#Thena wakes up at home hours and hours and hours later

[softquietsteadylove]

Gosh your hospital AU is crazy sweet! Would you do another one? Just loved the idea and their dynamic!

Thena looks up from her charts, finding a protein bar wiggling its way into her view.

"Delivery for a Miss--no, Doctor Thena?"

Thena smiles, no matter how much she doesn't feel like it. Because Gil can always get her to smile, even after she's pulled an 18 hour shift to cover for absentee residents, handled some truly uncooperative patients and just wants to sleep face down on the floor.

"How you holdin' up?" he whispers, sitting himself next to her on the on-call bunk bed. He slips his hands back into his hoodie pockets as she accepts and unwraps the snack (white chocolate and cranberry: her favourite).

"Better now," she promises, sighing as she chews. She flaps around the paper copies of her charts that need signing off on, "I miss Ajak."

The nurse who did indeed keep things running smoothly had only gotten off shift an hour and a half ago.

"These are all done, though, right?" he guessed, peeking at them in her tight little fist. "You're just signing off on discharges?"

"Yeah," she sighed, sagging on the bed even heavier. "I'm just about done. Just this last little stretch always kills me."

"Yeah, last run is always the hardest," Gil sympathises, and she knows he knows exactly what they mean by it. He pulls the papers from her hand before she can abuse them further.

"How was your day?" Thena asks, although she pauses in her chewing just to yawn.

"Pretty quiet, actually," he smiles, although really he's making sure she finishes the whole protein bar. "Kingo spent most the run making tiktoks, so..."

Thena gulps down her bite and laughs. Gil feels at least a little bit better at hearing the magical sound.

"I know you're dying to get home, but maybe a little power nap wouldn't hurt before you get behind the wheel of any sort of vehicle."

"I know, I know," she groans, taking another bite of power bar as he takes her stethoscope from around her neck and even pulls out her ponytail for her. She moans even louder as he massages her head, relieving the tension that has become subconsciously ingrained into her at this point.

Gil pulls her to lean against him, wrapping his arm around her and trying to, as subtly as possible, get his other arm out of the sleeve so he can secure it entirely over her shoulders as a blanket. "They need to assign more interns to this place."

Thena shrugs, already leaning quite heavily on him as the warmth of him permeates her tired bones and the smell of him on his hoodie lulls her into relaxation. "They don't come down here to learn trauma care, they come here when they need extra cash."

Gil just rolls his eyes. Thena works herself to the bone, seeing everyone from people who have very normal reasons to come in and just can't make it to clinics because of their work schedules, to very real and urgent traumatic emergencies. And she and Ajak get so little thanks for it.

Thena is actively and visibly drifting off, turning her face into his bicep as she makes her self more comfortable against him. "What about you? When are you off?"

Gil is technically off duty now, also supposed to be heading home. But he's here because he asked Ajak if Thena was heading out too, only to learn that she was fulfilling the last of her 18 hours. And he would be damned if he trusted her to take proper care of herself when she was exhausted.

And he certainly wasn't going to let anyone else take care of her in his place, either.

"Gil?" Thena asks again, although she wraps both of her arms around his one, as if he's her own personal teddy bear.

"I'm off too," he whispers, leaning his head against hers as she dozes off against him, sitting up and wrapped in his work hoodie over her scrubs.

But she's sleeping, and it's all he wanted when he came in here.

The door opens and one of the interns - either very early or extremely late - pokes their head in. "Um, is Doctor Thena-"

"Get out," Gil glares at them, utterly remorseless for the harsh treatment. His eyes burn a hole in them, "quietly."

They do so, pulling the door closed for him as quietly as humanly possible.

The trauma surgeon from upstairs will be coming down any minute to take over for her anyway. And Gil is ready to sit up with Thena for as long as she stays asleep. He'll carry her to her car and drive her home if he has to.

Although part of him wants to stay here and let her hold onto his arm like this forever.

Thena mumbles in her sleep, and Gil smiles. She denies it every time he brings it up to her, but she's a sleep talker--mumbles out anything from patient charts to what she wants to eat when she wakes up. It's an oddly cute habit for the Goddess of War to have, which is why she denies it so vehemently.

Gil kisses her forehead, "go home?"

"Home," she sighs in agreement, still holding onto him. She's very deserving of her next 24 hours off, he thinks.

She won't like it--she'll be mortified if she thinks about the interns seeing it. But Gil knows what has to be done. He tries to pull his arm out of her grasp, only for her to whine at him faintly. He laughs under his breath. "I'm gonna take you home, honey."

Gil manages to extract his arm so he can pick her up bridal style, bundling her up in his arms so he can grab her backpack on the way. He does take a route that's not out the main entrance to the ER, for the sake of Thena's pride.

He carries her out the ambulance bay doors, heading for his car to drive her home. The paramedics getting ready for their first run of the day wave to him. He nods his head, and they seem to understand that he has cargo far too precious to risk waking.

