerance of others, a man who clearly built his company and was not handed it by his father, how could you with a straight face imply he doesn’t know hard work.”  we stare at each other for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. He has such a pure laugh, we seem to be the only sound in the room. People around us stop and stare, upset two people are having fun at a party. The stranger leans against one of the columns, disrupting the vines slightly. Yet he doesn't seem to care, as he slowly starts to regain his composure from our outburst. 

Mr. Birling is one of the men looking at us with full disdain. He perceives us as two kids who do not understand life, he specifically tells his accountant that there is something wrong with us if the rumours are to be believed. Children of science. Outrageous. Especially a girl. A girl, not a woman. I ignore his pathetic whining, intent on not letting him ruin my night and return my focus to the stranger. Who, I realise, is someone who enjoys science. His face is more solemn now, having also overheard Mr.Birling. He quickly recovers and plasters a smirk on his face, a spark shines in his eye and I can already tell this won't be good.

“I want to meet this ‘girl’ who led the strike, perhaps she could use some help. I mean, all they ask is fair pay,”

“But fair pay is absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. Why should the wealthy share their wealth to those who ensure it.” he finishes for me. The men that run this world will end up being the reason it fails. We share a look, full of understanding and he lets out a sigh. Now we're talking about work and politics at a party. 

“Aside from those charming men, how are you enjoying the party?” He gestures to the men around us and I snort. Charming was one word for them. Being with him and trading remarks felt like passing notes to each other, telling secrets during class even though we are meant to be listening to the teacher. I can't help but think I know him, and by the look in his own face he knows me. Perhaps we met but didn't have time for a full conversation like we are now. 

“Mostly entertaining, the place is spectacular as always, the people are..” I searched for a word to describe the people, as well as my family. I love them dearly but they can be insufferable. “An interesting mix. My family is dramatic, so I escaped to the edge to peace and quiet, which apparently isn't possible. "I give him a pointed look but he takes no notice. 

“My family is also dramatic, and I came for peace myself but found myself captivated by you, specifically how you watched the crowd, listening, and how you curled your fists in an attempt not to go and publicly humiliate the poor man. Which, by the way, I think you should've. Would've made the whole thing worth it.” He takes a sip of his champagne and I nearly roll my eyes at him. Of course he'd want that. From what I can tell he isn't someone who enjoys society and has no problem saying it. I also think about the families in attendance and which of those are dramatic. The only person I can think of is Darci's brother, whom I've not met but heard about his nature over wine with her. 

“If I was merely standing here minding my business would you still have found me captivating enough to talk to me? Or is my appeal in my anger?”

He downs the rest of the drink and straightens himself taking a step towards me. I cross my arms, impatient but he gives me a soft smile. “I've been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, I always see you here at the edge, always. My eyes find you instantly in any crowd. Transfixed, captivating. It was an added bonus to me when I saw the fierce nature in your eyes up close, I knew I was right to want to befriend you.” 

Silence falls as we both take in his words. I feel bad, not being able to figure out who he is. His honesty is admirable and makes me smile, as well as blush. I can feel heat rise to my cheeks. Just as I begin to rectify the situation by asking for his name, a man comes behind 

me, he’s around 40 probably, and looks at me horrendously in an attempt at a smile. I recognised him from earlier, he's one of the men that spoke with Mr Birling and that alone makes me instantly want to recoil. 

“Can I help you sir?” I asked and I can hear my own clipped words, yet somehow he does not. The smile widens and he looks me up and down. Then he offers his hand to me and I realise he wants to dance. With a woman half his age, that he has never met. 

“Miss Wadsworth, dance with me?” more of a common than a question. Since I am already highly aware he doesn’t like when females have opinions or say no, I refrain from rolling my eyes and just walking off from him. Instead I take a step back, so I'm by my new friend’s side and smile widely. 

“I'm afraid I already promised the darling Wadsworth a dance, we are just finishing our drinks first.” As if to prove my point he drinks the last of his drink, mostly to hide his smirk. Something else the man doesn't seem to notice. His face drops, but his pride makes him believe he can stand there, waiting for me to run to him. There is an awkward silence until I feel hands reach down and take mine, they are warm and make me jump slightly at the contact. Not in a bad way, not in the way I would have if it had been the man in front of me with his gaze like fire as he looks at our joined hands as though he has a right to be mad about it. I feel my own fire burn as he stares, so I tug his hand away from the man. I need to just escape into the dreamlike nature of the dancefloor, as well as thank my saviour and learn his name.

