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mydisenchantedeulogy · 2 years

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Something Wicked This Way Comes || Vampire! Albert Wesker

A/n: I want to thank @lottathoughts for inspiring me to write this. She writes some the best vampire content, so give her a read.

Warning(s): blood and gore, taunting, sex (consented), death, choking, Wesker being Wesker, blood-drinking, female reader, Excella getting pepper sprayed (basically).

No minors allowed!

An ominous air consumes you, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. The sensation brings doom as the sun sets in the west, appearing to have been devoured by the vast ocean on the horizon beyond your bedroom window.

Something is coming; you only pray it isn't death.

Though, as a vampire hunter, praying for life is redundant. You chase death. It's a part of your lineage.

Leaving the room, you join your family in the living area. The television is on the news, cut down so that the volume doesn't bother anyone. As you sit beside your mother on the couch, your father turns his eyes to you a moment from his perch near the window then continues to sharpen a stake he carved from driftwood he had gathered from the beach.

"Are you OK kiddo?" He asks in concern.

You aren't sure.

"I have a bad feeling about being here," you answer.

Your brother snorts.

"I checked the perimeter already and the sensors are working. You're just letting your thoughts consume you."

"Don't worry so much dear," your mother mentions as she rests a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. "Ricardo set this base up for us."

You turn up your eyes at the mention of his name.

Ricardo Irving isn't the most reliable person to do business with but your parents like him. He is a merchant of sorts that for years has moved your family around the country. Vampires reside in all corners of the world and Irving makes a profit from each successful hunt.

He's greedy but he does his job well.

With an uneasy breath, you lean back against the couch.

"The air just feels dark and suffocating here," you mention. "There was plenty of work in the city. I don't understand why we are on an island that barely has 100 people on it."

"You know why. Ricardo gave us intel that Albert Wesker was in the area," your father explains.

Perhaps it is because of him you are uneasy. Albert Wesker is a power-hungry monster; a test subject created by Oswell E. Spencer with the same cells that ran through the Father of Vampires, Dracula; the legend your ancestor Abraham Van Helsing was rumored to have slain.

It's true that Spencer absorbed the cells and became a vampire but his body could not handle the rapid changes, so he engineered a being who could; a being who later took his life.

Wesker then sought to create a super-powered world of vampires. His reach had spread across the world and though hunting him should have been easy, it wasn't. His strength and savagery are beyond compare.

However, if your father believes there is a good chance to kill him, then there must be. You trust him, but the ominous air remains.

"Perhaps I'm just exhausted," you mention.

"I can go back out and check the perimeter if you like," your brother declares.

You will feel much better, you reckon.

"Please."

Your brother snorts and retrieves his crossbow.

"Honestly," he states with a laugh, glancing at you over his shoulder as he swings the door open. "Where would you be––"

You widen your eyes in horror as you hear him grunt, then sputter. To your surprise, you watch your brother collapse to the floor. His stomach is slit open and his intestines hang like a rope from the injury. You scream his name and stand, but a familiar man saunters in.

"Nice place, isn't it?" Irving asks. He steps over your brother's limp body and hums. "Sorry about the mess."

"Ricardo?" Your mother questions in shock.

What is he doing here? It takes you a moment to realize that his hand is covered in your brother's blood. But that can't be. You widen your eyes in disbelief.

"You've been turned."

Irving laughs.

"I was gonna tell you lot over the phone, but I thought I'd make a home visit instead. I hope you don't mind me bringin' some friends over."

Through the doorway walks a man you are familiar with; a stunning man whose appearance you've only been told about. And it's no mistake. Death comes in the form of Albert Wesker.

"Get out of here! The two of you need to run!" Your father shouts.

Your mother reacts first, taking you by the hand and pulling you into the kitchen. You hear your father shout, then there is silence.

"We have to––"

Your mother interrupts you.

"No. Listen to me. We were not prepared for this," she mentions. Her eyes are dark and full of tears. "You need to get to the shore and take the boat to the other side of the island where it's safe. There are people over there who can help you."

"What are you saying? We can go together," You argue.

She shakes her head and quickly rushes over to the counter to retrieve a bottle of pepper spray that had been refilled with aged garlic extract, handing it to you.

"Hurry and––"

"Oh, little pigs, come out and play!" Irving interrupts with a shout.

Your mother shoves you towards the backdoor.

"Go now!"

You want to stay; you want to die with her, but something in you urges you to run. And so, you do. You rush out the backdoor and onto the lawn, running for the tree line. There is a path that leads down to the beach. But as you draw near, a woman in white appears in your way. She is rather beautiful; her long brown hair falls over her shoulder in waves.

"Don't leave so soon darling. We haven't had time to play," she says, baring her fangs.

"Play with this," you hiss, spraying her in the face with the extract.

The woman screams in pain, touching her face. Her skin begins to melt and you waste no time running past her and into the woods. The ground bites at your bare feet as you run down the path, almost tripping over tree limbs and rocks as tears pour down your face. Your entire family is gone. But how? Were you not descendants of Van Helsing?

Breaking through the trees, you walk out onto the beach. The white sand sinks between your toes as you search for the boat. Where is it?

Fuck!

Your eyes widen as you spot it resting on the shore near the end. You make your way over to it, thankful that it has a motor. Once you manage to push it out into the water a bit, you climb inside. But as you grab the string for the motor, you are unexpectedly tossed from the boat and into the cold water.

Emerging with a gasp, you wipe the water from your eyes and notice Wesker standing on the shore.

"Descendant of Van Helsing," he calls out. "The last of his blood resides in your veins."

So, it is true. You are alone.

"Even if the Van Helsing bloodline disappears, there are other hunters," you mention with a sneer.

"But none as strong," Wesker retorts.

You grip the bottle in your hand as he walks into the water towards you. When he is close, you raise it and press the button. However, Wesker is much too fast. All you see is a blur as he darts to the side, reaching out to grab your arm. With a snap your wrist breaks and the bottle tumbles into the water, lost; you scream in pain.

"Humans are such weak creatures. You call me a monster, but I am making your kind stronger by weeding out the worms my creator failed to do," Wesker explains.

You narrow your eyes at him, unable to see his due to the sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

"Boohoo," you say in response. A grin pulls at your lips. "All this anger because daddy didn't hug you enough as a child. Humans aren't that easy to break."

Wesker tightens his jaw.

"We'll see about that."

He pushes you down into the water and holds you there. You struggle to get free, clawing at his arms as the panic starts to take over. You can't hold your breath forever. Swiping at his face, you manage to knock his sunglasses off but that does nothing to stop him. The more you kick and punch, the faster your body wears down.

Sea water enters your mouth as you take it in, attempting to breathe when there is no air in your lungs. And when it becomes too much, your vision fades to black. All you remember seeing before you lose consciousness is Wesker's cat-like eyes staring at you from the water's uneven surface.

And then there is warmth.

Saltwater bursts out of your mouth, causing you to sputter and cough. Your throat hurts so bad but at least you are alive.

As you lie on your back in the sand, trying to come to and return to reality, someone leans down on you; the sudden weight brings you discomfort.

"... off of me," you utter.

Something warm and wet trails up your neck, causing you to shiver. It feels good; almost too good. You open your eyes and see the ocean. But as you avert them you see a familiar face hovering over your neck. Wesker trails his tongue over your skin again, then leans up on his hands. His cat-like eyes stare at you in hunger.

You don't understand.

"W-why?"

"Because I've yet to break you," Wesker answers with a grin.

Is he serious? How does he intend to break you?

Wesker leans down and presses his lips against your neck, kissing the area. A shiver racks your body. What is he doing? His tongue sweeps unexpectedly over your heated skin and for a second you assume he's going to bite you, but instead, he bends up. And as his hand slides up your thigh, you realize what his intentions are.

So, why are you not stopping him? Perhaps Wesker is manipulating you. One thing is certain; however, you are curious to see whether or not he will make true to his threat.

When did you become so toxic?

His hand on your thigh continues up until his fingers rest over the crotch of your pants. You sigh in relief; the tension in your shoulders releases.

"Your ancestors would be so disappointed in you," Wesker mentions. His hand slowly rubs over your clothed pussy, even going so far as to squeeze you to draw out a reaction. "Van Helsing would turn in his grave if he could see you right now."

All you can do is bite your lip. His words are nasty but to you, they are a turn-on. You want more; you crave it.

Reaching down, you press his hand down on you, urging him to continue. But Wesker doesn't. He grins as a whine of disappointment leaves your mouth, watching you eagerly touch yourself.

"Break me," you beg.

Wesker snorts, reaching down to undo his pants.

"You are either insane or desperate."

Perhaps you are both. Who spends their entire life chasing death? You continue to touch yourself until Wesker knocks your hand away, reaching down to undo your pants. Once they are down, hanging on one leg with your panties, he turns you over onto your stomach. For a moment nothing happens. You listen to the waves as they smack against the shore, lying with your cheek on the cold white sand. Did he change his mind already?

Then to your relief, you feel Wesker's fingers on you, spreading your lower lips. You expect for him to at least prepare you more; of course, you are wet, but in no way you are ready to take him. However, without much care for your body, he presses the head of his cock against your eager hole and enters you. A groan of pain leaves you as he bottoms out inside you.

It's hard to believe a man as godly as him knows nothing of foreplay.

You turn up your eyes and bury your fingers in the sand. At least he feels good. You arch your hips, pressing your ass against him to urge him on. Wesker takes the hint and grasps your hips, easing back just to thrust into you again.

A pant of air escapes your open mouth, stirring the sand. He's good; too damn good for a creature of the night. You moan as his gloved fingers bite into your hips, bouncing your body with each thrust. This is unreal.

As much as you try, you can't contain the moans as they pour from your mouth. At this rate, your throat is going to be dry and sore. There is a slight pain in your walls from the sudden stretch but it's dull when in comparison to the euphoric sensation you get every time Wesker bottoms out, hitting your cervix.

"That's it," you utter.

Your stomach feels warm. Surges of pleasure – like electricity tingling your nerves – cause you to tighten. You can hardly take it. Reaching beneath you to your clit, you begin to rub circles around the bundle of nerves, moaning as the pleasure intensifies.

Wesker continues to fuck you and all the while you match his firm yet erratic pace. There's no way you can last much longer. You debate asking him to slow down; to at least drag out the moment, but it's too late. Your body shudders as you orgasm, forcing you to turn up your eyes in ecstasy. It's nothing like you've ever felt before. And once it runs its course, you slump in the sand, panting in exhaustion.

Wesker leans up on his knees, pulling you with him and pressing your back against his chest. From there, he continues to fuck you, tightening a hand around your throat. You gasp for air, reaching back with one hand to bury your fingers in his short slicked-back hair; the other grasps his arm. It's too much. You can't keep up with him; your body is far too exhausted, and strangely, it feels like he's moving too fast.

"S-slow down," you beg.

Wesker ignores you, forcing you to shut your eyes tight in an attempt to keep your head straight. His warm breath fans out against your neck as he speaks.

"We can have eternity together, my dear."

Is he asking you to become a vampire? You snort.

"Now look who's insane."

"I wasn't asking," Wesker retorts.

A burning pain tears through you as he sinks his fangs into your neck. You dig your fingernails in his arm and groan. It hurts but paired with the intense pace in which Wesker is fucking you, it's almost pleasurable. If only he weren't draining you of blood.

At last his body tenses, and he pulls out of you covering your ass in cum. Releasing you, Wesker yanks off his glove and bites into his wrist, drawing blood.

"Drink it," he orders, offering you a taste.

When you refuse, he grabs your chin and forces your mouth open, letting his blood drip onto your tongue. Tears pour down your face as you allow yourself to swallow the warm liquid. Wesker tastes divine.

An intense hunger suddenly consumes you and you bring his wrist to your lips to lap at the fresh wound. It's wrong, you know, but you want more. A whine of disappointment escapes your throat as Wesker yanks his arm away.

"Don't be greedy," he sneers.

You sigh watching the wound heal. Why would he offer to turn you? It makes no sense given your history.

"Is this how you plan to break me? By making me a vampire."

Wesker grins.

"Killing you would be too kind. I have forever to tear you apart now that you are mine."

You widen your eyes.

Fuck!

Perhaps you should have begged for death. It would have been less humiliating.

#resident evil fanfiction #albert wesker x reader #vampire au #resident evil #Albert Wesker

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cinamun · 1 year

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I honestly think we all have a lot to unpack still. I know I do. On one hand, there is the anger and feelings of betrayal people are feeling because of the final actions Elliot took. But at the same time, we watched him grow up and some (like me) who are newer to the story and binged to catch up, all the good times with Hope are very much fresh in our mind. So while I wanted to snatch his ass up at the post before the choke out scene, the minute I realized where this was going, I legitimately lost it and cried. Cin, I cried like he was my favorite cousin. And here I was watching him self destruct, powerless to stop it all.

Sean was dealt a near impossible hand and then proceeded to play the shittiest game of poker ever. But at the end of the day, I do believe he loved his son. He just… was not equipped to be the father Elliot needed. And like someone mentioned, the Drakes were the family and support he never got at home.

So here he is at a time of crisis in his life, he looks back to where he was happiest. We need to remember that while his actions were abhorrent (violence of that magnitude against someone you claim to love is NEVER justifiable), he was in the middle of a mental breakdown. He could not see a way out of the pain and suffering. To him, the only way to stop it was death. When a person gets to that point, when every thought is fatalistic and they feel boxed in on all sides, suicide seems like a blessing.

I am not and will never defend his actions or Sean’s inability to be the father Elliot needed. But there was a time when we all were rooting for Elliot. When we believed in him and Hope. This is what we should mourn. The potential, the boy in there who was reaching out for something all children should have: the unconditional love of a parent.

And now here we are surrounded by the catastrophic remains of Elliot’s actions. Much like Darren, it’s understandable that our first reaction is to snatch up Sean and scream that Elliot deserves no forgiveness. But Darren saw the devastation in Sean’s eyes. He saw a parent coming to the horrible realization that he failed his child on every. single. level. He also recognized the very same pain clawing at his chest mirrored in Sean’s features. When faced with that, all you can do is fall apart.

So no, we shouldn’t feel sympathy for Elliot in light of his last actions on this earth. But as human beings, we should acknowledge the sheer agony that led up to said actions. We should remember that boy whose friendship was a cornerstone in Hope’s (and all the Drakes honestly) life. That is the person we should sympathize with because that child never stood a chance.

Now we all have to deal with the consequences of the final act of a desperate man. Those actions were unbelievably selfish, horrific and cruel. But that’s not going to be what stays with Hope. When she wakes up, she is going to be told that her oldest friend is gone. She is going to remember those last moments and obsessively wonder what she could have done to save him. This is the trauma every single person who ever cared about Elliot has to reckon with now. And that right there is the sad legacy he leaves behind.

Oof... Let's get into it:

Absolutely all of the above! I couldn't agree more.

