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msrhaxoz · 5 days

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Otto's biography

I want to share with you the backstory of my Tav. This is the story before the events of the game. His name is Otto. He is a bard/rogue, trickster with an ambiguous character and a lucky guy with a love of life. He's also a bit of an idiot. Enjoy!

In the depths of Otto's memories lies a foggy recollection of his early years. Yet, through the haze, a handful of cherished moments with his family still shine bright.

Hailing from the dark depths of the Underdark, Otto's family carved out a life far from the bustling heart of the dark elf city, nestled near a temple dedicated to the Dark Maiden. His mother ruled with an iron fist, while his father exuded warmth and kindness. Alongside Otto, the middle brother, stood his siblings: the authoritative Audrey, who played both big sister and second mom and with whom Otto shared both resemblance and interests; and the youngest, Tae. It was Audrey who fostered their shared love for music and dance, though Otto diverged from her in his fascination with magic and warfare. Despite Audrey's attempts to impart basic magical knowledge and combat strategies, the boys often disregarded her guidance and forged their own path.

But the real tale lies in Otto and Tae's bond. Despite their five-year age gap, they were inseparable — so much so that they were often mistaken for twins. Where Otto went, mischief in tow, Tae wasn't far behind. Their connection ran deep, Their connection was so tight that punishment meant for one often extended to the other, under the pretext of "company" and "just in case," as their sister wryly remarked.

Otto exuded a serene aura, seemingly detached from the world around him. His devotion to his goddess knew no bounds; he prayed fervently, joined in the nocturnal rituals with zeal, and found solace in in expressing his emotions through the graceful movements of dance and the soothing melodies of the harp. Despite the mistreatment endured by his fellow drow, Otto remained unmoved, dismissing the tales of the fearsome goddess Lolth as mere myths. Yet, whenever he ventured beyond his secluded realm to gather provisions at his parents' urging, he encountered the disdain of surface dwellers. Thankfully, his protective sister often accompanied him, ensuring his safety amidst the hostility of the outside world.

This marked the sombre conclusion of happier times from the past. At the age of fifty, tragedy struck, forever altering the course of Otto's life. During one of the reverent nights devoted to dancing in honour of the goddess Eilistraee, malevolent dark elves launched a merciless assault on the drow community. The ensuing carnage was unfathomable - nearly all participants in the sacred ceremony were ruthlessly slaughtered by the followers of Lolth. Though Otto's parents were absent that fateful night, he, along with his sister and brother, witnessed the horrifying massacre unfold. Despite Audrey's valiant attempts to resist the attackers, her bravery cost her life, her severed head serving as a grim testament to her sacrifice at her brothers' feet.

Desperate to spare their lives, Otto pleaded with the dark drow, willing to endure servitude or any other fate to ensure his and his brother's survival. Whether out of exhaustion from the night's bloodshed or for other reasons, the drow relented, sparing a handful of captives to serve as slaves. And so, Otto and his brother found themselves thrust into the heart of the city of Menzoberranzan.

Otto spent the better part of his life toiling as a slave, his days consumed by labor in the mines and kitchens hidden beneath the earth's surface. For 137 long years, he lived in the shadows, cut off from the moon's gentle light, gradually losing touch with his goddess, surviving solely by sheer luck - or so he continues to believe to this day.

Despite being forcibly separated, the brothers occasionally crossed paths during their assigned tasks. Otto often found himself consumed by thoughts of Tae, grappling with the harsh realities of their existence and haunted by memories of past horrors. Yet, Tae remained a beacon of hope, preventing Otto from succumbing entirely to despair. As long as his brother endured, Otto found solace in their shared struggle. Despite the hardships, Otto found some comfort in knowing he wasn't alone. However, this hope was short-lived.

Tae endured nearly eight agonizing years of enslavement alongside his elder brother. Over time, the once hopeful drow siblings grew weary, their dreams of freedom fading into the darkness that surrounded them. Despite the dwindling hope, they pressed on, silently bearing the weight of their captivity. Unexpectedly, Otto honed his culinary skills, perhaps finding sustenance and purpose that helped him to linger amidst the darkness that shrouded their existence.

One fateful day, Tae, utterly drained of energy, made a grave mistake in the warden's presence. Exhausted beyond measure, he collapsed under the weight of a heavy load, causing sacks of provisions to spill and inadvertently ensnaring a pair of goblin slaves next to him. Otto, who happened to be nearby, watched the scene unfold before his eyes. As punishment for his blunder, Tae was mercilessly dragged before the hungry rothe, and since he was guilty of depriving them of food, the little slave had to pay for it. To make matters worse, the warden overseeing Tae's punishment happened to be one of the drow responsible for the massacre during the night of Eilistraee worship. Upon recognizing the brothers, the warden, sporting a smug grin, gestured for Otto to approach him as Tae stood by the two wild rothe.

"Rothe may be herbivores, but they possess quite the temper," he taunted Otto with a smirk. "And this pair happens to be the most voracious and vicious of them all." With those chilling words, the drow warden launched a rock at one of the rothe, striking it squarely in the eye. Caught off guard by the sudden violence, Tae gasped in terror, triggering a frenzied response from the hungry beasts. Wild and merciless, they lunged at the defenseless brother, unleashing a barrage of kicks and trampling him underfoot. Frozen in horror, Otto watched helplessly, his hands trembling with silent anguish. His heart felt as though it might burst from his chest as he witnessed the brutal onslaught. Tae's desperate screams pierced the air, drowned out by the sounds of agony and chaos. Blood mingled with tears as Tae's eyes reflected a haunting crimson hue, his neck veins pulsating under the strain of the rothe's relentless assault. With a sickening crunch, Tae's belly was torn open by the beasts' horns, and he fell still only when his head was crushed beneath their hooves, his existence snuffed out in an instant.

And Otto just watched in silence.

He watched as the light faded from his brother's eyes, his gaze unwavering as he bore witness to the final moments of Tae's existence. The drow warden's mocking voice briefly pierced through Otto's numbness. "Perhaps you're not as feeble as you appear. Your selfishness served you well," the drow sneered mockingly.

Otto possessed a sharp intellect and a discerning eye for danger, especially in tense situations. It would have been naive to assume that the dark elves would permit him to aid his brother. With a sinking feeling of dread, he realized this was a blatant provocation. Even if they survived the rothe attack, the wardens would likely execute them both for insubordination, at best. Feeling utterly helpless, Otto made the agonizing decision to live on, letting his brother die alone.

In that moment, a torrent of negative emotions flooded Otto's soul - the suffocating weight of guilt, the insidious selfishness instilled by the warden. The sheer volume of these feelings overwhelmed him, erupting in a chaotic cacophony that left behind a haunting emptiness. Otto experienced a paradoxical sensation of both intense emotion and numbing detachment. Despite the turmoil within, not a single tear escaped his eyes. He knew that, in time, the suppressed emotions would resurface, threatening his sanity. To avoid succumbing to madness, he hardened his body against exhaustion and his mind against the encroaching chaos, embracing a chilling resolve to endure.

The passing century blurred into a directionless existence for Otto, a routine settled into over time, overshadowed by a constant fear of death. He witnessed the brutal executions of disobedient slaves by the drow, observed tears streaming down the faces of tormented men crumbling under the cruelty of the priestesses of Lolth, and watched with detachment as spiders feasted on the anguished cries of goblins. Yet, these harrowing scenes no longer stirred fear within him.

By sheer luck, he narrowly escaped his fate. A riot erupted among the enslaved Minotaurs and Orcs one day, fuelled by the recency of their enslavement, their vigor unchecked by reason. The chaos of the uprising rattled the dark elves, as the Minotaurs and Orcs, in their bid for freedom, wreaked havoc by demolishing nearby structures and liberating the imprisoned rothe. In the midst of the turmoil, with the attention of the Lolth drow diverted towards subduing the larger slaves, it presented the only fleeting opportunity for him to seize his chance at freedom.

Perhaps Otto possessed a natural inclination for stealth, or perhaps he was blessed by the Dark Maiden that fateful night. With meticulous care yet swift determination, he navigated his way out of the city, utilizing every available hiding spot - be it behind corners, haystacks, or barrels. Meanwhile, the other escaped captives drew attention with their frantic and clumsy attempts to flee, providing cover for Otto's silent movements. Step by cautious step, Otto distanced himself

from the chaos, his path guided by the cool touch of cave walls and the enveloping darkness. Despite the uncertainty of his destination or the reason for his flight, he pressed on, driven by an instinctual urge to escape the confines of his captivity.

Emerging from the depths of the Underground, Otto greedily filled his lungs with the crisp air of freedom before hastening onward, propelled by a newfound sense of liberation.

He ran tirelessly, his destination unknown, his only focus on putting distance between himself and his captors. With each stride, he stumbled and fell, only to rise again and resume his frantic pace. Otto pushed himself until his lungs burned, his vision blurred, and his legs threatened to give out beneath him. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he collapsed onto the cool grass, his body spent and gasping for air.

For what felt like an eternity, Otto lay there, struggling to regain his breath, his hands clutching the damp earth beneath him. Despite his fervent desire to rise and continue his flight, the searing pain in his chest rendered him immobile. As he coughed and gasped for air, he forced his eyes open, greeted by the serene expanse of the night sky.

Rolling onto his back, Otto found himself bathed in the soft glow of the full moon, its ethereal light casting a gentle radiance upon the meadow where he lay. In that moment, the young drow felt a sense of peace wash over him, as if the moon itself offered solace and sanctuary to the escaped prisoner. For a moment, the Otto forgot how to breathe, so mesmerised was he by the dark sun. And he finally remembered his goddess.

Tears welled in his reddened eyes, and an uncontrollable laughter bubbled up from his aching chest. Otto groaned, even screamed, burying his face and in his hands, gripping his hair. Turning towards the grass, he inhaled the scent of fresh greenery and damp earth, offering silent gratitude to some unseen force. Mumbling barely audible words, he offered apologies to his brother and sister. Thus, he passed the entire night, seeking refuge in the cool darkness until dawn forced him to seek shelter from the sun's burning rays.

Thus began the dawn of a new life for the former prisoner. Upon the surface, he would once again revel in the joy of music, the gentle strumming of the harp. He would seek out part-time jobs and explore new ways of survival, including, perhaps, resorting to stealing when necessary.

It's worth noting that the trauma of his survival would significantly impact the young man's behaviour. After experiencing a taste of freedom, Otto began engaging in impulsive actions that contradicted his moral compass. Stealing had never been characteristic of him, but the prolonged captivity and initial struggles to earn money pushed him to drastic measures. Thus, he developed kleptomania, an uncontrollable urge to steal even when unnecessary. Additionally, his youthful idealism, which caught up with him later, painted the picture of a naïve and irresponsible individual, despite his advanced mental maturity. He became a person marked by extreme chaos.

Many thanks to @mist1e for translating my text into English. I am very grateful to her for that!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #drow oc #text #dnd #dungeon and dragons #bard #rogue #menzoberranzan #eilistraee #drow tav #dark elf #my art

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perpetualcynicism · 1 year

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…𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: In which you seek refuge in the shade on a particularly hot day at the Akademiya. …𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Fluff. …𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: None. …𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 2,781 words. …𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Gender-neutral reader, scholar!Cyno.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝙱𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

If there was one word you could use to describe the weather right now, it would be sweltering.

The afternoon sun rode high amidst the cloudless expanse overhead, burning the sky a vivid blue. Its glare was almost as relentless as the heat it beat down towards the city below. Waves of heat rippled over street stones and horizon alike as though the air itself was trembling beneath the sun’s cruel assault. The streets themselves were near blinding to look at, reflected light blazing off white stone.

The few folk in the streets moved sluggishly, clothes damp with sweat and hair clinging to skin tanned to the point of burning, though the wiser of Sumeru City’s residents had stayed indoors. A few stall vendors called half-heartedly here and there to the occasional passerby, voices layered thick with fatigue. From where you were sitting, about halfway up the Divine Tree, everyone seemed to look a lot like slow flies drunk on spilt snake wine, too heavy to fly.

Truth be told, you wouldn’t be surprised if the Pyro Archon had declared war on you without you knowing.

Beneath the thick shadows cast by the branches of the Divine Tree, however, you were faring better than most. You were sat beside a small pond and leaning back on the Tree’s moss-dappled trunk. A veil of steam hung across the water’s surface, pale wreaths of evaporation rising from the pool and licking the lily pads bobbing above. The water cooled its surroundings, a little, and paired with the shade, made the heat a little more bearable.

Nonetheless, you were still too hot for any real work; a notion which all the Akademiya students shared, judging by how many clusters of friends were milling aimlessly around the Akademiya facilities. In fact, there were so many that a dense crowd had gathered inside to escape the heatwave, meaning it was a choice of being crushed between bodies and noise or the crippling weather. You’d taken your chances with the latter, and the choice had proven to serve you decently well, so you weren’t complaining.

Instead of studying, your nose was buried in a book you’d borrowed from the House of Daena beforehand. Though the atmosphere was pleasant for reading in— it was quiet out here, with only a few trilling insects or songbirds for company— the slow, dozy mood of the city and the stagnancy in the air was gradually taking effect, and you often found your mind drifting from the contents of your book. The pressing heat made your eyelids heavy, your head sink, your nose dip downwards. It took more and more effort to rein your attention back each time.

You yawned widely and blinked your eyes to keep them open. Perhaps your recent workload was finally catching up with you… Stifling another yawn, you returned to the book, skimming over the text and barely registering the words on the page.

…And so, Shirin once again found the perfect opportunity for revenge in the vassal king's unfettered fear.

One night, she disguised herself as a divine princess of the temple to the moon goddess and met…

As your eyes glazed listlessly over the passage, you were distantly aware of your head beginning to loll and your eyelids draw shut. The words on the page morphed into meaningless shapes and figures behind your eye sockets. Your hand slid from the book, and you found yourself relaxing, limbs growing heavy, slipping into the drowsy lull of sleep…

A light tap on your shoulder. Your head snapped up (painfully fast; you heard a crack somewhere in your neck), and you rubbed your eyes to adjust to the sunlight, before realising it was being blocked by something— well, someone. Staring down at you coolly were a pair of pretty scarlet eyes, sharp as ever, yet not with hostility. A brush of snowy hair swept out from under a dark hood and over one eye, framing a smooth face of deeply tanned skin.

Despite yourself, you felt your heartbeat accelerate.

“You fell asleep,” Cyno explained, very helpfully.

“Oh.”

There was a short pause. You were definitely not admiring his eyelashes in the silence.

Then, “May I join you?”