He leads me to the dance floor, nearer the edge and his hands slip down to my waist as I find his shoulders. His touch is hesitant but reassuring. Somehow he looks calm and terrified, as though he never expected to dance with me but never wants to stop. I can't help but feel the same as we begin to move. My skirt swirls around us and we say nothing for a while as we both calm ourselves and let the music envelope us. In a way, this is as close to my daydreaming as I might ever get. Being here on the dance floor with someone who isn't twice my age and the definition of misogyny. We dance as equals, neither of us truly leading but letting each other float around each other. We're sure of our movements and demand nothing from each other. It is a weird calmness that settles. We are strangers as far as i know, and yet we dance as though we have known each other our entire lives. 

“You are a delight, miss Wadsworth.” he breaks the silence, somehow louder than the music for me, yet it's quiet. Almost like he didn't mean to say it aloud. 

“How do you know me?” my voice matches and i feel bad asking, but i need to know. My tone is not accusing, and his face only burrows in confusion for a second before he smirks at me. A smirk I'm seeming to become familiar with.

“My sister Dacina speaks highly of you.” my eyes must expand as he laughs softly. That's why I recognized him. He has the same structure as Dacina, sharp cheekbone and soft skin. Perfect complexion. 

“So you are the infamous Thomas cresswell?” this time I smirk and his eyes widen. 

“Infamous? What on earth have you heard of me?”

“Your sister has lots of opinions on you.”

“Of course she does. Whatever she has said is most likely not true.” He blurts out and I laugh at his relationship with his sister and him wanting to impress me. “Unless she told you I am utterly irresistible, charming, quick witted and incredibly smart.” winking at me he sends me into a surprising spin and my hands land on his chest. We've sped up slightly, yet our heartbeats are both faster than necessary and I can see a hint of a blush creeping up on his cheeks. 

“She did mention you have an overly large ego. She'll be happy to know I agree with her.” I feel his hands tighten at my waist slightly and I watch his curls fall down in his face as he shakes his head. I'm delighted by this turn of events. Daci is wonderful, and if this is the Thomas that I get to see, not his reputation, then I shall try and keep this in my life for as long as possible. His spark in his eyes shows how he may think the same. Also, if daci, liza and ileana are with Thomas, then i might have the most fun I've ever had in my life.

His voice slides through my thoughts, but also reinforces them. “I am sure she failed to mention how big of an ego she has. Honestly, Darci is worse than I. Have you met Illeana? She will surely agree with me on this.” 

“I'm sure she would, I've also heard you are a scientist, what do you study?”

“The dead. Much like you and your uncle.” There is so much certainty in his voice, no resentment or the usual tone I hear so I gift him an earnest smile. 

The song ends, and we stand, hands still on each other for a second longer than we should. Just as I go to remove my hands from his chest I feel him pinch my sides lightly. Then his warm hands slip from my waist and I wish more than anything to dance again. 

We go to return back to the column near the buffet, where we first spoke, and as I take a step I feel him move so he's pressed at my back, his hands finding mine. Even though we are gloved, even though no one can see our hands due to how close we are, and how many people are moving about, my heart pounds at his bold nature. I adore it, so I squeeze him and keep my head facing forward as I lead him off the dance floor. We settle back, Thomas letting go of my hand to pick up two glasses of champagne and hands me one. We both take a long sip, perhaps settling our brains or making it worse. Well see. 

“You look,” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words, brows furrowed slightly as if he was reading a dictionary, “enchanting.” he finally finishes, gifting me a rare smile it seems. No longer does he smirk at me, but shows me a genuine look that I want to have painted as it is the best thing I have witnessed. Heat rises to my cheeks as I look down at my dress. Someone at least understood what I was going for, with a pale peach colour, sparkling bodice that runs along the length of the skirt. The long sleeves adorned with tiny gemstones, golden to match the accented colours of the hall. In response to Thomas I look back up at him with my own genuine smile, perhaps some of the only true smiles to be shared this evening. His suit fits him perfectly, showing off his defined features, his tie a pale peach as well. I assume Dacina helps him, as her dresses always astound me with the details. There are tiny, miniscule gems on his tie, that snake down and remind me of vines.