So here we have 3 REALLY important moments in Elliot's relationship with his dad and just his life in general:

Not only did E feel like "what team" but a team is supposed to symbolize some kind of family, you don't let your "team" down. But as we learned through Kendrick, even his team/family was flawed. Its like everywhere that Elliot turned for support he couldn't find it UNLESS it was Hope. Kendrick's purpose was to distrupt what should have been Elliot's squad, he was the QB and everyone on the line is supposed to protect the QB..... until Sean took him out of position. Like Hope had Robin and Aaliyah as team mates that became besties. These are the support systems that were so elusive to Elliot.

When I think about such an influential yet disturbed character like Elliot, I think about the whole spectrum of them, especially long-term characters like E. I thought about that spectrum for days. Where did it start, what happened along that spectrum of simulated life and the ultimate end of it. I learned from my own damn writing (smh) that no matter where Elliot turned, nothing was what he needed unless it was Hope. There was no healthy alternative.

Maybe part of the reason they used to scheme on how to get Sean a girlfriend when they were kids is because they were foreshadowing a very dark future if Elliot was left to his own devices with Sean behind the wheel. Basically, I had to study Elliot from the moment he entered the story, until he took his last breath today and, unfortunately, the end result was the only result. And its real, and we need to check on our people as much as we can.

#story stuff #probably spoilers

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ailani-reillata · 2 months

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The Acolyte - Chapter Twenty-One: The Deceiver

Oc Centric - Multichapter - 11.3k - 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,

AO3 Version

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

———

“All warfare is based on deception.”

Childhood had died, but life kept going.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks melted into months. Yet Ailani stayed frozen, trapped on her parent's living room floor, replaying that final conversation for all eternity.

Ailani's entire encounter with her parents must have taken less than an hour, and yet Ailani found that simple interaction had uprooted her entire universe. It had even changed her outside flesh, staining the skin in her face. A large cut wove down her forehead, sealed with small bandages. An exterior wound laying bare the interior damage. Her Father's boot mark on her face. Blood in the ground. Blood in her eyes. So much blood that must have belonged to her.

No one had even asked about her disappearance. Ahsoka had also vanished, and her story was much more extravagant. She had uncovered Death Watch in its entirety. She had unmasked their organization and assessed their threat. She had found the truth. Ailani hadn't found much of anything. Let people assume that she was with Ahsoka. No one cared to ask any different. The Jedi had bigger problems; the Republic had bigger problems. And so Ailani fell to the side, unnoticed and alone. She had spent her entire life grasping at the scraps of her childhood only to learn that she was reaching for thin air. How was she supposed to go on? Why didn't anyone notice?

Ailani dreamed of childhood more than ever. Almost forgotten memories mixed with her twisted heart, crafting strange and hazy visions. Glimpses she had once longed for appeared in her mind, but they felt bitter and hollow, twisted with horrible reality. Quiet breakfasts with her parents turned into screaming matches over dinner. Her bedroom in the palace was stacked with toys, and no one ever came to play. Faceless, blurred handmaidens dressed Ailani every morning and painted her lips with scarlet blood. She dreamt of training, too, lost nights in the woods with her Father, and fighting stances at sunrise.

Every morning, Ailani awoke empty, longing for something that didn't exist.

Missed calls piled up, as did laundry and uneaten meals. R3 cared for Ailani's mundane tasks as she wandered through reality. Nothing felt real. Nothing hurt, yet everything tore her guts from her stomach. Sometimes Ailani merely sat with empty eyes, yet other times, the grief collapsed her legs and pulled bile from her stomach. She sobbed until she was hollow. No title belonged to her anymore. The Acolyte had been slain with secret kisses, and the Daughtee had been maimed by all those who came before.

Ailani merely did whatever she was told. There was nothing else. She was nothing else.

Many Jedi had died since the war began.

This was an inescapable truth, a horrible reality to reckon with, a new normal for a new galaxy at war. And as terrible as it was, Ailani found she had grown numb. She could file death reports without tears now—something that seemed impossible two years ago. She wasn't immune to the pain of it all; her heartstrings tugged, and her hands shook, but she could do her job without crumbling. She had gotten used to the banality of warfare and the cruelty of it all.

But Ailani could never grow used to the smell of burning flesh. The stench clogged up her throat and stuffed her nose, pooling a sick taste in her mouth and pulling vomit from her stomach. Burning flesh made Ailani think of Khorm and all the blood caked under her fingernails.

She hated every second.

Obi-Wan Kenobi's body burned brightly, setting the temple aglow with strange shadows and flickers of orange light. He was covered in a large blanket, his ashen corpse hidden from the eyes that gathered. The crowd around him was plentiful, filled with Jedi all adorned in dark robes and even a few political figures, their clothes equally mournful. Even Duchess Satine had journeyed for the ceremony, her cheeks slick with tears and her eyes red. But it hardly mattered. She hardly mattered.

Because it was all fake, and it was all arranged. Ailani had been the one to make the synthflesh body double. She had stuffed it, sewed it shut, and covered it in clean robes. Obi-Wan was probably in the medical wing right now, awakening from his medically induced coma. Knowing the truth did not make the reality any easier, and the smell of smoke was as nauseating as the lie.

Lie.

Three months ago, word had reached the Order of a complex plot against the Chancellor. Leads were chased, rumors were confirmed, and whispers became a reality. For one horrible moment, the entire Jedi Council was in complete chaos. Quickly, many members turned on Master Adi Gallia, doubting the reliability of her information and questioning her sources. Ailani hadn't felt much of anything. They bickered and pressed, and Ailani stayed silent.

They had dedicated their entire souls to this war, and if the man they swore themselves to died, did that make the war…did that make the war pointless? As horrible as it was, Ailani knew that the Republic could not function without Palpatine. He had become less of a Chancellor and more of a symbol, an icon of the Republic's sovereignty. The Jedi would not be able to lead without him. They would not be able to maintain order. But yet…at the same time…

Relations with the Chancellor's office had grown difficult in the past year. Though if Ailani was being honest, the Jedi's relationship with Chancellor Palpatine had never been very strong. The tension always lingers, the suspicion always high. He had come into power at the wrong time, with the death of Qui-Gon and the return of the Sith sending their Order into chaos, and he had stayed in power too long, fueled by a war that strained their Order. The circumstances were never correct. Sometimes, Ailani worried that her Mother's history with the Chancellor was the only reason he was still kind to her when he had taken to curtness with other Jedi.

Besides Anakin, of course. Palpatine had always loved Anakin.

Ailani stared at the boy, watching his fire-lit eyes. Anakin Skywalker. The Chosen One. He looked even emptier than Ailani. He must have been in shock.

The death of Obi-Wan had only been yesterday, yet things moved so quickly these days. The present became dust, and the future became ancient history. Everything was unraveling and rewriting itself faster than Ailani could blink. Even her life had been altered and changed in the blink of an eye—her entire past like ashes, her parents like smoke.

Gone.

Officially, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had been killed by a bounty hunter. The story was believable enough. Since the rise of the Separatists, bounties on Jedi had risen exponentially, and Council members fetched a price so high that one could live on the murder for the rest of their days. Or until some other bounty hunter killed them, too.

At first, when Anakin, Ahsoka and the corpse of Kenobi had returned to the Temple, Ailani had directed all her attention to Ahsoka. Worries and reassurances had fallen from her lips, but Ahsoka had merely stared, her eyes empty and her voice far away. Ailani had tried so hard to ignore Obi-Wan, fearing that the truth would spill from her lips if she looked too close. But Ahsoka didn’t need Ailani’s attention. She didn’t need help. She told the Council what had happened. She talked to the medics and the police. She was only sixteen but acted with more composure than Ailani could ever muster at twenty-three. Ahsoka was so young in her grief and yet as steely-eyed as any trained soldier.

And Anakin had only held Obi-Wan's body, refusing to speak and refusing assistance. It had taken four clone troopers to pry the corpse from his hands, and even after the body had been removed, his arms remained outstretched as if he still carried it.

No one had gotten any sleep last night, and Ailani suspected none of them would find rest in the coming days. How could they?

Ailani had tried to comfort Ahsoka, but there was so little to say, and the young girl refused to hear any of it. She wasn't cold, just…distant. Distance was supposed to be Ailani's job. Ahsoka was too young to…When had she grown up so? What remains of youth had Ailani been clinging to all these years? When had the entire galaxy grown up? Had Ailani merely been sleeping through it? Had she been clinging to things that no longer existed? Did it matter? Did anything matter?

Ailani's heart swung wildly between complete emptiness and pointless, crushing grief. Mandalore proved that childhood was not something she even understood. For a single sickening moment, Ailani wondered if she had completely misjudged Ahsoka, picturing a child where a warrior had been.

Ahsoka stood between Ailani and Master Plo, her face furrowed into trembling lines and her expression so melancholy it made Ailani's heart ache. But the padawan's face was still free of tears. She must have cried at some point, for when she returned to the temple, her eyes had been red, but since her Master had collapsed into dark and silence, Ahsoka had not allowed herself to do the same. She spoke when he could not. She gave the report. She recounted the night. She had been a leader.

But at what cost?

"I'm worried about Anakin," Ahsoka whispered, her words directed to Master Plo, "He hasn't said a word since it happened."

Anakin stood near Obi-Wan's feet, his hood pulled low over his eyes, and his expression was unreadable. There was an air about him, a shadow that covered even the burning body, a strength that felt larger than the foundations of the temple. The Force moved about him strangely, almost unnaturally. He was surreal in the orange light, and suddenly Ailani found her mind back in her bedroom, staring at the holocron of prophecy.

She hadn't thought about that artifact in over a year, yet now, looking at the reflection in Anakin's eyes…

For our sins, we must be sacrificed.

The only widely accepted prophecy was the promise of a chosen one, and even then, members of the Order only believed it because hope was in short supply. Some members of the Council believed it on a surface level, maybe taking the words metaphorically. Most members only entertained the idea because it was Qui-Gon's final request to Obi-Wan. Train Anakin. He is the Chosen One. The words swirled in Ailani's head and mixed with the lies and the orange flames, and Anakin Skywalker remained silent.

Morning came with broken sunlight glimmering through her window and remnants of nightmares dancing around the edge of her mind.

When she was younger, the dream of burning hearts and glowing red light had dominated her life and mind, but now, the war had imprinted in her soul and spun new tales of heartache and horror to haunt her subconscious. Most mornings, it was hard even to remember which particular nightmares she had fallen victim to, for all she remembered was waking up breathless and screaming. Over and over. Over and over. And there was nothing to comfort her anymore, with all memories of lavender and orange blossoms rotted and ruined. Even the scent made her stomach twist and bile arise in her throat. Her mantra was shattered, as was everything else.

What was she without those shattered memories? Ailani rubbed at her eyes, trailing a few steps behind Master Windu and Master Yoda. She didn't want to do this. She was too tired and empty to do this. She didn't have enough energy to lie.

"Having second thoughts, Master Yoda?" Master Windu asked, his tone even but still concerned.

Ailani steeled herself. The question wasn't directed at her, yet she still felt under the spotlight. She was having second thoughts; she had been having fifth and sixth thoughts as well, but no one cared what she thought. No one ever cared. Not even her Parents cared.

Master Yoda hummed, "Heading down a dark path, we are."

For a moment, Ailani found herself back in the Chancellor's office all those years ago, with Barriss Offee grasping at her sleeve. Back then, Master Yoda said he feared something worse than war. It had been a frightening prospect, and it had chilled her blood and swam in her head. But she hadn't understood it. Not really. Fear wasn't good enough for understanding.

Worse than war.

Had they already passed that point? How much had she missed in the present by being wrapped in the ribbons of her past? Ahsoka was not a child but a warrior. Not a mirror of Ailani's self but a leader with a sharp edge. War was not something one could solve on the battlefield but something one won with endless lies. Friendship. Not something that lasted. Parents. Not parents at all.

What did that make Ailani?

"We talked about this," Mace said, reassuring but slightly stern, "Killing a Jedi was the best move we had."

They had talked about it extensively, and though she had no better idea, Ailani still disliked it. But no one cared what she wanted or didn't like. This was war, and feelings seemed to matter very little. However, part of Ailani wondered if that was the root of the problem.

They approached the far rooms of the medical wing, ignoring the caution signs on the doors and the locks. The official reports would blabber on about repairs and faulty equipment, claiming the space needed to be vacant for at least a week. Faulty equipment. That lie was strange, too, because, from a metaphorical sense, Ailani didn't consider it completely untrue. The Jedi inside was the faulty thing, and weren't they all equipment of the Republic?

The air was sterile and sour, and the mix of guilt and cleaning products made Ailani dizzy. The scent almost reminded her of Kamino, and Ailani had to swallow a multitude of complicated feelings down before her eyes could focus on the white room. She couldn't think about Kamino. She couldn't think about the Chancellor's office. She couldn't think about Ahsoka. She couldn't think at all. She didn't want to think. It was all too much.

The galaxy kept spinning anyway.

"So, how was my funeral?" Obi-Wan asked from his medical bed, looking up at them with a pained smile. He had been a Council Member for almost three years, and still, Ailani could not allow warmth or familiarity to grow between them. He was decent enough, but…Ailani couldn't quite get herself to relax around him, especially since her revelation about Duchess Satine.

The Council liked to refer to Master Kenobi as some sort of model Jedi, and the propaganda posters agreed. Of course, Obi-Wan was too humble to accept such praise, which was part of the reason he got it. But something about the idea of a model Jedi made Ailani's stomach twist. How could a model Jedi do something like this? Were pretty lies and polite banter all the Order could offer? Ailani felt like crying.

"A better performance than you, your corpse gave." Master Yoda said with a smile. He had left all reservations behind, or perhaps he was a better actor than Ailani thought.

"Whatever do you mean," Obi-Wan said with mock offense, gesturing to the body armor beside him, "I fell from the top of a building. I could have killed myself." He was joking, of course, he was joking, trying to make light of a situation so horrible and dense, but Ailani could not bring herself to give in or even smile. She was so unbelievably tired.

"Survived worse, you have," Yoda said, "Young Skywalker knows this."

And there it was. The pin drop Ailani was waiting for.

The propaganda machine of the Clone War had chewed up Master Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, and it had spit out legends. Yet, all of it was true. The daring adventures, the near misses. Anakin was a much more powerful Jedi than anyone Ailani had ever seen, and he followed the word and whim of his former Master. Kenobi and Skywalker. Two halves of one whole. Brothers in the truest sense, their presences in the Force incomplete without each other. And now? What were they now? Master Kenobi had been the one to insist that Anakin and Ahsoka remained unaware of the plot. He insisted that if Anakin believed, Dooku would believe, too. But Anakin's belief was the least of Ailani's worries, what he did with the anger and fear that came with belief that concerned her.

The scar on Ailani's brow began to burn slightly. The place where her own Father had split open skin with a swift kick from his boot. The betrayal she felt towards him now made it hard to breathe. It made her restless and angry and oh, so alone. R3 had helped patch up the wound, but the burning sensation and the emptiness it caused lingered.

Ailani could not even imagine what Anakin would do with such a feeling.

Obi-Wan shook his head, "I took the vitals suppressor as instructed. I was dead to the world when Anakin moved my body. There's no way he could know I was alive."

