#shuttle refresh

[catcake24]

Universal Misunderstandings

Summary: Based on @keferon's Mech Pilot Jazz AU. Jazz is a Mech Pilot who gets lost in space.

I wrote this in like... an hour, so I'm sorry if it isn't very good. I just needed to get it out, even if it's a little clunky. (Also I don't write Jazz and Prowl often, so they might be a bit ooc)

If you had asked Jazz what was the craziest thing he ever saw, he would say the moment the giant ships entered earth’s atmosphere for the first alien invasion. Or maybe when he joined the mecha program to fight those aliens, and saw the mecha suits they would be piloting for the first time.

He wasn’t sure if meeting a race of giant robots was any crazier than that, but it was at least top three now.

Being a mecha pilot was surprisingly routine in some ways, similar to the times he was a NASCAR driver in some strange ways. How he would check his machine before every mission, how he piloted it like it was an extension of him, and how painfully aware he was of the danger all around him.

Only now, instead of being at risk of crashing into another driver or spinning off the track, he was at risk of being killed by giant aliens with five faces and so many tentacles.

No one was even sure why the aliens attacked in the first place, only that they desired some sort of potent energy source that was only discovered after they drove the aliens from one of their mines on Earth - and what was found in them revolutionized their technology forever.

They called them Lightning Crystals, based on the blue glow and the little shocks they delivered. The crystals were rare, but extremely potent in energy unparalleled by anything on earth.

Exactly what they needed. Oh, sure for solving global warming and creating efficient technology of course. But they also were the missing element in the new M.E.C.H. program – giant robots which could be controlled by a single person, able to pack as much punch as the aliens. With the Lightning Crystals, they could power these giant machines and finally drive them from their planet.

Jazz was one of the top pilots, though his Mech Suit was focused on rescuing people from peril and buying time as they evacuated a city that would be attacked. It was almost once a month, or several times if they were unlucky – the aliens would land, attempt to get a foothold on their planet, but were driven off by the Mecha. Only to appear again the next time.

And so, the routine was set. Go out, punch some aliens, retreat and recover, and start all over again later. It wasn’t glamourous, but Jazz knew he was doing his part in protecting the planet.

That changed when the Space Program was initialized.

The director of MECH realized they needed some sort of foothold in space, to fight back before they landed on the planet and destroy the ships they had just out of striking range out in the void.

Jazz was selected as one of the first, as his smaller robot would be more ideal for space travel – or so they told him, he wasn’t totally sure if that was bullshit or not anymore.

And so, Jazz found himself being launched into space to fight Aliens. He wasn’t sure when exactly his life turned into an anime, but it definitely felt like one.

During the fight though, something went wrong.

Jazz had been thrown into one of their ships, there was frantic beeping and flashing, and suddenly he felt his whole body feel every sensation at once – and when he got his bearings and noticed the ship was in motion again, he realized, with a sinking terror, that he couldn’t see earth in any direction around him.

His worst fears were only confirmed when he was thrown off the small space shuttle, and couldn’t contact ground support after he crashed onto an unknown planet.

He had to take a few hours to himself, and screamed inside his mech suit’s protective armour. Jazz didn’t know when he passed out from crying, but he felt somewhat refreshed. Not any better, but… not exhausted.

All things considered… he would be alright for a little while. He found more lightning crystals on the planet, and had some rations he could stretch out for awhile. But he wasn’t sure what to do, without any idea where he was or how to contact home.

He set up his homing beacon, and just hoped again all odds that maybe it would be picked up by someone.

-

Prowl wasn’t a very social cybertronian, everyone knew that about him. He wasn’t anti-social, but he didn’t have an easy time communicating with others.

He would be too blunt, or maybe just not react the right way, and suddenly they were upset for reasons he didn’t immediately recognize. He got better at learning what was and wasn’t acceptable in the broad terms, but he struggled with specifics sometimes.

But Prowl was also brilliant – that wasn’t ego, it was repeated often enough that even he had to accept it. The Tac-Net within his processor was faster than any standard internal strategy computer, but that was only a tool. His processor was able to churn through all the data it gave him, and utilize it to its fullest extent with his own creativity and intelligence.

It made him one of the vital assets to the Autobots, and later to the combined cybertronian armies which fought the Quintessons – a walking battle computer, able to analyze a battle field and begin a counter strategy before the opponent even realized it.