[gwynsnesta]

Light - Gwynriel

It had been at least a couple days since Gwyn and Azriel had got any sleep. The twins were going through their wing faze when their wings grew and the pain is excruciating. As little babies, Gwyn hoped they’d give into sleep but it hadn’t worked so far. Neither parent had any sleep with them always on one baby.

Right now, Gwyn was holding Catrin in her arms trying to get her daughter to sleep. Azriel was across the room trying to lull Damon to sleep. Az sighed as he rocked Damon side to side. Gwyn wanted to smile and laugh, to kiss him and rest by his side. But all her energy had been taken from her. Some days she wondered if she was a good mother to her children.

Downstairs, their friends were gathered around after Gwyn and Azriel invited them to dinner. But that had been weeks ago and they forgotten to cancel after Madja had warned that the twins wouldn’t stop the wing faze till late next week or even later. Nesta had come early to help Gwyn make dinner and Cassian had helped Azriel with the babies. But now, Gwyn regretted the dinner.

“Hey.” Azriel moved over to her and placed a kiss on her forehead as they held their babies. “You aren’t a terrible mother and you shouldn’t ever regret anything. We may have underestimated the skills we have to help them but the pain is natural.”

“It is natural.” A voice broke their talk and they whirled to see their family and, “You were just like this. Your fat- father used to hate it so much he’d start to cry himself. The one joy that man brought me, besides you, was to see him cry.” Azriel’s mother stood there as beautiful as the day she’d turned twenty. You’d never guess she was over 500 years old. Or that her son was the spymaster of the Night Court with twin babies.

Azriel gave her a light laugh. One that hadn’t been heard since the twins faze began. Nyx played around with his cousin Athena (Nesta & Cassian’s daughter). His mother stood next to Cassian and Rhys. Azriel hadn’t brought his mother near males for a very long time. Not even his brothers. Only Gwyn had truly met her and spent time with her.

She entered the room and took baby Catrin from Gwyn’s arms. Gwyn was nearly crying as she took a seat in the window seat of the twin’s room. Az smiled at her. She could have a moment’s rest. Feyre followed behind and took Damon from Az’s arms. “Take a seat. You and Gwyn took care of Nyx so much when he was in his faze. Now it’s our turn.” She gestured to the family.

Azriel sat beside Gwyn and held her in his arms. His mother began a soft melody that Gwyn knew it all too well. She’d written that song when she had learnt she was pregnant. She’d never sung it once, to anybody, until Azriel’s mother. She’d sung for her after her and Azriel had broken the news. When Az had gone to see Rhys and Gwyn had stayed. Not even Az had heard the song.

“May these words be the first

To find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun

Now that you're here

Though your eyes will need some time to adjust

To the overwhelming light surrounding us

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will always hold you close

But I will learn to let you go

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best,

And I'll do better

With every heartbeat I have left

I will defend your every breath,

And I'll do better

Everyone stared at his mother for a moment. At her soft voice. Then Gwyn joined in. No one could place the song. Gwyn stood and took Damon from Feyre’s arms as her babies began to rest.

'Сause you are loved

You are loved more than you know

I hereby pledge all of my days

To prove it so

Though your heart is far too young to realise

The unimaginable light you hold inside

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will always hold you close

But I will learn to let you go

I promise I'll do better

I will rearrange the stars

Pull 'em down to where you are

I promise, I'll do better

With every heartbeat I have left

I'll defend your every breath

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

Hold the world to its best

I promise I'll do better

With every heartbeat I have left

I'll defend your every breath

I’ll do better.”

When they finished the song, Damon and Catrin were sleeping. Gwyn placed Damon in his crib with a soft kiss on his forehead. Catrin was placed in her crib by her grandmother with another soft kiss before the two ushered everyone out and back down stairs.

“Now, it may be because I was raised human but who the heck wrote that song and what’s it called? I want to sing it to Verena.” Nesta was the first to speak as everyone retook their places in Gwyn and Az’s lounging area. Verena was the youngest child of Cassian and Nesta (so far) who was just a little bit older than the twins. Luckily she had been born without wings unlike her sister Athena.

“I-I wrote it.” Gwyn whispered as she took a place by the fire. “When I found out I was pregnant. I kept feeling so afraid that I’d fail. Like I failed Catrin. Like I failed the children in Sangravah.”

“You saved those children, though.” Elain replied.

“Not all of them.” Gwyn felt the tears prickle in her eyes. “Some of them hadn’t been in their rooms when it started. They’d died and I hadn’t been strong enough to save them. Maybe if I had just-”

Rhys took her in his arms knowing all too well the guilt of losing children. “There was nothing you could’ve done. Those children, they know you would’ve tried to save them had you could of. But you saved many more. So many who are alive with their own families and lives today because of you, Gwyn. That isn’t a failure. That’s a hero.”

She smiled softly at Rhys. “Thank you.” She started to laugh a little before looking at her mother-in-law. “How did you remember the song? I sung it once. So long ago.” Gwyn said.

