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possibilistfanfiction · 1 year

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I love any AUs you write! I love any canon you write! Whenever you write anything I'm so happy :) I know things are busy in life always so I'm waiting patiently and with excitement. Thank you

this is so sweet, here's something a little silly.

summary: "ava is quiet for a while. 'do you think,' she whispers, 'that we know each other in all of them?'

it's late and ava is drunk and you say things you mean, when it's like this. when the rest of the world is asleep and there's ava's perfume and the mountains. you say the truth quietly: 'i can't imagine my universe doesn't have you in it.'"

[or: in every universe, there's a lot of love. 5 small AUs, + 1 canon]

ao3

this is the golden age (of something good & right & real)

this i can tell you: when i came to your apartment for the first time, i recognized it. i knew, without knowing how, that i would never leave. these were the bricks you had been laying without knowing it; this was the path my flares had been lighting. it was the beginning of a wobbly and joyful and occasionally gross carrying on, learning to come home to you, marked and myself.

— jordan kissner, 'backward miracle', from thin places

it hurts, to hold death in your hands.

there's blood all over your scrubs and there's nothing you could have done differently; your hands are fast and clever and so is your brain. you've trained for so long for this, practiced for years and years, and still, you can't save everyone.

it's what ava tells you, after you've called time of death and after you have to tell a family that their son is dead, that the damage was too severe even before he was on your operating table, even before you'd cracked open his chest and held his shredded heart; he had died with you saying a silent apology, a prayer, a blessing. it's what ava tells you when she finds you in the attending lounge, tucked into a corner of the couch, your hands stinging.

'wanna hear a horrible platitude, dr. choi?'

you tuck your head into her shoulder, take comfort in the familiarity of her rose perfume and the starchy laundry detergent the hospital uses and the softness of her fleece quarterzip, ava silva, md, phd, facs embroidered on one side, department of neurosurgery smaller beneath. you feel her pulse beneath your lips on her neck, less of a kiss and more of a measure: 74 beats per minute, you count, healthy and normal and real.

'when has me saying no to that ever stopped you, dr. silva?'

she grins. 'someone very wise once told me: you can't save everyone.'

you huff, but it's not with any bite, and you follow along when she puts a finger under your chin and asks, silently, for you to meet her eyes. there are things you need to do, now that you're out of surgery and your shift is, technically, over: pick up your daughter from her tennis lesson; remember to remind ava to grill the zucchini for dinner you both keep forgetting is in the fridge; fold the load of laundry that you'd left in the dryer the night before; take your dog to his weekly canine good citizen class. there are things you need to do but for right now the only important thing is your wife, small and beautiful and brilliant, running her hand through your hair, scratching your scalp lightly, stilling her hand comfortingly there, the back of your skull. she rebuilds spines and you save hearts, or at the very least, you try; her back aches, all the time, and you have more grey in your hair every year.

when you had started your residency program here you had known you would be excellent at surgical innovation, at quick, precise sutures, at research; you hadn't anticipated, at all, how ava silva — brash and loud and deeply caring — had made all of that seem minuscule in the face of listening to a patient carefully, every single time. insignificant compared to the way she loves you, the way she has since before she had been so brave and kissed you one day in the stairwell after you'd saved someone. it's always a miracle: stitching someone's chest up, whole; kissing ava like it's the only thing you've ever wanted.

'i wish i could,' you say, softly, an admission and a hope.

'i know, baby.' ava kisses your temple. 'that's why you're the best in the world. that's why you do save so many people.'

you want to tell her no, it's because you love me. it's because you've given me a life and a home and a beautiful child and endless patience when i can't quite catch up, can't quite love as big or as loud or with the same abandon. you want to tell her so much, all the time, but she just cups your jaw and looks you calmly in the eyes.

'i know,' she tells you softly.

'i love you.'

she smiles, easy and delighted, just like she had the first time you said it, all those years ago, in the middle of a rainstorm in the parking lot after you'd jogged after her at the end of a shift, when you couldn't last another moment without saying it, without her knowing for sure. 'oh, bea,' she says, 'i love you too.'

you don't bother to change out of your new pair of scrubs, and ava seems to decide that's fine for her too. she carefully folds your slacks and sweater and puts them in your duffle, then throws her nice clothes in a messy pile on top. you roll your eyes but just for posterity.

she fishes your wedding bands out from the small zipped pocket on the side and puts hers on, then grins when she runs her thumb along your tender wrist and slips it onto your finger. it's raining again today, too, and you open your umbrella as you leave, make sure ava is completely covered. your shoulder gets a little wet but you don't mind. ava takes your hand in hers, cold and slightly chapped and real — so, so real — and you hold it too, easy: life.

ava silva, you read on the report, and then the details about her arrest. she has no priors and there's a whole slew of cases just like this judge superion continues to dismiss entirely — much to your delight — in the wake of so many protests. your job has been monumentally chaotic lately, but you're glad for it, glad you're able to do something.

you take a deep breath and comb your fingers through your hair with its neat part and clean edges, straighten the lapels on your suit, and set your shoulders: you will win.

when you open the door, ava perks up. she's wearing a t-shirt that says ACAB on it, with a picture of pigs behind, and there's both a small palestinian flag and a small bisexual flag taped on the handles of her chair. her hair, just brushing her chin, is kind of a mess, and she looks exhausted, but, still she smiles.

'you're my lawyer?'

you're a little thrown off by the question: you're young, but so is ava; you'd passed the bar with one of the highest scores in the state a few years ago and have been excellent ever since, offered countless partner track positions at various firms, but instead you've chosen to do work you actually care about; you've been building a rock solid reputation as one of the most gifted attorneys at the aclu for awhile now.

but you nod, offer your hand. 'beatrice, she/her pronouns.'

'sweet. i'm ava — which i guess you already know — any pronouns.'

you nod and make a neat little note on the report.

'okay, before you judge me for what i'm about to say, please know that i haven't slept in 36 hours, and i think i might be getting a pressure sore on my hip because i've had to be in my chair this entire time.'

you frown. 'that's unconstitutional. they're supposed to make sure you have accommodations under the ADA.'

'yeah,' she says, ‘well, if the police state actually cared about disabled people, we probably wouldn’t be in this jail, would we?’

you bite your bottom lip. ‘we wouldn’t.’

she shrugs. ‘anyway. i was just gonna say you’re hot.’

'oh.'

'don't read too much into it,' ava says. 'i'm tired.'

'understandably so. would it be more comfortable for you to move somewhere else? i can probably arrange it quickly.'

'nah,' they say, dismiss the idea with a wave of their hand. 'let's just get this over with, right? i mostly just want to go home.' their shoulders soften. 'thank you, though.'

'of course.'

'you really mean that, don't you?’

you know the weight of it. 'yes, i do.'

ava's smile is bright, tired, easy, especially for all of this. 'do you want to hear my side, or do you already know what you're going to tell the jury?'

'there won't be a jury,' you say, seriously, and then laugh when you realize ava was kidding. 'i suspect, in fact, that judge superion will dismiss all charges immediately.'

'whew,' ava says, 'thank fuck.'

'i do want to know what happened, though. if you feel safe and comfortable telling me. i can pull in mental health support if that would be helpful.'

'oh,' ava says, but then shakes his head. 'that's okay. you're, you know, you seem cool. in addition to being hot.'

'ava.'

'sorry.' she grins and you're already helpless against it. she tells you what happened, and, just like you suspected, ava had done nothing wrong, and, just as you've always come to expect, the cop assaulted her, certainly not the other way around. she also tells you that she runs community outreach programming for a grassroots disability justice organization, that she's a mario kart champion, and that she has a cat named serena williams — not necessary, but endearing nonetheless, and you don't stop her. instead, you take notes carefully and put your pen down when it's clear she's finished.

'well, i feel strongly that your case will be dismissed without any issue, although of course i can't promise for certain.'

'poor form, i guess. makes sense.'

'unfortunately, you should change your shirt before we go into the courtroom.'

'damn,' ava says, shaking her head ruefully, although she laughs. 'can i keep the flags, though?'

you shrug out of your jacket; ava probably doesn't have any spare clothes, and it's easier this way. you want her to get to go home as quickly as possible. 'you can keep the flags,' you say, and hand your jacket to her quietly.

'damn, gucci? i — i can't wear this. like, for real, beatrice.'

'no worries.' she still frowns. 'genuinely. it’s due to be dry-cleaned anyway.'

she squints. your suit jacket is deep green, linen lined with gold silk. it had been the first thing you'd bought yourself when you passed the bar, when you were just settling into your skin: tailored suits and crisp button-downs, comfortable, soft sweaters and loose cotton pants on the weekends. you cannot think of a single other person in the entire world that you would so casually let wear something so special, something that holds a lot of comfort and pride.

ava still looks skeptical but he puts it on, lifting with his arms to tuck it properly around his waist, and then buttons it so that the majority of his shirt is covered. 'thank you, beatrice.'

you nod. 'let's go get everything taken care of, yes?'

and you do: it goes as you'd both hoped and expected, and soon, you're walking with ava out of the courthouse. it's bright; you get your sunglasses out of your briefcase and ava grins up at you.

'well, will you let me take care of your dry-cleaning for your jacket as a thank you, at least?'

'i — it's my job. no need to thank me.'

'you have a dry cleaner you like, huh?'

you grimace. 'i do.'

ava's laugh is bright. 'okay, fine. but, dinner?'

when you hesitate, he reaches to touch your hand, just for a moment.

'i'm trying to ask you out. so, let me? if you want?'

you open your bag and get out a business card, quickly write your personal number on the back, and then hand it to her. 'dinner sounds wonderful, ava.'

you button and unbutton the top clasp on your perfectly pressed collared shirt, then run a hand over your hair that you buzz every week, precise and just how you like it. you’re not supposed to fidget but it’s no use: you set to retying your apron for the fifth time, and then somehow feel regret for the one small, stupid tattoo of a pringle you got, just above your elbow, blackout drunk, on a dare on your twenty-third birthday, even though it's definitely not noticeable among the rest of the tattoos that fill out your sleeve.

lilith scoffs. 'chef,' she says, already a bad start because lilith never calls you that unless it’s at the beginning of an insult. she leans casually against the perfectly clean counter. 'you don't even have hair to mess with, your shirt looks gay, the pringle is admittedly funny, and your apron is as boring and perfect as ever.'

'i have never seen you in the kitchen in anything but a black apron.' it's both incomplete and petulant, unfortunately, and only makes her smile bigger, teeth bared.

'you have a crush.'

'i have never in my life have a crush.’

lilith raises a brow.

‘besides, i don't have time.'

she rolls her eyes. 'that's a shallow excuse. i'm sleeping with no less than three people at any given time.'

you pinch the bridge of your nose; you feel a headache coming on.

'fine,' lilith relents, easier than normal, probably because you both are exhausted; opening a restaurant — even though you'd been the chef de cuisine at superion's before this, with its three michelin stars — is more work than you could've imagined. 'well, i'm going to go do literally anything other than witness you continue to be terrible at flirting, especially with ava. don't do anything i wouldn't do.'

'don't think that crosses too much off the list,' you say, and lilith laughs.

'night, beatrice.'

you wave in her direction as she heads out and check on the stewed lamb you'd been simmering — delicate, full of your favorite spices and scallions and cilantro. it's not fancy, not something you would serve on the menu — not in the same way, at least — but it's comforting. it's cold outside, and you hear the front door bang open and then a shit, fuck, sorry from the woman who is pretty quickly becoming your favorite person in the world.

'i'm in the kitchen,' you call out, which is probably unnecessary.

ava pokes her head in, windblown and red-cheeked, unwrapping her scarf, her hair half-out of its bun — beautiful. 'wouldn't expect you to be anywhere else,' she says, grinning. ‘you do leave sometimes though, right?’

ava doesn’t bother waiting for your answer. he snags a piece of a carrot you'd so painstakingly julienned by hand and pops it into her mouth, still smiling, and then comes to stand beside you while you do your best to not burst out of your skin. he puts his hand on the small of your back and her chin on your shoulder to peek over at the pot. 'hi,' she says, leans into you a little more. 'this smells incredible.'

it takes you a second to find your voice. 'it's the cumin.' you settle yourself. 'this is one of my favorite comfort foods,' you say, not much but, still, not nothing. and, like always, in a measure of grace, ava lights up at the offering.

'i can't wait to try it. thank you,' she says, so sincere, 'for making it for me.'

'i'm sure you have very important chefs making you food all the time.'

you feel her frown against your shoulder. 'well, a tasting menu, maybe. but that's work.'

'this isn't work?'

'is this on your menu?'

you resign yourself. 'no,' you admit.

she stands up straight, triumphant. 'exactly. listen, getting your wine pairings right is really important to me, but i'm not — spending time with you isn't work, to me, chef.'

'you can call me beatrice,' you say. and then, a beat: 'you should. it's not work, to make food for you.'

it's love, you know, but you can't bring yourself to say it, not yet.

ava's smile is soft and she nods, backs up and hoists herself up onto the counter behind you. it's a health and safety violation but you aren't actually open yet so you don't say anything, instead just let her kick her boots back and forth in the air a few times and shake her hair out of its less-than-successful bun. you turn to offer her a spoonful of the stew to try, hold your hand carefully underneath it, and bring it to her lips. she closes her eyes and then moans. 'beatrice,' she says, 'i swear to god, who i believe in now that that's been in my mouth — don't make a joke about that, okay — that is the best thing i've ever tasted in my whole entire life.'

it's so exuberant and genuine you can't do anything but laugh. 'an insult to the rest of my food, then.'

ava laughs too, hops down from the counter. 'no,' she says, 'all of your food is incredible. this is just —' she shakes her head, easy curls around her face.