A eyebrow rose up your forehead in mock suspicion. “You want to sleep with me?”

Those pretty scarlet eyes blinked at you, unamused. You sighed and rolled your eyes, jokingly grumbling, “You’re no fun,” but gestured for him to sit nonetheless. He lowered himself beside you, ignoring the comment entirely. Once he’d settled down, you remarked, “You know, I thought it’d take more than a little heat to bring down the mighty scholar Cyno from his studies.”

The boy shrugged. “I’ve already got through most of my workload for this term. I thought I may as well find you.”

You hummed. Even though you were close, he didn’t strike you as the type to chase the company of others.

“Why me, though? Out of curiosity.”

He blinked, as though the answer was obvious. “I enjoy spending time with you.”

You coughed, eyebrows shooting up your forehead before you hastened to tame your expression. Cyno furrowed his eyebrows in a puzzled sort of concern. You waved away his worry and cleared your throat, deigning to avert his attention from your warming face.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get swarmed by your fan club on the way here.”

He turned to you, head tilted. “‘Fan club’?”

“You haven’t heard?” Cyno shook his head. You sucked in a breath. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, about half the Akademiya has the hots for you.”

“…Oh,” he frowned.

“And I think some people are literally starting an official fan club about you, too.”

His frown deepened to a grimace, and he repeated distastefully, “Oh.”

“So, tell me; what’s the life of a celebrity like?” you teased. Cyno side-eyed you, but the look in his eyes was one of humour.

“If what you’re saying is true, I don’t think I’ll enjoy it very much. Too many people lead to too much heat, after all; I think I’d need a real fan to keep both aspects at bay.”

You rubbed your forehead, exasperated. “Wow.”

“Thank you.”

Clearing your throat, you half-joked, “Would I be deemed worthy of such a role, by any chance?”

“I don’t know. Can you flap your hands fast enough to generate a breeze?”

“…I’ll get back to you on that part. But don’t worry: your fan club would still have to get through me first.” You placed a hand on your chest, hoping you were emulating some semblance of bravery. “I’ll fend off the fangirls if they get too stifling. And the fanboys. And… well, you know, everyone. Half the whole Akademiya, if need be.”

Cyno huffed a chuckle, and your heart did an involuntary somersault. It was always funny how your organs turned into acrobats when he was around. “As much as I appreciate your courage, I doubt you would last long against them if they amassed all their forces.”

“Then I’ll fall loyally in battle, like a true warrior,” you proclaimed, voice laden with melodramatic flare. Cyno flicked your forehead lightly.

“I’d rather not have to mourn you.”

A second silence settled over you as the jesting died away, filled by lazy birdsong. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but you found yourself fiddling with the hem of your robes and throwing apprehensive glances towards the boy beside you nonetheless. His straight face betrayed nothing he might have been thinking. Even after knowing him for so long, Cyno was still far from easy to read.

You thought about this, sometimes. His nonchalance. His straightforwardness. How matter-of-factly he could say such simple things and make your heart skip beat after beat. ‘I enjoy spending time with you.’ Said like it was the plainest thing in the world.

In truth, though, it was far from plain. Glancing at him now, he seemed completely indifferent to your company, and yet claimed to hold it so closely to him. Was he overstating what he felt? Understating it? For the life of you, you couldn’t be certain.

(Maybe, somewhere deep down, you knew that made you fall even harder for him.)

The next time you looked to him, his eyes slid over to you, as if he’d anticipated the glance you were throwing at him. Your gazes met. Though you were still in the shade, it felt like the sun had just blasted your face with heat. You tried to tear your eyes away but found them locked in place. His stare dug into your own, cutting right through you and behind the curtain of feelings you wouldn’t let him see. The rubies of his irises were sharp as facets of the gemstone itself, cold and striking and… gentle. Prying, but never too deep; the shards not sharp enough that they would cut you.

You hoped to the gods it wasn’t out of pity.

He knew. Of course he did.

Your tongue became lead in your mouth. Hiding your feelings from one as observant as him could never have ended well. An uneasy dread built in your gut, fears rising that he’d scorn you, or brush you off, or tell you that the company he enjoyed was that of a friend’s.

Knowing all he did, Cyno splintered the silence.

“By the way, what’re you reading?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Took took a second to steady your shock and reel back the spiralling thoughts you’d been drowning in moments before.

To answer his question, you closed the book to display the front cover, which read in a curling font, ‘The Tale of Shiruyeh and Shirin: Volume II’. Cyno leaned slightly closer as he read it (his shoulder brushed yours now), and he made an ‘ah’ sound.

“I’ve read the first volume, but not the second. Is it any good?”

“Yeah, it is good, actually. I can give it to you once I’m done if you want to read it,” you offered. He dipped his head in silent thanks.

“I would appreciate that.”

Re-opening the book to your page, you yawned widely, raising a hand over your mouth. You didn’t notice the way Cyno was studying you more closely, observing the faint shadows circling your eyes. He pressed his lips together in displeasure, almost unnoticeably.

“You’re tired,” he said. “Why?” The undertone of concern in his voice ran so subtle that you didn’t even detect it. In fact, the question came across a touch brash, but it bothered you little; you’d long since grown used to the blunt manner of his speech.

“I haven’t been sleeping that well,” you admitted after a second’s pause, fiddling with the page of your book. “Y’know. Workload and that stuff. But it’s fine, so… yeah.”

Though Cyno hummed in understanding, the slight crease of his brows told of his concern. He knew you, and he knew what you were doing; understating that which was troubling you to brush off your struggles. It was a habit of yours he’d resolved long ago to try and change, but his attempts had yet to reap results.

“If there is anything you need assistance with…” he prompted.

“Nah, it’s fine. I can handle it.” You glanced towards him. “Thanks for offering, though.”

He suppressed his sigh. “Very well.”

“Now, shh,” you hissed, pressing a finger to your lips, and pointedly gestured to your book. “I’m reading.”

Cyno rolled his eyes, but complied nevertheless. While you read in silence, he looked towards you now and again. He didn’t know why, but there was something he found oddly endearing about the way you smiled or shook your head in response to whatever was happening in the text. Even more endearing was the slight lull of your head, dipping down and back up again as you fought with yourself to stay awake.

As he watched your continuous battle with sleep and heat (one you seemed to be slowly losing), part of him— perhaps a larger part than he’d like to admit— wished to soothe that drooping head into sleep and ease away the stubborn claim you made of ‘being fine’.

It seemed that he wouldn’t have to wish for long, however, because a moment later, the former principle delivered itself right into his lap (or his shoulder, to be precise).

Book still lying open across your legs, your eyes had closed, quiet sighs passing through the slight opening of your mouth, finally surrendered to the rest you so needed. A mumble slipped past your lips and Cyno felt a weight on his shoulder as your head dropped by an inch, coming to lean against his collarbone.

His eyes widened by a fraction, breath caught in his throat. Warmth flushed across his neck. A thrill fluttered through his stomach. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and he winced at the all-too-sudden dryness of his mouth. Could you hear his heartbeat? he wondered, painfully aware of the thundering inside his ribcage.

What did he do now? Stay in this position? No, your head was practically hanging from your shoulders; that couldn’t be pleasant. Should he pull you closer? But what if that woke you? Maybe… maybe he should adjust you slightly. So you were more comfortable. …Would you have been comfortable with this if you were awake?

Forcing out a long breath, Cyno expelled the growing mountain of worries from his mind. Then, keeping his torso as still as possible (he was holding his breath all the while; he dared not breathe too deeply, lest he disturb you), he raised a tentative hand to your chin, carefully repositioned your head to rest against his shoulder. Once there, he held himself completely motionless for one second. Two.

After a third, and after you hadn’t stirred, he finally permitted himself a sigh of relief— one which he released slowly, through his nose, keeping the fall of his chest as minute as possible. With his mission complete, Cyno glanced to you, and let his gaze linger there for a short while.

He took in the curve of your eyelashes, the slope of your nose. The line of your jaw and the shape of your lips. The way your hair shifted slightly in the tug of the breeze, and the feeling of it tickling his jawbone. How peaceful you looked in your sleep. The beginnings of a smile started to melt across the boy’s features. Even a fool could see that the way he looked at you— with eyes so soft and gaze deep as oceans at sunset— was warmer than the blazing sky could ever hope to be.

He turned his eyes away. Even in sleep, you deserved your privacy.

A large group of students walked by across the garden then, their shoes scuffing the stone tiles as they practically dragged his feet across the sun-baked floor. Wary, Cyno watched them stop and look around. One student’s eyes drifted over to where he was sat to find the scholar staring back with a barbed glare. The student’s face lit up when he recognised the orange-red irises of his idol, calling the other’s attention to his discovery. It promptly fell when he noticed the person dozing beside him.

The warning in Cyno’s eyes was clear: Don’t even try to come close.

Still, these students seemed to have some guts between them, and bunched tightly together, they shuffled towards your spot. Cyno’s eyes narrowed, all traces of warmth replaced with sharp, cool warning. The students tensed in turn as they felt scarlet crawling beneath their skin, scrutinising them, studying them, cutting like glass shards. Cyno stared each student down until they shivered despite the heat, shrank beneath the former’s gaze, and scurried swiftly away with their tails between their legs.

Watching them go, Cyno felt a hint of smugness glow in his chest. So much for that fan club. Then, satisfied with his success, he turned his attention back to you, who still slumbered peacefully by his side. The thorns in his eyes fell away. He shifted slightly, movements gentle when he rested his head atop yours. A few locks of snowy hair fell from his hood and kissed your jaw, feather-light. One strand landed across your face and you wrinkled your nose, scrunching up your eyelids. He brushed the strand away, murmuring apology under his breath, trying to ignore the way his heart was threatening to melt at your reaction.

And, sitting in the shade on a sweltering day, succumbing to the drowsy mood and the unrelenting heat, Cyno closed his eyes and slept.

(It was safe to say that yes, he did indeed enjoy your company, and by quite a bit at that.)

#genshin impact x reader #cyno #cyno x reader

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lucky-clover-gazette · 5 months

Text

Creature Comforts

Rated G | Vidow Cottage AU | 2557 words

Vio notices literal and figurative similarities between Shadow and Pinecone the cat.

I wrote this fic back in September for the Four Swords Winter's Delight zine, which has now been released! Please check out the tumblr page @fswintersdelight for the PDF, which includes art, fic, and other goodies from fandom creators. A special thank you to Kalh, aka @vagueandominousvibes and WriterKalhsScribbles on ao3, for creating and managing the event!

“I love it,” Vio says, turning the rock over in his hand. It reminds him of sunset dragon rides, the heat of the Fire Temple, the sweet taste of marshmallows roasted over fires they set together. “Thank you, Shadow.” In retrospect, Vio knows he probably shouldn’t have been so permissive of Shadow doing villainous things to impress him back in their evil days. It’s something Blue, Green, Zelda, and even Shadow himself have all since commented on, with various degrees of moral judgment. And to his credit, Vio typically attempts to walk it back, to express retroactive distaste for Shadow’s more violent and macabre ‘gifts.’ But deep down, some part of Vio will always take pleasure in the degree to which Shadow will go to prove his devotion. “We should probably dispose of the dead mouse, though,” Shadow mutters against Vio’s lips.

Read the rest on AO3 or under the cut:

Evil root beer is not meant to be served warm.

“Okay, yeah, experiment’s over,” Shadow gags, pouring the contents of his stein into the kitchen sink.

Vio winces at the waste. “To be fair, some beverages can be served hot and cold.” He retrieves the pot from the stovetop and begins to wash it, while Shadow sits up on the counter. His expression, Vio can’t help but notice, is almost comically sour.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Vio says, reaching for a sponge.

“It was pretty bad,” Shadow disagrees with an exaggerated shiver. “Oh hey, Pinecone.”

Their cat acknowledges them with a glance as she wanders into the tiny kitchen, headed straight for her food bowl. Wet food waits for her, as always.

Vio turns off the faucet and places the the pot on the drying rack, joining Shadow on the counter. “I know what might get the taste out of your mouth,” he says with a smirk.

Shadow returns it. “Yeah? I’d test that theory.”

Skrch-skrch-skrch.

Their attention returns to Pinecone, who scrapes the tile beside her food bowl with one dainty paw. After a moment of expressing her displeasure, she gives her roommates an indignant stare.

“Why?” Vio exclaims, gesticulating his offense. “It’s the same exact food as usual!”

“Relax,” Shadow says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll talk to her.”

“You’ll… what?”

Shadow winks, and suddenly he’s not Shadow at all. A lean black cat with familiar eyes replaces him on the counter, taking a quick second to nuzzle against Vio’s leg before he hops onto the floor.

Vio frowns. “Oh, right.”

Shadow crosses over to join Pinecone at her bowl, trilling a friendly greeting towards his three-legged friend. Pinecone sniffs him for only a second before she bonks his forehead.

They two cats communicate in a series of meows and chirps, none of which Vio can understand. After an especially long monologue from Pinecone, Shadow nods and leans down to sample some of her freshly-served, perfectly good chicken pate. After a few bites he consults with Pinecone once again, and then makes his way back to Vio on the counter.

Vio gives Shadow a full-body pet, enjoying the way he leans into his touch. And then Real Shadow is back, doing the very same thing, only his hair is purple instead of black. Shadow’s eyes are closed and he wears the dopiest smile, almost lost in the affection.

Vio clears his throat. Shadow opens one eye, as if remembering where he is and what he’s doing. He straightens his spine and leans against the kitchen backsplash.

“Well, nothing’s wrong with the food,” Shadow says, glancing over as Pinecone scrapes the floor again. “She just isn’t in the mood for chicken.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Vio huffs, crossing his arms over his sweater-clad chest. “I don’t want to waste food, and she’ll get another tin in twelve hours anyway.”

Shadow shrugs. “Seems reasonable to me. She’s fine, just being a little bit of a drama queen.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Vio teases. “Experiment’s still on the table, by the way.”

“I’ll ignore the insult if you kiss me.”

Vio indulges Shadow for only a second before he pulls away with his own exaggerated disgust. “Cat food! Your mouth tastes like cat food!”

Shadow bursts out laughing. “Sounds like someone isn’t in the mood for chicken!” Leaning back, he slams his head against the upper cabinet. “Aw, sh—”

Vio pats Shadow comfortingly as he reaches towards the shelf.

“Vi, what are you—”

Pinecone chirps happily as Vio opens a tin of tuna pate.

─────────────────

Vio found the book on cat behavior at the Castle Town library a few days ago, but this is the first time he’s actually been able to read it. Lounging on the couch beside a crackling fire, he hums as he turns the page.