“I never forget a beautiful song like that.” Az’s mother grinned, “Singing always worked with Azriel and I didn’t think his children would be much different. Except, I didn’t have wonderful songs or an extraordinary partner to sing with.” Gwyn blushed as she kissed the top of the woman’s head.

“It was beautiful, Gwyn.” Emerie commented holding Mor. The two were looking to adopt but still had no news. It deeply hurt Gwyn so she allowed the two to take the twins on little Aunty days whenever they wanted.

“Even Amren couldn’t help but smile.” Varian mused as Amren hit him in the chest.

“You’ll pay for that later.” She muttered.

“Oh I’m sure I will.” Varian retorted and gave Gwyn a wink. She broadly smiled at him.

“Thank you for all coming tonight.” Gwyn started, “But I think it’s time for us all to retire. Those babies won’t sleep forever. I don’t want you all to suffer because of it.” She murmured.

“Auntie Gwyn.” She looked down to see Nyx and Athena smiling at her. “We know a way to help!” Nyx proudly told everyone.

“You do?” Azriel raised a brow as his shadows played around Gwyn, Nyx and Thena. The three loved them the most. Well the twins and Verena did too. “How?” Azriel asked

“Whenever my wings hurt because they’re still growing,” Nyx began to explain, “Dada or mama would fly me around Velaris. It always cooled me down and made me feel better.” He continued, “Uncle Cass did the same for Athena.” Athena nodded proudly and touched her wings.

By far, her wings were the largest. Nyx hated it at times but Azriel liked to boast that male wings took longer because they were fiercer. He did it to make Nyx feel better when it wasn’t at all the truth. Athena didn’t mind though.

“If the twins wake up I’ll take em for a fly. One at time and Gwyn can sing to the other.” Az replied, “Thank you kiddo’s.” The kids each hugged their aunt and uncle. Everyone bid farewell and disappeared into the night.

“Would you like me to winnow you home, mother?” Azriel asked

“When did you become so formal?” She laughed.

“Sorry Mama.” He kissed her head

“I’ll stay. You two rest. If the twins wake I’ll take care of them. Tomorrow night you can take them for a fly. Tonight you rest.” Gwyn gave the woman a bone-crushing hug. They got her set up in the room next door to the twin’s and headed for their room.

They bathed together and then headed for bed. But Gwyn couldn’t sleep as she was too worried for her babies. She felt Azriel begin to draw lazy circles on her back. She moved closer into his touch, too tired to do anything else but savour his warmth.

“Сause you are loved

You are loved more than you know

I hereby pledge all of my days

To prove it so

Though your heart is far too young to realise

The unimaginable light you hold inside.”

When Azriel finished he felt Gwyn’s breath slow and realised she had fallen asleep. Once he knew his mate, his mother and his children were asleep, Azriel allowed himself too, to rest. For tomorrow would bring a whole new day of crying and craziness. But for a few hours, he could dream of Gwyn and the life they had together. Of the gift she’d given him.

Light in his world of darkness.

—

The song is called Light by Sleeping at Last xx

[detectivecarlosreyes]

Only the pure in heart can make a good soup

Ao3

Day 1: “Are you warm enough?” + fluff -  Athena asks Buck to check on May when she stops answering her phone after staying home from school with the stomach flu that had been going around.

@evanbuckleyweek

One thing Buck didn’t expect on his day off was getting a call from Athena. He’d just finished a load of washing and had the now clean pile tipped it out on his bed to be folded when the call came through.

He wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder as he goes about folding each item and stacking them in their specific piles to be put away in the right drawer. “Athena! This is a surprise, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“Hey there Buckaroo. I was actually wondering if you could do me a favour, if you’re not busy.” He surveys what was left of his clothes.

“Nope not busy at all, what do you need?” Buck moves the phone to his hand as he settles on the end of his bed, giving Athena his undivided attention.

“May stayed home sick from school today and I was going to swing by at lunchtime to check on her, but I’ve been held up with an incident on the other side of town. Would you mind checking on her, she hasn’t answered her phone in the last few hours.”

“Yeah, of course, I can do that.”

“Normally I wouldn’t ask but Bobby has gone to the station to sort out a backlog of paperwork that he missed while he was sick, and Michael has gone on a 3-day weekend away with his new beau and as you know everyone else is out of commission with the flu.”

Yeah, he did know, it was something that was going around at the moment, a 24- hour stomach bug. It started with one of the guys at the station who passed it onto Bobby who then passed it onto most of the team, except him and Athena, who went down all at once. It wouldn’t surprise him if May was struck down with the same thing.

Hearing the concern in her voice, Buck gets up and plan of action already forming in his head, “Don’t worry about it ‘Thena, I’ll drop by now and I’ll let you know how she is.”

“Thank you Buck, I’ve got to go but I’ll talk to you later,” she was gone after that and Buck was on the move, collecting his shoes from his room before heading to the kitchen.

Pulling open the fridge, he gathers what was left of the chicken soup batch he’d made the night Bobby had fallen ill and thanked his foresight to make a large enough batch to deliver to the rest of the team the morning when they went down too.