“You look,” I act the way he did, scanning my brain for something that fits, handsome or charming doesn't do justice but I'm sure whatever I use will only boost his ego and be used against me, so I settle with: “bedazzling.” 

“Bedazzling?”

“Thomas, I study the dead, I have to look closer than one should at things, so of course I noticed your tie. Henceforth: bedazzling.” The air shifts back to our teasing tone and he smirks once again.

“You are the only one to notice, except Daci of course, nothing gets past her. Am I correct in assuming you like the tie?” Despite his teasing I feel a hint of worry as if I wouldn’t like his tie. 

“I adore the tie cresswell, everyone here should be weaning ties with tiny jewels.”

His face falls as he scans the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the groups of men. “I cannot tell if you are being serious with me or not, but I agree nonetheless. The men here are awfully drab, boring, plain. It's insulting to us really. Daci puts so much time into making this beautiful and these people do not see it.” He is shaking his head. I agree, I have heard how much work goes in and despite my effort to help she insists that I do nothing but enjoy the party. I have a sneaking suspicion though that Liza helps. The flower centrepieces are her favourite, and whilst that might be a coincidence I know how stubborn and convincing she can be. 

“I do. I love her parties. I always find myself standing here, watching and noticing all the changes from the month prior. Like, last month she went for more of a red theme, with red roses as the centrepieces, little red accented chairs and carpets. Whereas this month is more of a forestry vine, hence the vines around the column.” I point as though they are a secret thing you need to search for even though they are obvious. Yet he turns anyway and runs his finger down the length of it with his adorable face set at a soft smile. Thomas might have been there when she got the idea, or placed them or he might have placed them himself and is now remembering it. 

My gaze finds Thomas and he looks at me, baffled, and I feel the blush creeping back up. It is not the same confused look that I get when I tell people my love of science, but one of intrigue. As if he could listen to me talk forever and not get bored. It's as if he has never thought anyone would notice such things about his family's party. “Enchanting.” is all he whispers to me. Then he clears his throat, an ever so soft shake of his head as though once again the words were meant for him and not us both. 

I stare out at the crowd again. I'm sure my family will want to know where I've disappeared to, I normally do not leave them this long. Liza I'm sure will want to know why I danced with Thomas. Yet the thought of leaving him makes my legs leaden and my heart sink and anchor me right next to him. Im completely wonderstruck, and feel ill have a permanent blush, especially when i look at his stupidly handsome face, his quick smirk and small smiles that feel special. It is odd, I've only heard stories, spoken to him briefly and danced, yet I have enjoyed his company immensely and hope this never ends. I want more dances and to steal more smiles to keep forever. I want to make fun of people together, and dance. 

I go to steal a glimpse of him, expecting to find him staring at the crowd like I was but his eyes are on me. “I have to leave,” his abrupt words anchor me in an entirely different way, “I mean,  I want to stay and I'm sure you want my amazing presence always now Wadsworth but I have to wake early. New job. So, my darling, I shall see you tomorrow.” Thomas hesitates for half a second and begins to walk away. I watch him go and say goodnight to his sister and then leave. His words fill my head. It’s reassuring to know he enjoys my company as much as I do.

~

I bolt upright in my bed, the lights, music and memories falling away as I focus on the last words he said to me.

I'll see you tomorrow. 

What does tomorrow mean? Does it mean he has a job where he thinks I visit? Will he be making an effort to befriend me? Does he know my family? I am so confused. How had I not caught these words sooner? Perhaps he wants to tell me he had a terrible time, that he doesn't like my presence. I'm on my feet without realising, pacing back and forth, the cold air hugging me close. I wish he was in front of me now. I wish he would whisper the words enchanting again. I wish I knew what was happening in a few hours that warranted him saying those four words. I run my hands over my face, untie my hair and let my curls fall over my shoulder, brushing away the colder ever so slightly. I'm ridiculous. Four tiny words sent me spiralling. I climb back into bed, my hair fanning out around me and the blanket returning warmth back into my system. Immediately my mind returns to Thomas, his face forever in my mind. Even if tomorrow could be the last time I see him, there is a chance that it is just the start. 