He was lucky, Ailani thought. Lucky, he didn't have to witness the emptiness in Ahsoka's eyes or the burning rage in Anakin's face. Those two alone could light entire galaxies on fire with their emotions. Obi-Wan was lucky he didn't have to see it.

Mace Windu seemed unconvinced, but he remained quiet. He had changed so much during the war. His face seemed changed and perhaps aged, and the glimmer of light in his eyes had long since faded. It wasn't hard to imagine why. He dealt with the Chancellor's office more than anyone else. He observed senate meetings almost as much as Ailani did.

It aged you.

It was hard to believe that this had been their life for over two years. The deception, the fear, the guilt that went along with it. Two years of it all. Life before the war seemed so distant and yet so near. Ailani missed it terribly. It was strange to miss something that she had previously cast aside, something she had worthlessly neglected. But the wound on her face was raw, and it had not been the Council that put it there.

The Mandalorian, who was once her Father, had done that. Now, she had no Father. If she was a better person, Ailani knew she could have let Master Windu play that role. But she was not a better person.

"Not know, but sense he will that something is not right," Yoda said, speaking for all.

Ailani wasn't convinced that Anakin would uncover the plot. He was many things, but his tendency to be ruled by ever-changing emotions made deduction difficult. Yet Anakin didn't need to uncover the plot to ruin it.

"Keeping Anakin on the outside was critical," Obi-Wan said, "Everyone knows how close we are. It was his reaction that sold the sniper, I'm sure of it."

Everyone knows how close we are. Everyone.

Ailani felt memories of Mandalore resurface in her mind, and it was so hard to blink away the dismissal and "love" of her parents. They claimed that love drove them to abandon her. They still thought that. She had spent a decade longing for them, and they had moved on.

Their love had ruined her.

What would this act of love do to Anakin?

Then she was thinking of Wolffe again and the stares of Cody and Plo Koon and Rex and… She had been the betrayer in that friendship. The liar. And she would never be able to make it up to Wolffe. Did he feel as empty as she did?

What was happening to the Republic? What was happening to her?

"What's done is done," Mace replied, "We need to get your transformation under the way."

That was her signal. Finally.

"I'll begin the other preparations," Ailani said, keeping her voice as soft and quiet as possible, "Excuse me."

They all nodded her off dismissively, and Ailani rushed herself from the room before the machines could pull Obi-Wan Kenobi apart and cover him in the skin of Rako Hardeen.

Reassignment.

The word stared at Ailani; its place on her task list felt more like a gut punch than an itinerary.

With the death of a Jedi, most clone battalions immediately fell under Master Yoda's jurisdiction, though usually, the System's Clone Marshal Commander handled the intermediate period. The trooper would just continue as usual, sending Ailani's office updates and data, until a replacement Jedi General was assigned to oversee the entire unit.

But this death had not happened to any Jedi. It had happened to Obi-Wan Kenobi—a Jedi General for an entire system army. And there was no Jedi that could so easily replace him. With luck, he would be back in the role within two months. Without luck…

Ailani swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. But even with R3 beside her, Ailani could only muster so much courage. The droid had the audacity and strength that she lacked, but it only went so far. He couldn't speak for her, even if he did know the truth.

Traditionally, one was supposed to wipe their droid's memory after every mission, in practice…Ailani hasn't exactly done that. R3 worked better if he knew all the facts, and she worked better with someone to talk to, even if that someone was a droid who wasn't good at conversation. He was all she had now, the only person she could talk to. A droid. Her only friend. Though he wouldn't admit it, Ailani knew R3 was grateful for eliminating all her other friendships. He never liked exercising by the barracks because his wheels never made him fast enough, and he never liked Ahsoka because she brought R2. He never liked Wolffe, probably because Ailani ranted about him so much.

But Ailani wasn't supposed to be thinking of Wolffe right now. She couldn’t. It hurt too much.

Like all clone trooper barracks, the 212th's living quarters were a building on the GAR military campus, and it was not a place Ailani had often visited. Out of all the clone barracks, she had avoided the 212th section as if it were the plague. She sometimes visited the Coruscant Guard barracks to play with the massiffs or hung around the 501st barracks to play cards, and she used to visit the 104th barracks and…

The point was that Ailani never really came down here anymore, especially not to see Cody. But she was already way past her comfort zone and any other choice. Nothing she said or did now would go on any permanent record. All exchanges involving Master Kenobi would have to be done in person in case the record needed to be rewritten later. She hadn't even been allowed to make an official death certificate. But everyone was too busy grieving to notice.

Ailani stood outside the 212th barracks, trying not to drop the shaking datapad from her hands. She needed to get control. Cody could see through her, even when she thought she was strong. Now she felt weaker than ever, with not even the mantra of lavender and orange blossoms left to guide her, nor any friend she could confide in. Ailani banished all thoughts and stepped inside the barracks.

Though the layout of all the complexes was the same, each battalion had brought its own individual flair to the space. Ailani liked the 501st barracks because they had lots of cards and games. Rex had once mentioned that Anakin wanted to make the space more relaxed when Ahsoka stopped by, and he and the boys agreed. Plus, arguing with one's brothers over a stupid board game was fun.

The 104th barracks were…

Ailani didn't want to think about those.

But the 212th barracks were unlike all of the spaces Ailani had visited.

Clean and orderly and yet utterly overworked. Boxes were stacked along the walls, and datapads filled every hand and every desk. They were all scrambling for order and answers after the death of their General. Ailani didn't have either, so she quietly snuck through the room, praying that the conflicted eyes never met her face. It was hard enough lying to Ahsoka, keeping up the act, and playing pretend. But she wouldn't be able to handle lying on such a scale. How could she deceive these men? Their livelihood depended on Obi-Wan. Their assignments, their friendships, their home. All of that depended on being assigned to Obi-Wan.

So many battalions got scattered and spread about the galaxy after such a loss, so many innocents got lost in limbo. She couldn't lie about that. Not after what happened with Wolffe. Not after she had seen the stress and the loss up close. Not after she had heard about the trials of Kamino, the testing, the bloodwork, the…She didn't want anyone else to be sent back there. She couldn't lie about it. She couldn't make them think even for a second that they would be doomed to return to the hell that was pristine and white.

She didn't want them to be lost in the winds of warfare.

Cody's office was at the end of the room, though office was a generous word for the small space. Without thinking, Ailani forced herself forward, softly knocking on the open door and putting on her best blank face. Cody stared, his face neutral and yet scrutinizing. Ailani tried to mimic him, but even as she kept her breathing and her gaze steady, she could feel the cracks forming.

She used to be good at this. Back at the beginning of the war, she used to be good at playing the Acolyte. At least, Ailani remembered being good at playing the acolyte. She never felt good enough but felt like an adequate enough fake. What did she feel like now? She wasn't even a fake or a fraud. She was something else entirely. She had lost her right to the title of Jedi months ago, lost her ability to claim any loyalty to the religion she had betrayed with a kiss. She wasn't even a daughter anymore. She was nothing and yet everything.

After a long moment, Cody nodded, inviting her inside.

"You have a minute?" Ailani said, stepping into his office. The space was neat and orderly, like him. Free of all dust or debris. If it weren't for the endless datapads, Ailani might have thought the place abandoned. R3 wheeled in behind her, quickly placing himself slightly in front of Ailani as if he could block any malice Cody threw.

"Got all the time in the world now," Cody answered, leaning back into his chair. His eyes didn't move from her face.

Mercifully, R3 kept silent. He wasn't always good at that, but it seemed even the droid could read the tension in the room. What did Cody know? What did he think he knew? Which was worse? Which would she prefer? Ailani tried not to flinch, wracking her brain for anything useful or smart. Mercifully, Ailani knew that her expression would remain blank between the exhaustion and the emptiness. However, neither of those things helped her navigate the situation either. She was too tired for mind games. She cut to the chase.

"I have your new assignment," Ailani said, placing the datapad on his desk.

Cody reached for the device leisurely, as if unbothered by the life change. He seemed wholly unbothered by anything. Not Kenobi's death, not the masses of work, not her presence, and not even the reassignment she forced upon him.

"Outer Rim," Ailani said, watching his eyes scan the words, "All of you. Effective immediately."

The 212th had to be removed from the picture. Obi-Wan insisted they be assigned somewhere far away, somewhere removed from the current plot. They knew Master Kenobi. They might be among the first to see the cracks in their plan. All ties had to be cut, all connections thrown into the wind.

Cody didn't even falter, "What about you?"

What about her, indeed? Technically, she was their stand-in officer. With Yoda so busy and with Kenobi potentially returning…

"Nope," Ailani said, popping the word for flair, praying the arrogance masked her fear.

It didn't. Cody set the datapad back down, shifting his eyes to her face. Rex called Cody admirable and smothering, but in his presence, Ailani felt nothing but freezing blood in her veins. What had Wolffe called him? An older brother or something. Perhaps smothering meant protective, and admirable meant…She wasn't sure. She didn't have any siblings. She didn't have anyone—certainly not someone who would look out for her with such icy eyes.

"How was the funeral?" Cody said, picking words carefully.

He was testing her again, preying on perceived weakness and soft spots. The same way he asked her about Wolffe. The black hole in Ailani's chest opened at the mention of him and began sucking in all light. Who cares? Who cares what Cody knew or didn't know? It wouldn't change anything. Nothing would fix it or make it easier. Maybe they would all be dead in a few days anyway. If Obi-Wan failed, Coruscant was as good as gone. The planet, the very core of their Republic, was too weak to stand without the Chancellor, who now formed the very roots. Ailani didn't have anyone to tell. She didn't have anyone to confide in. And indeed, none of it mattered anymore.

Ailani leaned forward as if telling a secret, turning fear into something much darker. Reckless rage. "What funeral?"

The next day brought forth news of a prison escape.

Twelve dead troopers, fifteen dead prisoners.

Ailani listened with a blank face, unblinking and unmoving. Arrogance and false flags only got one so far, and Ailani found that without lavender and a living soul to speak with, she fell back into the void. It was easy to hate, it was harder to keep on, day by day.

Twelve dead troopers, fifteen dead prisoners.

Everyone said this was a good thing. Everyone said this was a good sign. Everyone said Master Kenobi did well. Everyone said that he showed excellent skill in joining the crew. Everyone said he was the perfect choice.

Twelve dead troopers, fifteen dead prisoners.

Sleep had evaded Ailani for days after that. She sat at her desk, eyes red and face blank, switching between echoes of emotions. Nothing was real. Everything was too real. She felt everything. She felt nothing. R3 brought food that she couldn't find the strength to eat, and soon, all he brought was sleeping pills. Both of them were running on fumes. R3 was long overdue for repairs that Ailani couldn't find the time to do, and she probably needed rearranging too. She needed to be pulled apart and put back together. Neither seemed to mind being broken, though, so nothing changed.

After the escape, transmissions from Master Kenobi were rare and far between. The plot threads quickly grew into strange tapestries, spreading the Jedi even thinner than they had expected. And Obi-Wan insisted on receiving no help besides the occasional transfer of credits, and even that seemed to put him on edge. It seemed as if all of Coruscant sat on a cliff's edge, with its fate as fragile as glass.

Anakin and Ahsoka paid little attention to the tension and chased down leads like restless dogs, circling their own tails. Nothing stuck, no matter how many redirects and reassignments Ailani threw at them. They delayed, pried, and searched for Obi-Wan's killer.

And most importantly, they acted like Ailani didn't exist. Ahsoka ignored all attempts at friendship, Anakin was darker than ever, and even Rex appeared evasive. They knew something was wrong, and though no threads tied back to her, they were not ignorant. Something was wrong, and as always, Ailani found herself at the very center of it. She was always the wrong thing, even when it wasn't her fault. Maybe it was her fault. That thought had been turning around since the dawn of her memory, yet the past three months had made it worse. Maybe Wolffe was her fault. Maybe her parents had been her fault. Maybe this deception was her fault. Maybe everything was her fault.

After two days of rot and ruin, another thread revealed itself.

"Captain Rex, I need to speak with General Skywalker." Master Windu said, concern heavy in his voice. "He's not responding to my calls."

They had been trying to reach Anakin for over three hours now. Master Windu, Master Yoda, Ailani, and R3 sat in the communication room, flicking from channel to channel. It had been Ailani's idea to call Rex after multiple failed attempts at Padmé, Anakin, and Ahsoka. Rex was too good to ignore a call.

Unlike some of his brothers

Rex shifted uncomfortably, his hologram flickering, "Sir, General Skywalker is unavailable."

Master Windu had taught Ailani many things in the years she had studied under the Council, but his ability to read a being's presence in the Force was the most useful skill he had ever passed on. Ailani knew she was not as gifted as him, nor could she ever be, but even she could see through Rex at this moment—no doubt Mace Windu could read the man like a holobook.

"Where is he, Captain?" His voice was firmer now, almost annoyed. They had wasted so much time already.

"I can't say, sir." Rex offered. Thank the Maker he was wearing his helmet, Ailani thought. He must have been flushed blood red. Rex was many things. A good liar was not one of them. Ailani almost felt bad for him but couldn't muster up the energy. R3 beeped out something that might have been a joke or a jab. Ailani didn't have the energy to laugh at that, either.

"You can't, or you won't?" Master Windu pressed, raising one eyebrow.

Unexpectedly, the Chancellor fell into the frame, "Anakin is on Nal Hutta."

Ailani felt her jaw drop, and suddenly, she felt more awake than ever. Nal Hutta. Where Master Obi-Wan's last message came from—Nal Hutta, where trouble was brewing, and the cracks of their plan had splintered. What was Anakin doing there?

Master Windu and Master Yoda exchanged glances, "Nal Hutta?" Master Windu repeated, almost in disbelief.

"Protecting me is only postponing the problem, not solving it," Palpatine said.

So he had told Anakin. The Chancellor possessed only a small piece of the puzzle, and still, he had managed to sabotage the whole game. Ailani let her eyes drift around the room in disbelief. Had they done all of this for nothing? How much had Ailani's life been for nothing?

"With all due respect, Chancellor, the Council has a plan in place," Mace said carefully. His presence in the Force was delicate yet strained beyond a thousand years' weight.

This could ruin everything.

"Yes, and so does Moralo Eval, who appears several steps ahead of you. For that reason, I asked Anakin to take action." Palpatine said, clearly annoyed, "He is confident he can find the fugitives and stop this plot against me. I suggest you have more faith in young Skywalker."

Faith. If everything were up to faith, Ailani thought, none of them would be in this mess. Obi-Wan did not have faith in Anakin. The Council did not believe in the Chancellor, so they all lied and danced, making things worse. Exhaustion flooded Ailani's senses, and she felt her body wilt. She was so tired. This was so complicated, and she was so tired. Tired of lying, tired of working so hard, and just…tired.

"Captain, if you must escort me home, I'm leaving now." The Chancellor said, his words short and curt.

For a moment, Rex stood immobile in the light, his face unreadable under the mask of his helmet, then he spoke, "Yes, Sir." Kiss ass, Ailani thought bitterly, and the comm went dark.