So, his communication issue was merely a minor inconvenience in comparison.

Even still, he didn’t have many friends, and he was used to his own company. Prowl didn’t think on it often, just focusing on his task.

Prowl was alone while crossing a large stretch of uninhabited space, a spiral galaxy system which consisted of planets either barren or void of sentient life, when he received the ping on his console.

Unknown Energy Signature, Distress Beacon Detected. Prowl frowned as he read across his screen, because it didn’t make sense at first. He pulled the ship around for a second look before he lost the signal, and saw it was located on a nearby planet.

His Tac Net spat back possibilities when probed, ranging from “Quintesson Trap” to “New Emerging Sentient Life”, and he deemed the risk low enough to check at least.

Prowl wasn’t a social mech, but he wasn’t as heartless as some soldiers said he was.

-

Jazz didn’t notice the ship until it was almost right above him, but he was still in his Mech Suit luckily enough. Using the larger bulk of this robotic body, he tried to wave the ship down using his long arms with a burst of frantic energy.

The Mech robot was psychically linked to himself, and so it was easy enough to arrange the machine’s body to look like a crazy person looking to hitchhike on the highway. He didn’t care though, only happy that someone, anyone, had found him.

It definitely wasn’t human, there were basically no ships of this design and even if there were none had launched yet. Another alien race didn’t seem too far off either, whoever they were. But really, they could be made of goo and Jazz would probably hug them in thanks.

He only really started to realize that this might be a bad thing when the ship landed, because that thing had some pretty big guns. Or maybe those weird energy blasters he saw before, and this was one of the aliens trying to colonize his planet.

Still though, he swallowed his fears and put on a brave face – even if no one else saw. He strutted up to the large ship like he owned it, and… waited.

The ship door opened soon enough, lowering down into a ramp, and out stepped… another robot?

Jazz blinked, suddenly very aware of his body inside of the mech suit, when he saw it… or them?

He didn’t know what to think, seeing the human-like face and odd proportions of their body. Was this another mech suit of some sort? Why did it have wheels?

Jazz had to snap out of it, because the robot started talking to him.

“Dobbqfkdp,” they said with a stoic demeanour, “xj F ql xpprjb vlr ibcq qeb afpqobpp pfdkxi? F txpk’q xtxob qebob txp olylqfz ifcb qefp cxo lrq fkql qeb dxixuv.”

Unfortunately, Jazz didn’t understand a word of it. The robot was holding the blaster on their hip, obviously ready to attack if Jazz proved hostile.

Hesitantly, he turned on his communications radio and spoke.

“Umm, sorry my guy, but I don’t know what you’re saying? I’m a bit new around here is all,” he said with a somewhat nervous laugh. He almost wished his own mech had a face, so he could express how he wasn’t hostile.

There was silence for a moment, the wind blowing by around them and picking up a barrage of maroon plantlife that looked like flowerpetals. It was serene to see, but Jazz kept his focus on the robot whose eyes were widening in surprise.

They then cleared their throat, deliberately taking their hand off the gun and offered something. Jazz stepped forwards hesitantly, seeing it was a small chip.

The robot gave a forced smile, obviously trying to not appear threatening but looking awkward instead. “Jv xmlildfbp. Bah-weep-Graaaghnah, weep ni ni bong.”

Somehow, against what was rational, the phrase they said made Jazz relax a little. It was a ridiculous nonsense in English, but somehow it made the offer seem less unknown.

Hesitantly, Jazz accepted the chip and plugged it into his mech. His eyes nearly bugged out when it started interfacing with his systems, almost pulling it out, before seeing what it was doing – it was scanning the coding and language of his mech’s sytems, pulling them out into a strange dictionary. Soon, it was done with a PING, and the chip ejected itself.

Holy shit, he thought, they have a fucking universal translator, like Star Trek!

The robot’s hand was extended again, obviously asking for the chip, and Jazz gingerly placed it back in the robot’s open palm – somehow having five fingers, which somehow was one of the first things Jazz noticed right now.

He was really overwhelmed, okay?!

The robot inserted the chip into the back of their head, and Jazz had a sinking realization.

Maybe he was jumping the gun, but the way the robot’s eyes went dim briefly as it processed the chip, made Jazz think is this an actual sentient robot?!

“Thank you, I suppose this must be very confusing for you,” the robot then said, in perfect English.