A familiar chirp startles him to attention. Pinecone sits at the foot of the couch, staring intently towards Vio’s lap. He smiles, shifts his book to an admittedly less comfortable position, and pats the wool blanket. “You can come up.”

And so she does, immediately claiming her favorite spot on Vio’s stomach. She circles for only a moment before collapsing, resting her chin on his chest and meeting his eyes. He senses the soft rumble of a purr, and watches as she begins to knead the soft blanket.

It’s a weird angle, but Vio still manages to check the book’s index for ‘kneading.’

Kneading, also known as ‘making biscuits,’ is an instinctive feline soothing behavior.

Vio looks fondly down at his feline. “Are you making biscuits, Pinecone?”

She trills and kneads harder.

“Biscuits are in the oven!” announces Shadow, standing in the doorframe between their kitchen and den. He has flour all over his black apron, and looks very proud of his hard work.

Pinecone hops off Vio’s lap to rub against Shadow’s leg, and Vio finds himself on his feet as well. “You’ve got some flour on your face,” he observes, stepping closer.

Shadow smirks. “Totally not on purpose.”

“Of course not,” Vio agrees, running a finger gently down the other man’s cheek. He wipes the flour onto Shadow’s apron, and then pulls him by the waist for a kiss.

─────────────────

“Can you maniacs please get the zoomies one at a time?” Vio complains, seated at the kitchen table with a stack of handwritten notes and a warm cup of tea.

Pinecone responds by running straight into a wall.

Shadow, meanwhile, has been bouncing his leg uncontrollably for the past fifteen minutes. Vio finally leans down to place a gentle hand on Shadow’s knee, steadying both his partner and the table itself.

“I know the meeting was long,” he says, meeting Shadow’s eyes. “But we need to finalize this summary while the discussion is still fresh in our minds.”

Shadow glances longingly towards the den, where Pinecone gives an enchantingly peculiar yowling performance.

“She’s fine,” Vio reassures him. “Normal feline behavior, my book said so.”

Shadow sighs, trying his best to settle. “Yeah. I know. I can focus.”

Vio kisses his cheek, free to work uninterrupted for several peaceful minutes.

That is, until he hears the scraping.

Vio’s head shoots up, startling Shadow enough that he freezes mid-action. He appears to have been slowly sliding Vio’s mug closer to the table’s edge.

“What are you doing?” Vio asks, raising an eyebrow.

Shadow appears genuinely confused by his own strange impulse. “I… I’m not sure.” He pulls back his hand and examines it, bewildered. “It’s like I got possessed or something.”

They both hear a loud crash from the den.

Sighing, Vio caps his pen. “Wanna go see what she broke?”

Shadow is already gone.

─────────────────

This is the third dead thing Pinecone has brought him in a week. Vio winces down at the mouse’s corpse, only wincing harder at his cat’s self-satisfied expression.

“You really shouldn’t have,” he mutters, toeing the ‘gift’ with a sock-clad foot. “Where’s Shadow? He’s supposed to be watching you.”

Pinecone is almost entirely an indoor cat, but during the late autumn Shadow allows her to accompany him into the yard while he chops firewood. Vio can’t really blame Shadow for losing sight of the cat, who at the end of the day is naturally inclined to hunt and present trophies to the people she loves.

“Good kitty,” Vio tells Pinecone, petting her soft little head. She preens.

“Please tell me the cat’s inside,” Shadow calls from the front door, shutting it quickly behind him to keep out the November chill.

From his cozy spot in the den, Vio smiles. “Yes, she’s in here.”

Shadow stumbles into the room, wrapped up in a black and red flannel, still clutching Vio’s Four Sword. “I’m so sorry,” he says, slightly out of breath. “I was trying really hard to split this one stubborn log, and—”

Vio stands up and grabs Shadow by the waist, enjoying the lingering smell of trees.

“Hi,” Shadow tells Vio, tenderly stroking his back. “I’m a little sweaty, are you sure you want to hug me right now?”

“Too late.”

“Ah, I see Pinecone has brought you another present,” Shadow observes, somewhere between amused and disgusted. “I’m surprised she was able to do it in only a few minutes.”

Vio smirks, out of sight. “What a pragmatic little creature.”

Pinecone trills—probably at a bird out the window, but Vio likes to think she understands.

“She learned from the best,” says Shadow, and Vio pulls back to meet his eyes. His hands wander from Shadow’s waist to the pocket of his flannel, which contains… something?

Shadow blushes, and Vio loves that Shadow can still, once in a while, have his bashful moments. “It’s nothing, really, just…”

Vio withdraws the object from Shadow’s pocket and holds it between them. It’s a rock about the size of his palm, ash-brown, with strange irregular jutting edges. Shadow sighs and turns it over in Vio’s hand, revealing a smooth caramel-colored face.

“Found it and thought you’d be interested,” Shadow explains, still slightly embarrassed. “Could make a nice paperweight, too.”

Vio searches his brain for any knowledge of the peculiar specimen. “Petrified wood,” he vaguely recalls. “It’s sort of a fossil, I think. At some point, this area was affected by a volcano, or just a lot of fire, and the trees went through a sort of mineralization process.”

“Do you think that’s because of me?”

Vio blinks, genuinely puzzled by the question.

“Because of all the fire,” Shadow clarifies. “And the volcano.”

Vio releases a short laugh, but stops himself immediately. Shadow is genuinely concerned, he wants to take this seriously. “Love,” he says, reaching for his partner’s flannel-clad arm, “this is a fossil. Its creation might as well be ancient history.”

Shadow exhales. “Oh. Right.”

Vio feels Shadow’s muscles loosen—which, by the way, have become noticeably more pronounced since Shadow started chopping firewood.

“It’s just weird,” Shadow continues, not appearing to notice the blush on Vio’s face. “I know it’s been, like, more than a year since I did those awful things, but I still…”

In retrospect, Vio knows he probably shouldn’t have been so permissive of Shadow doing villainous things to impress him back in their evil days. It’s something Blue, Green, Zelda, and even Shadow himself have all since commented on, with various degrees of moral judgment. And to his credit, Vio typically attempts to walk it back, to express retroactive distaste for Shadow’s more violent and macabre ‘gifts.’

But deep down, some part of Vio will always take pleasure in the degree to which Shadow will go to prove his devotion.

“We should probably dispose of the dead mouse, though,” Shadow mutters against Vio’s lips.

From beneath them, Pinecone hisses.

─────────────────

The frequency of cat purring has been shown to fall between 25 and 140 Hz. The same frequency has been shown to aid in the healing of broken bones, joint and tendon repair, and wound healing. The combined effects of their relaxing presence and their purr make cats powerful against stress and anxiety. Cat owners report that—

“Put down the book,” Shadow mutters into Vio’s shoulder. “You need to rest.”

Vio sniffles and does as he’s told. Shadow holds him closer, pulling Red’s handmade quilt from fully over them both.

“You’re lucky,” Vio says, his throat dry, “that you don’t get sick very often. It sucks.”

Shadow hums sympathetically. “Strong immune system means I can still hold you, contagion be damned.”

“Are you sure that’s, like, a real thing?”

Shadow kisses the side of Vio’s forehead. It’s warm from his fever, but colder than it had been a few hours ago.

“Hi, Pinecone,” says Vio as the cat joins them in bed. She goes straight to Vio’s chest, plopping down and rolling on her side. Shadow scritches her soft belly with one hand and rubs Vio’s side with the other.

Pinecone’s purrs are immediate and much louder than usual. With wonder in his eyes, Vio gently presses two fingers to her throat. It vibrates steadily under his touch, and a slight press seems to make the purrs even louder.

“I’ll research her anatomy later,” Vio decides. “Too tired now.”

“Good idea,” Shadow says, completely earnest. “I love it when you know your limits.”

Vio musters the energy to roll his eyes. “Well now I have to—uh, Shadow?”

“Hm?”

Vio raises both eyebrows, turning his head to see Shadow’s face. “Are you purring?”

After a second of consideration, Shadow presses two fingers to his own throat. “Huh,” he remarks, self-satisfied. “Would you look at that.”

“Have you always been able to purr?” Vio asks, a little too weak to muster appropriate levels of bewilderment.

Shadow shakes his head. “Must have picked it up from shapeshifting into a cat so often. Neat.”

Vio has so many questions. Does this mean Shadow could just take on any quality he pleases? Could he take on more feline features, like really sharp claws and fangs? Just how weird can he get with this, if he so chooses? Because Vio already has a thing for his fangs, and—

Shadow purrs louder, adding to Pinecone’s steady rumbling. Vio shakes his head, too sick and too comfortable to stress.

─────────────────

“Please bite me somewhere less obvious next time,” Vio tells Shadow, wrapping a scarf around his neck. Shadow pouts, already bundled up for the snowy walk into castle town, and bats at the scarf’s fringes.

“They look nice,” he says, only earning a huff. Vio agrees completely, but one of them has to at least pretend to care about propriety. “Got your library book, nerd?”

Vio holds up the text on feline behavior. “Got it.” He then tucks it safely inside the tote bag they use at the farmer’s market when it’s in season.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

“Oh, come on,” Vio mutters, craning his head towards the den. “Pinecone, not the couch! Red just helped us reupholster that thing!”

The scratching stops for a moment, then starts again. Vio pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, love,” Shadow says, although Vio knows he’s more amused than apologetic. “I think we’re just going to have to accept a certain degree of property defacement. Take it as a compliment—she only wants to claim what’s hers.”

Vio sighs. “Yeah, whatever.”

Shadow removes Vio’s scarf, scrunches it into a ball, and tosses it into the den.

─────────────────

Shadow works in the kitchen again, while Vio and Pinecone share the couch in front of a crackling fire. She’s right on his chest again, purring away, staring directly into his eyes. Vio is still disappointed that he can’t talk to her directly, but borrowing the feline behavior book definitely helped him understand her. Vio will always treasure the unique bond they share, even if it’s not as verbose as hers and Shadow’s.

Pinecone blinks slowly.

“I love you, too,” says Vio.

Shadow abruptly leans into the den, holding a wooden spoon covered with pumpkin soup. “Did you say something?”

Vio smirks, bumping Pinecone’s forehead. “Not to you.”

Shadow traces Vio’s gaze to Pinecone as she slow blinks again. He smiles, shakes his head, and leaves them to their conversation.

#my writing #vidow #four swords #fs #vio link #shadow link #pinecone is BACK babyyyy #cottage au oh how i missed you <3

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thepenultimateword · 1 year

Text

Fright or Flight

CW: Blood, murder, death,

The air reeked of blood. A thick, metallic haze that hung over every centimeter of the gore splattered room.

Villain hid beneath a long, folding table, fist clenched tightly between his teeth to keep from gagging--or worse, whimpering--and exposing his hiding place. In his free hand, he clutched the bloodied end of his tattered half cape. In the chaos, he'd slipped in one of the pools of gore, a disturbingly warm and sticky experience, though the sopping cloth now left him shivering. From the fear or the cold, he wasn’t sure.

It had happened like that. One moment they were all bustling around HQ figuring out the logistics of Supervillain's newest scheme, the next moment, carnage.

This wasn't how Villain's first day was supposed to go.

"Don't. Don't." Supervillain choked around the hero's strangling grip. Villian peered far enough from his cover to see as she thrust the master criminal halfway out a window.

"And I should let you keep wreaking havoc because?" Her voice ran cold, as chilled as the ice water people claimed ran through her veins.

Superhero. Villain had heard about her. Horror stories for rookies he'd always assumed, but now...just looking at her...he wondered if those stories hadn't been understated.

"B-because I can get you information, keep you in the loop on other villains' schemes." Suddenly Supervillain grasped their pride again and broke into a loud snarl. "I'm an asset!"

Superhero scoffed, dropping one finger off Supervillain's collar to let him flail and sway. "You forget I know you. The moment I let you go, you'll either disappear and cause trouble somewhere else, or you'll scramble for your allies and attack me back tenfold. No. No loose ends. Aren't you the one who taught me that?"

"That wasn't-- Superhero, if you just listen!"

"Sorry, I don't make a habit of conversing with criminals."

And she dropped him.

The scream only lasted a couple seconds. As soon as he passed the top two floors, the wind lifted the shriek away as cleanly and crisply as if it'd never happened.

Villain's insides squeezed in on themselves, and he clutched hard at his gut as he slid further back against the wall. The last thing he needed was a shadow or a shoestring giving him away on Superhero's way out.

Or that had been the plan. Before his wet clothes decided to give a terrible squeak on the tile floor.

Villain froze. clenching either side of his half cape in both hands now and pulling it around him like a shield.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Superhero's red boots, stained darker from the blood, stopped right in front of his hiding spot. Now that Villain looked closer, it wasn't much of a hiding spot with the trail of blood leading right underneath.

Long auburn hair came into view first, the ends gathering together to tickle the floor, then a bloodied temple, and then those heart-stopping blue eyes. Like ice chips that somehow also burned.

Her gaze locked with his, and he flattened himself against the drywall. A fly in a web. A mouse on sticky trap. Prey backed into its hole.

"Who are you?" Superhero said. No real curiosity. Barely a speck of any feeling at all.

Villain swallowed, but that only served to paste the walls of his throat tighter together. "V-Villain..." he barely squeaked.

"Never heard of you."

"I-I'm...new. Today new."

"Unlucky day to start a job."

"Yeah."

Strong fingers seized him by the ankle and the next thing he knew, Superhero had dragged him on his back out into the open. The murderess stood over him, staring as if to peel him apart, and all he could do was stare back and pray the urge to kill didn't strike her.

She toed at his throat. "You're so fresh, I can practically smell the paint drying."

"I've done things!" Villain defended sharply. Idiotically. Why was he saying that? She didn't need to actually see him as a target and tear his head from his body! Just...for some reason the thought of her not taking him seriously was almost just as gut wrenching.

"Oh really? Such as?"

"Th-things. Bad things. I...I was hired by Supervillain."

Superhero raised her brow. "You want out alive, don't you?"

"Um...yes? If that's an option, I would very much like--"

"Then don't tempt me."

Another dry swallow, this time tagged with a sort of choking, dying animal sound. "Ok."

Superhero nodded. "My moral code doesn't allow mercy for a certain caliber of criminal. You seem mostly harmless. So I'll be going now."

Villain could only squeak in response.

Supervillain lifted the teasing-threatening pressure of her boot off his jugular and moved out of view, the light tap of her soles soon fading into nothingness.

For a long time, Villain couldn't move. His heart beat too rapidly and every muscle coiled so tightly that any attempt at getting up shot sharp cramps up his limbs.