It was a patented recipe that his grandmother swore by that was both nourishing and easy on the stomach lest it be unsettled, and in all his years of using it, it hadn’t steered him wrong yet.

Throwing on his shoes, Buck gathers everything, grabbing one last thing from the fridge as an afterthought, and heads out for the nice, short drive that it takes to get to the Grant-Nash household. He easily finds the spare key that he knew was carefully hidden in the front garden.

Stepping inside, Buck heads to the kitchen to drop everything off before seeking out May who he assumed was probably in her bedroom, trying to sleep off the sickness. Finding the bedroom door closed, he knocks gently and announces his presence out of deference to her privacy.

Hearing what he thinks is the sound of her stirring, Buck opens the door a crack, “May? You awake?”

“…Buck? What are you doing here?” Swinging the door wider, he finds her lying on her side buried under her blanket and looking half-awake, squinting at the door in confusion.

“Your mom asked me to check on you when you weren’t answering your phone.”

Seeing a slight flush of her cheeks Buck steps inside and crouches at her bedside, touching the back of his hand to her forehead and frowns when he feels what he thinks might be a low-grade fever radiating from it.

“I’m guessing you probably have what Bobby had the other day, how are you feeling?” He asks as he looks down at the thankfully empty bucket sitting beside the head of the bed. He sits back on his heels, giving her some room as she props herself up on her pillows considering the question.

“I can’t tell if I feel hungry or still feel like my stomach is still upset. Breakfast didn’t stay down for long, it came back up not long after mom left.” She ends up answering with a grimace, wrapping an arm around her belly.

“I brought some soup. How about I just warm up a little bit and we see how we go.” He offers and gets a considering nod in response. Buck gives her a pleased smile and heads back down to the kitchen to warm the soup in a small saucepan.

He puts a slice of bread in the toaster before turning his attention to his phone, letting Athena know how things were. He moves easily around the kitchen, finding what he needs and plates everything up on a tray to take up to May. Before he has the chance to bring to food to her, he’s surprised, however, to hear her coming down the stairs.

“Is that the same soup you made for Bobby? It smells good.” She says, appearing around the corner, looking more alert and dressed snugly in a thick looking hoodie and track pants.

“Yep, grandma’s secret recipe. Why don’t you take a seat on the couch and I’ll bring it over to you,” Buck answers over his shoulder as he picks up the tray.  

He brings it over to the living area and set it down on the coffee table before passing the bowl to May. “Want to watch something together?”

“You’re staying?” she asked, confused.

Buck shrugs and takes a seat next to her on the couch, picking up the remote, “Yeah, I have nowhere else to be today and I don’t see a better way to spend my day than keeping you company.”

He pauses realising that he might be overstepping, “…If you don’t mind that is.”

May smiles at him, “I wouldn’t mind some company.”

Buck grins back at her before turning his attention back to the tv, “So, what would you like to watch.”

They end up settling on The Great British Bake-off which neither of them had watched. While they watch, Buck tries to subtly pay attention to how much May ends up eating, hoping that she gets at least some nutrition after losing her breakfast, and finds himself pleased to find that she managed at least half the bowl and a few bites of toast.

Almost an hour had passed, and they had just started on the next episode when May got up abruptly, rushing out of the room in the direction of the bathroom. He follows in concern and finds her kneeling by the toilet bowl, throwing up what she’d just eaten.

He goes to fetch a glass of water before returning and joining her in the bathroom. He squats beside her and rubs her back comfortingly until the heaving subsides before offering the glass. She takes it gratefully and washes out her mouth before getting up and moving gingerly back to the couch.

Buck diverts to the kitchen, getting the sports drink he remembered last minute to bring before re-joining her on the couch and offers the bottle, gently reminding her to keep up the fluids.

“Thanks,” May says with a small smile before resting her head on his shoulder with a frustrated sigh, “Guess my stomach wasn’t ready for food yet.”

Buck gives her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, “We can always try again later.”

Feeling her shiver against him, Buck pulls the throw from the back of the couch and May tucks her feet up.

“Are you warm enough?” He asks and May nods into his shoulder.

They both fall quiet after that, tuning back into the show even though they’d already missed half the episode but neither really minding. They slowly get back into it by the end of the episode, commenting on what they think the judges will say about the dishes.

And that how the rest of their afternoon went, building up their own running commentary on the show, throwing in their own opinions and laughing at each other’s criticisms. At some point Harry joins them, having been dropped off from school from the neighbouring carpool.

That’s what Athena walks in to find when she gets home from work, the three of them looking at home with each other as her children quietly bickered with Buck as if they were siblings, over who they thought were the better bakers, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of fondness over it.

Buck sticks around a little longer after Athena’s return, letting her know how the day went and confirming what she assumed May was sick with; And then he heads home, leaving behind the soup that he’d brought over and promising May that he’d try not to watch any more of the show without her.