“Ugh… kind of?” He said, shrugging slightly which translated to his robot around him. It was a reflex hard to break, even if it was unnecessary for his mech to emote.

“We’ve known about aliens, but this is the first time I’m meeting one that doesn’t want to kill me,” he said, with a slight laugh at himself. “Sorry, this is really weird.”

“Well,” the mech said, giving a soft smile which looked much more genuine, “I’m sure my kind will be eager to welcome another robotic race to the galaxy.”

Jazz’s mind went blank, as he had two sudden realizations.

Holy shit, I was right, this is an actual sentient robot who is actually talking to me, quickly followed by, they think I’m also a robot.

This… might be messy.

Despite this, Jazz just gave a nod, “Well, I’m sure the feeling is mutual!” He said awkwardly.

“Now… can you help me off this planet?”

The robot gave a brisk nod. “Of course, it’s not uncommon for new space faring species to have transwarping incidents like these. Come with me, my people will help you get home.”

Without any better options, Jazz hopped onto the ship. As he went inside, he realized the whole thing was scaled to the giant robot he was with. Scaled to his mech as well, conveniently enough.

“So, could I get your name?” Jazz said, as he finally was getting ahold of his anxiety. At least he wasn’t dead, and he was going home, so suddenly this was feeling a lot less intimidating.

“Of course, I’m Prowl of Praxus. You?”

“Ummm, Jazz. Jazz Wilson,” he said.

“Very well, it’s nice to meet you Jazz Jazz Wilson,” Prowl said, and somehow that phrase, which wasn’t nearly the craziest part of this situation, got a bark of laughter from Jazz.

“Just Jazz is fine. It’s nice to meet you too Prowl.”

He got a nod of acknowledgement, as the ship flared to life and prepared for takeoff.

Jazz might need to sleep for a decade when he gets home.

(Translation for Prowl Earlier: Greetings, am I to assume you left the distress signal? I wasn’t aware there was robotic life this far out into the galaxy.)

I also won't apologize for using the transformers universal greeting :P, I love that thing. Canonically, it's a phrase so ridiculous that anyone who says it must mean no harm - which is why Jazz somewhat relaxes when he hears it despite not knowing what it means.

I hope you liked this short little story (≧∇≦)ﾉ it's more just exploring the concept than anything.

Also sorry for using the term mech or mecha wrong, I don't watch enough anime ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing a Wedding Timeline

Wedding Day Timeline - (also known as a day-of event schedule) a detailed schedule of events for your wedding day. 

Wedding Schedule

Here are some factors to consider when putting together your wedding day timeline:

Get familiar with how much time each activity takes. Use sample timelines (like the ones below) to learn how long each wedding day activity typically takes. This will help ensure that you allot enough time for each activity. Talk to your wedding photographer to nail down a shot list. They should be able to provide a time estimate for each photoshoot and how best to take advantage of natural lighting. Your caterer, likewise, can provide crucial input on scheduling.

Get a head start. Your wedding schedule can start several days before the wedding date if necessary. For example, some people throw events leading up to the wedding day itself, like a rehearsal dinner or family brunch. Include these events in your timeline to get a comprehensive view of your wedding weekend.

Account for travel time. If you’re planning a destination wedding, be sure to include relevant flight and shuttle estimations in your timeline. If you’re planning a local wedding, but plan on navigating to various sites throughout the day, include those travel times as well. For example, if your bridal party is getting ready at an off-site location thirty minutes from the ceremony location, include the thirty-minute drive in your timeline.

Be as specific as possible. Rather than glossing over events with catch-alls like “wedding ceremony,” “cocktail hour,” and “wedding reception,” break down events into specific moments. For example, the wedding reception could include the wedding party entrance, the newlyweds’ grand entrance, a welcome toast, first dances, cake cutting, bouquet toss, garter toss, and a grand exit—the specifics are up to you.

Practice and adjust. “Everybody asks me, ‘Do we have to do a wedding rehearsal?’” wedding planner Mindy Weiss says. “The answer always, forever is ‘yes.’” A rehearsal ensures everyone knows where they need to be when, allowing you to stick to your timeline.

Pre-Ceremony Timeline

Depending on the size of your wedding, there might be plenty to schedule before the ceremony start time. Here’s a sample timeline:

Couple and wedding party get ready at 8:00 a.m.: Depending on the size of your wedding party and the complexity of your looks, hair and makeup can take several hours. Talk to your hair stylist and makeup artist to get an idea of how much time to budget. Remember to take a break for lunch at around 11:00 a.m.