In fact, it wasn't until Other Villain and her vultures came scrounging an hour later that he was able to--with some help--sit upright.

"How did you survive?" was the first thing out of Other Villain's mouth.

Villain shrugged. Even if he could get the words to come, he really couldn't say why the hero had chosen to question him out of everyone. Eventually, Other Villain had enough silence and pulled him against the wall to wait while her vultures went through stained shirts and pockets.

"Other Villain?" Villain called eventually, once they moved on to stealing larger items, like furniture and plans.

"Hm?" Other Villain said as she poured the contents of a desk drawer into her backpack.

"How does one get on Superhero's radar?"

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees s @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi i @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer mer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolaxe @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee

#i wrote this very fast #superhero x villain #scary hero x rookie hero #hero x villain #hero x villain community #wriitng snippet #heroes and villains community #heroes and villains #creative writing #writing snippet #villain #morally gray hero

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likeabxrdinflight · 6 months

Text

I have read azula in the spirit temple, because of course I did. it's like 7 bucks for the digital version and honestly? wouldn't pay much more than that.

it's...fine. it's fine. it's not offensive, it's not groundbreaking, it's just...fine. I will say I do really like the art style, it's a vast improvement over the yang-led comics. there's some great drawings and all the characters look really good.

otherwise...? I mean it just doesn't do much with its story, and I think that's kind of intentional. I strongly suspect that now that avatar studios is a thing, major story beats in the comics series are over for the time being. this very much feels like a tease of "can azula redeem herself?? we just don't know!!!" and then they very much do not commit one way or the other with it. which tells me that if any major storylines featuring azula are going to be happening in the future, they probably won't be happening in the comics, but in some future movie or animated series.

and honestly? good. I always felt comics were the wrong medium for telling stories in this universe, they have never managed to replicate the gravitas or complexity of storytelling of the animated shows. so if this comic is meant to be like...a palate cleanser, a teaser for things to come in future projects...fine. that's fine. but it does mean this particular story comes across non-committal and honestly...kinda boring.

like, every character azula interacts with outside the first couple pages is a spirit. none of it's real, the stakes are so low, and everything that happens once azula arrives at the temple is a vision from this guardian spirit, who tells azula that if she could accept what the visions were saying then this was her chance of redemption. but honestly that just feels like a cop-out and I don't really buy it, because none of it was real. and azula knows that.

what this story felt like instead was less redemption arc and more character exploration. and as a character piece it's...it's fine? like I said, it's not offensive like the search or smoke and shadow were (though it does loosely play off where smoke and shadow left off, it mostly ignores the search, so props to it for that lol). but there's nothing in here that will come as a surprise to anyone with basic reading comprehension who's watched the original show. the writing's a bit shallow but broadly inoffensive.

honestly the most surprising thing for me was azula acknowledging out loud to a vision of ursa that she's entirely aware that her father used her as a weapon, and felt that ursa failed to protect her from that fate by leaving. which is an interesting dichotomy given that much of azula's character is bound up in that identity as her father's perfect daughter in contrast to zuko being the failed son. (then again, quite a bit of time has now passed in universe since the end of the tv series, so maybe it's not overly shocking that azula has done a little introspecting in that time.)

other than that, there's some fun interactions with spirit!mai and ty lee, and then there's a final vision with spirit!zuko that comes so close to being a halfway decent climax to this little story, but none of it's a major revelation to anyone who's been paying attention to azula's character. the spirit visions all serve the same function that azula's hallucinations did in the series finale- they act as her unconscious mind telling her the truths she already knows about herself deep down.

the ending leaves azula in kind of a middle ground place, very little about her circumstances have changed except she's decided to ditch her girl gang and go run off to do something else- which is kept extremely vague. I can't help feeling that is an intentional move to set her up for a totally new story in a different medium that likely doesn't want to rely on any foundations laid in any of the comics series. and I wouldn't be shocked if that medium is one of the alleged movies that avatar studios is supposed to be producing. so this feels less like a real character arc so much as a character reset.

and from a creative, lore standpoint I don't have a problem with this. that's probably what they needed to do if they want to use azula in their future animated projects. my problem is that the story the comic tells to give us this reset is just kinda boring for someone who's been with this fandom since the original series aired.

The fact is that I've read and seen fan works that addressed these exact same issues and character beats with much more finesse and for much higher stakes. this comic gave me the feeling that the dialogue was directly addressing what fans have been saying about azula for years and putting a neon light on it. and that's...again, it's fine? but it's not groundbreaking for those of us who've been saying this shit since 2008. and I guess it's nice to see some of those character beats canonized officially, especially if there's a likelihood that we'll see animated azula again, but as far as I was concerned the fact that azula wanted her family to love her and was used as a weapon of war was already obvious, so spelling it out with another comic felt...redundant.

and I guess that's how I'd describe this. it felt redundant to me, as someone who's spent a lot of time with this character already. maybe it's good that it exists so that larger and newer swaths of the fandom can see azula in this light, but for long time fans of the character? there's truly nothing in here about her that you don't already know.

if this really is a reset button for the old comics canon/jumping off point for an animated project, then...I'm not mad about it, exactly. but as a stand alone story it's just...fine. it's fine, but little more.

#azula in the spirit temple #atla #long story short: it's fine but nothing spectacular #you will learn nothing you didn't already know about the character if you're an azula stan

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gust-jar-simulator · 7 months

Text

I think it would be fun to try writing an LU fic more closely based on the canon characterization plus the FSA game canon Shadow, even if half the reason I’m so violently obsessed with Four is him being system coded. It feels like a missed opportunity to not utilize that. BUT.

I am compelled by what the difference in Four and Shadow’s dynamic would be, especially because (as far as I know) we don’t really know who or what the black lizalfos is in canon. I’ve been assuming it’s everyone’s favorite from OoT for fanfic reasons, but there’s no reason it has to be that particular shadow.

Timeline wise, I don’t know how Four works, considering two of his games are set before Time and FSA is set after Twilight Princess. Time Travel? Is Jojo putting FSA before OoT? Hard to say. If she is, though, then that opens up an interesting possibility.

Of the darks I know about in the games, we have:

Hyrule’s final trial of worthiness before obtaining the Triforce

Time’s duel in the Water Temple™️

Four’s major low level opponent Shadow, serving as Vaati’s (actually Ganon’s) second a la Ghirahim in SkSw and implied by Hyrule Historia to be Ganon’s creation, a combination of Link’s shadow and Ganon’s emotions pulled from a mirror that may or may not be a reference to Twilight Princess

Warriors’ three shadows, his animated faults sumoned by Cia

Legend in the Palace of the Four Sword, a gimmick dungeon in LttP in reference to the attached original Four Swords game

And if we really squint, Twilight’s fucked up nightmare where dark versions of himself are used as stand-ins to illustrate the Interlopers, traitors who became the Twili people

The black lizalfos actually being kind of lame in LU and put on the run by Twilight fits very well with the idea that the iconic Dark from OoT is kind of a pushover if you use the Biggoron Sword. But I wanted to point out a pattern in the canon shadows/darks I’ve mentioned.

They’re usually meant as a test, and/or a method for the videogame narrative to have the hero confront his own flaws. With something like the original Zelda game it could be hard to apply much depth, but that shadow is very explicitly a test by the forces of good to see if Hyrule is worthy.

In OoT, we don’t get an explanation for why the shadow is there, and the place you fight him in vanishes like an illusion. It’s not even connected to the main boss room. You get Navi saying “conquer yourself!”, and the only environmental clues are perhaps the temple structures, the lone tree, and the fact that you are fighting while walking on water. I have a lot of theories about that fight, that incorporate everything from the Bodhi Tree to Chinese proverbs, but I think the biggest clue is Nayru’s thematic significance as the goddess of water and wisdom/justice as well as possibly time in that game. Ganondorf has no connection to water and wouldn’t want you to conquer yourself- but Nayru would. Also, the Sacred Realm fight against Demise in SkSw looks like a visual callback to me.

I think the use of Dark Links in the Twilight Princess cutscene is specifically to drive the point home that the Interlopers could be anyone, your neighbor, even people like you, who gave in to the allure of power. This vision was given by a Spirit of Light.

Warriors’ fight might be a reference to the multiple darks in Twilight Princess, but also the thematic significance of the darks in OoT and the original LOZ. He needed to fight the avatars of the faults that prevented him from being a real hero, get an ego check, though for a change of pace they were created by a villain this time.

Legend’s fight against four darks, even if they looked like him, was specifically a reference to the original Four Swords game that was released on the exact same card. Four Swords wasn’t sold separately, it originally came with LttP. Your job in the Palace of the Four Sword is to purify the blade by collecting all four and then defeating the darks, and you can only do this after beating both games. It’s the ultimate challenge as well as ultimately a cool reference, but I think an argument could be made that the darks in the swords aren’t really connected to Legend. They don’t split from him- he has to exorcise them.

Which leads me to Shadow from Four Swords Adventures.

Shadow is quite literally on your ass, laughing at you, killing your teammates, pranking, terrorizing villagers and kidnapping maidens from the second you start the game. He blows up the area to force you to retreat to another screen. He shapeshifts into your teammates, so you all accidentally stab the wrong guy. The person he mimics is the only one who can hurt him. He shifts between the Dark and Light worlds, forcing you to follow him. He clones himself to fight all of you at once. He shows up out of nowhere, laughing the whole time, wrecks shop, and just harries you throughout the course of the whole plot. I haven’t seen what his boss fight is like, but I am EXTREMELY curious to see if he has any dialogue. He steals people’s keys. He fucks up their bushes. He drops a whole village into the Dark World. He sets a whole village on fire. Unlike the others, notably the legendary OoT Dark and the original LOZ one, he’s not waiting for you at all. He’s playing with you.

Considering the connection between Four Swords shadows and LttP, and the fact that Shadow came from a mirror that is likely a Twilight Princess reference, that is very feasibly a lot of connections to make. On top of that, most of the previously listed darks are tests of character. Your test of character in the Four Swords games is very textually whether or not you become like Shadow, considering the voting mechanism where you can elect who was the most annoying during the chapter. Shadow himself, however, is not one of you.

He’s the only dark from a canon game to have been created by Ganon.

So that leaves me with two ideas. Either The Shadow™️ from LU is a test from Hylia/the gods, created by her, or it’s a demon created by Ganon/Demise/whatever is currently the big bad demon king. There is a third option of “it used to be a test but became corrupted somehow”, but we’ll see.

Then, as I said, there’s the timeline question. Either we use the Hyrule Historia timeline and have to explain why Four somehow jumped a few thousand years to post-Twilight, or FSA gets scooted up to exist before OoT. If that’s the case, that would make Shadow the first of the darks, as opposed to Dark Link, which opens up some interesting ideas.

Who is The Shadow™️? We honestly have no idea yet. I do think the black lizalfos could possibly be OoT Dark, considering it mostly functions as an observer, but the infectious miasma-like quality of the black blood (which might’ve been the venom that nearly took down Twilight) seems like a callout to BOTW malice and its ability to corrupt Guardians. It does textually empower monsters, so it might be some sort of Ganon juice.

But the only shadow entities that have anything to do with Ganon are Zant, the Twili usurper skilled in shadow magic who worshipped Ganon as a god, or Shadow, a literal actual shadow who may or may not be connected to the Mirror of Twilight but who was definitely a major villain and a major pain in the ass.

I just think it would be funny if OoT Dark is working for the smallest and most chaotic dark of them all. Shadow doesn’t have to be the ultimate villain, because as we all know it’s barely a Zelda game if the final boss isn’t a warmup for fighting the Demon King (plot relevant or not), but I do think there’s a chance that if we see Shadow in LU he might be very different from what manga fans are expecting.

#linked universe #shadow link #dark link #lu dark link #theory

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bedtimegiraffe · 10 days

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Putting Aerin Back in Book 2 Mini Fics

I'm fascinated by the idea of Aerin not leaving, but not enough to transcribe and modify like 8 chapters. So here are some highlights of how I think it would go if Aerin had somehow decided to stick around. Including Nia yelling at his ass like she deserves!

All sections except for first two stand on their own pretty easily, so if you just want to skip ahead to a scene you're thinking about, I'm not gonna tell you no.

---------------------------

Chapter 9

Zaradun Prison Cell

You're still trying to find a way out of your incredibly unfair imprisonment when an unfamiliar voice speaks up in the dark. "You're not from around here, huh?" You peer through the dim lighting and find a young dwarven woman reclining on the floor of the cell across from yours. Her eyes glow like the woman in the market's, framing her confident smile. Aerin smirks at her. "Whatever gave us away?" The woman gives a daring smile back. "You develop a sense for these things. Gotta say, I didn't expect to have any company tonight. It's refreshing. I'm Cherta, by the way." "I'm Raine, and these are my friends Tyril, Nia, Mal, Imtura, and Aerin." You catch the way Aerin's head turns toward you, his eyes wide. But his expression is neutral again before you can comment and Cherta continues on. "Well, Raine and friends, what are you in for?"

Chapter 10

Zaradun Crypts

As you all make your way through a thankfully undead-free section of hallway, Aerin turns to you with a teasing smile. "It seems I skipped right past 'acquaintance.' Or was it simply becoming too much of a hassle to introduce me separately?" Despite his tone, you can tell there's a real question under there. (Friendly Route) You smile at him. "Why so surprised? You've kept not betraying us. And you always struck me as ambitious. I can't see you settling for less than 'friend.'" Aerin smirks. "Ah yes, the ambition that has served us all so well." "You won't settle when things could be better. That's a good thing. We're trying to save the world here, Aerin." His smile turns somewhat genuine at that as he looks away. "I suppose I can take your word for it. You have done quite well for yourself, after all." (Romance Route) You lean in, smiling seductively as you run a finger across his jaw. "I think we're well past 'acquaintances.' Give me another performance like you did at the festival and we'll see what other titles you can work your way up to." Aerin shivers slightly, looking at you hungrily despite the faint blush rising in his cheeks. "Well if that's all it takes… I do believe I have some rather good ideas for how to further impress our indominable leader, when next they have time for me." "I think I can spare a little time now." You lean forward eagerly and press your lips to his. Aerin tangles his hands in your hair as his tongue brushes into your mouth. But far too soon, he pulls away. You pout at him. "What, that's all I get?" "Raine, we are in the middle of a haunted crypt." You grin at him. "Such lofty standards, your highness." Aerin laughs fondly, shaking his head.