The next day, however, he wakes to find himself flushed with a fever and with an intense need to throw up. It doesn’t take him much to put two and two together to know how he caught the bug. It doesn’t him bother though, feeling it was worth hanging out with May because it meant that he got to know her better and learned pretty quickly how easily they got along.

May must have found out from Bobby that he had called in sick because she sent him a number of British Bake-off memes which he saw after his second round of vomiting, making his day feel less awful. She explained that she was having another day from school to be sure that the virus had passed. 

The memes ended up sparking a day-long event with the two of them live blogging to each other what was left of the first season from the comfort of their own homes.

It was one of the best sick days he’s had in quite some time probably since he was a kid.

[feinkomo-blog]

B A S I C S :

FULL NAME: Fein Komo

NICKNAME(S): Little Dreamwalker to Dorian.  

DATE OF BIRTH / AGE: Sometime in the beginning of the year / 27

ORIENTATION: Pansexual.

OCCUPATION: Jedi Padawan / X Wing Pilot

SPECIES: Mirialan.

P H Y S I C A L :

FACE CLAIM: Toni Mahfud

HEIGHT: 6′12’

WEIGHT: 180lbs

EYES: Light amber brown.

HAIR: Black, lightening to blonde in some places from his time under the sun in the pits. He keeps it long, cutting it to shoulder length at Yavin. 

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: A variety of old and new scars along his body from his fights, and a network of tattoos in various places along his body. His tattoos are the one part of his culture Fein embraces fully. His life is made worthy by the actions he takes - the things he does and does not do - and he marks them on his skin so that when he is dead his loved ones can weight his deeds and deem him worthy or not. 

B A C K G R O U N D :

HOMETOWN: He’d say Coruscant, and the creche, before anything else. 

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Yavin IV. 

LANGUAGES: A few small working phrases he’s picked up in the more common tongues that could get him by in a pinch, but nothing too fluent.  

EDUCATION: Only what he got in the Jedi Temple.  

PARENTS: Unknown.

CRECHE MASTER: Noa Niedra

FORMER JEDI MASTER: Thena Wyn

CURRENT JEDI MASTER: Noa Niedra

SIBLING(S): none living. (Adoptive - Matthias Ilesar, Nimm Aldenar, Osira Santo)

ROMANTIC STATUS: Single.

PET(S): None, except for the Banthu herd he sometimes wtaches with Nimm.

T H E   A B S T R A C T :

FEARS: Failure - but spectacularly. He doesn’t fear failing in a ritual, or forgetting a stance in his training with a staff; he fears never getting a grip on his emotions, never being able to let go of his memories of the pits or his hatred for the Academies on Mirial. He fears never being able to become a quieted center in a storm, he fears that the storm will swallow him whole and he will be what tore down the Order all over again. He fears the Sith, and all their freedoms, and fears that he will not be strong enough to turn away. 

GENERAL LIKES: Mornings so cold he can see his breath, the way ice sparkles against the ground and cracks when he walks across it, and the silence that echoes for miles around him when he’s sitting in the cockpit of his fighter. The feeling when he opens his eyes after a long meditation and the world is calm and his body is loose and tingling for him to move. Blood in the sands of the pits and warm across the skin of his shoulders and back, and the way his very soul feels spent after sending nightmares coursing across the arena. The weight of a wrench in his hand, the way Noa says his name, a satisfying cup of hot spiced tea, and watching the sun set over the jungles of Yavin IV.   

GENERAL DISLIKES: The sour taste in his mouth after using his Force gift, and the feeling of defeat when he realizes he used it again without even knowing. Sunrise meditations, bland food, and blankets. The sticky humid feeling on his skin from the weather on the rebel base’s planet, and not understanding something. 

USUAL MOOD / EXPRESSION: He’ll greet you with a smile, and then keep on moving. Constant motion is his comfort, unless he’s meditating - which hardly anyone sees since he waits until the world is quieted and all are asleep. He keeps most of the world at arms length but the first word that comes to mind when someone mentions Fein Komo is ‘nice.’ He’s a nice guy - average in every way, but a gifted pilot. And that is the way he likes to keep it. 

TRAITS: Innovative / Adaptable. Courageous / Impulsive. Determined / Single-minded. Self-Conscious / Unsure. Charismatic / Volatile. 

HABITS: He tends to drum his fingers against whatever surface is available - tables, walls, doors, his leg, his arm - and if he’s sitting his leg is most certainly bouncing. He loves to move, loves to be in motion - when he’s doing something, he isn’t thinking. 

HOBBIES: He meditates every night/early morning - before he gets his short few hours of sleep and when he wakes up. It centers him and allows him to focus his day. It also helps him tamp down his force energy. When he’s not training, Fein is always in the hangar bay fiddling with his fighter or another ship. He’s a grease monkey - and the inner workings of the ships all make sense to him, where his inner workings are often too chaotic for him to work through.  

MORNING ROUTINE: After sleeping maybe three or four hours, Fein wakes up and meditates for a short period of time - his morning meditations range from 20minutes to a half hour, simply because he finds it hard to concentrate with people bustling around and the sun rising. Depending on his training schedule for the day, he’ll either set out to find Noa, or he’ll head straight to the ariship hangers to begin working on some project again. 