The communication room lay silent for a long while, everyone absorbing the news and twisting threads of the truth in their head. When the war started, Ailani had found herself assuming that everyone was certain in their stances and certain in their roles, but now, all this time later, all she knew for certain was that no one knew anything at all. The silence confirmed that. But to Ailani's surprise, knowing everyone else was lost did not comfort her. It only aided in her agony.

What were any of them doing? What was the point of it all? The lying, the confusion? They weren't any closer to winning the war. Victory seemed farther than it ever had. Victory. The word stuck out to her, sticking in her mind like glue. Was this a victory? Even if they saved the Chancellor and everything went exactly as they wanted, would this be a victory? How many people died and were deceived before they started calling the war a tragedy?

"This is exactly what Obi-Wan didn't want to happen." Mace said finally, "If I warn him, it could blow his cover and get him killed."

Yoda hummed, "Kill Hardeen, Skywalker might. Or die trying, he may." The Master turned away, shaking his head. "Warn them both, you must, overdue the truth is."

In her heart, Ailani knew that overdue was not good enough, but she kept her head low and her eyes down. R3 bumped her legs, trying to get her to stand, but Ailani couldn't move or even care.

"As you can see, we've mapped the Chancellor's route to and from the festival stage," Master Windu said, "We know where he'll be at every moment from the time we land on Naboo."

The communications room was crowded.

Yesterday, the room had been so sparse and hopeless, and now the entire Council was piled into the space, heat and tension thick in the air. The drastic change only added to the shake in Ailani's end. None of it mattered, and none of it ended. Circles and circles and heat and sweat and blood and…

Anakin and Ahsoka had returned to the temple mere hours ago, and they had already been asked to assist on the mission and move on as if nothing had happened.

As if they hadn't almost killed Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Ailani knew little about their exploit on Nal Hutta, but whispers had spoken of nothing good. They would have an official briefing later, but until then, rumors would have to do. Rumors of Anakin swinging his lightsaber down on Hardeen and rumors of Cad Bane blasting Ahsoka with endless bolts. Rumors. Rumors. Lies. She was so tired.

Master Plo Koon stood with his arms crossed, his eyes observing their plans, "What security measures are in place?"

Ailani hadn't seen Master Plo much since Felucia, too worried about the tension and admissions that would follow any conversation. He had accused her of indiscretions back then, and the truth of his statement had been the first crumble that caused a landslide—losing her temper and losing Wolffe. Losing Wolffe and losing her parents. Losing her parents and losing herself. What now?

Ailani was afraid of anything and scared of nothing. The emptiness was so consuming it cut all her thoughts short and turned all emotions to ash. What now? What mattered now?

Mace Windu clicked a button, causing another map to fill the room, "The Naboo Royal Guard will have armed sentries at all entry points in the palace. And the stage itself will be sealed off by a ray shield for the duration of the event."

The Festival of Light would be held on the palace balcony overlooking the endless countryside of Naboo. Only a few years ago, the mere mention of Naboo was enough to set Ailani's senses on fire, but now, after Naboo and Mandalore and after knowing Padmé and after knowing Satine and failing to know her parents…

Naboo. The word made Ailani feel nothing at all.

"I see nothing here to worry about," Anakin interrupted, his arms crossed and his face steely. He was looking for a fight, an admission that they had been wrong to put Kenobi under such deep cover. He would not get one, at least not from the Council.

"With complacency comes vulnerability," Yoda said, looking directly at Anakin with an unmoving expression, "Yes…it is what we do not see that concerns me. A long time to plan his attack, Count Dooku has."

Complacency. That was an interesting word. Is that what Ailani was now? Complacent?

Mace nodded, "Yes, we thought we'd have an advantage with Obi-Wan on the inside, but we've had no communication from him in days."

No thanks to you, Ailani thought, glaring at Anakin. It was a pathetic and useless rage, Ailani knew, but she had nothing else. She was nothing else.

"Obi-Wan will do his part. Let's make sure we do ours." Anakin pointed an accusatory finger at Master Windu and then turned to leave.

Ailani felt a strangled sigh leave her throat, but she couldn't sort through the emotions that had caused it in the first place. Everything was too much.

They arrived on Naboo with the morning sun. The air was heavy with a thick floral scent, and the humidity weighed down every breath.

Ailani had spent her whole life dreaming of the fresh air from Naboo. Her whole life had been based around memories of lavender and orange blossoms. But now, as the new scar graced her face, Ailani found that the smell of the planet was almost revolting.

Stinging memories of youth threatened to consume Ailani, but she pushed down all feeling and thought, distracting herself by brushing at R3's dome. The droid beeped, but his insult had no bite. They were both nervous, and there was no sense in hiding it. Their last string of missions hadn't ended well for either of them. He always needed new parts, and Ailani did too.

She stood behind Anakin and Ahsoka, carrying up the rear of the landing party with the two droids. Master Windu walked closer to the Chancellor and his aides, his face suspicious and stern. All around them were members of the Coruscant guard, their blasters ready.

Hazy light cast a soft glow about the landing platform and illuminated the faces of Queen Neeyutnee, Senator Amidala, Senator Organa, and Governor Bibble. Guards flanked the greeting party, but the politicians seemed to notice, plastering on their best smiles.

Neeyutnee and Ailani had not kept in contact, but she knew that distance had not mattered when Ailani met the Queen's eyes. The girl had not forgotten Ailani. And Ailani hadn't forgotten her either. Blood on her lightsaber, glass shards in her back, prying eyes, and endless whispers. No, Ailani would not forget the night she saved Neeyutnee's life, for it was also the night she had become a killer. However, Ailani supposed that Neeyutnee would probably consider her a savior. Killer felt like a better word. Two years had certainly proved that. Even if she spent little time on the battlefield, Ailani found her hands stained with more blood than could ever be washed away. Every death warrant Ailani approved felt like a life she had personally stolen. Padawans died and Ailani buried them as Commanders. Clones got shot down on missions Ailani planned. The bounty hunter she had maimed. The nameless clone with deep brown eyes gave his snow gear to her—the man she had stolen a final resting place from. Killer.

Queen Neeyutnee bowed deeply, giving the Chancellor a slight smile that did not quite meet her deep brown eyes. She said nothing.

"Greetings, Your Majesty," Palpatine said, as casually as he could manage, surrounded by guards and blasters. Some strange tension was in the air, but Ailani was too exhausted to place it.

Neeyutnee smiled politely again but remained silent. Her dark eyes played against her dark makeup. The strange look caught her between big, youthful eyes and the funeral shades adorning her lips and face. She never spoke much, not even publicly. With her reign entering its final year, Neeyuntee had solidified her persona as a largely silent Queen born for war.

Okay, maybe Ailani had kept up with Neeyuntee, just not personally. She watched the girl's public events on the news, and maybe sometimes she listened to Neeyuntee's rare speeches. Ailani didn't know what to say personally, but she had been interested in Neeyuntee politically. She wanted to know if the glass scars on her back had been worth it.

Dutifully, Padmé stepped forward, a polite politician's smile on her face, "Welcome home, Chancellor. I'm thankful to the Jedi for bringing you here safely."

Padmé's tone was light and at ease, but everything about her made Ailani's skin crawl. She smelled too much like lavender. Her smile was too warm—the purple of her robes too deep and expensive. Ailani spent years praying for mere glimpses of the woman. She watched every holo, stayed awake for every speech, and spent so much time yearning to know the woman who had everything Ailani wanted. And now Ailani found nothing but malice for the woman in purple.

"Yes, Senator, it is good to be back, although I think the security that has accompanied me is overkill." The Chancellor admitted, throwing a slightly dismissive look over his shoulder.

If Ailani had any energy left, she would have cringed. If relations with the Chancellor had been tense, they were in open warfare now. Since the Chancellor told Anakin about Hardeen, the slight strain had given way to malice. They were all sick of each other and sick of the lies they spun.

Mace Windu said, "With all due respect, Chancellor, where your safety is concerned, there is no such thing as overkill."

R3 made a whistling laugh, and Ailani drifted her eyes around the hangar: multiple tanks, endless clones. Overkill may have been an understatement.

"So you keep insisting, Master Jedi." The Chancellor said, his smile tight-lipped, "But I've grown tired of discussing it." Palpatine walked away without another word.

To the credit of all the politicians around her, they carried on the conversation as if nothing had happened. Following Palpatine's lead as he strolled across the space.

On the one hand, Ailani believed their precautions were overkill, but on the other hand, they hadn't received a single message from Obi-Wan since Anakin's attack. Who knew if the Master was even alive? If he had been discovered, the mission may have been called off, or the Separatists had arranged for something bigger or worse. The GAR numbers were dwindling, but safety was always better than losing the Republic in a single night.

Neeyuntee fell beside Padmé and the Chancellor, gently gesturing for Ailani to stand beside her. Without her permission, Ailani's feet followed the Queen's request, and R3 trailed behind.

"Thank you for coming," Neeyuntee said, a genuine smile playing on her usually stern lips, "I shall feel much safer with you here."

Ailani tried not to grimace but could only manage a strained smile. She would never stop owing Neeyuntee after saving her life. She would never be free of that expectation, that honor. She didn't deserve it, "I will do my best."

The words didn't satisfy the Queen, but she let it slide with a soft silence. It seemed like neither of them had the energy to argue.

Neeyuntee wore the mask of Queen effortlessly, but there must have been strain hidden inside. The pressure of war had broken down everyone Ailani knew, and even her soul was fragmented under its weight. How must it feel to be Queen? How had the girl not snapped?

"Which is why I'm making Ahsoka your bodyguard," Anakin's voice suddenly broke through the conversation, and though he was not speaking to her, Ailani looked back to face him.

He was speaking with Ahsoka and Padmé, the three smiling together. They made quite the trio, their personalities clashing and yet meshing perfectly. They were friends.

It made Ailani's heart hurt.

"At your service, My Lady," Ahsoka said, giving Padmé a winning smile and playful bow.

"If there's trouble, Ahsoka will get you, the Queen, and the rest of your staff to safety." Anakin continued.

Technically, it would be Ailani's job to get the Queen to safety, but neither Anakin nor Ahsoka wished to acknowledge her right now. She had burnt everything with smoke screens and lies. All was ash. Ailani turned away, unable to observe the scene any longer.

The palace was decorated with extravagant lights and glowing flowers. Every corner and mantle was adorned, the chandeliers sparkling and brilliant, polished beyond compare and glimmering in the fading daylight. This was the Naboo that Ailani had known in her dreams and childhood. This hazy, brilliant, fading world. Handmaidens in vibrant robes, palace guards in sleek leather armor. Perfect. Glimmering.

Danger lurking right around the corner.

No amount of shine could hide the tension, no smell of lavender strong enough to cover the rapid beating of her heart. Everything was so beautiful and so fake.

In her mind, Ailani saw the child she once was, hands tracing marble walls, barefoot in the hallway. Waiting for someone to come home. That version of herself was much clearer now. That truth lay bare on her parent's living room floor. The reality of it all carved across her face. The cut on her eye began to burn again, but Ailani tried to ignore it. It was so hard to place her feelings and thoughts. Some part of her mind had been shattered on Mandalore, some connection between her brain and body severed. She had been floating for days now. And seeing Naboo only made it worse.

Especially now.

The handmaiden Kiané brushed invisible dust off Ailani's shoulders for the third time. Everyone stood in the grand hallway, waiting to enter the balcony for the celebration, and various handmaidens and helpers gathered around them, fixing robes and straightening pins. Last-minute changes. It had been thoughtful the first time—Ailani didn't want to look crumbled in front of the crowds, but three swipes were a bit drastic.

"That's fine," Ailani said, trying to shake her shoulders as politely yet dismissively as possible.

Kiané suddenly stepped back, looking to the floor shyly, "Sorry, I suppose I'm a bit nervous."

Nervous was an understatement, Ailani thought, but she kept her mouth shut, opting for a tight smile. The handmaiden was doing her job, and yet… They didn't even know each other, and the little they spoke was only associated with bad memories. Blood on her lightsaber. Glass shards in her back. Unblinking eyes on her trembling form.

"Is this your first time at the festival?" Kiané asked, no longer touching Ailani but still pressing as she shifted her attention to R3, polishing the droid's dome with her sleeve.

Ailani had been to the festival as a child. At least, some of it was familiar, but Kiané didn't need to know that. She was probably just being polite or trying to calm Ailani down, but she was overbearing and smelled like roses. Ailani hated roses. She didn't have time for this. She missed her Parents so much. She missed everything. She was going to vomit all over this carpet.

Ailani said nothing in reply, unable to form words. The silence stretched for an uncomfortably long moment, lost in translation of heart and mind. R3 whistled, spinning his dome to remove Kiané's fretting fingers.

The handmaiden looked away again, rubbing at her face, "Sorry."

Part of Ailani felt terrible. The girl was clearly embarrassed or upset or… something. She was trying to be nice. But a bigger part of Ailani didn't feel anything at all. It didn't matter if she looked nice if they all exploded.

"Thirty seconds!" Typho said, his booming voice echoing down the hall.

Ailani felt herself straighten uncomfortably. Mechanically, Kiané stepped back in perfect sync with the other handmaidens. She bowed her head low, hood obscuring her face. Back into shadow. Almost-friend. Witness to Ailani's first kill. Handmaiden, she didn't know at all. None of it mattered.

The royal procession marched out the doors, and Ailani sank into her own hood as she watched Kiané sink into hers. Back into shadow.

The balcony was an ample rounded space with a podium in the middle, stands framing the center, and even more observation decks floating around the structure. It wasn't a large or particularly impressive place, but the view of the night sky was the best Ailani had seen in years.

Coruscant was so polluted, and the artificial sky could never truly replicate the feeling of star lines and endless void. Glimmering and beautiful, every star seemed to reflect directly in her eyes. The night was so clear, and even the darkness of space seemed bright. It was so beautiful. In the back of her mind, Ailani imagined herself watching these same stars from her old bedroom balcony, a small girl staring at the expanse of the universe, yearning for meaning and adventure. But the stars had brought her nothing.

Everything was nothing. The smell of lavender was suffocating.

The Queen sat in the first row of the stands, gesturing for Ailani and Ahsoka to sit on either side of her. They had no cover if something went wrong, but Ailani supposed that was the entire point. Her lightsaber would be the cover, or her body would die trying. Not that it mattered. Ailani had done it before. She would do it again. Dying on Naboo felt poetic, or at the very least, ironic. If this all went sour, she wouldn't owe Neeyuntee anymore. At least she wouldn't be lying anymore. At least it would be over.

The shield spawned before Ailani's eyes, crackling blue light covering them and encasing the balcony like a blanket. Would it do anything? Would it help? Did it matter? Ailani's brain was so empty and yet so active, flickering and blinking in the darkness of her mind.

She needed more sleep.

With a flourish, Anakin directed the Chancellor to the podium.

Let the games begin.

"It is an honor to be here for this momentous occasion." The Chancellor's voice echoed through the ray shield, and the sound rang in Ailani's head. "The pride I feel for this planet cannot be put into words. Eight-hundred and forty-seven years ago, Naboo joined the Republic, and tonight, we celebrate that union!"