Zaradun

As the group discusses if you should let Cherta go off on her own, Aerin subtly motions you aside. You follow him a short distance away before he turns to you with concern. “Raine, this may not be a good idea.” "You don't think we can trust her?" "Whether she is being honest with us about her intentions may not matter." Aerin lets out a shaky exhale, his eyes not quite meeting yours. "It’s… Cherta is desperate and about to use a very powerful magical artifact. Surely you can understand why that might be a disastrous combination.” You nod slowly, thinking back to last year. "Maybe I should go with her." Aerin looks relieved. “That seems like a wise idea.”

Chapter 11

Zaradun Temple

Tyril hasn’t relented at all, still glaring furiously at the dwarven elder. "We have seen the corruption Shadow magic has caused, among the Shadow Court and those they influenced." You try to soften Tyril's approach a little, though it doesn't seem like that's going to work. "We were warned that Zaradun had fallen to the same corruption." Elder Radimir regards you calmly. "Were you now? Do I appear corrupted, child?" Nia speaks up next. "I don't sense anything wrong with him. To be honest, I haven't sensed any Shadow corruption since we got here." Tyril gestures angrily. "There are ways to hide it. We saw that much with Aerin." Aerin stands his ground, clearly suppressing frustration. "Have you considered that they may not be corrupted? That there is some possibility things are a bit more nuanced than you were taught?" Aerin's got a point. "You said Shadow corruption was reversible, right?" He nods at you with certainty. "It is." Tyril turns on Aerin, rage still plain on his face. "But you can't tell us how." Aerin takes a deep breath before meeting Tyril's gaze. "Knowing what happened and being able to convey it are different." Tyril snarls. "How convenient." Aerin looks away at that, something brittle in his gaze as he seems to struggle with himself. When he doesn’t respond, you jump in instead. "If Aerin’s not ready to talk about it, we have to respect that.” Tyril looks at you for a moment before turning back on the dwarven elder. "And what about siphoning the Light from the prisoners to power your city's torches? How can you defend that?"

Chapter 12

Shadow Realm

Now that Valax is restrained, your party turns its attention to Nia's Shadow form. Mal looks at her in shock. "What the hells happened to Nia?" Before you can speak, Tyril takes an angry step forward, his sword still drawn. "It seems the Dreadlord has possessed her again." Aerin stares at Nia in horror, his face pale. "No. No, the Dreadlord is dead. But she is-" Nia interrupts him. "At least one of you can think straight." Imtura raises her axes. "You won't take her from us. Not again!" Then she charges! You and Aerin both throw yourselves in front of Nia. "Wait, wait!" "Stop!" Tyril doesn't relent, his tone commanding. "Both of you, get out of the way. We must deal with this!" Aerin turns to him, hands still raised. "Tyril, I can't imagine my word means much to you, but I understand corruption and the Dreadlord's influence very well. Nia is corrupted but she is still on your side." You immediately back him up. "It's just some lingering magic left over from the Dreadlord. Being in the Shadow Realm triggers it. It's still her, I promise."

Ironbreach

As you look up from your task to see how everyone else is doing fixing up Ironbreach, you spot Aerin staring at Nia as she stands off to the side, arms crossed petulantly. After a long pause, Aerin strides over to get her attention. “Nia?” She turns sharply to look at him, like he interrupted her doing something terribly important. “What?” “I wish to speak with you. About your corruption.” Nia practically growls at him in response. “Are you finally going to admit it's your fault? That all of this is your fault? That you dragged me crying and begging to the damn Dreadlord until Raine had to kill me?!" Despite the fury and Shadow radiating off of Nia, Aerin doesn't look scared of her. Just... sad. "I'm sorry, Nia. For everything I did. You're right. All of this started with me. And I am doing everything in my power to fix it, but... I know it may never be enough." The Nia you know would reassure him. Genuinely comfort Aerin that the trying is what matters and he can choose to be different. But this... is not that Nia. She leans in, snarling up at him. "Do you know what it's like to die, Aerin?" He flinches at that, but she keeps going. "I couldn't stop you then. But because of what you did to me, I'm not vulnerable anymore. I am not the weak one. So if you try to hurt me or anyone else, ever again, I will end you." The Shadow around Nia twists and flares as she speaks, reaching menacingly toward Aerin. His eyes flash with fear for a moment, but he doesn't move away. "I understand. But you should know that when I say you have always been strong, I am not speaking metaphorically. Of your character or your heart. The Dreadlord did not want me to take you because you were kind or trusting or vulnerable. It was because you were one of the most powerful magic users he'd ever seen." Nia looks surprised by that, the Shadow retreating slightly as she tries to judge if Aerin is telling the truth. "...Really?" He looks back at her intensely. "Yes. He was frightened of what you'd be if he couldn't control you. Of what you could do with Shadow if you chose. Just..." Aerin's face falls, his posture resigned and vulnerable, like there's an invisible weight on him that he can never put down. "I know this is impossible to ask. But try not to lose control of yourself. Hold tightly to what it is you truly care about, because if you don't... Well, I would hate to see you in my position. You don't deserve that." Nia looks at him for a long moment. "I am not some selfish idiot who thinks he knows better than everyone else. I've trained to use magic my whole life. So stay out of my way." Then she walks off. Aerin sighs, running a hand through his hair. He looks after her with concern for a moment before walking back toward Ironbreach's small garden.

Chapter 15

At Sea

Aerin is standing awkwardly near the back of the ship, like he can't shake the feeling he's in someone's way, when Nia approaches him pensively. “I want to apologize for what happened in the Shadow-” Aerin puts a hand up. “Nia, you really don’t have to. Certainly not to me.” She shakes her head. “I was cruel to you and you don't deserve that. I'm sorry. I didn't mean those things." Aerin gives her a searching look. "Really? You haven't been waiting over a year to say all that?" "I... No, I don't feel that way." Nia looks down. "Because nothing you said was wrong. I played a significant part in starting all of this. And you have suffered from my selfish mistake more than anyone else. You have every right to be angry with me." Nia's voice is small when she responds. "I hate how good it felt to be angry.” Aerin nods sympathetically. “I know.” “I’m sorry, Aerin. You tried to warn me but I lost control and people got hurt, just like you said." Aerin pauses to think for a moment. "You also bound Valax to Raine. If you hadn't..." A haunted look flashes across Aerin's face before he can return to his usual wry mask. "Well, I am certainly not a strong enough swimmer to think I could have done any good diving in after Raine during that storm." Nia nods slowly, conflict still clear on her face. Neither moves to speak again, the moment fading into almost comfortable silence. Then Nia brings her hand up toward a gash on Aerin's arm. "You don't have to-" She smiles slightly, Light glowing brilliantly at her fingertips. "I want to." "…Thank you." "You're welcome."

Chapter 17

Whitetower Palace

Allies recruited, you find yourself back in the palace with the rest of your party, meeting with King Arlan. After confirming that you will have the support of Whitetower's armies, he looks Aerin over coldly. "When you asked that I release the prisoner, I did not anticipate you would bring him back." He has a faint look of disgust. You look at the king in confusion. "Why wouldn't we bring him back?" The king's response is matter of fact. "Surely you've realized the reality of the situation by now. The boy is quite useless without his brother. I assumed he would be eaten by some wild creature within a day or two." The king sounds almost... disappointed that Aerin is still here. Mal snarls under his breath. "So much for the 'Gentle King.'" Annoyance or concern flickers across your friend’s faces. Except Aerin. He just looks directly at his father, a perfectly neutral expression on his face. When he speaks, his tone is unquestionably polite, but you can hear the sarcastic bite under the surface. "Indeed, however would I have survived this long without the support of my generous and loving family?" The king turns on Aerin with a slight grimace, but Nia jumps in smoothly with a distraction. "Your Majesty, you must warn your forces that the enemy will be using a lot of Shadow Magic. The Temple will heal all we can, but..."

Whitetower Encampment

A small campfire flickers just beyond the treeline, and you're shocked to find Aerin and Willow with only a few other goblins. "Willow, where is everyone else? Did something happen?" They look at you sadly. "A toxin poisons our roots. Sourceless. Unknown. Many wither, too weak for a journey." Aerin looks at you, somewhat exasperated, like he's been trying to solve a puzzle with a missing piece for days. "It doesn't make any sense. The Deadwood is far less habitable than the Whimsywood in general, but nothing else is affected. Their trees are fine, as are the remaining flora. The goblins are so heavily tied into their environment, I don't understand why they would be singled out." Willow looks at Aerin with a sad small smile before turning back to you. "It seeps deeper each day, even in those who have come. But you are friends of the forest. We shall stand beside you." You give the goblins what help you can before continuing. "Just try not to overexert yourselves. Once the battle is over, we can look into what's making you all sick. I'm sure Aerin can help." Willow smiles brightly at you. "The spring of your kindness still flows strong as a river, Raine. And yours, Aerin." But Aerin looks sad. "Of course, I would love to help. But... I do have something of a prior obligation." Right, he's technically your prisoner. But... "You know, I imagine the battle will be pretty chaotic. Maybe we'll just... lose track of you." Aerin looks at you in shock, like he's sure he misheard you. "What?" You look at him seriously. "Aerin. No one benefits from you being locked away. You can do a lot of good in the world. You just need a chance to do it." He scans your face intensely before a smile grows on his face. "I certainly hope so."

(Romance Route) As you walk back toward the tents, Aerin calls out to stop you. "Raine, wait a moment." He quickly catches up, before turning his serious gaze on you. "I want to thank you." You smile at him. "Aerin, not sending you back to a cell is really not that big of an ask. Especially considering that it might be the end of the world." He smiles back fondly. "I am grateful for that, but I meant something else. You changed me, Raine. You and your friends." His cheeks flush suddenly, and he looks at the ground. "I spent so much of my life chasing power, and all it ever brought me was pain and bitterness. I know I still have a lot of work to do to even try to make up for the wrong of my past, but... I have been thinking a great deal about... us." The way he says the word fills your chest with warmth. "Us?" Aerin finally meets your eyes again. "Yes. I know there are a thousand things that require your attention and it's selfish of me to ask for more of your time. But if you would like, when the camp is quiet... Come see me. Please." He looks at you with intense longing. Like part of him is certain you'll say no, but he desperately hopes you won't. You reach out, taking Aerin's hand with a smile. "For you... I'll make time."

#If anyone does other versions of these scenes or scenes they think I missed I would LOOOOOVE to see it!#I tried to worm it into canon as well as I could- including keeping a lot of existing writing in place #Some remixing of dialogue other places in the story and some of my own #Really hoping the way I've incorporated the facial expressions you'd get visually in game isn't too awkward #I was stuck on the Nia/Aerin confrontation until I remember Katara's 'You screw up one more time and you're dead' moment with Zuko in ATLA #Then it got much easier!#This'll go on AO3 eventually #fanfic #choices bolas 2 #choices bolas #blades of light and shadow book 2 #blades of light and shadow #aerin valleros #aerin valleros x mc #aerin x mc #nia ellarious #tyril starfury #imtura tal kaelen #mal volari #bolas mc

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aeriona · 1 year

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Okay so I wrote a thing (like I said I would) it’s really short but here you go:

In a nutshell it’s just some random, dumb banter about why Shadow looks like a weird creature-guy. Enjoy!

“What purpose do those serve?” Vio asked.

Shadow squinted over from his perch on an old, leather couch, an ear dipped in confusion. “Huh? What serves what?”

Vio gestured to Shadow’s hands and face. “Your teeth, they’re far sharper than any Hylian I've seen. Your fingernails too, they look like claws. Why is that?” He asked passively, genuinely curious.

Shadow’s face scrunched up further, as if he hadn’t even thought about it himself.

“Y’know, I don’t actually know. I have no idea.” He held out his hands and curled his upper lip, exposing his fangs. Vio still instinctually found the sight unsettling, despite having been around Shadow for several days now.

His teeth were sharp and predatory, and if Vio was honest, they looked like they belonged more in the mouth of a fox. He shuddered.

Shadow rolled his jaw and grinned mischievously, curling his fingers over the arm of the couch he was draped over. “Maybe I’m, like, half-monster?” He continued, his smile turning into a grimace. “These claws are real fuckin’ annoying though. They get stuck on everything. I can barely put a tunic on without ripping it apart.”

Vio hadn’t considered that. Though, now he thinks about it, it makes a lot of sense. “Sounds troubling. Have you ever done that before?” He prompted.

Shadow’s toothy grin was back again in full force. “Yep. I’ve nearly tore this one, too.”

He sat up and held out an arm, pointing to his sleeve. Vio could see a handful of loose strands in the white fabric, dangling from his wrist like cobwebs.

“See that? They get caught on the threads and yank them out. Drives me crazy”. Shadow growled, shaking his wrist to emphasize his point.

Vio thought for a moment, before making a tentative offering.

“I brought a bag with me to the Fire Temple, I should have several spare undertunics in there if I were to look. Perhaps you’d like to borrow one?”

Shadow grinned widely and nodded eagerly, it seemed genuine.

For once, Vio didn’t even need to force himself to smile back.

#Four swords #shadow link #vio link #four swords manga #Vidow #vio x shadow #I mean you can interpret this as platonic (if you’re a coward) but that ain’t what i wrote it as lmao #IM KIDDING you can do what you want #my writing #Consider this warmup/practise i have no idea what i am doing #I’m getting real ambitious here but if i end up making longer on es i might start posting em to AO3 perhaps #Might make art for this little scene at some point too cause i’m really bored rn

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ailani-reillata · 2 months

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The Acolyte - Chapter Twenty-Two: The Dar’jetii

Oc Centric - Multichapter - 9.7k - Rated T

Summary: The Separatist Crisis has reached its peak. War looms throughout the galaxy, casting a dark, bloody shadow over the thinning ranks of the Jedi Order. The end of civilization has already started. This is the story of Jedi Acolyte Ailani Réillata. Her end has just begun.

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen, Chapter Twenty, Chapter Twenty-One

AO3 Version

(Please see the AO3 version for the full list of tags and warnings BEFORE reading.)

———

"Trust is the greatest of gifts, but it must be earned."

Coruscant felt like dull and empty background noise, rattling around in Ailani's desolate mind.

The hangar buzzed with conversation and orders, mechanical voices overlapping with the sound of scraping parts and whistling engines. The Grand Army was alive and busy, all shuffling boots and shiny new armor. The universe kept spinning. Things keep going. New ships landed. New clones unloaded the contents. New droids scurried across the floors.

Everyone moved on. Everyone kept going.

Ailani felt as if she had been glued permanently in place. Her mind and heart were stuck somewhere in the past, and her body was trapped in the future. She should have been happy to be back, grateful for the distraction of the planet, thankful for the familiarity of the Temple.

But she felt so empty.