'warm,' you say. 'it feels warm, right?'

ava tilts her head, eyes bright and soft. 'yeah. yeah, it does.'

you feel untethered, so you turn back to your food: perfect, and perfectly timed — like always, like you've never allowed yourself to stray from. maybe one day you'll be at home with ava, after a sleepy morning when your restaurant is up and running on its own, after you've let her cut your hair for you, after you've said vows in a garden and laughed when you fed each other cake — maybe one day she'll kiss you in the kitchen and you'll burn the eggs.

but for now: 'i brought something.'

'hmm?'

she fishes around in her bag. 'okay, we definitely can't put this on the menu, but i brought something i've wanted to open for a long time.'

ava hands you a bottle of wine, deep red and rich, and when you read the label you have to force yourself to not audibly gasp. 'leroy domaine d'auvenay les bonnes-mares grand cru?' you read the entire thing aloud like some sort of prayer, but ava understands.

'the 1993.'

'ava,' you say, 'this is an eight-thousand dollar bottle of wine.'

'sure,' he says, shrugging like it's inconsequential, like it's an offering that she's never second-guessed. '$8716, to be exact. but it was a gift, no worries.'

'i can — should i make something different? i have a beautiful a5 wagyu ribeye —'

'you made me something warm you love.' she smiles gently. 'i don't want anything else.'

'you're sure?'

'a cab is perfect with lamb, you know.'

'i do — yes, i know that.'

ava laughs at how seriously you confirmed. 'plus, i want to share it with you.'

all you can do is smile, really, small and private and into the collar of your shirt. you get down your favorite bowls — you had picked every single one by hand — and then carefully ladle some stew into them. you dress your favorite light fall salad and get out wine glasses and a bottle opener.

'do you want to sit in the restaurant, or just eat back here?'

'my back is solid today,' ava says, 'so let's eat in here. i know you like it, you weirdo.'

you roll your eyes but really you just want to kiss her. she chatters on about her day and very unceremoniously uncorks the wine, your heart skipping a beat because — 'is this going to be the best wine i ever have in my life?'

'i sure hope not,' ava says, grinning at you. 'because that would mean i've really got a very long, very boring career ahead of me if i max out now.'

you grant her a nod: it's how you feel about getting to eat some of the best food in the world.

she pours the wine and then hands you a glass; you watch, mesmerized, as she holds the glass up and looks at the deep, perfect red with a little bit of awe on her face. she brings the glass to her nose and you follow suit.

'the body on this is so beautiful,' she says. 'do you smell the peppercorn?'

you don't, not really, but she's so incredible you just nod.

'alright,' she says, smiling at you, and then raises her glass to toast. you do with a quiet, careful clink. 'to you, and this wonderful place.'

her kindness — constant, gentle, overwhelming, always welcome — fills you up. you both take small sips of the wine, and she swirls it around her mouth and then swallows. her eyes flutter closed and, even though this is definitely the best wine you've ever had in your life, you can't even think about it, can't look away.

she puts her glass down and wipes genuine tears, then laughs. 'okay, on to the lamb, then!'

you let yourself laugh too, let her feel emotional about something she loves without any judgement or recourse; you've cried over food more times than you can count, even lilith's — you're taking that to your grave.

ava takes a large spoonful of the stew and then groans when she swallows, wipes her mouth with a perfectly starched white napkin. 'holy shit, bea.'

the stew is wonderful, although you'd never say that aloud. 'yeah?'

'god, yes.' she lays her hand on top of yours — hers, with its smooth skin, unbroken; yours, scars from years spent in kitchens, one tattoo stretching up from your wrist. 'you're incredible. i hope you know that.'

you look down at your fingers, twine them together. you haven't even kissed her so you swallow down the words — but even that's warm, like the wine and stew, because one day you'll get to say them. you mean them already. 'thank you, ava. it has been — it has been a genuine gift to get to work with you.'

'not many can elevate your food so fantastically, can they?' she says, taking her hand away and pouring you both more wine, groaning again when she takes a bite of her salad.

you scoff but it's with a smile you can't wipe off your face. 'who even gave you this wine?'

'the pope.'

'no way.'

she laughs, loud and bright. 'definitely not, but i bet that threw you for a loop.'

you're sure you're flushed — from the wine, from the food, from ava — but you don't dignify that with a response.

'dominique crenn, actually. i helped with her wedding.'

'no fucking way.'

'better than the pope, huh?'

'way better.'

'don't you know her?'

you do, but — 'still way better.'

ava laughs. 'i think she had a little crush on me. i'm charming, what can i say?'

you roll your eyes. 'do all the chefs have a crush on you?'

ava grins. 'depends.' she leans forward, into your space, and you can't breathe. 'do you?'

you won't admit to having a crush, not aloud. you've worked all over the world in some of the most prestigious, intense kitchens. your hands have always been steady.

they shake now, but it doesn't matter when you bring one to ava's jaw and close your eyes and kiss her. she smiles into your mouth — you can feel it — and you taste the spices in the stew and the peppercorn in the wine and it's warm, everywhere.

'jesus fuck, beatrice,' ava says, her hands tugging on your hair as you settle between her legs. you kiss up her thigh and she squirms. and, like, maybe it's not the most ethical thing, but your clients are in europe and the kitchen ava designed really is beautiful. you'd put in the marble earlier this morning, finally finishing the toughest room of the project, and ahead of schedule at that.

when ava had come to see, you'd already sent the rest of your crew home for the day — admittedly, in a little bit of the hope that ava would, in fact, want to do exactly this — and so when she'd seen you in your cutoff tank and toolbelt slung low on your hips, you'd known exactly what you'd hoped for was, in fact, probably (definitely) going to happen.

'god,' ava says, her fingers in your hair verging on painful, desperate for you to stop teasing. she loves it, though, and so you pull back and shush her.

'be good for me, baby. be patient.'

'you saying that to me is not going to help,' she says, her head thrown back, and you can't help but laugh.

'this house is so gorgeous.'

'yes, yes, i'm a brilliant architect. let's revisit that after my orgasm.'

'you've already come three times.'

'you're my fiancé — don't want you me to come for a fourth?' she relaxes her hands, though, and smooths one through your hair, rests it along your jaw sweetly.

'i do want that,' you say. 'i also know how much you love teasing.'

she groans.

'but, for you, i'll make this concession.'

you redouble your efforts and ava is so sensitive it doesn't take long before she's coming again in your mouth, quiet this time, a release. she tugs you up after a few seconds and then wraps her arms around you; you settle between her legs and she rests her head on your chest.

'we should do that more often.'

you laugh. 'we have sex fairly often.'

'sure, but we're used to our kitchen. this was fun.'

'this was fun,' you say, back up a little so you can brush some hair from her eyes, sweaty strands from her forehead. you soothe a thumb over her cheekbone and lean to kiss her softly.

'can you believe we're going to be wives soon?'

it's been four years of loving her, since the first time you got hired onto one of the houses she'd designed; the first time you worked up the courage to set up a small picnic in a half-finished living room, timbers around and the sunset quiet and orange in the background, it had felt like all the disparate pieces of your world slid into place — ease, and peace, and happiness. you work with your hands all the time, rough with calluses, but you know have always wanted to be gentle. ava's smile lights up the room; it always has.

'yeah,' you say, 'i love you. i can't wait to marry you.'

she kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then your pulse point, and sneaks a hand down your chest, your stomach, to unbutton your work pants. 'i can't wait to marry you either,' she tells you, voice low and full of want, as her fingers brush the waistband of your boxers.

you nod, whisper the most coherent yes you can muster, and then she's touching you just how you love. the room is bathed in light.

you hop the fence easily, landing quietly on the other side and rolling to your feet, shooting ava a thumbs up that she may or may not be able to see in the dark. you set your bag down near the edge of the pool and then hurry to the gate, open it as quietly as you can so ava can come through.

she does, not bothering to be quiet at all, laughing delightedly. when you shush her, she just rolls her eyes. 'don't be such a buzzkill, bea,' she says. 'you, like, superhero scaled that fence. have a little fun.'

'i don't want to get in trouble.'

she looks at you skeptically. 'then why are we doing something illegal?'

'you're a bad influence.'

she scoffs, pushing her chair close to the edge of the community pool. it's the middle of the night, so there's no one around, no guards or security. 'i'm a wonderful influence.' she glances over her shoulder, motions for you to come closer. 'plus, you're, like, perfect. not even mother superion has any grounds to fuck with you.'

it's an unspoken truth, then, maybe: you don't want ava to get in trouble. but she genuinely doesn't seem worried about that. instead, she just takes her shirt off and then lifts herself to take her shorts off too, leaving her in her underwear. she waggles her brows at you and you do your absolute level best to not look at her chest, or the apex of her thighs, the soft skin and dark hair there. but you're only seventeen, and it's really hard not to, so you busy yourself with taking your shirt off too, try to fight down any embarrassment or discomfort you have in your binder.

but ava just smiles and squeezes your hand. 'i know you promised me skinny dipping, but why don't you leave your binder on? it counts.'

you don't want to fucking cry on this intrepid — and definitely mildly illegal — adventure ava had begged you to go on for her birthday, so you just duck your head. 'yeah?'

'definitely,' ava says. 'like, it's who you are, first of all, and anyway, when we're older, and you've had surgery, then you can take your shirt off, you know?'

'we're still gonna be skinny-dipping together then?'

'of course,' ava says with a laugh, as if there could be no other option for the rest of your lives but to spend them with one another, two years from now right after you’d had top surgery; twenty years from that — it doesn’t matter. you're young, and you've been hurt; you had nowhere to go a few months ago, when your parents had kicked you out with one duffel bag of your stuff. you had spent a few nights sleeping at the park but eventually you needed to shower, and you needed food. when you had — with a deep, deep cloud of shame — talked to your school advisor, shannon, who you trust implicitly with everything, she had directed you to this program, a group home for unhoused queer and trans youth. ava's been there a while, getting out of a horrible foster home she'd been in, and mother superion — kind without any pity; stern — had shown you your bed on the side of your shared room. you had smiled because ava had made you a clumsy little sign with your name on it and some stickers. you'd talked all night, and it wasn't hard to notice that she was beautiful, and funny, and really, really smart. it wasn't hard to want to be her friend. it wasn't hard, not at all, to love her.

you nod and steady yourself, take off your jeans without tipping over. 'i'd like that.'

ava grins. 'good,' she says. you help her, quietly and without any fanfare, transfer out of her chair to sit on the edge of the pool; you'd been practicing for weeks. she's had hard days, where her hands are cramping badly, or when her body wasn't regulating its temperature properly, but mother superion had been careful and urgent in making sure ava got everything she needed. ava had asked you one night, after a bad day, if you saw her any differently after it, and it was easy to tell her no, to tell her that she is who she is, and the person you've grown to know and love is whole and complete and annoying and amazing. they were easy words to come by, even if you were a little worried you'd say something wrong: you needed to say them. she needed to know.

the trees around you sway in the warm late spring breeze and the night is dark and full of stars. you spend a lot of time doing nothing with her, and it's fuller than your life has ever been. you watch, mesmerized too much to hide it, as ava unhooks her bra and lets it fall from her shoulders. her eyes are big and inky-dark when she looks up at you, and your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. you do the only thing you can think of in the moment, which is to canonball into the pool as forcefully as you can, which feels absolutely ridiculous halfway through but when you come up for air, ava is laughing and smiling and beautiful.

'that's your reaction to my boobs?'

'shut up,' you say, ducking under the water in your embarrassment. but when you inevitably have to resurface, ava is looking at you so softly. she holds her hands out and you swim over to her, make sure you're only in the shallow end so you'll be able to hold her up without any problems.

it's too much, when her body is pressed against yours and there's the moon and the way her teeth look. you feel her, everywhere, and you're horrified you might start crying, which you'd never ever live down. but ava can tell, and so she splashes you and then you're splashing each other, leading her over to the steps so she can sit and you can swim a little. eventually, you both tire, and you go through a practiced plan of making sure you can safely get ava out of the pool too. it goes off without a hitch and you dry off and slip your clothes back on, then sit at one of the small rickety tables set up by the pool, grass wet under your feet. you fish out a cupcake from your bag, slightly squished but red velvet, so ava definitely won't care. you get out a 1 and a 6 candle and put them in the top frosting, and then a light them with a match from a matchbox you'd gotten from lilith, which cost you two lunches and bathroom duty for a week but, for this moment, the way ava's face lights up in the small flames, it's worth it. it's so, so worth it.

'make a wish.'

ava closes her eyes, tight, for a few seconds, then blows out the candles. you insist she gives you the smaller half of the cupcake, and then you eat with your fingers, frosting everywhere, ava laughing the whole time.

you sit back and look up at the sky. 'i'm so glad i met you,' you say.

she's quiet. 'thank you, for this.'

i love you, you want to say. i think i'm too young to love you this way but i don't care. i will love you this way forever. thank you for loving me. i want to kiss you so bad i think i might die. 'happy birthday, ava.'

she winds your fingers together and it all smells like chocolate and chlorine. she kisses the top of your hand and then smiles, soft and only for you.

you hear ava from down the street, up the stairs, in the front door, and, finally, poking her head out the window where you're reading on the fire escape. you'll have to work more on your stealth training, you make a mental note.

'why are you up so late?' she asks, squirming out and then pestering enough that you scoot over so she can sit too. you can hear the halo's faint hum from here, which means that ava is probably a little drunk. she's so close and she smiles at you like you're the only person in the whole world.

you can't tell her that you can't sleep when she's not here, that you don't give a fuck about the halo most of the time other than that it's what's keeping her alive, it's what's needs to be kept safe so she can stay that way. you can't tell her that you missed her, even though she drives you crazy all day. you can't tell her any of it.

she doesn't mind, though; she's had too many shots and is also just too fond of you to be upset. she puts her chin on your shoulder. 'what are you reading?'

you flip to the front of the book so she can see the cover.