Something didn't feel right. The thought came from the vastness of Ailani's soul, pulled forth by the blank hole in her chest. Something doesn't feel right, it whispered. But nothing felt right. All of this was wrong. The ringing in her head, the lying, the return to Naboo, Ahsoka's strength, Anakin's ease, the joking, the smiling, the laughing, the death of Ailani's childhood, the end of her parents, the end of the memories, nothing felt right. The war made everything feel wrong.

"Take a moment and look around this glorious city of yours. It wasn't long ago this was all plasma mines." Palpatine continued.

Something was not right. The ringing in Ailani's head grew louder by the second, rising in her chest like a panic attack. Maybe that's what was happening. Maybe she was just crumbling, falling to pieces on the balcony.

Palpatine kept speaking, but his voice was little more than a whisper over the ringing in Ailani's head, "Naboo has indeed come a long way. But as we chart a bold course for the future, let us never forget our past!"

Fireworks exploded across the sky, and without thinking, Ailani raised her hands to cover her ears. The ringing overtook everything. Her senses shot, and her vision blurred with endless lights.

And then it all went to hell.

"Skywalker! The shield generator!" Master Windu screamed, but it was too late. Anakin had not even crossed the platform when the generator exploded, sending the entire ray shield into bright orange sparks.

Ahsoka took a defensive stance, and Ailani found herself unsteadily falling into place beside her. Her lightsaber was on. When had she done that? Ailani's vision was still flickering with broken lights, but she grounded her feet and tried to focus on what she knew.

The Queen was behind her, safe and unmoving. The shield was gone. R3 was beside her. Ahsoka was beside her. The fireworks had gone off.

There was a body in the middle of the balcony. It was the Chancellor. He wasn't moving.

Time slowed as Ailani repeated the words in her head. The Chancellor wasn't moving. Ailani wasn't moving either. For a sickening moment, Ailani feared that she would never move again, never be beyond this instant, this moment, this horrible fragment of time. The emptiness consumed her.

Was he dead?

"We need to go," Ailani said. Her voice didn't sound like her own. It sounded far off and strong. Certain. Her throat hurt.

Ahsoka nodded at Ailani, "This way, Your Majesty. Hurry!"

Running brought back the sensations of life, even if Ailani's mind felt dead and buried. Her body moved with practice and battle senses, and the ease of it all made the echoing hollowness worse. When had she become this Ailani? Had she always been this? Battle-ready and on the edge of her seat, running towards the exit, a weapon in her hand. When had she become this Ailani?

Alongside the wall was a small door hidden in the marble. Reaching with the Force, Ailani pried open the secret passage and gestured the Queen and her procession inside. When had she become this Ailani?

"Let's go!" She shouted, but her words did not belong to her and her empty heart. The words belonged to something deep in her gut, something she hadn't…

The killer.

That was the word she had used.

The Ailani she was now, the empty mind and burning limbs, the screaming, the ease of the Force, the swing of her saber in the night. The Ailani inside of her was a killer. The Ailani she had been for a long time. The Ailani she had always been. For black holes were not just all-consuming. They were also all-powerful. The realization happened briefly, but the reality stretched far beyond time. She hadn't noticed that looming shadow of self until she buried the child she once was. Until her Father had slammed the final nail into the coffin with a kick of his boot. This Ailani could have survived the war if only she let her. Instead, both of them would be caught in this limbo forever. Empty mind and adrenaline-filled nerves, running on blood-stained instincts. All aspects of her body were awake and alive, screaming and alert. She could sense every breath, every stinging sensation. Every hurt and every pain. She felt none of it and all of it.

"That guard needs help," Ahsoka's voice ripped Ailani to reality. Ailani followed her gaze and saw a Neimoidian carrying an unconscious palace guard across the balcony. His arms shook, and his legs trembled.

Ailani glanced at Ahsoka, and the adrenaline spoke, "You secure them. I'll be right back."

Ahsoka nodded and shut the door.

Blood rushed in Ailani's ears, and without thinking, she ran to the man, "Let me help. It's not safe for you out—"

The words died in her throat as the Neimodian turned and quickly punched Ailani right in the jaw. The pain exploded like fireworks, blinding her eyes and spinning her head. The shock of the hit sent Ailani stumbling backward and into R3, who beeped wildly.

For a moment, the devastation of her head almost won, the emptiness yearning to give into unconscious pain, but the killer got back up and gritted her teeth in recognition.

"Bane!" Ailani shouted. The growl in her voice hurt her throat and burned her heart.

No disguise could hide the man from her, nor his painful punch. Cad Bane's shadow hologram disguise flickered as he pushed the guard off of him, the guard crumbling to the ground in a heap. The fall made his body flicker, and despite her blurry vision, Ailani made out the still form of the Chancellor. Another shadow suit.

Ailani activated her lightsaber, twirling the blade. "Things are gonna go a little differently this time."

He knew she would follow him. He knew she would not give up. She had chased him across Coruscant. Across smoke and shadow. And she was healthier this time, braver and stronger. She was better—

The bounty hunter smiled, yellowed teeth showing in the toothy, mocking sneer, "I know."

The following second seemed to happen slowly as Ailani realized that perhaps he knew more than she assumed. Cad Bane turned his blaster away from Ailani, aiming it somewhere to her left. He fired once. The blaster bolt flew through the air. The noise slowed and crackled uncontrollably in her ears.

It hit its mark, perfect and true. R3-K9 burst into flames, the bolt alighting his dome with spark and smoke. He didn't even scream. Ailani dropped her lightsaber, her hands suddenly weak. The galaxy melted into crackling flames. Her legs gave out. Her body gave out. The killer was gone, and the child was back, crawling from her grave with grime-stained hands and clothes covered in memory and dirt.

She crawled suddenly, her trembling hands against the ground as she pulled her body closer to the smoke and shade. When had she fallen to the ground? She couldn't see anything besides the orange and blue flames lapping at the scraps that were once her droid.

He had helped her when she was sick. He had waited for her. He had stuck around. He had listened. What was she supposed to do now? She hadn't even noticed him behind her. Why had he followed her? What was happening? This couldn't possibly be real. None of this was real. None of it. It couldn't be.

Ailani's robe was in her hands, attempting to snuff out the flames that refused to stop. She pawed uselessly at the heap of metal and flame, not caring if the searing heat burned her trembling fingertips.

The flaming metal said nothing.

She kept trying anyway.

Dawn came hollowly.

Ailani had sat in the flaming ashes that had once been her droid for hours. All storage and memory had been burnt from his body. All the circuits dead and fried. Nothing left but an empty metal shell. Her hands were filled with blisters as she laid pointless scrap before her, remnants of memory chips and wires—nothing left to rebuild. She couldn't speak as she stared at the destruction. All words died in her dry throat, and she could only watch helplessly as handmaidens came and picked up the pieces. She let them throw away the parts, but only because she had no strength to move her limbs. Her hands were burnt, and her face was tight with dried tears. Her robe was ashes.

All wind and fight had been knocked from her.

Someone had said they were leaving. Someone else had said that it was a bad idea. Ailani hadn't heard either. She was floating through her mind, not quite reaching any complete thought or understanding. Nothing felt real, not even the useless skin she called a body.

How could Ailani still live when R3 was dead? How dare she keep living. She didn't deserve it. She wasn't worthy. That droid had kept her alive throughout the war, and he had brought food, medicine, and water. He kept her going. He had listened and forced her to carry on. And Ailani had been thankless, always thinking such sarcastic and bitter remarks, always teasing him, always being such a burden. She had failed R3, and now he was gone. She had wasted everything. She had never even apologized for being so awful, sickly selfish, ugly, and wretched.

Ailani wanted to apologize for all of it. She would never get the opportunity now.

The handmaidens carried her useless body to the medical wing, mumbling something about burns and shock. Reassuring words were spoken, but they never reached Ailani. All kindness sat outside her body, distant and locked away. She didn't deserve any kindness. She had let Cad Bane beat her again. And this time, her arrogance had been paid for by someone else. Someone innocent.

How many deaths was she personally responsible for now? Names floated through Ailani's head. Every death certificate she had authored and authorized. The bounty hunter she had slain on Naboo. Master Tauht on Khorm. The nameless trooper who had given up his armor. Wolffe's right eye. All those troopers on Naboo who fell victim to the Blue Shadow Virus. The mother and daughter duo she had tried to help during the Zillo Beast attack. The Padawans she had appointed as Commanders. Others whose names would not reach her but whose faces were burned into her mind. The child she had once been. The Parents she had loved were gone now. R3.

Oh, R3.

When was it going to be enough? When would the black hole in her heart finally be satisfied? When would it stop sucking in all light? Would she spend the rest of her life hungry and alone? Ravenous as she wandered the stars, creeping and burning up. When would it be enough? She didn't want to be this anymore. She didn't want to be anywhere anymore.

Somehow, Ailani had found her way to the hangar, moving boxes and loading machines mechanically. What was she doing? Was she leaving, too? Packed up with the metal? How long had they been here? A day? A week? A year? When had time started passing her again? When had the empty future become the hollow present? How long would she be trapped in this moment?

"You lied to me!" A shout cut through the hangar, piercing Ailani's aching head. It was Anakin.

Ailani's head turned to the direction of the voice, and her blurry eyes found Anakin and Obi-Wan standing a few feet away, their bodies tense, and Anakin's face broke into a fragmented rage. He looked like a little boy again, uncertain and lonely. Had Ailani looked like that when her parents had rejected her? Had she looked like that when she had uselessly fought her own Father? Had she looked like that when she was fighting with Wolffe? Had she looked like that when R3 died?

Had she always looked like that? Would she forever?

"How many other lies have I been told by the Council?" Anakin continued, his words thick with emotion, and his hand pointed accusingly.

A lot. Ailani thought hollowly. The statement sunk into her stomach, sitting with all the other emptiness she had been forced to swallow for two years. She had lied, fought, and struggled, and what had it granted them? Were they any closer to winning? Would they even know what winning felt like? Would she finally feel—

"And how do you know you even have the whole truth?"

Ailani's mind stopped. All thoughts fell silent. All twisting ideas fell apart.

The whole truth.

The whole truth?

Every lie Ailani had ever told bubbled into startling clarity, cutting through all the haze and falling into reality. Every secret she had sealed and given blood for, every moment she had fabled and turned into folklore.

When was the last time Ailani had lived in reality? When had she lived the truth? Twenty-three years flashed through her head and turned up empty. She hadn't even been truthful as a child, make-believing her youth and her parents into figureheads, not cruel facts. As a Jedi, she had hidden all aspects of herself to conform. She lied for missions, and she lied for life itself. She lied. She lied. She lied. She couldn't remember a time before the lies.

Ailani had spent her entire life playing make-believe, and only now did the implications of it sink in.

There was no truth.

None at all.

#ailani réillata #begged and borrowed time #writings

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kaijuposting · 1 year

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Thinking thoughts about Ethan Winters

Been trying to dissect the character of Ethan Winters to try and figure out what makes him tick, and y'know what-

The vibe I'm getting is the kind of guy who's just hostile to everything that feels weird to him because he's afraid it's going to ruin his image as a Normal Guy. I feel like a reason this scares him is because he knows it's all he has going for him.

He's not particularly charming. He's not especially clever. He's likely spent his life coasting by on being a conventionally attractive cis white guy.

The kind of vibe I'm getting is similar to Betty Draper from Mad Men - going through the motions of a life that doesn't actually bring him any joy because he's internalized that this is just what you have to do.

In both RE7 and RE8, Ethan kills a bunch of people while believing that he and they have absolutely nothing in common. In Ethan's mind, he's normal, but these other people are all just monsters, and that's that. He sees no point in considering why they're like this and how they feel about their circumstances. Eveline is, I think, the most outstanding example of this. She's literally just a neglected, traumatized kid, acting out in a way that neglected, traumatized kids can do (albeit with a capacity to cause harm amplified by virtue of having a biology that other kids don't). Ethan never once registers the utter tragedy of Eveline, and he directs his anger toward the traumatized child, not at the adults who traumatized her.

In RE8, Ethan kills the four lords, whom he also regards as nothing more than revolting monsters that he has nothing in common with. He is, after all, just a Normal Guy. Not a Mutant Freak. He could never. Right?

And well, that's when Ethan discovers that he isn't just a Normal Guy (at least, in his reckoning of what constitutes a Normal Guy.) He's been a megamycete mutant for awhile now. He doesn't really and truly process this, he doesn't really think about what it means; he just soldiers on in his quest. And then he dies.

Diagetically, this is explained as the consequence of Ethan being critically injured and exhausted. It's implied that he might have even survived if he hadn't decided to fight Miranda. But one could argue that thematically, Ethan's death is ultimately caused by his own lack of imagination. He can't imagine how he could possibly go on living as a mutant freak. The narrative he's been telling himself for years, that mutant freaks deserve to die because they are mutant freaks, is probably gnawing at him from his subconscious. Evaline's cruel taunts could be interpreted as reflections of what Ethan himself already believes - one could argue that she's just throwing back the hatred that he's been unknowingly exposing her to for years.

Now of course, since Miranda walled off the village with mold, it's not as if Ethan could've gone to Chris Redfield for help... right? Well, I mean, it sure never seems to have crossed Ethan's mind that he could've just asked the mold to Stop Being In The Way Please and let Redfield and Pals inside.

The thing about the mold is, it's not inherently antagonistic or malicious; it's only as antagonistic and malicious as the people who influence it. So far, we've seen it under the influence of a troubled child and a parent who thinks her precious little girl is entitled to have the whole world. There's no reason to think that Ethan couldn't influence it, if he wanted to.

But for Ethan to recognize this and try to use that information to his advantage, he would have to question many of his assumptions about the monstrous and would have to go off his Normal Guy script. "Become Benevolent Mold Wizard" is a thing that Ethan can't even conceive of, because he's confined himself to a very tiny box that he refuses to leave for fear of what other people would think.

One could argue that what really killed Ethan Winters was a fear-driven refusal to question the meaning and value of "normal." The uncritical fear and hatred he directed toward anything outside of his own perception of normality turned into self-hatred when he finally realized that he himself wasn't normal. And if everyone else was worthy of death by simple virtue of being a "freak," then so, too, was he.

In a sense, I feel like Ethan Winters was always an extremely doomed man. If nothing weird had ever happened to him, he'd have likely gone on acting out the motions of a "normal" life, always afraid of what might happen if he didn't live up to expectations but never really understanding why he never felt any genuine emotional fulfillment. This likely would have led to a midlife crisis where he desperately tried to fill the aching void with all the things society and capitalism tell men that they should find fulfilling. He'd have likely lived as long as anyone with his particular forms of privilege might, but unless he reached a place where he was willing to question his beliefs and fears it would likely have been a very hollow existence.

In conclusion, fuck capitalism and embrace the fungus; the life you save might be your own.

#resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #ethan winters #ethan winters analysis

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hayffiebird · 1 year

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Taste of Strawberries, chap. 36

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M SUMMARY: Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more? Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming. Chapter 36 Plough a lonely furrow

Earthworms glistened in the blackness of the grave. Their writhing, pink bodies made Haymitch jam the shovel into the growing pile and fish up the silver hipflask. He tipped it into his mouth again and again, red eyes focused on the shrivels of blue sky through the greenery. He came up choking. That almost never happened but Ripper’s concoction licked his throat like flesh to an open flame. He liked it. Felt like justice. With the flask back in his pocket, he returned to the task at hand. The sound of metal against soil felt wrong in a place like this. Here in the midst of Katniss’s woods where mockingjays sang and the wind rustled through the underbrush. Lips pressed to none-existence he dug the shovel into the ground. Repeated the act, over and over, face tinged grey. It needed to be deep. Secluded. Safe from any predators. “I will come with you,” Effie said after the first death. “You shouldn’t do this alone,” Peeta said after the second. But he wouldn’t be swayed. None of them should have to see this. Especially not the kids whom had already witnessed far too much death for someone their age. “They’re my geese,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.” The morning it all began dawned like any other. No warnings whatsoever. A promise of rain in the air. Distant thunderclaps. Amy and Ian who woke them promptly at six, as per usual. At 9 months the kids were still full-fledged early birds. Oh, yes. Even Effie said she wouldn’t mind a sleep-in every once in a while. At least the nights were easier now. Good to know at least two people in this household slept fairly consistently, undisturbed by nightmares. “Mornin’”, he said as he walked into the kitchen that retched day, dressed in nothing but his underwear and some flimsy morning gown of Effie’s with pink flamingos on the back. “Hey,” she replied over her shoulder, prepping Ian’s oatmeal. The children sat together in the playpen, still in their jammies. Haymitch leaned over it and gave them a soft pat. “There’s coffee if you want it. Good and strong.”

“Great.” He poured himself a cup, added a few drops of milk. The table was already set. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Effie shrugged. “You slept hard. I reckoned you needed it.” “… Thanks.” He had a sip and set the cup on the table. “Hello,” he said and reached inside the playpen, lifted Ian out, up toward the ceiling lamp and down to his face, kissing his cheek until he giggled. “You sleep well? Any good dreams worth tellin’ me about?” After one last kiss he carried his son to the table and helped him into his high chair. Effie joined, bringing the oatmeal. She slipped a spoon into Haymitch’s hand and turned to their daughter. “I hope you’re hungry, my darling.” With Amy in her arms she took her seat at the table where Haymitch was already engaged in the messy task of getting food into their boy. “How about a trip to Sae’s later?” Effie asked, holding the girl who practiced her jumping skills, bouncing up and down on her mother’s lap. “For lunch, I mean?” “Sure. Why not?” Ian gaped like a newborn nestling and Haymitch slipped him another spoonful. Unlike his sister, the boy showed an interest in his parents’ food very early on and squeaked in anger when he dug his hands on their plants and they still wouldn’t let him have it. Like any child of District 12, they ate like horses. Both of them. “It’s their Seam side showing,” Effie said. Amy suddenly stopped her gymnastics. With the look of someone recalling something important she tugged at the neckline of her mother’s nightgown. Haymitch and Effie had introduced a variety of food to their daughter but with the exception of cooked pear blended with breast milk Amy wasn’t interested. When she got hungry she wanted her mama and her mama only. And Effie wasn’t difficult to persuade. “I take all the time I can get,” she smiled. “She’s reaching all of her milestones and she will self-feed too when she’s ready. I won’t rush her.” After breakfast and getting them changed, they carried the twins along with the playpen back into the living room. They usually played together for a good hour before their first nap. “I’ll go check on the geese.” “OK,” Effie yawned, curled up on the couch. It wasn’t even a lie. Some decoy to drink. Not that day. Even with the looming rain, the weather was fine and he only meant to release them into the outside enclosure. The moment he entered the pen, he knew something was wrong. Sensed it in the way they moved. Acted. The energy of the place. And that’s when he saw it. He crouched in the hay. Cupped his hands around the small, lifeless body. The gosling was still warm but there was no question about it. Haymitch knew death when he saw it. What happened? A wild animal? A badger perhaps? Or even one of the other geese? But there were no signs of struggle. No blood or broken bones. Nothing. Not so much as a ruffled feather. Where would an animal even get in? There were no holes on the walls. He always made sure. “Fowl cholera,” the vet said. “They need antibiotics and you have to separate the healthy ones from the birds showing symptoms. Make sure everything’s clean. Keep a close watch. I’ll write down what you need to know.” Haymitch followed the instructions to the T. No one watching could doubt his dedication. And yet, it didn’t make any difference. In the days and weeks that followed, the Victor’s Village grew quieter and quieter. Like with any disaster, the little ones went first. Then the older and frail. And before long, even the biggest and sturdiest of the lot crumbled away. And all Haymitch could do was watch. By that time, Effie and the twins were already gone. “You want to send us away?” She asked it like she couldn’t believe her ears. “Not for long, Eff. It’s only temporary.” “Why? Why do we have to leave? Fowl cholera isn’t contagious in humans.” “Still. Better safe than sorry.” “Can’t we just stay somewhere in Twelve? The Capitol is such a far way away. I’m sure Sae wouldn’t mind lending us a room in her house.” “Eff,” he said, tiredly. “Humor me. Just this once.” In the end they decided on a compromise. With the kids down for their nap Effie called up District 11. June and Annabel said they’d be more than happy to have the three of them over and in less than 48 hours Haymitch was on his own. The shirt was soaked with sweat. Clung to him in a way he’d hated ever since he was a boy. After one final dig Haymitch wiped his forehead and eyed his hard work. Yeah, that’ll do. He dropped the shovel and crouched before the bird. So utterly helpless, defenseless like this, shrouded in a knotty blanket. The last member of the original flock that he and Effie bought in Eleven. One of its wingtips peeked through the folds and he took great care cloaking it up properly before he lowered it into the grave. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he piled the earth on, covering more and more of his dead pet. At this very moment, the two survivors – both female – pecked away at the grass back in the enclosure. But it was probably just a matter of time before they went as well. It was all so fucking unfair. xXx What’s that… sound? Haymitch groaned. Bells? No, no bells around here. A phone. Yeah. Yeah, his phone. Christ, when did it get so loud? It carved his head like a cheese slicer you should’ve thrown in the trash years ago. Bottles created harmony. Empties that rolled out of the way when he moved. His cheek stung and throbbed as blood pooled back into it after hours on the stubby old carpet. What am I doing on the floor? With a painful roll he ended up on his side and gingerly touched a tender spot just above his right eyebrow. I fell? Eyes closed shut to keep the world from reeling out of control he tried to pull himself up. A hiccup racked his body and before he knew it, splatters of white liquor and stomach acid spilt from his lips. A mixture so strong and vile he swore it would burn a hole in the carpet. Coughing and spitting, he cradled his head. Air. He needed air. Mouth dripping, he forced it into his lungs. One ragged breath at a time. And still, the ringing. Only one person was that persistent. “Hello, Haymitch! It’s me. How are you?” Springs creaked under his weight as he dropped on the couch. With the phone to his ear, he stared vacantly at the forest of bottles on the coffee table. His head nothing but one big blister, ready to burst. But he heard Effie breathing on the other end, expecting a reply and he wet his lips. Cleared his throat. “Oh, same old, same old. How’re the kids?” As Effie prattled on he seized the moment and grabbed an almost empty bottle of aspirin, twisting the top. First once and then a second time. And a third. “… so we decided to go later. You would have loved it!” “Uh-huh.” Phone cradled between his ear and shoulder he wrestled the bottle but to no avail. Frowning, he squinted at the label. “Childproof.” Yeah, no kidding. “Oh, oh, and there’s something else I just have to tell you! The other day, we were out in the garden and you know how they have like their own language, right? Well, they were talking with each other in their usual manner and everything is fine and peaceful. And then Ian coos something to Amy and she goes absolutely livid! One minute she’s perfectly happy. The next she’s screaming bloody murder. I think he insulted her.” Effie chuckled. “Isn’t that the cutest thing?” “Yeah, totally.” He tugged and tore at the bottle cap, hands throbbing in time with his head. The phone slipped from between his ear and shoulder. Leaving it on the couch, he gave another almighty twist and POP! Pills flew in every direction, clinking against glass. “Haymitch? Haymitch, are you there?” Clawing underneath the table he slipped two pills into his mouth, spit out some lint and washed it down with the first bottle he encountered. “Hello? Haymitch?” He grabbed the phone. “Yeah. Sure.” “Sure, what?” “I mean, like… er…” “You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?” He opened his mouth, then just dropped the act altogether. “Sorry, Eff. Got a lot on my mind, is all.” “The geese?” He rubbed his hand over his face. Eyed the bottles but decided against it. Best not tempt the fate. “Lost another one today.” “Oh, no! I’m so sorry, Haymitch.” “Yeah. So, now’s not really a good time. Maybe we can catch up later? Tomorrow perhaps?” “Of course.” “I’ll call you guys around noon. How’s that? And give ‘em a big kiss for me.” “I will. Bye, Haymitch!” “Bye, Eff.” *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* *mutters* How the fuck does this work? *clears throat* Alrighty. Eff says you gotta have an answer phone message on this thing so here goes. I’m not in or awake or… whatever so leave a message and I’ll get back to you at some point. Or don’t. I don’t really give a fuck either way but… I dunno. Do as you please. This lil’ machine is fucking cunning though so don’t hold your breath. Can’t say I check in all that often either so if your ass is on fire just call me up again. Don’t know why you’d wanna talk to me ‘bout anything but it’s your funeral. Gimme a ring or say something after the beep. Like I said, I don’t give a fuck. Oh, and yeah. You’ve reached Haymitch Abernathy. Suppose that was obvious unless you’re a complete moron. *beep* Oh, my God, Haymitch! That’s the worst answer phone message I’ve ever heard in my life! Honestly! *draws a breath* OK. I’m calling you up since you never got back to us earlier. They are up for a couple more hours but I know it’s a small window so how about we try again tomorrow? I wish you were here. I really do! District 11 is such a peaceful place! Being here has really done me some good and June and Annabel said that if you want to join us there’s a spare guestroom with your name on it. But, of course, that’s entirely up to you. No pressure. If you feel like you can’t leave the geese just yet, I understand. Call us when you get this message, OK? If we’re not home just say when I can best reach you and I’ll get back to you. Mid-mornings are preferable but any time is fine. We really miss you, Haymitch. I know you don’t think so but it’s true. Nothing’s the same without you. Take care, OK and we’ll talk again soon! *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* *mutters* How the fuck does this work? *clears throat* Alrighty. Eff says you gotta have an answer phone message on this thing so here goes. I’m not in or awake or… whatever so leave a message and I’ll get back to you at some point. Or don’t. I don’t really give a fuck either way but… I dunno. Do as you please. This lil’ machine is fucking cunning though so don’t hold your breath. Can’t say I check in all that often either so if your ass is on fire just call me up again. Don’t know why you’d wanna talk to me ‘bout anything but it’s your funeral. Gimme a ring or say something after the beep. Like I said, I don’t give a fuck. Oh, and yeah. You’ve reached Haymitch Abernathy. Suppose that was obvious unless you’re a complete moron. *sighs* Well, this answer phone message doesn’t grow on you, that’s for certain. When I get back it’ll be the first thing we’re changing. And yes, it’s me again. I know you have your hands full with the geese right now but I still wish we’d hear from you a little more often. It doesn’t have to be a long phone call. Just a couple of minutes. You know, I do feel like I’m lying when I tell the children they’re going to hear from you and then they don’t. OK, they’re already sleeping now but we’ll be staying close tomorrow. Just the house, the garden. So please, indulge me here. Bye. *toot toot* xXx *mutters* How the fuck does this work? *clears throat* Alrighty. Eff says you gotta have an answer phone message on this thing so here goes. I’m not in or awake or… whatever so leave a message and I’ll get back to you at some point. Or don’t. I don’t really give a fuck either way but… I dunno. Do as you please. This lil’ machine is fucking cunning though so don’t hold your breath. Can’t say I check in all that often either so if your ass is on fire just call me up again. Don’t know why you’d wanna talk to me ‘bout anything but it’s your funeral. Gimme a ring or say something after the beep. Like I said, I don’t give a fuck. Oh, and yeah. You’ve reached Haymitch Abernathy. Suppose that was obvious unless you’re a complete moron. *beep* Hello, Haymitch. You know, you wouldn’t have me call so much if you just learned how to your the phone! It’s not decoration. That’s not why I had it fixed! I don’t even know why I bother with these messages. You’re probably not checking them anyway. Your silence has me all worried, don’t you get that? It completely upset my digestion, as you’re well aware! I don’t believe I’m asking much. Just ten minutes of your time. So, please, please, please, Haymitch! Call me back! *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* *commotion on the other end* Goodness… Hello? Effs? No, it’s… This is Annabel speaking. Oh. Is Eff there? I think she’s asleep, Haymitch. We all are. Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry ‘bout that. She told me to call back whenever. OK. Well, it’s… four in the morning now. It is? Shit, I’m sorry. Didn’t realize that. Don’t have a workin’ clock over here. Tossed it out for… I dunno. Reasons. Eff got me this alarm but... Look, Haymitch. *yawns* We’re usually up around 7. Why don’t you call us after breakfast? I can do that. OK. Good. I’m going back to bed now. Course. Sorry again. Between you and me, I’m a little hammered. No, no, not hammered, just… well, yeah, a little… That’s fine, Haymitch. Goodnight. Huh? Goodnight. Sleep well. *snorts a laugh* Sure. Thanks. I wish. But yeah, Imma hang up now. You know, Annabel, you’re a real good person. You’re both so good to Effie and the kids. Shame I never told you that. Cause you should, don’t ya think? Yeah, I think so. Haymitch… Yeah, sure, sure. You’re tired, I know. I’ll let you go back to bed. Could you do me a solid though? Don’t tell her. Effs, I mean. She gets weird ‘bout this kinda stuff. Don’t want her all worked up, thinking I was wasted cause I’m really not. I know what my body can take but she just … The thing you gotta understand about Effs … *in the background* Here, Bel. Let me. Haymitch! June? Yes, this is June! It’s 4.15 in the blasted morning! What kind of a nitwit calls someone that late!? Uh… Do it again and I swear to God, I will twist your ear right off! Go to bed! … Alright. Sure thing. I’ll, I’ll do that. Excellent! Bye! *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* Abernathy residence. This is Peeta. Peeta? Hello. This is Effie. Oh, hi, Effie! Good to hear from you! How’s everything in Eleven? Fine. Is… is Haymitch there by any chance? Could you get him for me, please?” “Er, of course. One moment. *in the background* Haymitch? Haymitch, it’s Effie. *mumbles incoherently* Haymitch, you have to get up. Effie’s on the phone. *after a moment* Hey. I’m sorry, Effie. He’s not quite up and about just yet. Can we get back to you? Maybe in an hour or two? That will give him a chance to grab a cup of coffee and … Oh, Peeta. Sweet child. You do not have to lie for him. Not to me. … Sorry. *draws a shallow breath* You don’t have to worry about a thing, dear. You go back to Katniss and let me handle this. OK. Bye, Effie. Goodbye, my boy. *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* *mutters* How the fuck does this work? *clears throat* Alrighty. Eff says you gotta have an answer phone message on this thing so here… *click* ‘ello? Hi. Eff? Wut time is it? Not 4.15AM. *floorboards creak, followed by a clink of bottles* Good to hear from ya, sweetheart. I know I should’ve called … Why didn’t you? Well, you know … You’re busy? With the geese? Yeah. Because that’s odd. I was on the phone with Peeta earlier and he said the vet checked in on them not two hours ago. Apparently they’re responding well to treatment. … You spyin’ on me now? I’m not spying on you. Cause it sure as hell sound like it! Well, I wouldn’t have to, would I? If you just picked up the phone now and again! The hell is this new obsession you have ‘bout me calling all the time? Sorry I have a life outside of talking to you! Not me, Haymitch! The children! Because in case you didn’t notice: You have a son and daughter now! Thanks, Eff. I’m well aware. So it’s for them! All these phone calls. I’m trying to get you three to talk to each other! How? They’re 10 months old, Eff. They can’t talk. It’s not like they’re missing out. They can’t even tell if I’m around or not.” They’re 11 months old and they can! You’re not some far off uncle or a second cousin that they see only on weddings and at funerals. You’re their father, Haymitch … Jesus … ... and sometimes I feel like you don’t even care if we’re around or not! That is so unfair, Eff! Even for you! I’m just saying … My geese are dead, sweetheart! Almost all of them! Gone! Maggot meat! So why don’t you get off your high horse and gimme a break for once in your life! If Katniss or Peeta were having a hard time of it they sure as hell … That’s exactly my point!! No one should have to go through something like that alone! Let me be there for you! What else is a family for!? Honest to God, Eff! Stop acting like you’re my fucking wife and just back off! I have! For months! Honestly, Haymitch! Do you really believe I don’t know what’s going on here? Of course I do! Not because I called Katniss and Peeta and turned them into my spies. I know because I know you! You didn’t send us away because of the geese. That’s not the real reason and you know it! Don’t try and tell me otherwise! You needed us gone so we left! Despite all my better judgment I gave you your space and I never complained. Not once! All I asked was that you put the bottle down just long enough to tell your son and daughter goodnight. *sobs* You couldn’t even do that! Fuck you, Effie. Sincerely. Fuck. You. Look … I know this is hard. I do. And I’m not pretending like it’s ever going to get easier. But you have to stop viewing me as some kind of enemy, Haymitch. I’m on your side. I always have been. And you should know that you’re missing out on moments that you’ll never get back. This time in their life… it’s precious. It’s for bonding. A chance for us to have a positive impact on what kind of people they will become. I do what I can but I can’t replace you. No one can. *in the background a baby monitor crackles to life followed by a baby crying* That’s Ian. I have to go. Eff … Later. We’ll talk later. That’ll give us both a chance to cool our heads. The children and I won’t go anywhere, so ... it’s just goodbye for now. OK? … Bye. *toot toot* xXx “Hi, Sae!” Peeta blew on his mug of tea, seeing the old woman come through the archway. “Want the last cheese bun? Katniss already had three.” “Two!” the girl protested. Leaned back against the door she rested her hands on the front step. The last rays of daylight warmed her knees. “Haymitch is not up yet,” she said, eyes on the mug in Sae’s hand. “Him and Effie, they had some kind of fight by the sound of it. He’s been in there ever since.” Sae looked to where she pointed. “He sleeps in the goose pen now?” she asked, pulling the rucksack higher up on her shoulder. “They’re his new therapist,” the boy said. “Cause God forbid he’d talk to one of us.” “’New’ implies he once had another,” Katniss said and seized the last cheese bun, since Sae never claimed it. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. He won’t thank you for it.” “I’ll be fine,” the old woman said and stepped inside. Golden light spilled through the windows, shining in the dust. A pair of geese nestled in the hay turned their head at the unexpected visitor but their curiosity was short-lived and they soon closed their eyes again. Their owner lay sprawled out before them, stomach-down. Covered in hay and goose droppings, face hidden behind disarrays of dirty blonde hair, he could’ve been nothing but a pile of unwashed clothes. If it weren’t for the knife clutched in a red-knuckled hand. She set the mug down, next to the rucksack and prised it from his fingers, endlessly careful. With nowhere to put it she slipped it in her pocket. For now. Anyone with common sense knew the dangers of waving a knife right in front of a victor, waking up. An empty bucket stood in a corner and she turned it over, having a seat. His hair fluttered with every breath he took. She brushed it from his face, untangled it from the caveman’s beard he sported these days and plucked a piece of straw. Haymitch gave a gigantic snore when he felt the tickling. She paused but when there was no further response she tickled his nose a second time. The man stirred. Mumbled something in his sleep. A smile curved Sae’s lips as she let the straw play in one of his nostrils. He sucked in a deep breath and sneezed the straw right out of her hand. “Wha… whuu-ugh…” A slack hand went to his face, rubbing his nose. She saw a glint of gray before he groaned and buried his face in the crock of his elbow. “You shouldn’t sleep in here,” she said. “All this dusty air isn’t good for you.” “Who cares?” he growled into his arm. “Lemme be.” “Here. Drink this.” That at least got his attention. Seeing the cup of broth offered he dragged himself up, muttering under his breath. After a mouthful or two he looked around, searching. His eyebrows came together. “Whatcha do with my knife?” Sae handed it over without a word and it disappeared in his pocket. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” he muttered into the mug. “Not today.” “Lemme guess. A former pink headed lil’ birdie whispered in your ear?” “No birdies. And even if they did, would that be so bad?” “Hmpf.” “How are Effie and the kids?” “Great. Splendid. Why wouldn’t they be? She told me it’s awesome gettin’ a break from me. She earned it, that’s for sure.” “Really, Haymitch?” Sae said, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, really.” “I highly doubt the sweet girl I know said anything of the sort.” “Yeah, well. That’s what she meant anyway.” “What exactly did she say?” “Does it matter?” “Course it does.” “She did say it. She said Eleven’s a peaceful place and it’s done her some good.” “That’s not the same.” “Pretty much.” “And?” “And what?” “What else did she say?” “I dunno. She told me to come visit cause I’ll ruin the kids’ lives if I don’t.” “Haymitch.” “What? It’s the truth!” “What did she say?” “She wants me to visit!” “Why?” “What does it matter why!?” “Just tell me. She wants you to come visit because …” “She misses me!” “And …” “Oh, for God’s sake, woman!” He glared at her. “Wanna be a pain in my ass now? Too late for that, Sae! Effie already called dibs.” A bright laugh burst from Sae’s lips. It was the first happy sound to fill the goose pen in ages. Haymitch sighed. A sigh of defeat. “She told me to come visit cause she really misses me even though I won’t believe it and that nothing’s the same without me.” He shot her a look. “Satisfied?” When Sae only smiled he downed another mouthful, staring into space. “I wanna go see ‘em,” he said, more to himself than her. “Course I do. I miss ‘em like hell but look at me! Look around, for fuck’s sake! I’m a shit person and a drunk who sleeps in a goose pen! I shouldn’t even be allowed around small children. How am I supposed to take care of Amy and Ian when I can’t even take care of myself? Seriously, Sae. Tell me!” He looked at her, demanding an answer. The wildman and a bird of a lady. A small smile still played on her lips. “Poor old Haymitch.” She touched his cheek with a tender hand. “Listen to me now. I’ve known you your whole life so trust me on this one. You may be a drunk and you may sleep in a goose pen but you’re not a shit person. Do you really think any of us would’ve put up with you all these years if you were? Do you think Effie would’ve fallen for you if she didn’t think you were a decent human being?” Haymitch averted his gaze. “Effie never fell for me”, he muttered. “If she did, it was a bad fall.” A wider smile stretched Sae’s lips but she soon grew serious. “I have something for you,” she said and reached for the rucksack. “Hope it’s scotch.” “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give it back to you.” At the sound of the zipper Haymitch cast an eye her way. Then did a double take. His mouth dropped open. “Oh m’God.” The ornate, gold letters of the large, leather-bound book glinted in the setting sun. His gaze flitted to Sae, almost frightened. “Where’d you get that? I thought I lost it after the fire.” “No, no,” the old woman said with a gentle shake of her head. “You gave it to me. Told me to sell it or pass it on to my children.” “I did?” He couldn’t recall. Small wonder. After he lost his family there were hours and even days at the time that were just gone. Wiped from his memory. Severe stress had that effect on him. He gave her the cup and Sae placed the book in his waiting hands. With fingers that trembled a little he opened it to the brittle first page. Brushed against the elegant, yet childish words written with Mr. Henderson’s fountain pen. Ink long dry. To my brother Amadeus, who touches the heart of everyone he meets. I’ll love you til the day I die. Never stop dreaming. Haymitch “I held on to it,” Sae said. Haymitch’s bottom lip quivered but he pressed his mouth together, eyes downcast. “Kept it in a wardrobe through the years. For safekeeping. Because I thought that one day you might want to read it to your own children.”