NIGHTLY ROUTINE: He works late into the night, and then, usually long after the moons risen and the stars are deep and bright and the last night owl like him has tucked in for bed, he’ll find a spot in the temple above to sit under the stars and drop into a deep meditation. His nighttime meditations can be anywhere from an hour to two or three. Afterwards he will retire to his bed, waking up in a few hours to begin again.

DEADLY SIN: Wrath

ZODIAC: Capricorn

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral, wanting desperately to be Chaotic Good. 

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor.

CLASS & SPECIALIZATION: Dual Wield Reaver.

H I S T O R Y :

“After time adrift among open stars, along tides of light and through shoals of dust, I will return to where I began. ”

“Mirial.”

It was snowing the morning they came to take him from his mother.

Fein can remember the way it caked on his mother’s eyelashes as she kissed him goodbye. He can remember tears heavy and raw in her throat as she begged them to let her son stay one more year (“he’s so young, too young please he doesn’t understand”). He can remember watching over the shoulder of the Teacher who carried him away, as her figure stood small and alone, wrapped in a blanket, in front of their little hut, watching him leave.

He doesn’t remember her name, or her face, or the name she gave him; but he can never forget the snow, and the tears, and the blanket. They haunt him now, as they did when he was young - specters of the last time he was loved, a remnant of a life seeped in nightmares. 

“The Youth Academy.”

When he arrived at the temple, deep in the ice-covered mountains of the Mirialan Youth Academy, he cried for his mother throughout the night. “You will forget in time,” the teachers told him, soothing him through the deep gasping breaths, “In time this will be home.” But it never was. As his tearful nights stretched into tearful weeks, the Teachers grew impatient, “Your actions reflect on all of us,” they would hiss, pulling his head back by the hair to wipe the tears from his eyes with vicious hands, “What do you bring to our culture, to our people, with your tears and whining for a life that meant nothing?”

As they grew increasingly more frustrated, Fein grew afraid of their cruel worlds and harsh hands and, as any child does, learned to hide his tears and his nightmares. When he couldn’t hold them back he would run, hiding himself around corners and through doors, until he’d found a way to the very heights of the Academy.

But the soaring towers didn’t scare him, they exhilarated him. He’d found a place to love in this new world of anger and pain, and soon, he would find any excuse to escape to his refuge. When the deep hours of the night would fall, and the halls of the Academy would grow silent - alone, he would climb to the rafters and let himself feel, let himself cry. Alone he would sit, with none as his witness but the stars.

His nighttime wandering did not come without a price, of course, and it was in that first year that he earned his new name. Fein, the teachers called him after they caught him sleeping through the noon meditations for the third time, For the way you feign the rituals. They thought him lazy, thought him insincere, but the more he tried to explain that he preferred the light of the moon to the light of day for his meditations, the more they scoffed, and the more they punished.

Too young to know the differences, they said, Too young to choose. So, he stopped protesting, stop arguing, and Fein he became.

Angry and bitter, he learned to sleep only a few hours a night. Learned to regulate his breathing until the Night Ward finally drifted to sleep herself, and he could find himself once more at the roof of the Academy. He learned the stars by heart, mapping them in little doodles on his homework throughout the day, and dotting them in the sands of the practice yards with the staves he was supposed to be balancing. It was among those stars that he first saw the distant lights of the strangers’ ship – he watched it land in the early hours of the morning, when the sun had only just begun to edge the purples of the night light pink, and it was in those deepening shadows that Fein saw the Jedi emerge.

His mother had told him of the Jedi, of course. Every child on Mirial knew of the Force – their species was blessed with a deeper connection (more primitive the Masters would tell him later, but he far preferred the Mirialan view) than any other – and Fein had been creating stories in his head of these shining Knights for longer than he could speak.

Fein was the only child they took from the Academies that trip. The Teachers made sure of it. They shoved Fein into the Jedi’s lines - Different, they called him, Wrong. Surely one of yours.

The Jedi waved a tool in front of Fein’s face and nodded, before scooping him up. Ours, the Master murmured into Fein’s hair, and Fein let his hands scrunch just a little harder on his hard canvas traveling cloak.

Ours, the Master’s companion whispered, reaching out a hand to smooth his hair at the back of his neck, as he locked eyes with her’s and refused to blink.

Theirs, Fein let the word burn into his mind, etched in the only stars he’d ever known, as they carried him onto a ship.

“Coruscant.”

His life improved dramatically at the Jedi Temple.

His creche mother noticed his sleep patterns and let him nap during the day, sitting with him during the nights and teaching him how to regulate his breath and let his mind sink into meditative patterns. As he grew, she taught him to harness his anger at his treatment at the hands of the Teachers of Mirial, and reminded him that no matter how much he wanted to blame her, his mother had no choice but to let him leave her.