'oh, space. cool.'

'you can read it after me, if you like.'

'thanks, bea.'

'sure.'

'thought you might not believe in all this stuff, you know.'

'what stuff?'

she shrugs.

'science? space?'

'well, the beliefs you do have to hold are pretty weird. you're a gay nun and i'm like, i don't know, hot bi jesus. and there are demons? anti-angels, or something? wild.'

'i can't not believe in space, ava. that's impossible.'

ava just grins.

you sigh. 'i care to know how things works, and i care to know where harmful systems of people and power have told us otherwise.'

ava puzzles through it for a second. 'this is about you being gay?'

it's said so genuinely you can't do anything other than bark out a laugh, which makes ava dissolve into a fit of giggles and then hold up her hand. 'sorry, sorry. i'm drunk but i really meant, like — i care, you know. it's not a small thing.'

you shake your head a little, will the tears burning your eyes to not fall. you clear your throat and turn to a page you'd read and reread.

'there’s a variation of the ever-popular multiverse idea in which the multiple universes that comprise it are not separate universes entirely, but isolated, non-interacting pockets of space within one continuous fabric of space-time—' you read to her 'like multiple ships at sea, far enough away from one another so that their circular horizons do not intersect. As far as any one ship is concerned (without further data), it’s the only ship on the ocean, yet they all share the same body of water.'

she's quiet for a while. 'do you think,' she whispers, 'that we know each other in all of them?'

she swallows and it's not fair, to love her so clearly. but she soldiers on: 'because i'm so cool and, additionally, hot?'

'something like that.'

'i bet in another universe you're, like, a chef or something.'

it's a shift, and a bright one, pulling light out of nowhere like ava can always do. you think the halo chose her because she's the brightest person you know. surely god knew too. surely god has felt her. 'why? i'm horrible at cooking.'

'yes. you're also horrible at using your imagination.'

you roll your eyes.

'well, honestly, you're good with knives but mostly i think it would be hot. yes, chef, and all that.'

you can't do anything but laugh. 'you're certainly a troublemaker in all of them.'

'yeah, fuck the cops. fuck the state. fuck the man. anarchy forever. god is trans.'

'see?' you say. 'exactly.'

ava grins. 'good trouble, i'm sure of it.'

you feel it: kids and jobs and weddings to stress over and marriages to love, the whole world to learn. you feel her, everywhere. it’s faith and it’s truth: 'i'm glad we have good, exciting lives in the other universes.'

'of course we do.' she leans her head on your shoulder. 'and, right here, i have you, and this horrible little apartment, and all these stars.'

you kiss the top of her head, then clench your jaw. it doesn't work to stop your tears this time, and ava picks up her head and wipes them tenderly with her thumbs, her face close enough you can take in the little scar over her eyebrow, faded, and the perfect bow of her lips.

'ava, i —'

'yeah,' she says. 'i know, bea.'

'maybe someday, in this life. we'll live by the beach and hang out in the sun.'

'hang out?' she says, but she's crying too.

you shrug. 'time, with you. in all of the places i exist, that's all i want. i'm sure of it.'

ava brings her arms around you to wrap you in a hug. 'in this life too, yeah?'

'yes. in this life too.'

ava sits back, her grace evident even now. 'even when i'm using up all the hot water?'

'yes, ava. even then.'

she starts to fade, clearly, and so you help her inside and then quietly get ready for bed together. you climb in, the sheets cool against your skin at first, and then warm. ava has always been braver than you; she turns so that your faces are close. 'time with you is all i want too, by the way.'

you nod, stretch your hand out, palm up — supplication — and she rests hers on top of it. 'goodnight, ava.'

'sleep well, bea.'

you stare at the stars outside the window, infinite. ships in the night. you hold her life in your hand as you fall asleep; you dream:

#wn #wn fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #my babies. all of the worlds #multiverse? i guess!

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alwaysinstyle · 4 months

Text

A Long-Overdue RANT Girlies Appreciation Post

Tonight feels like the perfect night to tell you how much I love you all, and I apologize in advance for the length of this post.

~ Nina ~

My precious Pastel Woods outfit hype-woman who’s always ready to Style Carry™️ me onto the battle field, deceive the enemies with her iconic mermaid hair extensions and then KICK SOME ASS for the both of us. Darling, if your Pinterest board is any indication, you have me absolutely figured out and it is both hilarious and iconic. You are for real my Kenny-coded friend’s evil twin and I know without a doubt that you two would go full GTA mode on the NPC bad drivers to bring me an iced coffee (from ANYWHERE but the Bad Vibes Café). Speaking of which, I hoping you’re treating yourself to an iced chai, because you deserve it, you gorgeous and talented REAL author who I adore. Thanks for climbing up on stilts to give me a kiss on the cheek whenever I’m feeling down. Your constant kind words mean so much to me and yes, you did make me cry actual tears when you called me your IRL Superhero. Your dear Wal-Mart Taylor Swift sends all the love in the world.

~ Teri ~

Scary Teri, my favorite Ten Ferrets Stacked in a Trench Coat, my fellow road rage gal who loves screaming in the car as much as I do. I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate you for biting the bullet and being the Cartman friend with whom I can make THE darkest jokes and tell THE darkest stories (and, of course, exchange graphic jump-scare surgery pics) without scaring you away. At the end of it all, you still tell me I’m vibrant and resilient, and that warms my heart more than I can express. Thank you for allaying my fears of becoming a Cynical Asshole (formal diagnosis as you all know). Thank you for making me feel strong when I feel weak. I look forward to many, many more unhinged conversations and overly analytic beta reads of your spectacular fics. I do, in fact, still expect to receive a package containing the buckets of tears I have harvested through Hourglass.

~ Riley ~

My dearest WARRIOR, sword-wielding protector Riley, co-sponsor of the Style Carry™️ who makes me spontaneously combust with everything she writes. We come together to form one joint Whump Deity as the Queen of Injury Fics and the Queen of Sickfics, and I love that everyone on ao3 GENUINELY lumps us together as one being. I don’t blame them since we really do be sharing one brain cell. It kicks ass being each other’s target audience because even with our most self-indulgent shit, mark my worms, the other WILL be absolutely blended. Whenever I’m feeling down, you’re ALWAYS locked and loaded with lizard pics and not to mention graphic illness and injury for my viewing pleasure. Your fics, bedtime stories and sneak peeks that are ALWAYS tacitly solicited bring me such an incredible amount of joy. I mean it. It was the sweet siren call of OJV that brought me to Tumblr in the first place. I am so glad to have come to the dark side and to have become a RANT girly, and I owe that all to you. You are the heart of RANT, dear. Without you we’re just ANT, and ants aren’t even that cool. Thank you so very much for being the ultimate hype gal, for being THE world’s best commenter, for reminding me to take care of Ye Olde Flesh Prison when I’m being terrible about it, and for worrying about me when I’m too stubborn to worry about myself. Your support means the world to me, my dude. Our chats and headcanon dumps have actually been the grounding force keeping me sane (ironically, since we’re so insane about Style). Keep kicking ass and avoiding creepy pizza men, okay? I love you so much and I love being NOT normal together.

@1moreoffkeyanthem @asteria7fics @boxwinebaddie

All three of you, and everyone else on this crazy website who makes me smile, THANK YOU.

#rant girlies #rant park #okay i’m crying move along everyone #ilysm #you slay my dudes

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optiwashere · 10 months

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Asheera and Shadowheart touching 35?

Thank you for sending this one in, anon! Always happy to see it.

---

Touching 35 (Kissing their bruises and scars)~ who doesn't love Act 3 emotional hurt/comfort?

First to the marks on her knuckles, the ones from a shield crushed against her hand in the heart of battle. Shadowheart's hands marked by the House of Grief, strong but not able to hold onto anything. Not tonight, not in the bluish light of twilight outside the city.

Sitting on hard earth, Shadowheart refused herself even the comfort of the pillows she always carried with her tent and supplies. Asheera said nothing. She simply sat next to her by the fire.

"Come here," Asheera whispered, pressing her lips to bruised knuckles. "It's over."

"Isn't it just?"

She couldn't bear to even be within the city walls. While the others relaxed in rooms in the Elfsong, they camped out on the outskirts of Rivington. Just like a few months beforehand on a mountain pass with the same tree boughs overhead. Just like old times, before Shadowheart had known her parents still lived.

"Please," Asheera begged. She didn't pull on Shadowheart, instead waited. Held her hand in both of hers. "Come here."

"To let them go like that, isn't it a victory for Shar? The greatest one of all?"

Asheera found the marks where the Fidelians' necrotic touches seared black marks on Shadowheart's arm that held the Spear of Night. Reaching for her own magic, laying on hands with another touch, Asheera pressed kisses to each of the marks winding up Shadowheart's arm.

She needed no reminders of them, not on her body. That was not for them to touch ever again.

"If we had another way, we would have done it," Asheera said, "and Shar gave only two options."

Shadowheart pushed herself closer, enveloping herself in Asheera's body. Physically so small in comparison. "And if I chose the wrong one?"

"Then—"

"Never mind it." Shadowheart closed her eyes and leaned her head back against Asheera's chest. She sighed. "I can't sit here and pretend I don't hold my heart in hand. Fragile and pathetic."

Asheera wrapped her arms around her instinctively. "And you think I'd call you that?"

"Not with words, no. A look. Perhaps not today, or even in a year's time. A decade or two." Shadowheart looked up at her, eyes wet with something that she blinked away rapidly. "You'll notice. Eventually."

She spoke so matter-of-factly. It was clear to Asheera that Shadowheart thought she hid the pain in her words well. As if this was how things should be and how the world was meant to be laid before her, and nothing and nobody could convince her otherwise.

As if all worth had been stripped away.

Asheera lifted Shadowheart and turned her so that they stared one another in the eyes. Legs wrapped around her waist, Shadowheart bringing herself closer automatically. Her arms slipped under Asheera's but she refused to look up.

"We don't have to talk about that, not tonight," Asheera said, leaning forward to press a kiss to Shadowheart's forehead. She rested her cheek there, wanting to be closer but unable. "You will be at peace. One day. And I will be there to watch with a smile."

"Of course you say that now."

"Ask me again tomorrow and next year then." Asheera drew back, glad to at least see Shadowheart meeting her gaze. "That decade or two will be more than that, much more than that. I've already seen enough to know you are strong. Stronger than you allow yourself to believe."

"Simple to say, isn't it? When you're not the one who had to make that choice," Shadowheart bit back, her face scrunching up in invisible pain as she did so. She shook her head.

"It's true."

"And I still shouldn't have said that."

"You say what you feel, I can't expect perfection from you."

"Oh no? I would imagine paladins know the noble, proper way to suffer. I'll seek perfection in my prayers, so that I can be the good little penitent one." Shadowheart chuckled humorlessly, closing her eyes. She groaned in disgust. "Why am I even speaking? Every word is another grave I dig myself."

Asheera meant to lean down to press a kiss to her lips, but Shadowheart shifted and Asheera instead met the scar on her cheek. The one running up to her nose.

Their hold on one another tightened. White hair drifted free of its usual braid, no more strain or struggle.

"I need you to know that I want to know your fears and worries," Asheera said, "and that I won't abandon you because you feel. You are worthy of sharing your pain with others, and I hope you'll let me carry some of that burden with you."

Shadowheart didn't answer, but she didn't move either. Together they sat like that as the fire before them died into embers. Hours passed as Asheera stroked her hair and waited for a response, no matter how long it would take.

When Shadowheart's breathing evened out into the comfort of sleep, face nestled in her chest, she knew it would be some time before she would hear an answer.

To wait was a simple task.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #shadowheart #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart x tav #shadowtav #asheera x shadowheart #oc: asheera #my fic #anotheropti prompt fics #this got really long for a lil prompt fic lmao

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randomingoftherandomness · 1 year

Text

Part 3 of the Shangzhi Mob AU

For @xinxiaojie coz fam legit put up with my sick day fic word vomit marathons and deserves good things ✌🏼

Part 1 | Part 2

—

Thursday nights, in Ziyu’s humble opinion, are the worst nights of the week.

It’s not a Friday night which will mark the start of a weekend, nor is it Saturday nights that are firmly for parties and fun. It’s not even Sunday nights that signal the end of the fun times and a sober reminder to buck up for the week ahead.

No.

It’s a Thursday night. Couple that with the fact he has to attend family dinners on Thursday nights, and Ziyu is about ready to fight whoever invented Thursdays.

He dreads them. Dreads them for the weight of expectation they bring — how each and every single one of those in his generation has been made to recite their achievements that they’ve made in the week.

And guess whose ‘achievements’ could always never quite pass muster.

On this particular Thursday night, Ziyu makes sure to delay his departure from his uni dorms for as long as he possibly can that afternoon. It takes a call from his stepmom, a lady he never wants to disappoint, to have him grumpily slip into his shoes and grab his coat before he becomes too late for it to be appropriate.

When his cab pulls up to the front doors of Gong Manor, he notices a man he has never seen before climbing the front steps and into the Manor. Strange. He didn’t know they were expecting guests tonight.

“You’re here.”

Lady Wuji, in all her cashmere and wool sweater and pressed cream trousers comes gliding down the banister when he sheds his coat for the butler to take.

He smiles at her, greeting her with kisses to her cheeks and bending his knees so that she can properly reach up to pat at his head. Though in her early 40s, his stepmother carries herself with a timeless grace that she easily passes for someone a decade younger.