#hayffie #everlark #hayffie twins #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #greasy sae #the hunger games #post-mockingjay #fanfiction #district 12

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mirrorofliterature · 3 months

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so I'm going to expand a bit on my characterisation of regulus black in my only story featuring him, the only star in the sky. It is a Sirius Black Character study, focusing on him grappling with becoming a fighter in a war in early 1979 and its bleakness, alongside his friendships with Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and his broken relationship with Regulus Black. There is also background pining for Remus and hints of their relationship fracturing + Sirius & James being absolute besties.

Anyway, elaboration under the cut for #spoilers for the story.

The pivotal twist in this story is Regulus coming to Sirius' flat in early January 1979 to seek refuge.

It is a significant canon divergence and a lot of Regulus' character development takes place behind scenes. Originally, I was going to spend more time delving into it... but Lily kind of took over and I had a deadline. So, first of all, we have Regulus succinctly explaining his character development or change of mind to Sirius that I will expand upon: “I do not want to support Lord Voldemort,” Regulus finally says, not looking at Sirius, his gaze fixed on the TV. “Over the past year, the prospect of supporting pureblood supremacy has become… undesirable for me and I wish to leave our parents’ world. If I could live here instead - discretely, of course - it would be immensely helpful.” Regulus clears his throat, resolutely not looking at Sirius. “I almost became a Death Eater last year, but Narcissa begged me to wait until I turned seventeen. In the ensuing year, I became friends with someone and realised the errors of my way.” Red stains his cheeks. The big change first occurs when Regulus - who was canonically fully radicalised - Sirius thinks upon how last he had heard, Regulus had been pinning up posters of Voldemort on his bedroom walls - decided to wait until he is an adult until becoming a Death Eater because Narcissa asked him to. I think this is plausible. But what deradicalised him? That pesky friendship I mentioned. Now, Regulus is often believed to be talented at potions making and, pulling at this thread, I made him take Potions one year ahead, which is not unusual in the real world, so he was in the Seventh Years Potions class in 1977-1978. Who else was in that Potions Class? Lily Evans. Regulus ends up working with Lily because he has to, not because he wants to. But slowly, gradually, he starts to realise how human she is, and if this is what muggleborns are actually like - shit, maybe Voldemort wasn't exactly right about them. His whole deradicalisation arc goes along this plausible storyline: he becomes close with someone from the minority group he was previously prejudiced against and realises that they're just people. Lily wouldn't have made this easy for Regulus! I also hint that Regulus developed romantic feelings towards his friend, here Lily, and indeed in this universe Regulus has fallen in love with Lily which forced him to reckon with his beliefs and realise that he is wrong and no longer wants to become a Death Eater because killing innocent people is wrong, actually. But, in a narrative parallel to Snape, becoming close to a muggleborn and falling in love with her makes him realise that Voldemort is wrong, whereas Snape makes Lily an exception to his general anti-muggleborn rule, likely due to his pre-existing hatred for muggles due to his abusive muggle father. All this character development occurs off screen, and it would eventually end in jegulily at some stage (jily is already established in fic), but I found the concept of Regulus falling in love with Lily before even contemplating something with James a really interesting subversion of common fandom tropes, and also a different take on Regulus' deradicalisation. It gives him agency, it doesn't excuse his actions, but also removes him from becoming a full-fledged Death Eater and crossing a point of no return through the power of friendship. Anyway. I thought a lot about Regulus' characterisation and character arc in the only star in the sky, so I thought I might as well share it. He is a morally grey character, and I don't think enough people recognise his agency and that he was radicalised - but he could also be deradicalised, and I don't find making that the role of a romantic relationship compelling. Also, I find the idea of Lily Evans being so competent and tough that she deradicalises Regulus Black with the power of friendship and understanding kind of compelling, tbh.

#regulus black #sirius black #lily evans #hp #rambles #canon divergence

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rockislandadultreads · 4 months

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New Title Tuesday: Nonfiction

A Cook's Book by Nigel Slater

A Cook’s Book is the story of Nigel Slater’s life in the kitchen... from the first jam tart Nigel made with his mum standing on a chair trying to reach the Aga, through to what he is cooking now. He writes about how his cooking has changed from discovering the trick to whipping cream perfectly, to the best way to roast a chicken. He gives the tales behind the recipes and recalls the first time he ate a baguette in Paris and his first slice of buttercream-topped chocolate cake.

These are the favourite recipes Nigel Slater cooks at home every day; the heart and soul of his cooking. Chapters include: the solace of soup, everyday dinners, a feast of green and a slice of tart. Then there are, of course, the ultimate puddings and cakes with sections on the silence of cheesecake and biscuits, friands and the brownie. This is Nigel Slater at his finest.

The Parenthood Dilemma by Gina Rushton

Should we become parents? This timeless question forces us to reckon with who we are and what we love and fear most in ourselves, in our relationships, and in the world as it is now and as it will be. When Gina Rushton admitted she had little time left to make the decision for herself, the magnitude of the choice overwhelmed her. Her search for her own “yes” or “no” only uncovered more questions to be answered. How do we clearly consider creating a new life on a planet facing catastrophic climate change? How do we reassess the gender roles we have been assigned at birth and by society? How do we balance ascending careers with declining fertility? How do we know if we’ve found the right co-parent, or if we want to go it alone, or if we don’t want to do it at all?

To seek clarity on these questions, Rushton spoke to doctors, sociologists, economists, and ethicists, as well as parents and childless people of all ages and from around the world. Here, she explores and presents policies, data, and case studies from people who have made this decision - one way or the other - and shows how the process can be revelatory in discovering who we are as individuals. Drawing on the depth of knowledge afforded by her body of work as an award-winning journalist on the abortion beat, Rushton wrote the book that she needed, and we all need, to stop a panicked internal monologue and start a genuine dialogue about what we want from our lives and why.

The Risk It Takes to Bloom by Raquel Willis

In 2017, Raquel Willis took to the National Women’s March podium just after the presidential election of Donald Trump, primed to tell her story as a young Black transgender woman from the South. Despite having her speaking time cut short, the appearance only deepened her commitment to speaking up for communities on the margins.