Enchanting…

Those words fill me with confidence that yes, Thomas might become someone special to me. That perhaps our dance sparked something and now all I wish is that I can tell him how enchanting he is.

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @loveyatopluto @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc @the-hoofflepooff

[rogue-durin-16]

A LESSON IN ARCHERY (part I/II)

Summary: Certain member of the company might have gotten Kíli smitten. Sadly, Thorin is not exactly fond of her, and the last thing Kíli wanted was to go against his uncle's will.

Pairing: Kíli x Hobbit!Reader

Genre: angst-fluff

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @queenofmankind @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: none

A/N: I have a Dwalin x reader request on the making I'm kinda struggling with, so in the meantime, enjoy this first part of a two-part fic of Kíli <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

"Pretty" I commented, moving away from Fíli and in Y/n's direction. "the bow, I mean."

"Sad," she faked a pout at me and then resumed her excrutination of her newly acquired weapon. "I thought you meant me."

"Defining you only as pretty would be offensive." she snorted and I gave her a playful smile with my arm extended, prompting her to hand me the bow. "You know how to use it?"

"I thought you could teach me?" she suggested, a mischievous grin on her lips. "I could use some lessons." she took a couple of steps towards me and stood way closer than what was necessary to pick up the bow from my hands. "If you don't mind, of course."

I had to fight the urge of closing the space between us and crashing my lips against hers. "I do not." instead, I allowed myself to steal a stare at her mouth, tightened due to her smile. "I will get more alone time with you."

"Oh, you would love that," she teased, grabbing the bow and stepping back. "Wouldn't you."

"Indeed." I confessed, biting my lower lip. "can you blame me, though?"

"Kíli." I looked over Y/n's shoulder to be met with Thorin’s cold eyes. "Come, I have to speak to you."

"I'll go do... something... Elsewhere." Y/n turned around to take a look at Thorin before leaving me there.

"What is it?" I inquired, stalking to my uncle, who led me away from any nosy ears before starting the conversation.

"What do you think about Y/n?" his question was cryptic, even more than usual.

"I think she's kind and funny." I spoke not entirely truthful. "She learns fast."

"Fíli mentioned you're fond of her." my jaw clenched and my shoulders tensed. "Is that true?"

"No!" I replied, way too fast for it to be a reliable answer. "I mean, yes but only as far as friendship reaches."

"That's good." Thorin’s eyes dug into Y/n's back as she talked with Bofur. "I wouldn't like to get in your heart's way."

"Wait- what?" I burrowed my brows in confusion. "Why would you have to get in my heart's way?"

"You are a prince, Kíli." Thorin spoke apathetic. It was no secret that he, at his best, tolerated Y/n, but it felt like he was taking that to another level. "I could never allow such relationship."

"But- why? What does that have to be with anything?" I knew my already poor lie was crumbling, but I was not only confused, I was concerned.

"She's a hobbit." the despise in his tone made me step back. "It's just not possible." I stood there with my mouth in agape and my heart aching. "Kíli, do you understand?"

"But-"

"Spare your heart, nephew." he spun around ready to leave and placed a hand over my shoulder, giving me an intent glance. I knew by the look in his eyes that he was dead serious. "Do not suffer for what it cannot be."

Once I was left alone, leaving the command to sink in whilst looking at Y/n. How was I supposed to spare my heart? She already had it.

READER'S P. O. V.

I grabbed another arrow from the quiver, tied with a belt around my waist, and placed it on the bow, taking my arm back and aiming as I could before shooting.

I missed my target. Again.

A frustrated huff escaped my lips. Not all the fault fell over my capabilities with the bow though, it also happened to be dusk, and light was lacking. It was a pity that the only moment I could practice was the end of the daylight.

I repeated the process once more; I missed once more. Maybe if Kíli hadn't been avoiding being near me at all, I could have asked him for help.

Another try.

Just when I was about to let go of the arrow, I heard a voice behind me. "Don't do it like that."

"Are you stalking me?" I joked, turning my torso to meet the prince's eyes.