Her sanity had gone off some cliff on Naboo; her mind tossed about on a waterfall with no bottom. Endlessly falling. Never strong enough to rise above the waves. Drowning forever—drowning for always. The weight of war had nestled itself firmly on Ailani's shoulders, over two years of conflict and blood seeping into her chest and making home in her heart. She was so tired.

Behind her eyelids, Ailani kept seeing the flames of R3-K9 melting into useless rubble. Over and over, the orange flames consumed the droid. Over and over. He was silent. He melted. He kept melting. She kept reaching. Her hands were still wrapped, covered in red bandages and soothing gel. The ache of the burns had been unbearable at night, and combined with the memories of melting, sleep had been impossible. How long had she been awake now? How long had she been drifting through reality? How long could she keep this up?

Ailani only vaguely looked like a Jedi now, her outer robe removed and only the wrinkled undershirt and baggy pants serving as a reminder of her position. But even those fragments had been hidden under a large woven cape and the heavy backpack that adorned her shoulders. She just looked like Ailani. Nothing more, nothing less.

She was so tired.

Yesterday felt like a million years ago, endless lifetimes and moments beyond her. Naboo could not have been yesterday. It must have been yesterday. Yesterday was forever. It would never stop being yesterday. The past few months had been endless. Endless forever. Ailani wondered if perhaps she had left her entire heart in her parent's living room, and now she was a mere shell walking the galaxy. Nothing had felt real since she sat on that living room floor.

She was so tired.

Before, when things had gotten turbulent, Ailani had always fallen back on her childhood mantra. When she had nightmares when she felt alone, and when she had kissed Wolffe. When she had denied her Order and given in, she had always leaned on the memory of orange blossoms and fresh lavender. She didn't even have that anymore. The very thought of the smell was enough to make her sick.

She was so tired.

In her exhaustion and haunted by the memories of fire, Ailani felt her legs carry her from the hangar. She walked without purpose or direction, letting her blank mind wander to places unknown as her body drifted through the land of the living. She didn't even bother changing or cleaning her face of ash and blood. She walked endless blocks with her backpack and shaking hands. She had a few separate outfits in her pack, but she didn't have the energy even to unzip the cloth, much less change. What was she supposed to do now? Years of fight and bitterness had turned to stone in her heart, making reality and rest seem impossible. Nothing felt real. How could any of this be real? This war, this emptiness? All this death and desolation. How could it be real?

She wandered the night as she thought this over, questions and questions piling up in her mind that only boiled down to: Why? Why? Why?

After a long while, she stopped, her legs frozen before a place she had not seen in so many months.

The 104th barracks.

Ailani wanted to curse her treacherous mind and trembling legs for leading her back here, but she could not even find the energy to hate herself. She just wanted to rest. She needed to rest. She needed Wolffe back. He would know what to do. And even if he didn't, Ailani found that she liked his lies just as well as any reality.

Fearing any questions from the barrack guard, Ailani slipped around the side, following the metal fencing that engulfed the compound. Allegedly, the lines of wire and metal were for the safety of the GAR, keeping out turbulent civilians and protecting the machinery. However, in the dark light and with soot still on her burnt hands, Ailani thought the fence made the barracks look like a prison.

It must have been hours past lights out, but a dim glow came from the 104th yard, and the wind carried the soft sound of voices.

Wolffe and Sinker.

Ailani felt her chest shake at the possible glimpse of familiarity or the shadow of friendship. She needed that closeness and that knowing. She needed.

The pair stood outside, leaning against the wall for support and speaking in hushed tones. They looked serious yet at ease. For a moment, Ailani found herself unable to move or even breathe, and she simply stared. What was she doing here? She had yelled at Wolffe and screamed and… He had looked so mad. And he had blamed her for what happened with Ahsoka and…

This wasn't fair. This wasn't right of her. She felt childish and desperate, clinging to the warmth of her only remaining memories. Kisses under glowing lights and a shoulder to sleep on. But she had no one to talk to. Not a single soul in the whole universe. She was so alone, and she needed him, even if a sickening voice in her head said he didn't need her in return.

If he turned her away, she would just… She didn't know what she would do then.

"Wolffe," Ailani whispered, leaning into the fence and praying his ears could hear "Wolffe."

Instantly, the conversation halted, and Wolffe shifted. His shoulders straightened, and his head tilted slightly to the left. Alert and waiting. He must have been several yards away, and her voice was so small in the night, but he had heard her.

Always.

Ailani could feel her heartbeat in her ears now, tension and pain welling in her chest. Her hands felt slick with sweat and anticipation. Please look at me, she prayed silently, her eyes glued to his form in the night. Please see me.

After another moment of silent observation, Wolffe shifted his gaze and stared directly at Ailani. The single look was enough to make her breath catch in her throat, and the entire galaxy melted away until it was just his eyes on hers. She had spent so many nights dreaming of him and so many days forcing herself to forget. It seemed so distant now, and nothing was real except for the two of them. Her feet were frozen to the ground, but Ailani's heart had already leaped the fence to meet him. Would he kiss her again if she asked? Would he hold her again if she said she was sorry and begged for forgiveness? She needed his warmth as if it were air, and for so long now, she had been suffocating. How had she even lived all these weeks without him? How had she been satisfied to dream of kisses when she could have come down here and asked for them? Why had she even been so mad before?

Everything was melting away, leaving Ailani starving and desperate.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Wolffe approached her, stalking softly to the barrier with Sinker trailing a few steps behind. Her fingers clung to the fence, the cool metal digging into her skin as she leaned upon it for support, pressing her forehead against the barrier, wishing she would mimic her movements and read her mind. But he didn't. Wolffe stayed an arm's length away, staring at her. Silent.

Something like panic began to fill Ailani's chest, but she swallowed it, "Can you come out, please?" Her voice came out in a cracked whisper, so pathetic and small. It was unfair to be here, unfair to beg at his doorstep and weep like she was some lost dog.

She had been nothing but awful to him. But he came back. Wolffe went to the fence. He stood before her now. He always came back. That was part of the reason she came back, too. What had Wolffe said? Other people forgot and moved on, but not them. They stayed the same. They understood.

Wolffe looked at her, eyes tracing lines across her face and drinking in her expression. That horrible, needing hunger was back in her stomach, burning through skin and bone. Could he see that, too?

"Alright," Wolffe said. Shock flooded Ailani and was immediately soothed with wonderful relief. It took everything inside her to restrain herself from leaping. Wolffe turned back to face Sinker, "You wanna cover for me?"

"Sure," Sinker replied, but his tone sounded anything but certain. He was flat and lifeless.

Ailani didn't care. She couldn't think of anything besides Wolffe.

In one swift movement, Wolffe hoisted himself onto the fence, his shoes digging into the metallic rings for support, and then he swiftly pulled himself up and over, jumping to land right at her side.

"Hi." The greeting was breathless, almost embarrassingly so. She had imagined seeing him in person. She had dreamed of being close enough to know every sunspot on his face. And now, here he was exactly as she remembered, exactly as she needed.

"Hi," Wolffe said back, and then he was right back to it, endless brown eyes scanning her face, searching and seeing through.

It felt good to be known.

Would it be wrong to kiss him now? Should she wait until Sinker was gone or until the ice melted completely between them? Should they get a drink or something or…

"I didn't eat dinner," Ailani said suddenly. She had wanted to say it casually, lead into sharing a meal and maybe a conversation, but the words left her throat slightly choked and desperate.

He didn't falter. He never faltered, "I don't have any money."

A joke.

She could have cried. She wanted to cry. Ailani felt a weight lift off her chest at the ease of his responses. He seemed casual as if no time had passed between their meetings. As if she hadn't screamed and yelled and as if he hadn't screamed and yelled back. She wanted to laugh and hug him and ask him if he still liked her, if he still wanted to kiss and hold her, and if he would please hold her close and let her hold onto his warmth.

Some strangled sound that might have been a laugh escaped her, and some of the tension in her shoulders melted into a strained smile, "What sort of date are you?"

Please, please, please.

"A bad one, apparently," Wolffe said, smiling again. As if no time has passed. As if nothing had changed between them. Joking with hints of closeness. Warmth that made her cheeks burn.

Her hands were shaking when she replied, "Just this once. You're buying next time."

"I'm not the one who skipped dinner," Wolffe said, and Ailani let herself laugh completely.

Dinner found them in a terribly small and dark dive bar. Though neither of them admitted it, Ailani knew that the dingy place would be free of patrons with lingering eyes. No one would say anything or care if she drifted too close or if they shared a drink or two or three. And she needed that desperately.

It didn't matter if the food wasn't great or if it sat in her stomach heavily. It didn't matter that the bread clung to the roof of her mouth, sticky and oddly sweet. None of it mattered because after all of these months, Wolffe was speaking to her again, and he was smiling at her in the dim light, and it was everything she needed. The alcohol helped, too. It fought off the emptiness in her gut and eased her nerves. And it made the food taste better.

"What happened to your face?" Wolffe said, forcing Ailani to look up from her drink and meet his eyes.

Not a single being had asked her that yet. Not a single soul. Of course, he was the one who asked first. He always noticed her.

"I met my Father." Ailani said. It wasn't a complete explanation, but it was all she could force forward. She didn't want to talk about that. She wanted to talk about him and her and them. She didn't want to think of anything else besides this moment. She wouldn't be able to handle anything else. She wanted to rest.

Wolffe didn't press, "Oh."

A small part of Ailani suddenly wished she could lean across the table and kiss him, but the timing felt wrong and desperate. It felt so nice to have someone ask about her; he was so close. The warmth of his company had always been like gravity, and she was more adrift than ever. She needed the pull. She didn't move.

How strange the two of them must have looked. She was hardly a Jedi anymore, and he appeared to be the model soldier he had always been. But appearances often lied.

They talked for a while longer about nothing and everything, catching each other up on pointless aspects of their mundane lives and refusing to speak on any bloodshed or battles. Instead, they talked about how bad the instant meals were getting and how Comet tried to throw Ahsoka a birthday party a few weeks back.

"That makes me feel old," Ailani interjected, making a face.

Birthdays always made her feel strange. Ailani knew she had one—everyone had a birthday, but she had never celebrated the occasion, nor did she want to. She had made an effort never to remember the exact date. She merely counted her years by the first date of every year—it was as good a day as any and easy to remember.

Wolffe laughed, picking at the food remnants between them, "What does that make me?"

Ailani stared at him, studying his face. He looked older than the last time they met, but not jarringly. She hadn't really considered it. "Well, that depends. How old are you supposed to be now?"

Wolffe sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He debated momentarily, "Twenty-six in standard years, I think. What's that? Twelve? Thirteen?"

The answer made her stomach feel strange. When they had met, he had only lived for ten years, yet with the advanced aging process all clones were born from. He had lived the equivalent of twenty human years.

Human. That word felt strange, separated from Wolffe. Sometimes, Ailani forgot he wasn't human. Ailani could not remember a single moment where she thought of him as anything but human. She wasn't ignorant of his upbringing. Of course, she was faced with the reality of his modified genetics every day, yet… He had always been so human to her.

Many beings in the Jedi Temple had aging processes different from hers. Wookiees became adults after twelve human years, so even though the Jedi Gungi was only four standard years old, he was already being allowed to construct his lightsaber this fall. Master Yoda was nine hundred years old but felt more like a grandfather than a relic. But usually, those with adapted lifespans did not look so…so human. It suddenly felt jarring to remember that he was not.

How long did humans live? Eighty years? Did that mean he only had forty standard years until he died?

"That means you're older than me now," Ailani said, trying to fake lightness in her tone.

If Wolffe sensed her tension, it didn't show on his face, nor in his words, "I've always been older than you, Ailani."

It might have been a joke, but neither of them laughed. They lapsed back into silence, and Ailani twirled her straw mindlessly. The ice in her drink clinked together like wind chimes, and something about the mundanity of it all made her heart pull.

The empty feeling was back. That horrible black hole in her stomach that she had diluted with alcohol and terrible food and the warmth of Wolffe's smile. Why was everyone getting older? Why was everything changing? And why did she feel the same? Why did she remain unmoved? Why was she still trapped in her parent's living room?

Ailani felt herself wilt, her body pulling in and sinking. The food was much worse than before, and she suddenly felt the desire to vomit it all back up, praying that the insecurity and pain left her body with bile. Panic was rising in her chest.

"Can we go outside?" Ailani asked, suddenly worried about vomiting her truth and stomach all over the dirty floor, "I think I need some fresh air."

Wolffe nodded, unconvinced.

Haphazardly, Ailani threw some credits on the table and rushed from the smell of alcohol and smoke. The second she pushed through the doors, Ailani hunched over, resting her hands on her knees and breathing hard. Why did she have to be reminded of other things? Why couldn't she have one moment of peace with him? Wasn't she allowed to forget everything? She couldn't handle reality right now. She needed Wolffe and only him. Nothing else made sense. She didn't want to dwell on it. She couldn't.

The ground was wet with oil and rain, trash and paint flickering across the sidewalk. Her eyes lingered over Wolffe's shadow on the pavement next to her, tracing the shape of his being. Even the mere glimpse of him, even a mere echo, is enough to send her over the edge.

Wolffe was beside her, a hand on her shaking back, "What is it?"

The touch made her stand up suddenly and flee from him, her nerves alight and tingling. It should have been nice. It burned. It reminded her of the flames on her hands and a melting R3.

"I'm sinking," Ailani whispered, unsure of her own words. Sinking was all she felt. It's all she knew. Everything was sinking. Everything was lost below the waves of time.

"Let's get you up," Wolffe said simply, reaching for her, "Come on."

The mere touch made her break open, "Everything is a mess, Wolffe. Everything." Her voice was frantic, suddenly on edge, and fragile, "Nothing makes sense anymore, and I keep trying to do the right thing, but it's not working. I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore." She gestured wildly, letting broken words fly in the neon lights of the dive bar.

Wolffe approached her slowly, that strange look on his face again—like he was defusing a bomb, "What happened on Naboo?"

No. No. She didn't want to think about Naboo. No. No. This was all wrong. Everything was all wrong. Ailani shook her head dismissively, "It's not just Naboo, it's everything. Everything is wrong. Everything."

How could she even put the past two months into words? How could she explain everything to him? They weren't supposed to be talking about this. She wanted to be near him. She just wanted to be near him. Couldn't he see that? Maker, she didn't want to be thinking about any of this. She needed everything to stop, and she needed it to be just them and no one else. Wolffe fixed everything. She just needed life to stop for a moment. And she needed help breathing. Was she heaving? Was that her?