Born in Augusta, Georgia, to Black Catholic parents, Raquel spent years feeling isolated, even within a loving, close-knit family. There was little access to understanding what it meant to be queer and transgender. It wasn’t until she went to the University of Georgia that she found the LGBTQ+ community, fell in love, and explored her gender for the first time. But the unexpected death of her father forced her to examine her relationship with herself and those she loved. These years of grief, misunderstanding, and hard-won epiphanies seeped into the soil of her life, serving as fertilizer for growth and allowing her to bloom within.

In The Risk It Takes to Bloom, Raquel Willis recounts with passion and candor her experiences straddling the Obama and Trump eras, the possibility of transformation after tragedy, and how complex moments can push us all to take necessary risks and bloom toward collective liberation.

Tupac Shakur by Staci Robinson

Tupac Shakur is one of the greatest and most controversial artists of all time. More than a quarter of a century after his tragic death in 1996 at the age of just twenty-five, he continues to be one of the most misunderstood, complicated, and prolific figures in modern history. Drawing on exclusive access to Tupac’s private notebooks, letters, and uncensored conversations with those who loved and knew him best, this estate-authorized biography paints the fullest and most intimate picture to date of the young man who became a legend for generations to come.

In Tupac Shakur, author and screenwriter Staci Robinson - who knew Tupac from their shared circle of high school friends in Marin City, California, and who was entrusted by his mother, Afeni Shakur, to share his story - unravels the myths and unpacks the complexities that have shadowed Tupac’s existence. Decades in the making, this book pulls back the curtain to reveal a powerful story of a life defined by politics and art - a man driven by equal parts brilliance and impulsiveness, steeped in the rich intellectual tradition of Black empowerment, and unafraid to utter raw truths about race in America.

#new books #nonfiction #reading recommendations #reading recs #book recommendations #book recs #library books #tbr #tbr pile #to read #booklr #book tumblr #book blog #library blog #readers advisory

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whynotbread · 9 months

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Growing up in in the Ome Edo

The Many Nations War was the civil war that resulted in the fracturing of the once mighty Xenifojan empire into 16 nations. It lasted so long and its effects upon the nations of Exodsa are so profound that time is reckoned with the terms Soroxka wogo (SW), Soroxka ko (SK), and Soroxka pogoza (SP), meaning before, during, and after the war. But these effects are not only felt on the national scale, but by individual people as well. That said, this is a biographical story of child in a nation that doesn't feel many of those effects at first, but is hit hard later on.

67 SP- A girl is born into a small, well-off but not wealthy family in Sawa, the capital of the small nation of Notoxosra. Her father, Serse Motosna, is the owner of a few stores in the merchants' district, and had recently gained the opportunity to form a contract with the mages' guild to sell them spellcasting materials his suppliers found. Her mother, Wafwo Azobelna, was a well educated woman who had given up her job as treasurer for the University of Sawa due to Notoxosra's lack of laws protecting working mothers. The girl's parents decide to name her Peyayxa, meaning "strong tounge", since they want their daughter to always speak her mind. Following Sonexyan tradition, Peyayxa takes her mother's surname, Azobelna. She is a healthy baby, and is well taken care of by both of her parents.

72 SP- Peyayxa is 5. She is now considered old enough to begin going to the local temple with her father. She hears the holy scholar tell stories of the Ome Ekobe, the four major deities. She listens to how Odse, the god in the sky, makes day and night come on time. She learns about Serse, the god in the ocean who her father is named after, controls the currents that help ships come to Notoxosra's ports. She listens intently to the stories of Wewo, the goddess in the earth, who makes the soil that farms grow on and the earthquakes that destroyed an ancient city. When the holy scholar mentions Cosega, the goddess in the underworld, he skips any stories about her. This frustrates Peyayxa because she wants to hear lots of stories from the scholar, and she doesn't understand why he won't tell one about Cosega. She asks her father why while they're walking home, and he simply says "Peya, we don't talk about Tofo Loyo unless we want bad luck".

74 SP- Peyayxa is 7. It's time for her to start her first year of school. As she gets ready for her first day of school, her mother warms up one of the special koho that she made for Peyayxa the previous night. In addition to the normal minty chicken filling, her mother made these koho with diced vegetables and goat cheese. The steamed bread is hearty enough to carry Peyayxa through the school day until she gets home, later than her normal lunchtime. When she arrives at the school, she greets her teacher, who introduces themself as master Kawfora Sosorenta. Throughout the year Peyayxa learns how to read and write the 22 letters of the Xenefoya script, the names of the seasons and months, when each of the holidays are, and how to count to 100. But what interested Peyayxa the most was that when her teacher taught the class about the deities, they didn't shy away from talking about Cosega. She learned that Cosega is the goddess who rules over the afterlife. Because of her association with death many people are superstitious about her, and even go so far as to call her Tofo Loyo to avoid saying her true name.

77 SP- Peyayxa is 10. It's her final year in the lower school, next year she'll move on to the middle school. When everyone introduces themselves, one student introduces himself as Gotaj Rewadjoxar from one of the Xnifjan nations way up north. Peyayxa tries to introduce herself to him, but she can't get his name right and ends up saying "Hi Ko-ta-ya, I'm Peya, wanna be friends". They do become friends. Later in the year, final exams are handed out and both Peyayxa and Gotaj get high enough grades to qualify for harder classes at the middle school next year.

78 SP- Peyayxa is 11. It takes some effort, but Peyayxa is able to convince Gotaj to join the harder class with her. Peyayxa helps Gotaj with cultural and religious studies, and Gotaj helps her with math. Halfway through the year, a new student named Kokya joins Peyayxa's class. Both Peyayxa and Gotaj quickly befriend Kokya who turns out to be a genius at writing and literature, and so with his efforts added they pass nearly every test with flying colors. Later in the year the year Peyayxa overheard her parents talking about how Notoxosra had finally given in to pressure from its neighbor nation of Ascepfohena and joined Owesonexya's Ome Edo alliance. Peyayxa didn't know what a lot of those words meant, but from the way her parents' voices sounded it made her worried.

79 SP- Peyayxa is 12. On her way to school Peyayxa sees a big column of soldiers wearing Owesonexya's flag march into the navy base at the docks. This makes her worried, but her school day is uneventful and dispels her worries a little bit. When she goes to Gotaj's house his parents seem really on edge, and he tells her that because of the Ome Edo's travel bans, he won't be able to visit his grandparents in the north anytime soon. Later in the year, Peyayxa has her first period. Because of Sonexyan taboo surrounding anything related to puberty, Peyayxa had no idea this was coming and thought she was dying. Her mother was able to calm her down and help her through it, and got her father to send a letter to the school telling them Peyayxa was sick and wouldn't be attending the last few days of school that week. After a few days, Her mother told her that since she had begun becoming an adult, she had to choose wether to be a manexya, a woman like her mother; or a wanexya, someone who conceales their birth sex and took upon a differnent set of gender roles like her first teacher master Sosorenta. Even though her mother teller her that she has a year to decide, Peyayxa chooses to be a manexya after two weeks. Once she's made this decision she goes shopping with her mother for women's clothing, and donates all of her old children's clothing to the lower school charity.

80 SP- Peyayxa is 13. When she gets to school, she notices that Gotaj is dressed in men's clothes, signifying that at some point over the break he'd chosen to be a panexya. When she greeted him his voice was noticeably deeper, but she laughed when it cracked a few times while he spoke. Kokya's voice had also deepened, but Peyayxa noticed that he was still wearing children's clothing, signifying that he hadn't chosen yet. About were dressed in wanexya clothing, and when they sat down they kept accidentally sitting on their veil. The three of them were joking about Kokya's seeming inability to manage their veil when a Owesonexya soldier barges into the classroom. He tells their teacher that while she hasn't done anything wrong, she must leave the classroom at once. An hour later, a man walks into the classroom. He says in a matter of fact voice that he is their new teacher, master Tovozda Kokyona, assigned to their class by the Ome Edo education administration.

83 SP- Peyayxa is 16. For the past three years, the Ome Edo education administration has overseen Peyayxa's school. Peyayxa and her classmates had been told that the northern nations were being bankrolled by the Salidek Federation in the archipelago to the west to destabilize the Ome Edo. Most of her classmates, especially Gotaj, ignored these messages. Many Notoxosran merchant ships still illegally traded with the north and Notoxosra still maintained a friendly relationship with the north, although now unofficially. But each year there had been one or two of her classmates that had fallen for the propaganda, mostly those in the junior government and military programs. Peyayxa snapped out of her worry, today was a day she couldn't let her mind be clouded. Today was the day when everyone had to decide wether to go on to a pre-college specialization school, or to go for an apprenticeship. She had been thinking about this for the past few months, and already knew that she wanted to go to a specialization school. The question remained of what kind to go to. Mathematics? Science? History and culture? literature? Religion? Peyayxa didn't care much for math or literature, so those two were easy to rule out. She was good at history and culture, but they weren't particularly interesting to her, so those could also be ruled out. The final two options are what made the choice hard, science and religion. She loved both the academic and spiritual aspects of nature, and was passionate about both. After much deliberation, Peyayxa decided to join her temple's built-in religious specialization school. Science was appealing to her, but none of the careers available to scholars of nature appealed much to her, and none paid much. She talked to Kokya after class, and they revealed that much to Peyayxa's expectation, they had chosen to go to a specialization school for literature. She couldn't find Gotaj after class, so she went to his house and asked his parents where he could be. They told her that Gotaj had already secured an apprenticeship on a merchant ship, and had left school early to leave on an expedition.

86 SP- Peyayxa is 19. After completing specialization school the previous year, Peyayxa joined the temple as a junior holy scholar. She focused her studies on Cosega, the fearsome underworld goddess who had started her religious fascination, as well as the patron deity of Sawa, who happened to be a nature deity. Suddenly, the calm music that had been playing stopped. Peyayxa thought that the device playing it had broken, like it had many times before. The holy scholar who had bought it had said it was this new thing called a "radio", and while Peyayxa did like the on-demand music, she didn't really care that much about it. Suddenly the radio turned on, and a deep voice announced that this was a special broadcast from the government. She sighed, more news about the tensions between the Ome Edo and the northern nations was not what she wanted to hear about right now. The voice introduced himself as Odse Asronsa, the host of the local news broadcast. Peyayxa hadn't known that Sawa had one of those, radio being so new and all. The voice continued, saying that this was a special announcement concerning Notoxasra's future, because the incredible commonness of illegal trade with the north in Notoxosra had been discovered by the Ome Edo trade commission. Another voice, this one just as deep but somewhat nervous, almost pathetic sounding, chimed in. It introduced itself as Pabega Pasna, Owesonexya's head of diplomacy. After a good deal of incomprehensible nervous muttering and mumbling, the voice spoke clearly. Owesonexya was going to blockade all of Notoxosra's ports as punishment not only to the government but to the people of Notoxosra for participating in illegal trade on such a large scale. Peyayxa's jaw practically fell off, Notoxosra's ports were its main source of income, this would cripple the nation. She fell asleep in her quarters tossing and turning, and awoke not feeling rested in the slightest. When she gazed out of her window to the ports, she could see two ironclad steamers flying Owesonexyan flags make their way into the sea just outside of the port. Someone in a fishing boat threw a brick at a soldier standing on the deck of the ironclad, but the brick just thudded off the side of the ship and into the sea.

87 SP- Peyayxa is 20. Rioters had gathered around the Owesonexyan embassy again, and like the last few times they were forcefully dispersed by the security force. Peyayxa sighed, she was tired. The temple had given two thirds of the scholars' quarters to merchant families as small apartments. She didn't mind helping the families, they needed all the compassion they could get, but the living situation for the holy scholars had gotten much, tighter. Funds for maintenance of the temple had also dried up, almost no one had the money to pay for their services anymore. They still hosted a regular congregation for monthly services, and many more people attended than before the blockade, straining the temple's resources even farther. Peyayxa was also worried about her friends. Kokya had joined a state-run newspaper out of fear of persecution for working for a private one. They maintained a stable life, but told Peyayxa that they hated helping to spread propaganda, even if almost no one believed it. Neither of them had heard a word from Gotaj since the blockade, and all they could do was hold onto hope that he had found his grandparents in his home nation and was living with them.

89 SP- Peyayxa is 22. It was too much. All of it, the economic downturn, the temple falling into disrepair, everything. Kokya had been found out to be secretly writing for an anti-Ome Edo paper, and no one had heard from them since. Peyayxa still hadn't heard from Gotaj, and neither had his parents. Peyayxa felt like she had to do something, doing nothing was killing her on the inside, it had been slow at first but now it was getting faster, threatening to eat her in a single bite if she continued simply bowing her head in defeat. She'd bought a small revolver, it was all she could find. She didn't any plan for what to do with it, but she'd bought it nonetheless. Later in the year, she heard her fellow holy scholars mention that the prime minister from 11 years ago who had led Notoxosra into the Ome Edo had been reinstated, but was old. They said he was sick, and seeking spiritual guidance. A plan formed in Peyayxa's mind, not one she liked at all, but one she felt she had to do. She penned a letter in carefully practiced cursive, the kind of neat and fast writing that took years of practice to achieve. She offered her spiritual services to the sickly official for a low, but not unreasonable price.

90 SP- Peyayxa is 23. The revolver felt cold on her left thigh, and walking around with it cocked made her anxious. Luckily, she was able to hide it under her holy scholar garb. Her bag of various spiritual implements and theological books felt heavy in her hand. It was obvious that she had overpacked, but she just told the escort that you can never be overprepared for these kinds of things. In reality, she was just to nervous to realize how much she was putting in the bag while she packed. Peyayxa arrived at the door to the prime minister's office after a short walk from the entrance to the capital building that had felt like an eternity. The ornate door was easily twice her height, and was made of red-colored tropical wood that used to be imported from the central regions before the blockade. Seeing that only furthered her resolve. The feeling of cold metal on her thigh became an affirming presence rather than an anxious one. The door opened, and in a weak voice the elderly prime minister beckoned her to enter. As soon as stood at his desk, Peyayxa's hand shot down and pulled out the revolver. before the escort was even able to react the bullet had already exited the opposite side the old man's skull. For how small it was, it shouldn't have made as large of a hole as it did, it was almost as if this bullet had carried with it the force of four years of an entire nation's anger and desperation. Peyayxa didn't even stand long enough to register her success. The escort had pulled his gun, and shot her in an attempt to stop her, but his bullet found her a split second too late.

95 SP- Peyayxa would be 28. Notoxosra, after a bloody four year long revolution, had escaped from the grasp of the Ome Edo. Xawye, another nation in the Ome Edo's grasp, was still revolting. On the edge of Sawa, near the temple where she was rumored to have studied, stood a statue. It depicted the figure a faceless woman standing in front of the flag of Notoxosra. Her only identifying features being the only two things about her that the nation had managed to find out, her scholarly clothing, and the small revolver held in her right hand. At the base of the statue knelt an old couple, who laid down a small bread roll that smelled of chicken, vegetables, and goat cheese. The wife broke down sobbing, and the husband appeared to be barely maintaining composure. After they left, the roll was quickly discarded by temple staff to avoid attracting animals.

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