"I have better things to do." Kíli retorted in what was meant to sound as a joke, but inevitably hid some hostility.

"Now that you're here, though," I lowered the bow and made the arrow spin before handing it to him. "Why don't you teach me how to do it?" He looked to his left as if he was meditating if he should leave or not. "You agreed on giving me some lessons and I'm yet to have the first one."

"Okay," his hands picked the weapon from mines. "it'll be a quick lesson so pay attention will you?" I nodded, leaning against the tree besides me. "stand like-" he stomped his foot on the floor to lead my attention there. "this." he leaned on me and took an arrow from the quiver, getting a little too close before immediately retreating. "Take your arm back- chest up, arms steady, and let go." The arrow hit the center of the target and he handed me the bow back. "try."

I grabbed another arrow and followed his steps, in a seemingly perfect way, but before I could shoot the arrow he stopped me.

"Wait, not like this- your body has to be more-" his hands went to my hips and turned me to the side with a tug. "there. Also, it's better if you do it quick." he guided my arms and spread them faster than I had done. "try again." I did it once more, this time as he told me. "okay now chest up."

"my chest is up." I replied, and immediately observed him moving behind me. "what-" I involuntarily gasped when his hands tweaked my shoulders. "we're running out of light." I commented slightly stressed.

"we still have time, take a breath and relax." he whispered near my ear, "hold on like this." his hands lingered on my shoulders for a second, after which he moved away and circled me to stand by my side. "now."

My arrow hit right besides his and dug deep into the target. "Yes!" I exclaimed putting down the bow once more. "That was a great shot."

"I am a great teacher." he stated with a grin that as soon as had appeared, vanished. "I should go."

"Hold on, Kíli," I grasped his wrist and brought him back to me. "Tell me what's the matter?" I questioned, already tired of his sudden distant attitude towards me. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!"

"Then what's the reason for this behavior?" his eyes told me he wanted to speak up, but his lips didn't even part. "I thought we were friends?"

"We are."

"Then?"

"Thorin is not fond of you."

I widened my eyes in shock. "Does that mean you are not allowed to be fond of me?"

He shook his head no. "It is not like that."

"How is it then?"

There was that look again, though he refrained himself from saying whatever he wanted to, once more.

"You should come back to the others," he simply replied, setting free from my grasp. "it's getting late."

"What about you?" I questioned with a frown as I walked to the target in order to get the arrows back.

"I was sent to scout." he replied distractedly, for he had his attention on our surroundings to assure no one was with us, nor friend nor foe.

I stopped walking back to my previous position. "Alone?"

"I won't go too far," he soothed me, kicking a small rock with his boot. "I will probably be back way before daybreak."

"I don't think it's safe."

Kíli looked up from his feet to meet my eyes, "Don't stress about it," the dwarf then gifted me a brief yet sincere smile. "I'm stealthy."

I sighed with a mix of tiredness and defeat. "whatever you say, little prince."

He let out a soft laughter and casted his gaze down again. "In truth we didn't need Bilbo, I could—" he almost choked on his words when, unexpectedly for the both of us, I steadied myself with his arm and stood on my tiptoes to plant a peck on his cheek.

"If you're not back before daybreak I will worry." I warned him, making my way back to the improvised camp without sparing a second look at him, fearing he might notice the blush on my cheeks even with that poor light we then had.

I, therefore, wasn't able to see him standing there, dumbfounded, with his own face red and his fingertips ghosting over his cheekbone.

[notes-from-sarah]

Damaged Mirrors

Link on Archive of Our Own

Link on Fanfiction.net

Rating: G/K

Summary: While making his report about what happened on Umbara to Anakin, Rex has questions about his identity as a clone, his role as a soldier and his place in the galaxy. Set during Star Wars: The Clone Wars. One-shot. Canon compliant.

A/N: Set after Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Season 4, Episode 10 “The Carnage of Krell”

*****

Rex stood silently after making a full report of the events on Umbara to Anakin Skywalker. He knew the general pretty well and he could see that the Jedi was furious. Soldiers weren't supposed to be angry, but in all honesty, he felt the same way. So did all his men. He waited for his general to speak.

"That," Anakin struggled to find the right words, "that," his voice shook almost uncontrollably, "that monster intentionally tried to get clones killed on the battlefield?"