“Come, your father is waiting for you,” She says, slipping their hands together like she used to when Ziyu was small and nervous about Thursday dinners. Now, Ziyu is older and still nervous about them, but can’t show it. It’s nice to not have to feel shamed for it.

“Is it me he’s waiting for, or is it his emotional punching bag that he needs?”

“Ziyu…” Lady Wuji sighs.

Not wanting to upset her further, he plasters on a smile and darts in for another cheeky kiss to her cheek. That seems to set her a little more at ease and they walk together to the grand dining room.

“You’re here.”

“Father,” Ziyu greets. Running his gaze to the other three persons in the room, “Huanyu gege. Shangjue gege… And this is?”

“This is Yuanzhi. You can call him saozi.”

The stranger he had seen earlier stands, bowing before sitting back down. Ziyu tips his head in response, caught a little off guard by that. The man must not have been any older than him and he’s married into the family?

Saozi? He knows that Huanyu gege is betrothed to the daughter of the Song family, so it can only mean…

“Shangjue gege, I suppose congratulations are in order?” Ziyu asks, taking the seat next to Lady Wuji, who seats herself to Huanyu gege’s right.

Shangjue gege, smiles, placid to the casual eye but Ziyu knows this man for all the grief he’d caused him in his teens with all the comparisons he had to put up with about how Shangjue was doing better at school, how Shangjue is picking up the ropes to the Jue gang so quickly, look at Shangjue taking back his territories.

That’s one of his smug ones and Ziyu prickles with instinctive annoyance.

“Thank you, didi,” Shangjue gege replies, looking over at Yuanzhi. “We’ll be having our tea ceremony in a few weeks. I’ll be looking forward to drinking your tea.”

He mentally makes a note to be distinctively unavailable then. Gods above, Ziyu hates Thursday nights.

#my journey to you #my journey to you fic #gong shangjue x gong yuanzhi #gab writes stuff #guhhhh I smell daddy issues

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aylen-san · 2 months

Text

From the book of Finrod Felagund

Chapter 12: Meeting Beren

The day I met Beren, I saw not just a man, but a spirit of unwavering will and courage. His love for Lúthien was so strong that it overcame all obstacles, and his heart knew no fear in the face of the enemy. In his eyes I saw a reflection of hope and faith that was unshakable even in the face of death.

We sat around the fire and talked about many things. He told me about his travels and trials, and I shared my thoughts about the future. Our conversations made me realize that true strength is not in weapons or magic, but in hearts that believe in their dreams and strive for the light.

Maglor, when I think of Beren, I see him as an example to us all. May his courage and love be a reminder to you that each of us is capable of great things, if only we believe in ourselves and our loved ones.

Chapter 15: The Wisdom of Melian

Melian, Queen of Doriath, was a source of infinite wisdom to me. Her eyes saw deeper than most, and her heart was full of compassion and understanding. In her presence, I felt like a child learning the basics of life from her mother.

She spoke to me about the nature of the world, about how all things are connected by the invisible threads of fate. Her words penetrated to the very depths of my being, leaving traces of wisdom that I carry with me to this day.

Wisdom comes not only from books and teachings, but from the heart itself. Listen to your inner voice and it will lead you to the truth, even if the path is difficult and winding.

Chapter 22: The Memory of Finwë

My grandfather, Finwë, was an example of leadership and wisdom to me. His love for his people and his willingness to sacrifice everything for their well-being left an indelible mark on my heart. He taught me that true leadership is service to others, not the pursuit of power.

On days when I doubted my strength and decisions, I would remember his words and find comfort in them. He said that every soul has its own mission, its own destiny, and that we must follow our path, even if it is full of difficulties.

Maglor, may the memory of our grandfather be a source of strength and inspiration to you. His spirit lives in each of us, and his wisdom will help you find your way, even in the darkest of times.

Chapter 30: The Call of the Sea

Among the many sounds I have heard in my life, there is one that always evokes a special feeling for me. It is the sound of waves crashing against the shore. The Call of the Sea, as the elves call it, is a reminder of our origins and our connection to nature.

When I listen to this call, I feel part of something bigger than myself. It reminds me that our lives are a journey and that each wave, each ebb and flow are steps on the path to our true home.

When you feel lost and alone, listen to the call of the sea. Let its melody remind you of your origins and your purpose. We are all part of this great song and each of us has our place in its harmony.

---

These passages from the Book of Finrod

#art #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #tolkien #fanfic #maglor #kanafinwe #makalaure #books #reflections #call of the sea #finwe #findarato #finrod

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chidoroki · 1 year

Text

182 Days of TPN - Day 114

Chapter 114: “One at a Time”

Definitely more of a hassle traveling in such a large group, not to mention how much shorter all the younger kids are so they got smaller strides than those who are older. I feel their pain.

Add all that endless walking on top of the severe lack of sleep by constantly being on the lookout for potential enemies and these kiddos are beyond stressed out.

I guess one of the reasons why s2ep5 bothers me is because it shows the escapees struggling to find and maintain a decent stock of food, even though it makes sense since Yuugo didn’t exist in that timeline and therefore didn’t teach them how to properly hunt and gather food. It’s still real unfortunate things got switched up because I love how this chapter shows us that even the younger kids are capable of supplying resources for the family and not just there simply doing nothing. It’s also fun to see them be more knowledgeable than their older siblings in something.

Oh how I would’ve loved if we had one chapter dedicated to the children learning about so much from the bunker dads instead of a single page full tiny flashbacks.

With their level of confidence, I have no doubt the manga children could survive a whole year on the run after the shelter blew up, much unlike how their anime counterparts were fighting day by day. Anyways, this family is too darn cute with how much they care for each other. They certainly deserve those precious head pats from Emma.

My boy, I know you live up to your “sleepy cyclops” nickname, but please get some rest.

Leave it to our girl to always emit some positive vibes. Reminds me very much of her words from ch38: “as long as you’re alive and smiling, that’s all I need.”

Aahh I love how easily they can read each other. Ray didn’t even say that much to her this chapter and yet she just knows.

Preach it honey! And I must focus on her words so hard in these panels that I never really noticed the very obvious footprints alluding to her advice. That’s a nice touch.

To this day I still wonder what Ray was gonna comment back with, but danger is near and having him call upon Don to assist rather than anyone from GP (as they undoubtedly have more experience with weapons given all those years at the hunting ground) is so sweet.

I always see mentions of how people miss Yuugo, the entire GP resistance and Ayshe from season two way more than anyone who might mention Hayato & Jin and honestly, I’m just as guilty. I often forget they exist.. oops.

Favorite panel/moment:

Bless Sandy & Paula for carrying around our two injured boys during the whole trip.

The way Rossi & Mark warn them so casually with no urgency at all. No sudden yell or nothing, just a “oh btw, that might kill you.” It’s hilarious.

#the promised neverland #tpn manga #182daysoftpn #chidoroki used chatter

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intubatedangel · 2 years

Text

Awakening : Chapter 2

Only a week late for Valentines, but here it is. I will actually be taking a break this time to work on other projects. My current plan is to get a good 20k-30k words written before I return to the Anna Swift universe. Hopefully won’t be too long if I get on a roll.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this ‘little’ nugget, (3.8k words, I got carried away again), and that it will tide you over until I return.

Story Index

Required Reading - Code Red

Awakening

Chapter 1

* * *

It was early in the afternoon when a nurse opened the door tentatively. Carl immediately looked around. He'd spent the intervening time sat there, statuesque in his vigil, in a trance like state. He barely moved, but part of him was constantly alert for any alarm or change. Nurses came in often, but always with purpose. It had taken them only a few hours to get used to ignoring his presence. Most recently they had reduced the sedation again. It was the hesitancy with which the door was opened that drew his gaze.

She was young, her white tunic marking her as a student nurse. He raised an eyebrow at her as he tried to remember her name. "Err... Her parents are here. Um.. Sir."

Her flighty, nervous manner reminded him of who she was. "You.. You don't have to call me Sir, Tilly." He reminded her for the third time. He also realised how dry his throat was. "I'll be right there." He stood, closing the ring box and slipping it into his pocket as he did so. The door clicked as Tilly retreated, while Carl poured a cup of water from the pitcher on a rolling tray. Anna certainly wouldn't be needing it today. He swirled it around his mouth before swallowing, clearing his throat slightly. He leaned over Anna, laying a gentle kiss on her forehead just below the halo of small electrodes. "I'll be right back." He whispered. His hand brushed hers as he passed, heading out of the door.

Tilly was stood by the nurses’ station, offering hot drinks to the couple that stood with their arms linked as if to support each other. They weren't old old, early 60's but aging well. Anna's parents. Her father was a shade under 6 foot but had probably been taller in his youth. His broad shoulders told of a man accustomed to physical labour, though he was also hedging towards portly. A builder, who was starting to take things easier so that he could enjoy his retirement.

Anna's mother was of a height with her husband, with a willowy build. Her hair was a light blonde that made the few streaks of grey look like silver highlights. He knew from some of Anna's pictures that she would often wear it styled, but here it was bound in a simple, expedient tail.

Carl took a steadying breath as he came to a stop behind them. "Mr and Mrs Swift?" He asked. They turned towards him. "We spoke on the pho...oof" Anna's mother had gathered him into a crushing hug. She clung to him for a few seconds, then pulled away, keeping her hands on his shoulders.

"Are you okay?" She asked him, looking him in the eyes. It was clear that Anna had emulated her mother, who had also been a nurse for a considerable portion of her career. The way she not only checked on others first, without considering herself, but also looked for what they might not be saying, were identical to her adopted daughter.

Carl tried to say something, but his throat seemed to close, and he had to swallow roughly. Anna's father stepped in to help. "Dear, none of us are okay right now." He gently pried his wife’s grasp off Carl's shoulders, and reached out to give him a firm handshake.

"Sir." Carl found himself saying, pointedly ignoring the flat look Tilly gave him.

"Please, Carl, call me Colin."

Carl nodded, reaffirming the handshake.

"Diane." Anna's mother said, placing a hand on his shoulder again, barely restraining herself from giving him another hug.

They stood there for a few moments, until Tilly placed a pair of sleeved paper cups on the counter. Finally, Carl spoke again. "She's this way."

* * *

He'd seen her at her worst, when she was pulseless, bloodless, literally open, and utterly lifeless. Her parents hadn't. Where he was able to take comfort in how much she had improved in the last two and a half days, they were totally new to the situation.

Diane let out a strangled noise, between a sob, a gasp and a cry. "Oh, my baby!" She rushed forward, pushing Carl's chair out of the way with a quiet squeak. She leaned over the bed, reaching out and stroking Anna's hair. Colin was more hesitant. He approached from the opposite side of the bed, his gaze flickering to all the tubes and wires as he approached. He reached out, his hand hesitating until he looked at Carl.

Carl nodded. "It's okay, you can touch her." He said. "They've reduced the sedation. You should talk to her. She might be able to hear you."

Colin laid his hand on the crown of Anna's head, leaning close to whisper something, his thumb stroking gently. He looked at Carl "Is she....?"

"She'll live." Carl said, but he knew it was his responsibility to give them the full truth. "But... We don't know if she'll still be...." He looked down at his feet, his hands clenched on the bottom rail of the bed.

He broke.

It all hit him, Carl, the boyfriend. Dr Teague had processed it logically, and had contained the efforts of Roger and Trish. He suddenly understood why they had been so concerned, as his head dropped and he felt the tears overwhelm him, streaking down his cheeks to fall on to the floor at the foot of the bed.

He wasn't even aware of anything else until he felt hands pulling him away from the bed, pushing him down while still supporting him, until he landed in the chair and practically folded in upon himself.

"Carl...Carl." He finally managed to raise his head, greeted with Anna's mother. "I'm sorry. But you...you need to tell us everything. Everything that happened." Her eyes were hard. Filled with pain, made worse by the love she felt for Anna. But she had experience far beyond Anna or Carl. This was the best way, for all of them. To confront it, head on.

* * *

This time, Anna floated up towards that near consciousness. There was so much to take in. Quite literally a near lifetime of memories had returned to her. It would have felt great, if it weren't for the gaps. The best way she found to describe it was like a grand tapestry. Long, continuous, and detailed. Except some rogue arsonist had burned out parts of it.

She got flickers of context, but beyond that, the torched memories were gone. Pieces of herself that were nothing but ash. The biggest of these was right at the end, like a huge, obliterating scorch mark.

The last thing she remembered was a night, a lovely night, where her and Carl had shared an intense fantasy on the living room floor. After that, there was nothing but the sense of lost time. Her next memory was that feeling of utter wrongness.

She still didn't know what had happened. It must have been bad though. To have that significant a gap, and to still have that pain through her belly and chest. Wait... The pain across her chest came into focus as she suddenly realised what may have caused it. Oh shit... Did they have to resuscitate me? She started to piece more things together. The abdominal pain, it must have been some sort of trauma. A car crash maybe? She thought. It didn't fit though. Her limbs were basically fine, the paralytics stopped her from using them, but they weren't broken.

I didn't have a SCA. She thought. There wouldn't be much abdominal trauma there. She felt something though. Something significant, something that wasn't just beyond her grasp, but was intentionally being hidden.

WHAT HAPPENED! She wanted to scream. She could hear voices. Someone was there. Why couldn't she just ask them!

There was a small period of quiet. Not silence. Monitors and machines still beeped and bonged all around her. But she was alone. Please... Someone just talk to me.

She would have cried if she'd been capable. Instead, she was trapped within an unresponsive body, unable to communicate, left alone with nothing but her own thoughts. To some, hell is fire, brimstone and punishment. They have lived lives where true hardship is something that happened to others. They don't realise that the true hell is awareness, without a shred of agency. To know all consuming pain and fear, with absolutely no hope of doing anything about it.