"You can tell me," Wolffe said, still pressing and looking at her with such clinical understanding. He was getting closer, and the warmth of his breath and the smoke in the air were too much to fight.

"I'm being torn apart," Ailani said, her voice cracking with every trembling breath, "And I don't even know why. I don't know anything." Ailani couldn't get in a full breath, no matter how hard she heaved. The air always stopped above her heart, refusing to fill her tightening lungs, "I'm so scared. This war has ripped me open. I can't take it." The night grew cold, spawning goosebumps across Ailani's skin. She felt alone in the chill, desperately locked on the outside of life and the living. The words kept spilling, "What are we going to do? What if we're wrong?"

Wolffe’s breath caught, "What?"

His voice was terrible, awful, and tense, but Ailani couldn't fight the words that leaked from her heart. It was too late to stop and make sense of anything, "What are we even doing? Nothing changes, and things only get worse. What if all of this is meaningless? What if we're just as bad as the Separatists?" Her final words detonated a bomb.

The shock that rippled through Wolffe could be felt through the Force, and he backed away from her, leaving nothing but freezing regret against Ailani's cheek. "What?" He repeated, and the frozen horror in his tone made Ailani snap back to reality.

"No, it's stupid, I just—" Ailani fumbled on her words, feeling something strange grow in her throat as she stumbled towards him. "Forget it." She needed to be close again. She needed.

"You knew." Wolffe cut her off, taking one step back for her every step forward, "You knew about General Kenobi, didn't you?"

She felt caged and wide-eyed, frantic like a white rabbit stuck in a hunting trap, stained in its blood. Not again, she thought. Please, not again. Despite herself, Ailani nodded slowly, not trusting her voice.

Wolffe looked conflicted for a moment, then something dark crossed over his face before it quickly settled into resignation. "Did Ahsoka know?" He asked, "Was she just faking when…" Wolffe's voice trailed off, yet Ailani already knew what he meant.

The hollow look in her eyes. The strength. The stone-cold expression. The child turned warrior. "No." Ailani replied, "She didn't know. "

Wolffe sat with the words for a long while, his dark eyes unrecognizable and cold. What was he thinking? What was she thinking? What was anything anymore?

"You think the war is meaningless?" He asked, and the words came out like broken glass, "What does that make me?"

Ailani's eyes widened, and her heart quickened, "That's not what I meant…I mean… that's not what I mean." Wolffe set his jaw, enraged. As always, her words were not enough. Never smart enough, never convincing enough, and Ailani found herself falling short, stumbling through broken responses as Wolffe remained unmoved, "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, Wolffe, I'm so sorry. I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't." She sounded desperate, so pathetically desperate and defensive. "Wolffe, listen to me, please."

His face was impossible to read. Set into harsh lines and unmoved by her pleas. Was he about to laugh at her? Would he scold her for saying such ridiculous things? Or was he simply going to say nothing and leave her here in the cold? The very idea of his reaction was enough to set her on edge, and Ailani could feel her body tensing, preparing for words or actions that stung, bracing herself for an emotional slap that would leave her reeling for days and yet make her come back again, crying at his doorstep.

"Wolffe, please, I'm sorry." She was panicking now, the desperation ripping through her voice, "I just want this to be over. I need you. I trust you." The admittance of trust was almost unbearable to force forward, and the weight of it sunk in Ailani's stomach as she stared at him expectantly. His expression barely moved. He didn't care.

Anakin's words echoed around Ailani’s skull, promises of the truth and anger at the lies that had been spun. The whole truth. Who had the whole truth? Had she been lying with only fragments as her playing cards? Was her entire life only built on shards of the truth? What was she doing this for? What were any of them doing this for? Wolffe remained silent. It only made Ailani’s mind spin quicker beyond her control. Sinking silence engulfed them, and Ailani felt herself flail for oxygen.

"I need you to tell me it'll be alright. I need you. I'm sorry, I need you right now. I need you to tell me it's worth it," Ailani sounded weak, her words jumbled between desperate tears. She was trying to reach for him, arms outstretched and trembling, but Wolffe was shaking his head now, brushing off her words like water and backing away from her. It was too much to take, "Just forget everything I said and tell me this war is worth it. Tell me the lying and bloodshed is worth it, and I'll believe you. I love you."

The galaxy stopped as the confession spilled forth like blood from an open wound. Ailani hadn't meant to say that. She shouldn't have said that. She did. She said it anyway. It's all she had ever known. It was all she could manage. Lie to me, Ailani thought, lie to me. Say you love me too. Prove it. Lie to me. Prove it.

Wolffe stared at her. He didn't even flinch. For a moment, they stood in silence, horrible, tense silence. Then he shook his head softly, back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. No. No. No. He looked at her, eyes filled with something dark and too terrible to name. Disappointment. Disapproval. His words came out like bile, stinging and burning, "I'm not your boyfriend."

Ailani's chest reacted independently, pulling in a sharp breath of air. She was choking on her confession, choking on his reaction. She wanted to speak, but nothing came forth. Shame wasn't a strong enough word for how she felt. He always cut straight to the chase, straight to the bone. He saw right through her.

Wolffe was still shaking his head when her heartache melted into soundless, choking gasps. She couldn't take in enough air. He was denying, disbelieving, rejecting. The movement cut deeper than any lightsaber wound and split her down the middle, and his words hollowed out her stomach. "I think you need to go home, Ailani."

Home. The word sent her deeper into the downward spiral.

The look in his eyes hurt worse than any blaster bolt. Cold and indifferent. Clinical and empty. He wasn't analyzing her, not scanning her face for meaning or understanding. He wasn't searching for answers in her eyes or even caring to know more. He was indifferent. He didn't want to know more. He didn't care to know more. He didn't care, not about her, not about anything. None of her words could reach him. None of her cries could be understood. He didn't want meaning or a glimpse into her mind. He didn't want anything from her. He was done with her and her riddles, indifferent to the tears she felt rolling down her face. They were something much worse than strangers.

They were nothing.

Perhaps they had always been nothing. Did she even know the man before her? Did he know her? Did they have an identity outside of the roles they played? Had she missed something? Had she missed everything? Suddenly, Ailani didn’t know anything. Perhaps she had never known anything.

It would have been better if he had shot her in the chest. She would rather be dead than have to stare at him any longer. How many times had he saved her life? Was he also wishing he could take back every single one? Their time of haze had ended, all those months she had hidden like secrets, all those longing glances she had idolized. They were gone now, and he could see her for who she truly was: Selfish. Childish. Petty. Violent. Someone he did not want. Wolffe turned away without another word.

And Ailani Réillata was alone in the orange and pink neon lights.

Walking back to the Temple had taken hours.

Every few steps, Ailani's body had given up and given out, forcing her to the ground as she heaved and sobbed uncontrollably. Then she would swallow the feeling, standing again and taking three or four more steps before melting back to the pavement. She felt high-strung and ravenous, thinking nothing and yet everything.

On the sidewalks where she lay, beings stepped around her and stared, but Ailani could not bring herself to stop the horrible cries that escaped her throat. Who cared what anyone thought? None of it mattered anymore. Nothing mattered anymore besides the massive tear that ripped through her stomach and spilled her organs. Her chest burned as always in her dream, just as she had foreseen millions of nights before.

It felt like Wolffe had ripped out her heart.

And she deserved it. She deserved it. The agony and the ache. The uncontrollable sobs. Killer, liar, almost-lover. Deceiver.

Despite the sinking and drowning, Ailani kept getting back up, peeling her skin off the sidewalk again and again. The entire universe felt desolate, and yet Ailani could not let her body remain bleeding in the streets. She felt like a ghost piloting a long-dead body, like an echo of something better, a broken remnant of a better soul and a better inhabitant. If no one desired to know her, if no one needed her, if she had indeed added worthless things to a worthless war, what was she now? Even ghosts had people who missed them.

Who would miss her?

Even before she had lost all scraps of companionship, even before it had all gone to hell, Ailani couldn't bring herself to imagine people thinking of her when she wasn't around. She couldn't comprehend people concerned over her or caring if she was around or even alive. And yet, somehow, despite all that, it still hurt when people proved her right. It hurt so bad it burned. No one would miss her now because no one knew her now.

She had left Barriss in the cold. She had stained her friendship with Wolffe and covered them both in her blood and bile. She had abandoned Ahsoka, and she had killed R3. Her parents had rejected her. These people had been her gateway to the galaxy. They had opened other doors of almost friendships and slivers of sanity. And she had slammed the doors in their faces. No one would talk to her now. It would be her and the black hole forever.

There was a time, a time so long ago that Ailani could hardly remember it, a time when the Force had felt ever-present and almost pure. She had been so young then, so clouded by worries that followed her even now, so strained by home and heartache. She hadn't fully appreciated the insight of the Force back then. But she longed for it now. She had never thought anything made sense, but the uncertainty she had felt before was nothing compared to the feeling she possessed now.

"Ailani," reality blinked forth with the call of her name, and the Council room faded into view.

The light of dawn shone and reflected in her eyes, casting painful light streaks across her vision, and instinctually, Ailani reached up to shield her face. Everything hurt and ached. It took a moment for her mind and body to return from that illuminated place, her vicious blinks only making her more dizzy.

The faces of her mentors slowly emerged from the halo of light, and Ailani found that the meeting was nearly full. Of course, why wouldn't it be? After such a high-priority mission and a long deception, everyone had been placed back home for the reports and the wrap-up. And everyone was staring at her. It was impossible to know which member had called her name, for Ailani's mind refused to focus. She looked around, her chest tight.

"Are you ready to give your report?" Master Windu pressed. He must have been the one who spoke. He looked concerned but ever cool and calm.

Ailani looked down at her datapad but found the device wasn't even in her hands. Bandages still wrapped her arms; apparently, she had not even changed last night. Her backpack was by the door, her clothes still wrinkled. The ribbons on her wrists were covered in ash and soot.

“I’m…sorry…I’m not…certain…” The words were strangled and sounded like they belonged to someone else. Was she even awake right now? How would she know? What was the difference? Nothing felt real. Nothing was real.

"Is something wrong?" Master Depa Billaba said, leaning forward in her chair, "You look unwell."

She felt unwell. Her head still felt sick and dizzy, and her stomach turned in knots. The food from last night had not settled well, and neither had the memories of Wolffe's cold and indifferent face.

"My clothes," Ailani said distantly and dumbly, not even processing the words, "I never changed my clothes." None of it made sense, not even to her, but it was all Ailani could pull forth. She needed to change her clothes. That was all she knew for sure. She had no one to talk to and no one to trust. All she had were the ash-stained clothes on her unworthy and ugly-stained body.

Ki-Adi-Mundi's voice entered her head, but he wasn't speaking to her. Instead, his words addressed all the other Council members, "Perhaps we shall reschedule for another time if she is feeling unable."

Unable.

Is that still how they viewed her? After everything she had done? After every friendship she had ruined and every scrap of life she had burned for this Order, she was still unable. Still not right. Still unable. She had pulled herself off the street again and again, bleeding and burnt, and she had gotten back here. She had been able. Her and only her. No one had helped her. She was able.

The rage of the word made Ailani snap awake, the bubbling feeling of her blood rushing in her empty ears and born from her open heart. If she had nothing, at least she still had her rage.

"I am perfectly able." She sounded biting and unnatural. Almost venomous, "I am only here because I am perfectly able to do anything. I am only unwell because I have been nothing but able for you. For all of you." Ailani faltered backward slightly, tripping over her words and their weight. She shouldn’t have drunk so much at the bar. She shouldn’t have… But she did not fall. She was able. Always able. She was able. Able to endure anything. Able to move on. She was able.

For a moment, the faces of the Council all seemed taken back, but only for a moment. Then, most of them merely shook their heads, looking dejected.

"You are exhausted," Master Saesee Tiin said, "Let us reconvene—"

"No," Ailani spit out, the words tasting like bile. Was she going to vomit again? "No. You will face me now. I am perfectly able." She wasn't. She wasn't able. But she didn't have anything else. She was nothing if she wasn't able.

The Council room was quiet as her Masters all debated something. She felt scrutinized. She felt unworthy.

"We had thought your appointment to Acolyte would dissipate some of these feelings." Master Windu said, looking at her, disappointed, "It seems that hope was misplaced."

The words knocked the wind from Ailani's lungs and emptied her throat. Her jaw went slack. Her eyes grew wide. She felt like a ravaged animal being hunted, caught off guard, and set between the sights of a blaster, "What?" She couldn't process these words, couldn't sink them into her soul. None of this made sense. What was happening?

Master Yoda hummed, "If privileged you were, thoughts of struggle, no more would you have."

Struggle? Privileged? Had they melted down her entire identity to a struggle, and had they thought her agony as acolyte was a privilege? How many hours had she spent in this room? How much of her life had she bathed in this morning light as she agonized over documents and data? She had wasted her life in this sunlight room. She had wasted her entire life here.

And they didn't even notice.

"Privileged?" Ailani spat out the words, horrible and bitter, "Is that what you think of my position? I'm a fucking joke."

"Ailani…" Plo Koon stood, his arm outstretched in a silencing motion, but she ignored him. What did he know anyway? What did any of them know? This was long overdue.

"No one can relate to me, and I can relate to no one. No amount of accomplishment or honor can erase the fact that I stand alone." Her voice was rising, the black hole and the alcohol and the loneliness more powerful, aided by the broken shards of the girl she once was, "Nothing can erase the fact that you all isolated me from everyone else."

Silence again. Horrible, thick silence. Why was everyone so silent? Why could people only give her silence? It only made her rage bubble more. What had all the tears been for? What had all the blood been for?

"That was not us." Adi Gallia said, at last, her words pointed and sharper than any lightsaber.

Her fault. Always her fault. Always. Always. Stupid, broken toy soldier Ailani, who could not even get her parents to stay. Sad girl with sad eyes who people only kept around out of pity. Lonely girl who lived in the big lonely Temple.

Suddenly, Ailani was on her parents' floor again, sobbing and screaming. Begging for attention. Begging for meaning. No one ever cared. Everyone always talked at her. Ordered her around. Speak less, Ailani. Stand up straight, Ailani. Mask your expressions, Ailani. You give yourself away, Ailani. Calm down, Ailani. Be silent, Ailani. Deal with it, Ailani. Get over it, Ailani. Be a good little soldier.

"If you don't think I belong here," Ailani said, turning on Adi, "You can say it plainly." The words cut like glass, but no one in the room seemed affected, not even flinching. Ailani desperately wished someone would flinch. Anything. She wished anyone would do anything. Anything at all. Was she so worthless that even her rage had no impact?