On Coruscant, Fein distinguished himself as a strong fighter – agile and intuitive, he excelled in the physical side of youngling training. His affinity for clambering up to heights that gave most pause gained him a reputation for recklessness that he hardly sought to dissuade.

His force abilities; however, failed to develop. Where the rest of his Youngling clan was learning to harness minor skills like levitation and control, Fein could barely make a pebble wobble in the dust. “A late bloomer,” his creche mother would soothe in her words made of syrup and honey, “Not all are Masters at first try.” But Fein was impatient, and tired of being the failure.

When his clan were given the title of padawan, Fein begged – pleaded – to be given the same. There must be someone, he argued, anyone who would take a Padawan like him. Finally, a knight stepped forward, took pity on his pleas, and as she reached out to smooth the hairs at the back of his neck in her cool touch he felt the words once more – ours.

Hers, He met her eyes, and knew she would never let him down.

Hers. She kept his hands steady when, months later, the force still would not come.

Hers. He fought back tears as she tied another braid into his hair, another year spent learning, watching, waiting, for the talent that would not come.

Hers. She never wavered, never questioned – always patient in her faith in his abilities.

Hers. Side by side they fought in Wars he did not understand.

Hers. Back to back they circled in the temple’s broken doors when the Order came down.

Hers. She shoved him back, against a drape, and caught the red red red against her own body, and in that moment the Force screamed from him in a vortex of roiling spider colonies, all consuming flames, and deep shadows of coursing blue lightening. The red faded away as the Troopers ran, and his Master’s blood fell heavy on his hands.

Hers. He carried her, blood on his hands, from the screaming burning temple.

Hers. She smoothed the hairs down, against the back of his neck, with cold trembling fingers.

Mine, she murmured, voice choking on blood and death, Run.

A padawan does as his master commands.

“Nowhere.”

He wasn’t on any lists. His name wasn’t shouted by the Stormtroopers as “Wanted.” He was a low ranked Padawan with no visible Force abilities - why would he be counted a threat Oh, they would kill him if they knew him, of that he had no doubt, but when Storm Troopers burst through the door of the bar on the backwater planet he had fled to, he couldn’t find a reason to run, couldn’t find a reason to fight.

“You look like one of them,” one rasped through the breather on his helmet.

“Looks more like no one,” his friend laughed, but they clapped him in shackles all the same.

For two weeks, deep in the bowels of a ship Fein never saw the name of, it was the same routine. His world shrank to three questions, and the same pain.

Where is the Jedi Order? Pain. Who are you? Pain. Why do you wear Padawan braids? Pain. Where is the Jedi Order? Pain. Who are you? Pain. Why do you wear Padawan braids? Pain. Where is the Jedi Order? Pain. Who are you? Pain. Why do you wear Padawan braids? Pain. Where is the Jedi Order? Pain. Who are you? Pain. Why do you wear Padawan braids? Pain.

Finally, they realized what all the rest had already known. Fein Komo was no one, knew nothing, and felt nothing.

Useless, broken, and mute; they cut the braids from his head and threw him to the only place on the closest planet that would pay money for him.

“The Fighting Pits.”

Fein himself would have bet on his death first round.

When they drug him to the center of the sand filled arena and his first opponent stood above him, lifting his hands to the cheers of the crowd, Fein assumed he was bound for death. As his opponent’s sword caught the noonday sun in a sharp glint, Fein closed his eyes and thought of a cool touch and soft words.

Hers.

And as soft eyes and blood pooling in the corner of her mouth, the Force ripped out of him once more. One moment his opponent stood in self assured victory, his sword plunging down to sever Fein’s head from his body – the next, the man cowered against the walls of the arena, screaming and begging Fein for mercy.

Kill, the crowd raged, quick to turn on the Champion they had bet blood money on.

Kill¸ the chant echoed in Fein’s ears as he pulled aching limbs from dust.

Kill, the roar deafened as Fein watched demons swirl and twirl and gnaw along the former Champion’s skin.

Kill, it reached a fever pitch as Fein took the sword from the man’s hand, and slid it down between his ribs in one smooth movement.

Kill.

It haunted his dreams, as he slipped from meditation to arena, and back again - once again his reality slipped into routine, and the months passed unnoticed.

By night he lost himself to memories of laughter from high walls and springing from roof top to roof top. Under the stars he let himself run, bare feet slapping against cool marble, through the halls of the temple, only to careen into the waiting arms of his creche mother. Within the cool touch of the moon’s light he lost himself to hours spent training side to side, back to back, with his Master.

By day he forgot all but the roar of the crowd. As his skin browned in the sun’s harsh rays, he took life after life, soaking the burning sands with the blood of men who deserved death no more and no less than he. By the light of the sun he hacked away limbs, severed heads from bodies, and ripped hearts from bloody chests.

He lost himself to the routine, and forgot there was ever a time when the Force didn’t rip through him, leaving the cold taste of vomit in his mouth, as it devoured his enemies. He forgot what is was to be anything but a machine – to be anything more or anything less than the Champion of the Pits, than the Nightmare that Walks.