She was wrapped up in impotent panic, surrounded by it, until something broke through. Three words, and a touch.

"I'm here Petal." A whisper. A hand on her forehead, rough and hard with callous. Yet so gentle, and so comforting.

Daddy?

Other voices. She recognised Carl's voice, but it was so broken. It hurt to hear him speak in such a tone. And then came her mother's voice.

"...Everything that happened."

Anna was caught. She hated to hear the pain in those voices. Yet she needed to know what had happened to her.

* * *

She was intrigued, but also apprehensive. It was a strange dichotomy. She'd wanted to know what happened, and now that she was going to get the answers, she was terrified of them.

"We had a patient. An OD. Anna recognised her. We...We couldn't save her. But her boyfriend...he...he followed Anna. She fought. God did she fight. But he stabbed her. Twice." Car's voice was thick, and she could hear him gasping as he tried to collect himself. Oh, how she wanted to reach out and hold him.

"We...We didn't even know. Somehow she tossed him over the railing. We thought he jumped. I'm so sorry. We didn't even think of her."

"You didn't have a reason to." Her mother said, so tender and loving.

"She... She might have saved herself." Carl let out a strangled groan. "We were about to leave the stairwell, and...and this hit one of the nurses."

Anna couldn't see, her eyes were still bound shut by the paralytics, but she felt a connection to whatever it was he was showing them. It felt ... more than significant.

"I gave it to her.” An image of the heart shaped necklace sprang to her mind. “Just a few days ago." His voice shattered, and her heart reached out to him as she heard his sobs. Slowly he seemed to regain control. "I found her. She'd lost so much blood. I thought she was gone, but she saw me."

More sobs. A distant whisper. "It's okay, keep going."

"Trish, the nurse, she went to get help. I held her, held her as she faded away. I'm so sorry. There was nothing I could do..."

It's not your fault. Anna thought towards him.

"It's not your fault." Diane said in a gentle tone.

It took him a few moments to collect himself, before continuing his recount of events. Anna simply listened. There wasn't much more she could do. Lying there, unable to show any kind of response to the information she was receiving, the details of the fight to resuscitate her. She felt his fear, and it fed her own fear, despite the fact her contained consciousness was evidence they had been successful in the end.

Then he got to the part that gave her all sorts of complicated feelings. "We...We couldn't stabilise her BP, there was too much bleeding, and the surgeon couldn't find it. We…had to open her chest." Carl's voice came close to breaking, thick with pain. "We needed to stop the blood flow by clamping her aorta. Once...Once I did that, I had to...I had to pump her heart myself."

Holy shit. She thought. He had my heart in his hands.

She didn't know what to feel. Terror, for one. She'd been so close to death that tearing her chest open was a good option. Yet. He had literally held her heart. Pumped it, manually. She had been more than willing give it to him emotionally. He had been forced to take it physically. How many times had she fantasized about that exact situation?

He was still talking. "They...We...were going to call it. It had been so long. And she wasn't responding." He paused. "Four seventeen. That was the time." Anna felt her father's hand tighten upon her own limp fingers. "I don't know if it was a delayed reaction to the drugs. Or if it was her. If she was giving us one last chance. But it worked. One last shock, and her heart started again."

* * *

She hadn't paid too much attention to the details of the following surgery. Carl's account had become dryer, as if he was reading a script, which made sense. He wouldn’t have been there for that part. At some point he had finished the story. She'd been too busy thinking about everything before that. All the steps he'd described as they battled for her life. Everything she'd ever dreamed of. Carl forcing air from his lungs into hers, chest compressions, defibs. Intubating her. Directly massaging her heart.

She was trying to reconcile that with the physical pain she still felt. The emotional pain she'd heard in Carl's voice. Fear of damage that might not be apparent yet. What kind of recovery she would have, and how long it would take. Thinking of the future made her nervous. What would her relationship with Carl be like? Would he still share their special interest, after everything he'd had to do to her? Would she still be into it?

Would it change the dynamic of their relationship? They'd had plenty of time before their revelations to be confident they were good together, but if either of them lost that element that had taken it to the next level, would they be able to get back to where they were? Or would they mourn that loss?

At least he isn't mourning YOU!

It was a fair point. It didn't totally stop her from dwelling on all those questions, as she drifted away. They occupied her so much she didn't even consider whether they'd pushed more sedative, or if she was slipping into a natural sleep.

* * *

It had been cathartic, reliving the events of that day. It had also been draining. Carl had planned to stay until well into the evening. He was broken out of a doze by Colin gently shaking his shoulder.

"Perhaps you should go home and get some rest." He said.

Carl looked at his watch, it was barely after 4:30 in the afternoon. The thought of his bed was compelling.

But Anna was here.

Colin could clearly tell what he was thinking. "It's okay, she's not going anywhere, and she'll have company."

Carl finally nodded, sitting up. He'd taken a more comfortable chair in the corner, letting Anna's parents take the bedside. "Do you have anywhere to stay?" He asked, knowing how something like that could slip through the cracks.

"We can sort a hotel." Colin replied.

Carl shook his head. "I have a spare room, you're more than welcome to it."

Colin and Diane looked at each other, having a wordless conversation, before eventually nodding simultaneously. "Thank you, that would be good." He walked over to his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder. She leaned her head against. "I'll see you later love." He told her.

Carl got his feet, flexing his knees slightly to get more life into them, and walked over to the bed. He pulled out the necklace, rubbing his thumb over the locket. He leaned close to Anna, lifting her head slightly to slip the chain under neck, clasping it and rearranging it so the heart shaped locket rested on her chest. He gave her another kiss on the forehead, then retreated with Anna's father.

* * *

The next few days fell into a routine, the three of them taking overlapping shifts by Anna's bedside, each of them getting some alone time for a few hours, but still having someone to talk to for a while. It turned out that Colin was a proficient cook, so even though all three were being emotionally eaten by worry, they had some good food to sustain them.

On the 6th day since they had nearly lost her, Thompson had given the go ahead to remove the sedation. He'd wanted to give her injuries time to heal, just in case she had an adverse reaction to waking up. Colin had stayed for an extra couple of hours, but she hadn't woken and he had been forced to relent and head back to Carl's for some sleep of his own.

That just left Carl with her. It was another agonising wait. Logically, he knew it could take half a day for the drugs to wear off and for her to come around. Seeing no response after three hours was perfectly normal. Every minute that passed still gnawed at him. He fell into that trance-like awareness again, near motionless, but acutely aware of every monitor, every machine.

He sensed the change on the ECG as soon as it happened. Her heart rate quickening.

* * *

Each time she had risen to that semi-consciousness, she had spent a while fighting it, trying to move or open her eyes. Her body had remained frustratingly still every time. Eventually she would settle into another period of listening to the people she loved. She was never alone. She could feel them holding her hand. But if it was quiet, she would try to sort through her memories.

There were still the torched gaps, but as she explored she found other small pieces, fragments, that were missing. Sometimes it was akin to a scratched disc. She'd be thinking of an event, playing through it in her mind, then it would suddenly skip. In other cases, it was like a newspaper that had something spilled across it. Words that had smudged and become unreadable, images that were mostly clear, but had a chunk that was distorted.

There was something else too. Something that seemed to be after the great scorched hole in the tapestry, but before her recollections of this half consciousness. While she was being resuscitated. An empty space. A void. But she was within it. Feeling everything they did to her. A greater more present darkness waiting for her. There was terror. And anger.

Had it really happened? She didn't 'remember' it until after she heard Carl explaining the details. Was it just a dream? Her subconscious taking the pieces she'd heard and trying to process it? Or had she actually crossed into some sort of Limbo? She didn't know. She never would. It stuck with her though.

She had no idea how long it had been. She 'came around' again, rising from unconsciousness to her half-awake state. She began the usual fight, as if it was part of her routine. It took a few moments to realise something had changed. Usually, she effectively flailed against nothingness. This time though, she met resistance. It was thick, like treacle without being sticky. She pushed against it, and though it impeded her, she felt progress. It made her fight harder, made her throw more effort into it.

"Anna? Can you hear me?"

It was Carl! He must have felt something or seen something.

"That's it. You can do it baby. Just open those beautiful eyes for me."

She wanted to scream with exertion as she pushed against that resistance. Going further. Getting closer to something.

With a mental chime, she felt something connect.

The darkness peeled away.

* * *

He was already stood over her when he felt the tiniest twitch of her fingers. The monitors, ECG and EEG, both showed a huge increase in activity. She was almost there.

"Anna? Can you hear me?" He called. He heard the nurse outside poke her head into the room, then rush off. He didn't look around, his attention locked onto her face. Her eyelids rippled.

"That's it. You can do it baby. Just open those beautiful eyes for me." He told her.

Her eyelids fluttered. So did his heart.

They slid open.

* * *

The light literally blinded her for a few moments. She couldn't see anything in the bright expanse. Then things began to take shape. Her eyes adjusted to the light gradually. Over the course of a few seconds, it faded from dazzling to normal, but everything was still blurred. She had to blink a few times, each time the shapes resolving that little bit more. One shape in particular.

Carl.

He was leaning over her, the concern clear on his face. He must be wondering if she even recognised him. She blinked once more, her vision fully clearing, and stared into his eyes. With a push of will, she nodded ever so slightly, not even enough to lift her head off the pillow.

He smiled.

"There you are."

She nodded again, more to one side. It caused him to look at her, confused.

She twitched her hand. The one that once again had the small box in it. Gave another nod, with a slight frown, frustrated by the tube in her mouth.

He glanced down at it then back at her, his eyes widening. She nodded again.

"You...you heard me?" He whispered.

Anna nodded again.

Her gaze trailed to the ring as he lifted it out the box. He picked up her hand and she gave it a squeeze.

* * *

He looked between the ring and her eyes. Those wonderful chestnut eyes, and the mind behind them. She was still there. Whatever things she might have lost, that look, those small expressions, told him all he needed to know. Anna was still there.

His mind whirled. She knew about the ring. She'd heard him. In the space of a second all his hidden fears surged to the surface. What if things would be different between them? If the experiences of the last week changed their relationship. Changed their intimate life? Maybe even everything beyond that? He'd meant what he said to Thompson. He would not walk away from her. But would she still want him, if there were longer term problems with health, both literally and euphemistically?

He looked into her eyes. She was looking into his. Communication flowed, just like it had between her parents. They'd both been thinking the same thing. And they were both in agreement. They loved each other. More than anything else in the world. They would deal with it, together.

They nodded to each other.

He took half a step back, and went down on one knee, holding onto her hand.

"Anna Swift, will you marry me?"

She squeezed his hand. Nodded her head. And blinked her eyes twice, the yes they always used with patients who couldn't speak.

He couldn't help but smile, and he saw her lips do the same, as much as they could around the blue tube holder. He hurried to his feet, leaning close to kiss her just above it, his lips practically on the side of her nose. He held her, until she finally tapped him with her hand. He pulled away to see her glance down pointedly.

He grinned as he held up her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger.

#Anna Swift #Intubation #Medical drama #Resus Writing #Cardiophilia #ICU #CPR #Defib

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aajjks · 4 months

Note

mommy issues!JK

you and chaeyoung are what the kids describe as ‘friends with benefits.’ you both met in college, had a little fling that carried on until you both went your separate ways only to meet again as kindergarten teachers. it was awkward in the beginning but with your classes being across from each other, the two of you just grew closer and closer until that flame was reignited once more.

the last time you slept with chaeyoung was over a year ago since she was in a ‘situationship’ you had no interest in but stuck by chaeyoung’s side as a friend. when crazy was happening in her life, it almost felt as though you were the first person she’d call and you vice versa. so when tonight’s set-up, disaster, betrayal, or whatever happened you immediately phoned chaeyoung.

although your feelings for chaeyoung have sailed she can’t say the same. if she didn’t feel anything for you, you wouldn’t be on her couch with a glass of soju at 10:30 o’clock at night.

as you rant your feelings to chae, she’s hyper-focused on your pretty face. your beauty marks, your little freckles, and flawless skin that’s free of all the makeup adorned from earlier.

you’ve always been so pretty—too pretty.

“are you listening to me?”

“of course, y/n”

“what did i say then?”

“you said you feel like jungkook and nara set you up, which i think they did. i warned you about him, babe. i told you he was bad news”

“but what if i was just overthinking everything?”

“you aren’t. look—,” chaeyoung shows you her phone, an article from vogue’s official website has a picture of nara and jungkook side-by-side with the title reading: JANG NARA IS NO LONGER SINGLE!! WHO’S HER MYSTERIOUS SEXY BOYFRIEND?

“honestly, they look cute together”

“chae” you warn.

“whaaaat?? they do. i think so”

“she’s a horrible human being, chae. trust me. i think i’ll talk to him tomorrow”

“that’s why you keep getting hurt, y/n. you always let people in. thought i told you to stop doing that? do i need to remind you of what happened the last time you let a person with a dick in your life?”

chaeyoung knows that what she’s saying is manipulative and horrible. she’s comparing jungkook to your abusive ex ji-cheol but how else is she supposed to steer you away from him? he’s doing a great job by pushing you away on his own but to pull you closer, she has to lie. as your friend and future lover, it’s the only way.

“that’s harsh, chae” you say. “he’s already ignored me for a whole week and…i’ll just figure it out”

“you’re a smart girl, y/n. just listen to your intuition. it’ll never steer you wrong”

“you’re right”

*ding*

from mr. jeon:

I know that I fucked up, but please listen to me. I didn’t know that you were coming and this was supposed to be just a formal dinner… I didn’t know that you were invited here on purpose to be misguided… she did this on purpose, please please yn…. Please don’t leave me-I want to be with you

“is that him?”

“yeah”

“what’s your intuition telling you?”