The Master shook her head, "You know that is not what I meant."

Ailani was back in her argument with Wolffe then, and the memory of it snapped her final straw of self-restraint, "What do you mean then? What do any of you mean? What do any of you mean!" She was screaming now, the words leaving her throat like a shot, cracking against the walls like lightning.

Silence. Horrible, terrible, endless silence. They would let her spin her wheels until she spun them off. Fine. Might as well give it her best shot.

"You're all terrible. We are all terrible! We are killing people we cannot see. We are deciding the fate of millions with a swing of our saber. We run the military, and we own the men within it. We're condemning them to death, and every day, we pretend to be their friends. Their friends." In her mind, Ailani suddenly saw brown eyes buried below the snow, and it only filled the fire in her heart, "We are not politicians. We're not soldiers. We're supposed to be Jedi. But I don't think I even know what that word means anymore. What even is a Jedi without war? I am nothing without the battle. I am nothing if I am not your devoted soldier, your loyal spy. What does any of it mean?"

She was yelling so much her words must have been heard from other rooms, but Ailani didn't care. Who was there to listen anyway? Hadn't most of them died in senseless battle already? Who would listen to her now? The dead? What did she owe the dead? How many people have suffered due to her actions and lack of action? The war pulled at the galaxy, stretching the soul of reality so thin that one could see through the very fabric of truth until truth was so transparent that it began to look like lies. Everything looked like lies.

"I am spread so thin I'm being ripped to shreds. I lie, and I spy, and I fight, and I maim, and I kill, and I am devoted. I have done everything asked of me. Everything." Wolffe's face was back in her head, looking at her with empty eyes. One lie, too many. One doubt too many. "And I don't know if any of it was worth it because I have fallen further than the depths of hell, and I have lost myself trying to prove I am worthy, and none of you even care. "

Silence.

Her shouts had become choked with tears, breaking up words that should have been angry. She was so tired, so tired of proving everything. So tired of losing everything. Hot tears ran down her face, but she pressed forward. She pressed into the silence.

"The Republic is dying, we are killing it, and none of you even care." Ailani's voice cracked again, trembling like a breaking bridge, and Ailani found she could no longer hold back her tears as they burned fire trails down her cheeks. "None of you even care." The final words escaped her, yet were nothing more than a broken cry, echoing pathetically against the marble walls of the Council Room.

And instantly, Ailani felt small.

In the back of her mind, Ailani recalled the first time she was in this room, just after her ninth birthday. She had been lost and away from home, yet here in this room, she had tried to feel warm. She had tried to belong. Hadn't she?

How many nights, days, and hours had she tried to find warmth in this room? How many times had she tried to find answers? How many times had she failed? Yet now Ailani felt even smaller than she had at nine, even more lost. And even more lonely. She was surrounded by the Masters who had raised her, the Masters who had guided her, the Masters who had guided the entire Republic. Yet, Ailani felt as if she was all alone in the universe, floating among a loveless void, drifting through unknown space.

And perhaps she was.

For they said nothing in reply.

And at last, in the silence of morning and before the eyes of the High Council, Ailani Réillata let herself weep.

Ugly, violent sobs wracked her body, and Ailani couldn't mask the terror that highlighted every gasping breath. She pressed her hands against her face harshly, feeling her legs crumble as her chest melted into broken sobs for Mandalore, for Naboo, for her friends, for the lives lost, for the lives she had taken, and most of all, Ailani let herself weep for the child that she had been and the lone killer she was now.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't. I can't do this anymore. I am being pulled apart," Ailani said, the words bubbling forth like a waterfall and breaking apart like ice. She was rocking back and forth on the floor, her shaking arms wrapped so tightly around her trembling knees, "I want out."

I want out.

The words slipped from her lips, and her sobbing instantly ceased. The room was filled with nothing but shock. Had she said that? Had she really…. How long had she dreamed of saying those words? She had dreamed of getting out, dreamed of her parents, dreamed of something more. So why did everything feel so foreign and wrong now?

I want out.

She hadn't planned on saying that, and now, after the words had left her lips, Ailani wondered if she had ever wanted to say them. But she couldn't take it back and wasn't sure she had the strength to. She was still curled up into herself, arms wrapped around her body tightly in a pathetic replica of a hug she would not receive.

What was she going to do?

What had she just done?

"In haste, such a decision should not be made," Yoda said. Always pressing, always dismissing. Never listening.

Ailani curled tighter into herself, not knowing what to say. Had she always been like this? Curled in a fetal position on the floor, unable to form any meaningful words. How would she ever be anything more? She was so tired.

"We are all aware that this choice is not being made out of haste," Plo Koon answered, speaking for Ailani.

The truth of his words only made her feel worse. They knew she didn't belong. They all knew it. They were all aware that this road could lead nowhere else. This is where she was always going. This is where she was always destined to be.

She didn't belong here.

Ailani pressed her hands to her ears, trying to drown out reality. She kept crying.

The Council and Ailani sat in a heavy silence for a long while, unable to move. These people had raised her. They had built her entire life. They had taught her how to fight and how to fly. How to breathe and how to live. She had spent so long trying to fit in, trying to make the skin of a Jedi slide smoothly over her broken flesh and bones. None of it had been enough.

For either of them.

Time to grow up. The words returned to Ailani, drifting into the shaking parts of her mind. She had said that to her Father before they fought. She had said that before she failed. She had only said that through anger, but now the words appeared empty. Finality.

Time to grow up.

What did that even mean? Here, she stayed on the floor, unable to move and stand. She could never grow up. She had never been able to. She was trapped in this room, trapped in this moment. Trapped in battles, she could never win. Always lying on the floor, with blood leaking from her head.

Forever. For always.

She couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't stand any more forever. She was so sick of herself. So sick of being Ailani. She didn't want to be nine years old anymore, stuck in this room with her heart left at home. She didn't want to be here forever.

Time to grow up.

Mechanically, Ailani tried to process the words. She had first said them as a taunt, a dare. She had been testing her Father, testing herself. But none of that mattered anymore. She had failed that test. She hadn't been strong enough. He had beaten her, broken her down to the very bare of her bones. She was nothing now. Not even a Jedi. She was nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Time to grow up.

Growing up meant getting up first. Even if she didn't know what to do after that. Growing up meant getting up. Getting up like she had so many times before, peeling her body off the group in the same way she had peeled herself from the pavement over and over this morning.

She was nothing now. Not even a Jedi. Nothing didn't belong here. Nothing had to leave. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Ailani stood, prying her arms away from her legs, her chest shaking with unsteady breaths. She faltered a few times, the ground feeling uneven and brittle below her feet. But she did not fall.

Time to grow up.

She watched the faces of her Masters through bleary eyes—uncomprehending. They looked unknown to her, like strangers. Complete strangers. And Ailani was never going to see them again. The thought came with a sharp pain in her chest, an ache she hadn't expected. These Masters had raised her and given her every skill she had ever known. What had Ailani given them in return? She had wasted their time, and she had wasted their lives.

Everything Ailani did reeked of waste, and the empty eyes of the Council only deepened that feeling. They looked so disappointed in her.

They looked a lot like her parents, too.

Oh, her parents. The thought was enough to pull tears back into her chest, but Ailani swallowed the pain, locking it tight. What was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to go on? What was she now? After her failure before her parents, her confession to Wolffe, and her outburst to the Council—what was Ailani now?

What was she besides empty? She tried to search her mind for protocols and procedures, but nothing returned to her. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. She had hit a wall and crossed an invisible line only to find the void on the other side. Nothing. She had dreamed of leaving and returning to her parents, but the blind and childish fantasy before her now rang closer to a nightmare. Her mind was so blank, her ears ringing and her senses blind. She was nothing. Endless nothing.

"If this is truly what you want, your lightsaber must be returned," The silence was broken, her thoughts broken, her uncertainty broken by Master Adi.

Her lightsaber? The words sat on the surface of Ailani's mind, refusing to sink in. Despite her confusion, Ailani felt herself moving mechanically. She unclipped the weapon from her belt, holding it numbly in her hands. The beskar and Nabooian gold burned against the bandages that wrapped her hands. Returned? What did he mean? Must the lightsaber be returned? It was made for her; it belonged to her. This was hers. This was the only thing in the whole universe that was hers. She felt caught again, strangled in a snare. A mess of emotions washed over her: possessiveness, fear, anger, and…and…

Ailani's mind drifted back to the first days of the war, after she met the Loyalist Committee, everyone had seen her for the first time, and everyone had heard the name Réillata. She replayed the looks on everyone's faces, every painful and shocked expression. The warmth of her face, the endless embarrassment and confusion. What had made the Council lean into the Chancellor's admission of her heritage? After a decade of secrecy, why had they finally given in?

She had spent her entire existence afraid. Afraid of saying her last name a little too loud, afraid when people looked a little too close at her lightsaber. She didn't want to be difficult. She didn't want to be different. She wanted to be like everyone else. She wanted to be a good Jedi. The Council had wanted something more. Something Ailani knew she could never be. She wouldn't let them keep the scraps of her broken lineage just so they could prove that they tried.

"This lightsaber is my birthright," Ailani replied. Her voice was hoarse but still firm. She needed it to be better. She coughed once to clear her words, then repeated herself, "This lightsaber is my birthright."

"The kyber is not." Mace Windu countered, looking at her with a pointed stare. He seemed so deadly calm. All of them seem so deadly calm.

She had once loved that. She had once needed that. Now, it just made them all look like horrible, wicked liars. The galaxy wasn't calm. Nothing was calm anymore. Calm had not gotten them anything good. Calm had gotten them here. Calm had wrapped them up in this war.

It made her enraged. "I'd like to see you try and take it from me." The statement was near insanity. She was no match for them alone, much less as a group, but the fire in her voice made anything seem possible.

The group fell quiet, letting Ailani burn up and burn out as they silently watched her. They may have reached an understanding, but they would never have reached forgiveness.

Yoda hummed, "Your right, it is. In peace, take it."

In peace. Was that it? Was she supposed to leave in peace? Did she even know what that meant? Her muscles were stiff with tension, strain, and pain, holding her heart together. She was on edge. She didn't know anything about peace. She had been fighting since she was four years old, begging for her parent's attention. How could she take anything in peace? How could anything be taken in peace?

Weren't they going to say that they would miss her?

Everyone stood in silence.

It suddenly occurred to Ailani that perhaps she had misunderstood everything. The war, the Republic, the very beings before her. She had misunderstood it all. Any sense of knowing or understanding she had felt was simply a mirage, clouded by feeling and hurt and loneliness. She had missed out on her own life, and no one would miss her. The realization stuck Ailani in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs. And she was running. Her feet moved towards the door before she could fully comprehend the change. The sound of her shoes scraping against the floor, the echo in the quiet. She was trembling, her eyes restlessly scanning the quiet faces.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Sad eyes and tired faces, but no surprise in anyone's expression. Everyone knew this would happen. Everyone expected it. They were just waiting. Waiting for her to give up. Waiting for her to give in. She never belonged here. And they all knew it. And they kept her anyway. Trapped.

And then she was running.

Running out the door as fast as her legs could manage, her backpack in hand, the wind against her cheeks, the marble halls flashing and crashing by. The walls of the cage in her heart and her mind were crumbling, horrible sickly saliva pooling in her mouth and burning flames crawling up her nerves. She was heaving and sobbing again, gasping for air that would never come, breath that wouldn't reach her lungs.

Out. Out. Out. She needed out.

Bodies and beings tumbled in her wake as she crashed through all the crowds. The sounds of shock fell on her uncomprehending ears, and her movements refused to slow.

She ran past her old bedroom. Past the training rooms. Past the classrooms. Past the Archives. She ran past everything she had known and would never know again. Perhaps she had never known any of it at all.

Out. Out. Out. She needed out.

The temple's stairs and the sun's light finally forced Ailani to cross the line between distress and hysteria. Tears and broken gasps took her sanity and stability, and she fell down the final three steps, tripping over her own feet and hitting the ground with a sickening crack that resonated through her entire being. The feeling was unlike any other injury before, unlike any other fall. She remained on her hands and knees, blood and saliva dripping from her lips, body trembling with strain.

What had she just done?

The realization hit her fully now, pulling a sick and dying sound from her throat, horrible and maimed like a hunted beast. She stared at the ground below her hands—the blurry, sunlight ground. Ailani blinked back more tears, but the floor refused to focus—refused to fall back into reality.

Everything was out of focus. And she had nowhere to go. The sunlight seemed almost mocking, warming the back of her shivering body, awakening the world for a new beginning. A new day. A new start.

Ailani pushed herself away from the steps, crawling and stumbling until she was trapped in an alley. She sat back and wrapped her arms around her body, squeezing her eyes shut tight and pretending the sun's warmth was the warmth of a hug. She fell back into a practiced routine, rocking back and forth and whispering in her mind.

Lavender and orange blossoms. Sweet tarts in the kitchen, and stars painted on her ceiling. A forehead pressed against hers and a kiss on her cheek.

But the mantra only pained her, sick with nostalgia that never existed. All memories of lavender were nothing more than lies spawned by a delusional child. Her parents hadn't even missed her. No one had missed her. None of it was real, and none of it could hold her together.

And she was crying again. Oh gods, would she ever stop crying? Ailani pulled herself even tighter, holding her body tightly. She had nothing else to cling to but her own weakened flesh and bones. And even that was failing with its trembles, shakes, and lungs that never seemed to stop burning.

The black hole inside had pulled in all light, and she was the only one to blame. She had burned all fragments of friendship, torn down any ties to the Order, and failed. Everything she had ever done had failed. Daughter. Jedi. Friend. Almost lover. Failure at it all. Not good enough, never good enough. Coward and mess. Horrible, wretched, hideous mess.

Ailani wept until her insides melted, until she was a mere shell of humanity and hurt. Darkness overcame and consumed her, casting a shadow over all that once was. Seconds passed like endless eternities, and Ailani floated between it all, just as she always had, caught between living and something worse than dying.

Dying.

Ailani had wasted so much of her life thinking of death and dying. She had craved it more than once, craved the emptiness it promised, the eternity of silence it possessed. Yet now, with nothing behind her and nothing ahead, Ailani suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to live. Not to live happily or freely, but Ailani desired to live so she could continue the punishment and the emptiness. Death was better than she deserved. She would keep living, even if it killed her.

For there was nothing to live for and nothing to die for. There was nothing at all. She was nothing. The Order was nothing. The war was nothing. Everything was nothing.

Even the lavender had failed.

#and that’s it #thats the end #For now #let’s meet up soon for part two okay?#ailani réillata #begged and borrowed time #writings

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