Rex tried to keep his voice at the even tone of any good soldier as he answered. "Yes sir, he confessed to it while many of us were present." Rex could hardly forget those words, they'd haunted him in the following days. The feeling of betrayal mixed with the absolute condescension from Krell sickened him. He focused on Anakin, he couldn't let himself dwell on what happened. A good soldier had to take the horrors of war in stride.

"And you had to execute him because you were afraid he would escape and join the Separatists?" Anakin clenched his fist, his eyes hard.

"We did, sir." Rex dropped his voice a little, it was only the two of them in this briefing room on Resolute and Rex wasn't sure how much longer he could talk about what happened in a crisp military manner.

"Good." Anakin's brow was furrowed, fury in every line of his face. Rex knew he meant it. Of all the people Rex had ever encountered in his short life, Anakin Skywalker was one of the most honest.

"Sir," Rex was anxious about what would happen next, everything he'd done, everything he'd ordered, was unprecedented. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd committed treason on Umbara. Nothing they'd ever learnt in training had prepared him for this. "If I may ask, what will become of us, specifically Dogma? He may have pulled the trigger, but executing Krell was my order."

Anakin crossed his arms over his chest, his hands still clenched into fists. "I won't let Dogma face punishment for saving his fellow troopers from the enemy. And I won't let you or any of the 501st face disciplinary action because of Krell. He was a traitor and the Jedi council will understand that. If I would have been there I would have killed him myself."

Rex didn't doubt it. Unfortunately, Anakin hadn't been there. It was just the clones versus the Jedi. The whole ordeal had left him shaken in a way he couldn't have anticipated. The Jedi didn't seem as safe as they once did. The Jedi were supposed to fight side by side with the clones, not against them. He couldn't fathom how someone who was supernaturally connected to all life could so callously throw it away. Did the clones really mean that little to the Jedi? To others? He tried not to think about it.

Anakin came over to Rex and looked him square in the eye. "Tell me truthfully, Rex, are you okay?"

Rex looked up at Anakin. A good soldier was only ever supposed to have one answer. "I wasn't injured during the conflict, sir."

"That's not what I asked." Anakin's eyes narrowed. "Krell betrayed the Republic, betrayed the Jedi and most of all betrayed you clones. I should have been there, I should have stopped him. Now you've had to suffer because I wasn't there."

Rex swallowed. He didn't feel okay. He heard in Anakin's words the same refrain of self blame that had come to mark this particular Jedi's musings on the war. The general hadn't been built for war, it was hard on him and he seemed to think that he should be able to single-handedly change the tides of battle just by being present. Whenever he failed he buried himself with guilt over the matter.

Rex, on the other hand, had been built for war, it was all he'd known his entire life. He knew better than to let emotions come into play. It clouded your judgment and primed you to make big mistakes. He knew better than to feel guilty about doing his duty or for others doing theirs. Rex felt guilty now. He'd sent his men into certain danger because he unwittingly followed orders he knew were bad. He had turned against a Jedi, the command structure of the whole army, and had ordered that the besalisk be executed. He had failed to be a good soldier.

Rex tried to steel himself. He didn't want to show the general that he was weak. "I'll be fine, sir. You don't have to worry about me."

Anakin stared into his eyes with an almost frightening intensity. "Yes, I do."

A chill raced down Rex's spine. The general wasn't going to let him get away with evasive answers. "Honestly, sir," Rex paused for a long moment, "this whole ordeal has been," Rex's eyes darted away from Anakin's, he was ashamed to even admit it, good soldiers weren't weak. "It's been upsetting." Upsetting was just the tip of the iceberg, but he didn't know how to be more open.

"Rex, you did everything you could. You did everything right." Anakin's voice was hard as he tried to reassure his captain.

"Sir, if did everything right, why did so many end up dead?" Rex glanced back at Anakin. He was standing firmly on his emotions but he couldn't fully prevent them from leaking though all the same.

Anakin dropped his gaze. "I don't know. I don't know why it is that sometimes even when you do everything right it still all goes wrong."