“…ignore him”

“then listen to it”

and so you do.

it’s 12 in the morning and you’re just now arriving in your apartment. you toss your shoes by the front door and go face first into the couch. ‘thank God it’s sunday’ you think to yourself as you close your eyes and allow sleep to overtake you before you’re up again at 10 in the morning.

meanwhile…

“daddy wake up!” says an excited seol who’s jumping on his father’s bed before jumping onto him. “are we going to spend time with mommy today? please? pretty pleaseeee, i miss her”

~🫧

It was actually hard for him to come home last night because Nara wasn’t letting him go, he was quite drunk last night, but he didn’t do anything stupid thank God for that, but he was heartbroken when he came home and saw that they were no replies from you.

You’re really upset, aren’t you?

he would be too, if he were in your place, he would be upset too. But… How could you believe everything you saw?

He is a little angry at you because he told you everything about her and his relationship dynamic and didn’t just see the way she was trying to control him last night?

But then his trail of thoughts are interrupted when Seol comes into his room and starts jumping on the bed- Jungkook smiles looking at the only good thing in his Life.

“Hi baby.” Jungkook grabs Seol and begins to pepper his face in kisses, his baby is getting so big, his birthday is coming up soon and he’s so handsome and cute.

When he asks him about you, his smile, falters is a little.

“Ahhh you miss mommy? I do too, but mommy is a little angry with daddy.” He sits him into his lap- rubbing his eyes as Jungkook thinks of a way to talk to you.

“But don’t worry baby- daddy will get mommy back.”

______

Here he is- on a Sunday at 9AM on your door with some flowers and chocolates in his hands as he taps his feet on the ground while he waits for you to open the door.

It takes him exactly 3 knocks until he hears your door unlock- oh his heart is going crazy.

There you stand with sleepy eyes and yawning- until you realise that it’s Jungkook at your door. You gasp and he scratches the back of his hand before he pushes the flowers and chocolates in your hands,

“Yn.., what happened last night.. it wasn’t true. The articles are false because I’m not dating her and I did not know that you were going to be there. She did this on purpose and I don’t think that I should be the one taking the fall for this.”

“I think I deserve a chance to explain myself so please just wait for my explanation and give me a chance to explain.”

#ask: mi!jk

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steelthroat · 9 months

Text

I was laying in bed and I felt like something was missing, like the position I was in was wrong, that there was something uncomfortable about it. And then I understood what the problem was; the lack of my cat.

Sunny always sleeps with me, laying on my legs, making it impossible for me to turn or change positions while I'm asleep. She provides warmth and a certain weight that I now feel as something habitual.

Before having this cat, I had no such "troubles," and Sunny is literally one door away from me, so that's good... but that made me reflect on something.

I had a bird, she died months ago, she had her own biological clock that she followed regardless of us humans who lived with her. We always put a "curtain" over her cage so that the light wouldn'tdisturb her... and that also led to us barely turning the lights on or doing so quickly because we were mindful of her comfort.

The bird isn't here anymore, but after a certain hour, it still feels weird turning the lights on and not having to mind about the little bird who's trying to sleep. The lack of the (very big) cage and colorful curtain that draped it make the living room feel different. We don't have to constantly sweep up all the seed husks which she consumed, and there's a lot more silence in our home.

That little bird sang quite a lot, and I used to whistle back at her and even tho I wasn't particularly close to her as I am with my cat now or my old goldfish, it was still our way of acknowledging each other's presence. She sang because that was her nature or because the weather was nice, I sang back because I liked the sound she made and I wanted to participate.

Now that sound doesn't exist anymore and never will again.

And it's bittersweet really, it doesn't make me particularly sad, it's just something that I know will happen again.

One day, a day as far as I hope it'll be, my cat will also die and I will lose that distinct warmth and weight over my legs at night. I won't get to hear her cheerful meowing every time I come back home, I won't get to pet her soft fur, I won't have to remind the fact that I have to give her more food, water, change her litter or brush her.

One day I will lose a lot more than just that, I will lose friends, my parents, people who were more or less close to me. People who left their marks on me, changed my habits, my way of living.

And then those little habits, those little things I did in response to the existence of something or someone will be slowly lost or will change.

As I don't mind keeping the lights on 2 seconds more one day I won't be able to call my parents and ask them how they're doing.

As some of the places from my childhood, the people, the situations don't exist anymore so won't last the the things I'm living/going though as of now.

And that's a weird thing, not inherently bad or good... just weird.

I recently visited a place who carried a lot of trauma, and even though in many years things had changed, the core of the place was the same. But I'd like to think that I am one of the things who changed. Neither that place nor its people have power over me anymore, I went there probably one of the lasts times ever to get my closure and I got it, or probably I'll come back in a few years and see again what changed and what didn't.

And it is weird thinking how everything changes but also some things never really do. Does that make everything meaningless or does this give them even more importance? I genuinely don't know.

But that's something I really don't know if I will get ever used to or understand. But that doesn't matter, does it? I'll just have to live and see for myself what changes and what doesn't, what the things and people I interact with are gonna leave me with going forward.

#steel rambles #steel monologues #but no characters this time #this time is about me #I get morose at night #and it's clward it was free rambling I started with my cat not sleeping on my bed and ending with grief and changes in life #oh well

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silentlysurrenderingeagle-blog · 5 months

Text

Chapter 1: My Shiva: How we met(Continued)

"You know, Nids, I am an average student. I have never won anything. Look at my brother. He has a house filled with trophies from his cricket, basketball and interschool championships. I have none" I told Nidhi when in 12th grade.

"You are not exactly average. You scored a 90% in 10th. It isn't average. It is good" replied Nidhi.

We were waiting in a line to fill up our water bottles. We each were holding 6 bottles to fill.

"Really? Please tell my father that my marks were good. He was disappointed. So was yours with a 94%. We are average. The highest was 99%. We are nowhere close." I said as I uncapped a bottle to fill in front of the drinking water tap.

"I always wanted a hit love story. I wanted to be the hero of my love story. My love story should not be average" I added as I reached out for the second bottle from Nidhi's hand.

"You will. What about that Kunal? I hear he has good grades and he is interested in you" said Nidhi as she passed me the next bottle. A girl at the next tap turned to look as we mentioned Kunal.

"Nidhi, no names, please." I smiled at the girl next to me. She turned her attention back to the heavy task of filling water bottles.

"You know, I want someone like Shiva. I think Lord Shiva was once very much a human, walked the planet like us. He was muscular, he was a passionate lover, a great warrior and possessive with anger issues." I said smiling at Nidhi.

"Yes. You want someone who will Tandav around? Good choice, Parvati!" Nidhi chuckled.

I thought to myself. Tandav was a danceform, Nidhi. Not something to be ashamed about. He carried a tender feminine side along with his machoism. He is perfect.

**********************************************

"Siwet, we had formed teams. But now that we have a new member, we will have to put her in one of the teams" said Mouni looking at the man beside the pictionary canvas stand.

Siwet Tomar. He was tall and well built. He had a wonderful smile and an even wonderful voice. I was mesmerised. He looked at me as Mouni introduced me, the new member. I smiled sheepishly. He smiled back. And my heart melted.

"Sree, are you any good?" asked Siwet as he placed the pictionary board on the coffee table. He didn't get a reply. I didn't know the question was for me. Though he mentioned my name, I was not used to being called Sree, at least not after school. He looked up at me "Are you good at Pictionary?"

"I have played in school." I said. It came out more like a question. As if, I was asking myself if I am good.

"Okay. You are in Nidhi's team." Siwet said as he winked at Nidhi.

I understood that none of them were really happy to take me in their team. I have played pictionary. I can draw. I draw my own designs. I kept reminding myself as I shifted on the other side of the couch.

And the game began. Nidhi and Siwet took turns in rolling two dice. Nidhi got two sixes and she drew a card from the pile. The timer was set and she started drawing. A line with a circle on top. Then she drew a hand on top with something like a 'Mashal'. I guessed "Statue of Liberty". Nidhi pointed her finger on her nose, a gesture to show that it is right. And we won the round.

The game continued into the night. Our glasses were refilled. Her maid brought a platter of snacks. And we continued playing. I was assured that I am good at this game. But for me, it was fun. I was enjoying myself. It had been a long time since I had fun. I laughed, I smiled, called my opponents losers, 'booing' them whenever the time ran out. And finally our team reached the finish line.

As everyone in the room sat around chatting, I started arranging the board and packing them into the pictionary box. I could hear them chatting. There were names spoken whom I didn't recognise. They were gossiping about a new audition coming up and the candidates of the audition. I understood that most of them in the room were struggling actors, some less struggling as they made quite a name on social media. They had so much in common. They knew the same people. They had similar interests. They had similar hobbies. They were talking about their followers on Instagram. They were reading out cryptic messages they received on personal DMs from fans. They are celebrities. And I was a fish out of water.

I sat there looking at them for some time. Then, I stood up, intending to leave, when I noticed Nidhi in the kitchen. I excused myself from the crowd, still animated, hands up and down as they talked about shoots and auditions. None turned their head as I said "Excuse me". I walked to the kitchen oblivious to everyone in the room.

"Nidhi, do you need any help?" I asked as she arranged the plates on the kitchen counter. I saw Siwet at a distance, chopping onion on a board.

"Yes, please. Can you serve the pulao on all the plates?" requested Nidhi.

I grabbed a small bowl from the shelf and poured pulao in an upside semi-sphere on all the plates. Nidhi filled the matching bowls with sabzi and placed a bowl each on the plate. She added the chopped salad on the side, added a spoon on the plate and carried it to the dining table.

"I heard you are Nidhi's classmate. What do you do for a living?" asked Siwet as he cleaned the board and the knife.

"I have a small boutique in uptown. I am a designer." I replied. Unable to look at him, afraid that if I look directly into his eyes, he will be able to read them.

"I am looking for a place to rent out. Do you know of any such place?"

"I am looking for a tenant to rent out a spare room on the top floor in my apartment. I am running on a tight budget and the money could help" I said. I was sceptical at the possibility of sharing my apartment with a boy. What will my parents say? What will my father say? And how can I stay with Siwet? I can't always ignore looking into his eyes. What if he gets a hint of my racing hearbeat?

He didn't reply. He just looked at me for what appears to be a long time and then walked out to the dining room with two plates in both hands. "Come. Let's have dinner", he said as he walked to the dining room. My heart was still beating irrationally. I took a glass from the shelf, opened the fridge for a bottle of cold water, poured it into the glass and drank the whole glass in a single gulp. No not enough. I uncapped the bottle and drank directly from the bottle now till I finished it. I refilled the bottle and placed it back in the fridge.

As I got better control over my instincts, I followed the loud chattering to the dining room. The only seat available was beside Siwet. I hesitantly walked towards the empty chair. I could hear someone mention "Roadies" and "audition".

Arghhh... It was the same conversation that I walked away from at the parlor. It took me a lifetime to get to the chair. All along my head said "No. This is the beginning of the end. You can't give in now." I heard my head argue "It's just dinner. And be cool. No one will guess a thing. Have dinner, book your auto and go home".

I pulled the chair and as I was about to sit, I stumbled, and me along the chair went back. I was about to fall and hit directly at the back of my head. Just then a hand held the back of the chair and pushed it upright. I turned back and saw Siwet's left hand holding the chair. I smiled "Thank you. It would be a great end to a perfect evening if I had fallen. Thanks."

He looked directly into my eyes. I shivered, blinked my eyes and started eating.

Everyone waved and kissed good night as they left the apartment. The only people left were Nidhi, me and Siwet. Nidhi became busy tidying up the place. I placed my phone on the sofa and stood to help her out.

"No, Sree. It's not much. Have you got your auto yet?" asked Nidhi.

"Not yet. I am waiting for someone to accept. One auto cancelled." I said.

"Siwet, can you drop her tonight? It's not safe in an auto at this time. It's already 1AM." said Nidhi looking at Siwet.

Siwet nodded.

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star-wars-writing · 9 months

Text

Return of a legacy - Chapter 2

Alaenna stood at the threshold of the orphanage, the sun casting long shadows across the familiar courtyard. The air was filled with the scent of the blooming Jara trees, a fragrance that had always been a constant in her life. She took a deep breath, trying to etch this moment into her memory—the warmth of the sun, the gentle rustle of leaves, the distant laughter of children playing.

Beside her, Mareen, the woman who had been both her mentor and mother figure, placed a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes were a mix of pride and sorrow. "You've grown so much, Alaenna," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I always knew this day would come, but..."

Alaenna turned to face her, seeing the years of care and worry etched into Mareen's face. "I know," she whispered, her own voice trembling. "You've given me everything, Mareen. I wouldn't be who I am without you."

Around them, the other orphans gathered, their expressions a blend of curiosity and sadness. To them, Alaenna had been a sister, a protector, a storyteller who made their nights less dark. She knelt down, pulling the youngest, a boy named Tiko, into a hug.

"Take care of each other," she said softly, her eyes scanning the faces she'd come to love. "Remember, our stories are what bind us, no matter where we are."

As she stood up, her gaze fell on the small, makeshift training ground where she had spent countless hours under Mareen's guidance, honing skills she didn't fully understand. The worn practice droids and faded markings on the ground were testament to her journey from a confused child to someone with a purpose, albeit one she was still unraveling.

Mace Windu, waiting at the edge of the courtyard, watched her with a thoughtful expression. His presence was a stark reminder of the path that lay ahead. He seemed to understand the gravity of her farewell, his stance respectful, patient.

Turning back to Mareen, Alaenna felt a surge of gratitude and fear.

"Will I be able to live up to what everyone expects of me?" she asked, more to herself than to Mareen.