When they arrived, and stood before his cell one late sunset, they spoke to him of rebellions. Hope, they told him, and he laughed. Broken, empty, and bitter, he asked them what they hoped for.

Peace, they answered, but they knew as little of peace as he did.

He followed, when they opened the door of his cell, but only because somewhere, a cool touch and a quiet claim urged him to run. He followed, and when they landed on Yavin IV, one of them turned, smiled, and said, Home.

Home, he let himself feel the word, as he surveyed the broken ruin of a temple. He had never had a home. Each time he’d allowed himself a moment of peace, a moment of quiet, nightmares had come to tear his home from him.

But now he was the Nightmare.

Now, he would fight for what little home there was.

[softquietsteadylove]

can you write something where thena faints out of nowhere? some angst maybe?

love your fics, xoxo

Thena groans, waking up to the familiar feeling of an on-call bed under her. That shouldn't be right, though, because she's definitely supposed to be off by now. She's pretty sure she was headed to the parking lot.

A throat is cleared loudly.

Thena picks herself up, although she's dizzier than she expected herself to be. She sits up, though, looking down as she finds Gil's hoodie falling from having been laid over her. She looks up, and of course he's there. "Gil?"

He scowls at her.

Thena blinks at him. She's never seen that expression on him (at least not directed at her). "What happened?"

"You fainted, Thena," he informs her sharply, crossing his arms at her from the chair at the tiny on-call desk. "Just outright collapsed on the way to the parking lot. You're lucky I was loading up the bus when I found you."

Thena sighs. Not only is it embarrassing enough that she dropped like a fly, but also that she's sure everyone watched as Gil carried her back in here.

And that's besides him apparently being mad at her.

"I brought you back in on a stretcher, if you're worried about your reputation," he grumbles, taking his feet off the stool and slapping them down on the ground. "I wheeled you in because they're for people who are in need of medical attention."

Thena rolls her eyes, not one to take any sort of attitude lying down. "It's not a big deal, Gil. I'm sure they said I was perfectly healthy, no? Isn't that why we're in here and not in a room?"

"Actually, we're in here because I wheeled you here and asked Sersi to come check on you privately, so the interns wouldn't know."

Oh. That's...actually very considerate of him.

"And you fainted because you're barely cleared to come back to work, and you've immediately come into a 24 hour shift?" Gil glares at her--actually glares at her! "What were you thinking, Thena!"

"Well-"

"And I'm sure you haven't had enough to eat or drink," he looks at her, tilting his head to look at her as she holds the hoodie sitting piled on her lap over her blankets.

"I-"

"You're coming back from an injury, Thena--a serious one!" Gil stands now, apparently unable to take it any longer. "I mean, what if-"

"I'm sorry."

It comes out so small, almost like a squeak. Gil pauses in his anger and Thena is horrified to feel herself tearing up. She bites her lip.

"I know I shouldn't have," she admits quietly, toying with his hood in her hands. "But I...I couldn't take sitting around at home anymore. I couldn't take...thinking about it."

Gil softens, and he looks more like her Gil immediately. She looks at him and he nods, coming over and sitting beside her. He's nice and close, allowing her to absorb some of his warmth. "I think about it too. Nightmares?"

Thena shivers, "some."

He knows. He knows because he spent a good deal of time at her apartment while she was on leave. And while he was there, more than once he had to wake her up from a dream of being stuck under that car again. He'd had a few while sleeping on her couch.

Gil takes the hoodie from her hands, and her face flashes horror at the thought of him taking it away from her. He wraps it around her shoulders, though, pulling her to lean against him. "I'm sorry I yelled."

Thena allows herself the small moment, nuzzling her face against his chest. "No, I'm sorry. I remember how I felt when you came in from a run and collapsed right in front of me. I would never want to do that to you."

Gil holds Thena to him, kissing the top of her head as she threads her fingers through his. "Thena, that was the second most scared I've ever been in my life."

She leans her head up, pressing her forehead into his cheek, "I'm sorry, Gil."

"It's okay, Sweetie," he forgives immediately, because of course he does. He presses a kiss to her forehead and looks at her, "you're off rotation, you know. You should lie down for a bit. I'll take you home later."

She could just argue. She could tell him that they can't always be driving each other's cars to work. She could say that she just wants to go home and curl up in her own bed for another 24 hours. She could tell him her godforsaken leg hurts, for that matter.

Gil helps lay his hoodie over her again as she lies down, her head on his lap instead of the pillow. She drapes her arm over his knees. She has terrible sleeping posture for a doctor.

"You should sleep too, baby," she mumbles, already half asleep again.

Gil is in the process of just that, crossing his arms over himself with his back against the wall. At least his legs are stretched out. "Way ahead of you."

Thena tugs at the back of his shirt, then shakes the pillow she's abandoning in favour of his big strong/soft thigh. "'Hind your back."

Gil smiles, leaning forward and sliding the pillow up behind his back and neck as far as possible, trying to disturb Thena as little as possible. "Thanks, Honey."