Rex could clearly hear the emotion in the Jedi's voice. Emotion that he wished he could show himself. Good soldiers didn't break down in front of their generals. Good soldiers stayed strong. The Jedi had the luxury of being men and women first, then Jedi, and finally generals. The clones? They were first and foremost soldiers, tools, war machines. Sometimes Rex wondered if anyone realized they were flesh and blood.

Anakin turned away from Rex and looked out of the transparisteel window at the hyperspace sky. Hands behind his back he assumed the position he took when he was thinking deeply on some matter. "Rex," he said at last, "what do you think about what happened?"

"I gave you my report, sir." Rex wasn't sure what else the general wanted from him.

Anakin glanced over his shoulder at Rex. "And I heard the facts of the mission as you reported them. What do you think about what happened?"

Rex tightened his grip on the helmet that was tucked under his arm. He wasn't accustomed to giving out his unfiltered thoughts to non-clones. "I think that I should have broken protocol earlier." If he'd done what his gut told him a lot of lives could have been saved. "If I'd been more decisive I could have spared a lot of good men death and injury from a being," he put as much venom into the word being as he dared, "who saw us as disposable tools, no better than some flesh covered clankers."

Anakin closed his eyes at the comment. "Don't blame yourself, Rex, that's an order."

Rex guessed he must have been a bit too self-pitying in this conversation so far. He'd be mindful not to show such partiality again. Good soldiers were neutral.

Anakin opened his eyes again. "Blame Krell." Anakin's voice was hard as iron. "Krell is the only one at fault here. He tricked and manipulated you. He betrayed you. Don't hate yourself, hate him."

"Sir, my men are my responsibility. I didn't stop him." Rex knew he probably shouldn't be arguing with the general, but all the same he felt his failed duty very keenly.

"You and the 501st are good men, all of you brave and true. Krell tried to corrupt you, to poison you but he failed." Anakin gripped his hands behind his back. "I am lucky to fight by your side, Rex, you are one of the best men I've ever known. Don't let Krell win, don't blame yourself for what he did."

Rex ran his thumb over his helmet feeling the familiar ridges. "Do you really think that, sir?" It had been bugging him since Krell had gone on his tirade about the clones. "Do you really think of me, of us, as men?"

Anakin turned to face Rex fully, an expression of slight surprise on his face. "Of course I do. You're one of the bravest, smartest people I know. How could I think of you as anything else?"

Rex looked down at the floor. "Me and the others, we feel like we're men, feel like that means something. That we're more than just androids programmed for destruction. That's what we were taught on Kamino and that's how we live our lives every day, but out here," Rex gestured broadly to the room at large and metaphorically to the galaxy at large, "it seems that most beings don't think of us that way. I always thought the Jedi were different. It always seemed like they were until, well," Rex didn't finish his thought, he didn't have to. In the silence that followed he rubbed his other hand over his helmet feeling the various pits and dings.

Anakin stepped closer to Rex putting a firm hand on his shoulder. "The Jedi see your humanity, Rex. They see how the clones get up every day and fight this war with no relief. They see how you lay down your lives in pursuit of peace in the galaxy with no thought of your own reward. Out of all the people in the galaxy I think the clones and the Jedi are the most alike. Krell fooled us all, I should have seen his treachery before things ever got this far." Anakin shook his head. "But know this: Krell was not a Jedi. A real Jedi would never have done what he did. A real Jedi would never have betrayed the Council and the Republic and most of all his clones." Anakin gripped Rex's shoulder tighter and gave him a small, emphatic, shake. "We couldn't win this without you, Rex."

Rex couldn't help but feel moved by Anakin's words. Even after all the betrayal he'd faced at the hands of Krell, Anakin had his trust full and complete. He'd follow the general to hell and back if that's what he ordered. Maybe the Jedi and the clones did have a special sort of connection, maybe that's what made them such a good team on the battlefield. But what about off the battlefield? What about all those people in the galaxy who weren't Jedi? Would they ever be able to see beyond the face of a clone and realize it was the face of a man? When the war was over, what would happen to him?

"Sir," Rex hesitated, a good soldier shouldn't be asking questions like this, "do you think there's a future for us after the war?"

A long moment of silence stretched between them, Anakin seemingly lost in his thoughts. At last he shook himself slightly and seemed to come back to the present. His voice was low and uncertain as he said, "I hope so."