"You already have, in more ways than you know," Mareen responded, her voice steady. "Your heart, your courage, your desire to seek the truth... these are your strengths, Alaenna. Trust in them, and in the Force."

Taking a final look around, Alaenna felt the weight of her past and the uncertainty of her future. She was leaving a part of herself behind, but she was also stepping into a destiny that had been whispering her name since she could remember.

With a deep breath, she turned towards Mace Windu, nodding once. The Force seemed to swell around her, an invisible tide pushing her towards an unknown horizon. As she walked away, the orphans' voices rose in a chorus of farewells, their words carried by the wind, a reminder that no matter how far she traveled, a piece of her would always remain here, in the place she once called home.

As Alaenna turned and walked towards him, Mace Windu couldn’t help but reflect on the gravity of the moment. He observed her, noting the subtle straightening of her spine, the determined set of her jaw – signs of her resolve and strength. Yet, in her eyes, there lingered a hint of the child who had grown up among these walls, a reminder of her humble beginnings.

Mace had seen many recruits in his time, young beings plucked from various worlds, each carrying their own burdens and dreams. But Alaenna was different. She was a puzzle, a beacon of light in the Force that had suddenly flared into existence, disrupting the delicate balance that the Jedi had strived to maintain. He sensed in her not just potential, but a pivotal force that could shape the destiny of the galaxy.

Around them, the clone troopers of his battalion stood in respectful silence. They were soldiers, bred for battle, yet each of them carried a unique spark of individuality. Mace could see their curiosity, the way their eyes followed Alaenna. To them, she was an enigma, a Jedi unlike any they had encountered.

Commander Ponds, standing a little apart from his troops, watched with an analytical gaze. He was a seasoned leader, his experience etched into the lines of his face and the scars on his armor.

Ponds was adept at reading people, a skill that had saved his life and the lives of his men more than once. In Alaenna, he saw a mixture of vulnerability and strength, a combination that intrigued him. He wondered how she would adapt to the life of a Jedi, to the chaos of war that awaited her.

The troopers, too, were taken by Alaenna's presence. There was Hawk, whose sharp eyes missed nothing. He noted the way she held herself, the quiet confidence that seemed at odds with her young age. Beside him, Bolt, ever the tinkerer, was already wondering what skills she might bring to the battlefield. Could she be as fierce and precise as the Jedi they'd served alongside? Or was there something more to her, something that even the Force couldn't quite explain?

As Alaenna approached, Mace Windu stepped forward. "The journey to Coruscant will not be an easy one," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his years. "The galaxy is a complex place, fraught with dangers both seen and unseen."

Alaenna nodded, her expression resolute. "I'm ready to face whatever comes, Master Windu."

Mace saw in her not just a student, but a symbol of change, a harbinger of a future that was yet to be written. As they turned to board the ship, the clone troopers fell into formation behind them, a sea of white armor moving as one.

The ship's ramp closed, sealing Alaenna away from her past and propelling her towards a destiny that was calling her name. As the engines roared to life,

Mace Windu stood beside her, watching the planet shrink away. He knew that the galaxy they were heading into was on the cusp of transformation, and Alaenna was the key.

For the troopers, this mission was another in a long line of duties. But as the ship hurtled through space, there was a sense of anticipation among them. Alaenna was more than just another Jedi; she was a mystery, a challenge, and perhaps, in time, a sister-in-arms. Their journey to Coruscant was not just a physical voyage but the beginning of an odyssey that would test them all.

As the ship settled into the rhythm of hyperspace, the stars outside stretching into lines of light, Mace Windu turned his gaze to Alaenna. Her silhouette was framed against the viewport, her eyes fixed on the cosmic dance outside. There was a faraway look in her eyes, a blend of wonder and contemplation.

Mace approached her, his steps silent. “The stars are ancient storytellers,” he began, his voice a gentle rumble. “They’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the birth of heroes, and the whispers of destiny.”

Alaenna’s eyes flickered towards him, her expression softening. “I feel like I’m leaving a part of myself behind,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mace nodded, understanding her turmoil. “Change is the only constant in the universe,” he said.

“It shapes us, challenges us, and pushes us towards our destiny. You are stepping into a larger world, Alaenna, one that needs your light.”

She turned fully towards him, her eyes searching his. “But what if I’m not ready? What if I fail?”

Mace placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Doubt is a natural part of growth. Every Jedi, no matter how powerful, has faced it. Remember, it is not the absence of fear or doubt that defines us, but how we choose to face them.”

Alaenna listened, the weight of his words settling in her heart. “And destiny?” she asked. “Do we have a choice in it?”

“Destiny is like the river,” Mace replied, his gaze returning to the stars. “It flows, ever-moving, shaped by the landscape but also shaping it. We are both passengers and navigators. Our choices, our actions, they ripple across the galaxy, altering the course of the river.”

His words lingered in the air, a blend of wisdom and mystery. Alaenna felt a sense of clarity washing over her. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but it was hers to make. She was a part of something greater, a thread woven into the vast tapestry of the Force.

As they stood in silence, watching the endless expanse of space, a bond formed between them—a master and his apprentice, united by a shared destiny and a common purpose. In that moment, Alaenna realized that though she had left her home behind, she was not alone. She was part of the Jedi, part of the Force, and part of a story that was still unfolding.

----

Aboard the Jedi Cruiser, a world of steel and pulsating lights, Alaenna moved with cautious awe. The ship was alive with the rhythm of a thousand hidden processes, each thrum and beep a testament to the galaxy's technological marvels. She felt a flutter in her stomach, a mix of excitement and trepidation, as she stepped further into this unfamiliar realm.

They came upon Commander Ponds and his troops in the midst of a routine inspection. Ponds stood like a bastion, his posture rigid yet commanding, the distinctive markings on his armor speaking of battles and honors.

His helmet under his arm, his face was a canvas of experience, eyes that had seen the depths of war yet retained a spark of indefatigable spirit.

Alaenna's gaze drifted over the troops. Each clone bore the same face, yet she noticed subtle differences – a scar here, a custom marking there – tiny rebellions against their uniformity. They moved with precision, a dance of discipline and duty, but there was a camaraderie among them, an unspoken bond that whispered of shared struggles and triumphs.

As Mace Windu introduced her, her voice wavered slightly, betraying her nervousness. "I'm Alaenna," she said, feeling oddly small in the sea of white armor.

Ponds nodded, his expression shifting to one of mild curiosity. "Welcome aboard, Alaenna. It's not often we have Jedi guests." His voice was steady, seasoned, but not unkind.

The clones, upon hearing her name, paused in their tasks, offering respectful nods. One, with a painted hawk on his helmet, eyed her with a mix of interest and caution. Another, younger-looking, offered a shy smile, his armor less scuffed, more pristine.

As they continued the tour, Alaenna listened intently to Ponds discussing the ship's operations. His words were laced with pride, each sentence a tribute to the men under his command. She felt a growing respect for these clones, not just as soldiers, but as individuals, each with their own story within the grand narrative of the galaxy.

Later, in the mess hall, she sat quietly, observing the clones during their brief respite. They joked and laughed, a semblance of normalcy in their extraordinary lives. When one trooper, his armor adorned with streaks of blue, accidentally dropped his tray, the hall erupted in good-natured laughter. Alaenna found herself smiling, the sound unexpectedly comforting.

One trooper, noticing her alone, approached and offered a simple greeting. "Never seen a Jedi up close before," he said, his tone friendly. "You're different than the stories."

Alaenna chuckled. "And you're more than just soldiers," she replied, her confidence growing. "You're people, with your own hopes and fears."

The trooper grinned, a genuine, warm expression. "We're just doing our part, like everyone else."

As the cruiser continued through the vastness of space, its steady hum a constant companion, Alaenna found herself increasingly drawn to the world of the clones. Their unity, a tapestry of shared purpose, intrigued her, and she yearned to understand the individual threads that wove it together.

Each day, she made a point to join different groups of troopers during their brief moments of respite.

She met Striker, whose helmet bore a streak of red, indicative of his role as a demolitions expert. His hands, though steady when handling explosives, were surprisingly gentle as he shared his passion for miniature model ships, a hobby that seemed to bring him a peace the war-torn galaxy seldom offered.

Then there was Jester, so named for the grin perpetually etched onto his face. His jokes, often teetering on the edge of appropriateness, brought bursts of laughter, slicing through the monotony of their routine. He told her stories of the pranks he'd pull, his eyes twinkling with mischief, but underneath the humor, Alaenna sensed a deep-seated loyalty and bravery.

One evening, she sat beside Ghost, a clone with a penchant for stealth operations. His armor was adorned with faint, ghost-like patterns, almost invisible unless caught in the right light. Ghost spoke little, but when he did, his words were thoughtful, introspective. He shared his love for the quiet moments on the battlefield, where he felt most in tune with his surroundings, a stark contrast to the chaos of war.

In the training room, she watched as Bull, the squadron's heavyweight, sparred with his comrades. His strength was formidable, his strikes powerful, yet there was an unexpected grace to his movements. Bull laughed heartily when he noticed her watching and invited her to join. Hesitant at first, Alaenna accepted, and soon found herself learning the rhythm of their combat style, a dance of strength and precision.

With each interaction, Alaenna's respect and fondness for the clones grew. They were not just soldiers; they were men with dreams, fears, and a relentless spirit. She began to see the Force not just in grand gestures and epic battles, but in the small, everyday acts of these troopers – their camaraderie, their resilience, their humanity.

One quiet night, as the cruiser continued for it's fifth day in space, Alaenna found herself on the observation deck, gazing out at the sea of stars. She was joined by Blitz, a trooper known for his quick reflexes and sharper mind. They spoke of the stars, of the worlds they had seen, and those they hoped to see.

"It's strange," Alaenna mused, "how in a galaxy so vast, full of countless lives and stories, we can still find connections, something that makes us feel less alone."

Blitz nodded, his gaze still fixed on the stars. "In the end, that's all any of us want, isn't it? To find our place, our people."

Alaenna smiled, her heart full.

*****

As the Jedi Cruiser cut through the dark tapestry of space, Alaenna felt a torrent of unfamiliar voices and visions cascading through her mind. They came unbidden, a relentless surge of emotions and images that left her reeling. Each vision was a fleeting glimpse into another time and place – distant battles, faces she had never seen, whispers of conversations filled with urgency and fear. The voices were like echoes in a vast chamber, overlapping and intertwining, making it impossible to discern one from another.

Alaenna sat in her quarters, her hands pressed against her temples in a futile attempt to quell the storm within her mind. Her breathing was erratic, each inhale a desperate attempt to find calm in the chaos, each exhale a surrender to the overwhelming force of the visions. She could feel her control slipping, the boundaries between her mind and the Force blurring.

Outside her door, the clone troopers noticed her distress. They exchanged concerned glances, their usual banter silenced. Hawk, the sharp-eyed sniper, leaned closer to Bolt. "Something's not right with the girl," he murmured, his voice low. "Never seen the force users like this."

Bolt nodded, his gaze fixed on her door. "Should we inform Commander Ponds?"

Before they could decide, Mace Windu approached, his stride purposeful. He sensed the turmoil within Alaenna, the raw power of the Force that she struggled to harness. As he entered her quarters, the air was thick with the energy of her inner battle.

"Alaenna," he said softly, reaching out with the Force to soothe her turbulent mind.

She looked up, her eyes wide and haunted. "Master Windu, I can't control it. The voices, the visions – they're everywhere, all at once. I don't know what they mean."

Mace sat beside her, his presence a calming force. "The Force speaks to us in many ways," he explained, his voice steady.

"But this... this is unusual. It's as if you're attuned to a frequency that we're not."

In the corridor, the clones lingered, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. They were trained to face tangible enemies, to fight battles they could see and touch. But this was different – a battle of the mind and spirit, something they could hardly fathom.

Mace continued, his words imbued with wisdom.

"We must help you learn to filter these voices, to find clarity amidst the chaos. It's a journey we'll undertake together."

Alaenna nodded, drawing strength from his assurance. "I want to understand, to use this for good. But it's so overwhelming."

As they spoke, the visions began to recede, the voices fading into a distant murmur.

Alaenna's breathing steadied, her mind finding a fragile peace.

Outside, the clones watched as Mace Windu exited her quarters, his expression thoughtful. Hawk spoke up, his voice laced with respect.

"That girl... she's got something special about her. Something powerful."

Bolt agreed, a newfound admiration in his eyes. "Yeah, and she's got the best helping her through it. She'll be alright."

As the Cruiser continued its journey, Alaenna felt a cautious sense of hope. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges she could barely comprehend. But she was not alone. She had the guidance of Mace Windu, the silent support of the clone troopers, and an inner strength that was just beginning to awaken.

The voices and visions were a part of her, a connection to the Force that she would learn to understand and embrace. And with each passing moment, she took another step towards mastering the extraordinary gift she had been given.

In the dimly lit confines of her quarters, the shadows seemed to dance in rhythm with the turmoil that churned within Alaenna. Mace Windu, standing before her, observed with a keen eye that bespoke of his years of experience. His demeanor was calm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions and visions that raged within her.

"Focus on my voice, Alaenna," Mace instructed gently, his tone imbued with a firmness that commanded attention. "Let it be your anchor in this chaos."

Alaenna’s eyes, previously flitting erratically as though chasing the invisible specters that haunted her, now slowly met his. Her breathing, though still uneven, began to find a semblance of rhythm in response to his grounding presence.

"The Force is vast and boundless," Mace continued, his words deliberate, "Within it, countless streams of energy and consciousness flow. You are sensing these now, but without understanding, without control, they will overwhelm you."

In the corridor outside, the clone troopers, Hawk and Bolt, exchanged uneasy glances, their usual bravado subdued by the gravity of the situation unfolding behind the closed door. They were warriors, trained for combat and strategy, yet this was a battle of a different kind, one that their blasters and tactics could not aid.

Inside, Mace reached out, his hand hovering near Alaenna’s forehead. "Close your eyes," he instructed. "Breathe with me. Inhale the calm, exhale the chaos."

Alaenna complied, her eyelids fluttering shut, her chest rising and falling in tandem with Mace's guided breaths. The cacophony within her began to diminish, like the receding tide of an agitated sea.

"Feel each stream of the Force," Mace said softly.

"Acknowledge them, but do not cling to them. Let them pass, like leaves on a river. You are the observer, not the captive."

Gradually, the onslaught of visions and voices ebbed, giving way to a newfound tranquility. Alaenna's features, previously etched with distress, relaxed, her furrowed brow smoothing.

Outside, the clones watched as the door finally opened, and Mace Windu emerged. His expression was unreadable, but there was a subtle hint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"How is she, sir?" Hawk inquired, a hint of concern in his voice.

Mace offered a small nod, a gesture that spoke volumes. "Better. She's learning to find her way through the Force."

Alaenna emerged shortly after, her gaze clearer, more focused than before. The clones couldn't help but notice the change in her demeanor.

The overwhelming storm that had once clouded her eyes seemed to have calmed, replaced by a growing sense of purpose and determination.

As Alaenna walked past them, a quiet respect hung in the air. Hawk and Bolt exchanged nods with her, their gestures simple yet meaningful.

In the days that followed, as the Cruiser neared its destination, Alaenna's training continued. Mace Windu guiding her.

In the following days, the Jedi Cruiser became a haven for Alaenna's growth and understanding, a space where the mysteries of the Force were slowly unraveled. Mace Windu, a mentor both wise and patient, took upon himself the task of guiding her through the labyrinth of her newfound connection to the Force.

Their discussions often took place in the Cruiser's serene meditation chamber, a room suffused with the gentle light of distant stars. Here, surrounded by the tranquility of deep space, Alaenna found herself delving into conversations that transcended the physical world.

"The Force is an energy field created by all living things," Mace began in one of their sessions, his voice steady and sure. "It surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the galaxy together. It is ever-present, a constant companion in our journey through life."

Alaenna listened intently, her eyes reflecting the starlight. "But why do some feel it more strongly than others?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Mace considered her question, his gaze drifting momentarily to the star-studded void beyond the viewport.

"The Force speaks to us all, but in different ways. Some are more attuned to its whispers, more receptive to its guidance. This is why Jedi training is crucial – it helps us understand and interpret these whispers, to use them for the greater good."

In the corridors and communal areas of the Cruiser, the clone troopers couldn't help but notice the change in Alaenna. Whenever she emerged from her sessions with Mace Windu, there was a newfound clarity in her eyes, a sense of purpose that hadn't been there before.

They watched her with a mix of respect and curiosity, whispering amongst themselves about the enigmatic powers of the Jedi.

During their discussions, Mace also touched upon the practical aspects of the Force. "It is not just for combat or defense," he explained. "The Force can be a tool for healing, for understanding others, for connecting with the universe around us."

Alaenna absorbed his words, the concepts both thrilling and daunting. "And the dark side?" she ventured, her voice tinged with apprehension.

"The dark side is a perversion of the Force," Mace replied, his expression turning somber.

"It's seductive, offering power and quick solutions, but at a great cost. It consumes and corrupts, leading to a path of destruction and sorrow. This is why we must always be vigilant, always mindful of our emotions and actions."

And her training continued with backdrop of endless stars and galaxies, the training of Alaenna under Mace Windu took a turn towards understanding the deeper aspects of the Force.

Their sessions, once filled with discussions and theoretical knowledge, now shifted focus to include practical exercises aimed at deepening her connection to this mystical energy.

In the Cruiser's tranquil meditation chamber, a room suffused with soft, ambient light and the distant hum of the ship's engines, Mace began to guide Alaenna through exercises in Force sensitivity. The chamber, with its walls adorned with ancient Jedi symbols, seemed to resonate with the history and wisdom of the Order.

"Feel the Force around you," Mace instructed in a measured tone, his eyes closed in concentration.

"It is present in all things – the air we breathe, the ship that carries us, the distant stars."

Alaenna sat opposite him, her legs crossed, trying to attune herself to the invisible energies he described. Initially, all she felt was the weight of her own expectations, the pressure of the unseen currents eluding her grasp.

"Relax," Mace urged gently. "Do not try to grasp the Force. Instead, let it reveal itself to you. It is not a tool to be wielded, but a presence to be understood."

Gradually, Alaenna's breathing slowed, her mind cleared, and she began to sense something – a gentle thrum, a whisper of energy that ebbed and flowed around and within her.

It was like becoming aware of a subtle melody that had always been playing in the background, unnoticed until that moment.

Mace nodded approvingly as he sensed her breakthrough. "The Force speaks to us in many ways – through feelings, intuition, sometimes even visions. Learning to interpret these messages is key to understanding its will."

She learned to extend her senses beyond the physical realm, to feel the emotions and life forces of those around her.

It was an overwhelming experience at first, the myriad sensations flooding her senses, but Mace guided her through it, teaching her to focus, to filter the relevant from the noise.

As part of her exercises, Mace introduced light physical activities that intertwined with her Force training. In the Cruiser's spacious training room, he taught her to move with the Force, to let it guide her actions.

These exercises were not about strength or agility but about harmony and balance, about moving as one with the unseen energy.

The clone troopers, who often shared the training facilities, observed these sessions with curiosity. They were familiar with the physical prowess of the Jedi, but watching Alaenna's journey offered a new perspective on the mystical powers of the Force.

They saw her grow from struggling with the basic exercises to moving with a grace and confidence that spoke of her deepening understanding.

****

As Alaenna continued her journey towards becoming a Jedi under the tutelage of Mace Windu, her interactions with the clone troopers aboard the Cruiser evolved into something more than mere acquaintance.

Amidst the rigorous training sessions and deep meditative exercises, she found time to connect with the troopers, her genuine interest in their lives paving the way for a bond akin to brotherly affection.

During shared meals in the mess hall, a place abuzz with the clatter of trays and the murmur of conversation, Alaenna made a point to sit with different groups of clones.

She listened intently to their stories, their voices a chorus of individual experiences within the collective life of the Grand Army. Her eyes, reflecting empathy and interest, encouraged them to open up, to share tales of battles, of distant worlds, and of comrades lost and remembered.

One evening, she joined a table where a clone named Ratchet was explaining the intricacies of a starship engine to his squadmates. Alaenna, genuinely intrigued, asked questions, her curiosity shining through.

Ratchet, usually reserved, found himself animatedly discussing the mechanics, surprised and pleased by her interest. The other clones at the table watched this exchange with a mix of amusement and admiration, seeing the Jedi in a new light – not as aloof warriors but as someone who valued their knowledge and experiences.

During training exercises, while Alaenna practiced her lightsaber forms, several clones would often stop their own drills to observe. They noted her progress with a kind of collective pride.

On one occasion, when she stumbled over a particular maneuver, a clone named Striker called out an encouraging word. "You'll get it next time, Laenna!" His words, casual yet sincere, brought a smile to Alaenna's face, a moment of shared camaraderie.

These interactions extended beyond the structured environment of the mess hall or training room. In the quieter moments aboard the ship, Alaenna found herself engaged in candid conversations with the clones. Walking through the corridors, she might stop to chat with a trooper on duty, learning their names – Blaze, Hammer, Echo – and a bit about their personalities and dreams.

One night, she found herself on the observation deck alongside a clone named Ghost. They stood side by side, gazing out at the vastness of space. Ghost spoke softly of his love for the stars, of the peace he found in the quiet of the night shift.

Alaenna listened, sharing her own sense of wonder at the galaxy's expanse. It was a simple conversation, yet it bridged the gap between their worlds, creating a mutual understanding and respect.

The clones, in turn, began to see Alaenna as more than a future Jedi; they saw her as a friend, a comrade. They appreciated her efforts to understand their lives, to recognize them as individuals.

This sentiment spread throughout the Cruiser, a whisper of admiration and affection for the young woman who, though on a path to becoming a powerful Jedi, showed them a level of care and interest that was rare and heartening.

As the Cruiser approached Coruscant, the bonds that Alaenna had formed with the clones had become an integral part of her journey. These relationships, built on mutual respect and genuine affection, would come to shape her understanding of the galaxy and her role within it.

In the eyes of the clones, she was no longer just another passenger or a nascent Jedi; she was Alaenna, a person who had taken the time to know them, to laugh and share with them, a beacon of light in the often impersonal expanse of war and duty.

As the Jedi Cruiser emerged from hyperspace, revealing the sprawling city-planet of Coruscant, Alaenna stood transfixed at the observation deck's viewport. Her eyes, wide with wonder, took in the breathtaking vista before her. The planet, a colossal orb of gleaming metal and shimmering lights, seemed to pulse with the very heartbeat of the galaxy.

The sight of Coruscant was like nothing Alaenna had ever seen or imagined. Endless skyscrapers reached towards the sky, their tips lost amidst the clouds, bathed in the golden hues of the planet's artificial suns. The cityscape was a tapestry of light and shadow, a testament to the architectural marvels of a thousand cultures merged into one.

Neon signs flickered in myriad languages, while streams of airspeeders darted between the towering structures, their trails crisscrossing in a complex dance of organized chaos.

Alaenna pressed her hand against the cool glass of the viewport, feeling a mixture of awe and disbelief. "It's... incredible," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the Cruiser's engines.

Beside her, Mace Windu observed her reaction with a knowing smile. "Coruscant is the heart of the Republic, the center of the galaxy's politics and culture. It can be overwhelming at first sight."

Around them, some of the clone troopers, having seen Coruscant many times before, watched Alaenna's reaction with mild amusement.

They remembered their own first impressions of the planet and understood the awe it inspired in newcomers.

The planet's surface, a mosaic of city districts, each with its unique character, stretched out as far as the eye could see. In the distance, the Jedi Temple stood proudly, its towering spires a symbol of peace and order amidst the urban expanse. It was a beacon of hope and strength, visible even from their high vantage point.

As the Cruiser descended towards the planet, the details of the city became clearer. Alaenna saw sprawling parks and grand plazas, vast commercial hubs, and quiet residential areas, each a small world unto itself. The diversity of life on Coruscant was palpable even from above – a melting pot of species, cultures, and stories, all coexisting in this monumental city.

Alaenna's heart raced with excitement and a touch of nervousness. This planet, this city, was about to become a significant part of her life. It was here that she would continue her training, here that she would learn what it truly meant to be a Jedi.

As the Cruiser made its final approach, gliding through the layers of traffic towards the Jedi Temple, Alaenna felt a profound sense of anticipation. The life she had known was behind her, and a new chapter was about to begin. Coruscant, with its endless possibilities and unseen challenges, awaited her.

In her mind, the planet was no longer just a destination; it was a promise of adventures and trials, of growth and discover.

As Alaenna stepped onto the surface of Coruscant, a rush of unfamiliar sensations swept over her. The air was thick with the scents of a million different lives – the tang of exotic spices, the exhaust from the airspeeders, the underlying freshness of the artificially maintained atmosphere. The sounds of the bustling city were a symphony of life, a constant hum of activity that seemed to vibrate through her.

But beneath the sensory overload of the planet, Alaenna felt something else – a deeper, more primal sensation that resonated within her very being. It was as if the planet itself was whispering to her, echoes of a past long forgotten.

The voice, the same enigmatic presence that had guided her through her visions and dreams, surged within her mind with a newfound urgency. "Be wary," it cautioned, a whisper amidst the cacophony of the city. "Danger lurks here, hidden in plain sight."

Alaenna paused, her gaze drifting across the sprawling cityscape. The towering buildings and endless streams of traffic were awe-inspiring, yet now, they seemed to cast long, intangible shadows. There was a history here, a depth that she couldn't quite grasp, but which tugged at the edges of her consciousness.

Mace Windu, walking beside her, noticed her hesitation. "Is everything alright, Alaenna?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

She turned to him, a slight frown on her face. "I... I'm not sure," she admitted. "There's something about this place. It feels... familiar, yet alien. And the voice – it's warning me of danger."

Mace studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Coruscant is a complex world," he said slowly.

"It's not just the heart of the Republic, but a nexus of countless energies and intentions. Trust your instincts, but be mindful not to let them overwhelm you."

Around them, the clones who had accompanied them from the Cruiser watched with a mixture of concern and curiosity. They were attuned to the dangers of the galaxy, but the perils Alaenna sensed were of a different nature – intangible, yet no less real.

As they made their way through the crowded streets towards the Jedi Temple, Alaenna's senses remained heightened. The throng of beings from across the galaxy, the towering spires reaching for the heavens, the very ground beneath her feet – everything seemed to be imbued with a significance she couldn't decipher.

The voice in her mind, though cryptic, was a constant presence, a reminder that her journey was not just a physical one. There were secrets here, threads of a story yet untold, and Alaenna found herself at the center of it all, a key to unlocking a past that had been lost to the annals of time.

As the imposing structure of the Jedi Temple came into view, a beacon of serenity amidst the chaos of the city, Alaenna felt a mixture of relief and apprehension.

She was about to enter the heart of the Jedi Order, to take her place in a legacy that spanned millennia. And yet, the voice's warning echoed in her mind, a harbinger of trials and tribulations yet to come. Coruscant was more than just a city; it was a crucible in which her destiny would be forged.

As they approached the grandeur of the Jedi Temple, a sense of homecoming washed over Mace Windu. The towering spires and ancient stone of the edifice, bathed in the golden light of Coruscant's suns, stood as a testament to the Order's enduring presence in the galaxy.

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