First look at 1:00 p.m.: “There’s so much decisions about the first look,” Mindy says. “What is the first look? That is the first time you are seeing your partner that day. Some of my clients . . . want to do the first look—no matter what—when you're walking down the aisle. There are other clients that would like to do the first look earlier, for many reasons. They may be getting married later, so there’s not enough light. They want to get their pictures done [sooner], so they can enjoy the cocktail hour. Whatever your preference is, it must be captured.”

Pre-ceremony photo shoot with wedding party at 1:30 p.m.: Once your wedding party fully dresses up but before guests start arriving is when you can take photos. You may also want family members included in this photoshoot. “Often, we have the children come with the family so that they don’t get too tired,” Mindy says.

Pre-ceremony refreshments at 1:45 p.m.: Having refreshments available before the ceremony is a nice way to welcome your guests. “Often, we do not feed the guests at this, but we do offer them a nice cold drink, lemonade, if it's snowing out, some hot apple cider,” Mindy says.

Wedding Ceremony Timeline

“[In] current times the [couple] has really been customizing their ceremony based on what they feel they should include,” Mindy says. “As far as the order, it’s different for each ceremony.” Here’s what your ceremony timeline might entail:

Ceremony starts at 2:00 p.m.: Religious wedding ceremonies can take much longer than one hour, but the average secular ceremony can conclude in as little as fifteen to thrity minutes. “If you’re getting married . . . at a house of worship there are very definite rules that we have to follow,” Mindy says. Whether or not your ceremony is religious, Mindy adds, “it’s great to involve your officiant in designing your own service.”

Officiant and witnesses oversee signing of the marriage license at 3:10 p.m.: Your marriage license makes your marriage official. “The person that you choose to officiate your wedding is a very important decision,” Mindy says. “Not only does this person repeat vows, repeat prayers, repeat stories about the two of you, but they become instrumental in actually bringing the two of you together.”

Family photos and cocktail hour at 4:00 p.m.: While you pose for family portraits and take photos with your bridal party, your guests could enjoy appetizers and a drink before the reception begins. “That’s typically an hour,” Mindy says. “Sometimes, we’ll have a wine-tasting bar, which is great if you’re having a soft bar, and there’ll be somebody behind there who can really introduce the wine.”

Wedding Reception Timeline

The wedding ceremony has ended and now it’s time to celebrate. Here’s a template of a wedding reception timeline:

Wedding reception begins at 5:00 p.m.: “They’ve eaten; they’ve had a drink. It’s time to go in for the reception,” Mindy says. “We give them about fifteen minutes to all get in, find their table, get settled.”

Grand entrance and couple’s first dance at 5:15 p.m.: “We grab the couple,” Mindy says. “They come to the dance floor. They do their first dance. Often we invite the family or parents to join, and then we invite the wedding party and then everybody up there. So we have a captive audience, and everyone’s dancing.”

Welcome toasts at 6:00 p.m.: After the first dance, “we invite the guests to sit down,” Mindy says. “Sometimes there is a person of worship there that may do a blessing before they serve the first course.”

Dinner starts at 6:30 p.m.: If there will be toasts during the meal service, communicate your timeline with your caterer. “You want to avoid people serving food during the speeches,” Mindy says. “Not only is that rude, but it’s noisy. So let’s try to avoid that.”

Wedding party toasts at 7:35 p.m.: “My favorite part,” Mindy says. “I would do the . . . main host speech right after dinner. Because it’s nice that they can invite up [one of the couple] to dance after their speech. It’s very heartwarming.”

Dancing at 7:45 p.m.: “After that, it’s dancing,” Mindy says.

Cake cutting at 8:30 p.m.: “It’s time to cut the cake,” Mindy adds. “That’s a great moment for the couple to speak, say your thank-yous, not only to the hosts . . . but also to the guests who have traveled and have joined you in your celebration.”

Open the dance floor at 9:00 p.m.: Some of the best memories spawn on the dance floor. Make sure the videographer sticks around so you can remember the night forever.

Grand exit at 10 p.m.: Assign someone to prepare the getaway car for your send-off. Distribute sparklers to your guests for the classic, grand finale photo. Some wedding venues have a cut-off time that you will have to schedule around.

After-party at 11:00 p.m.: “Most recently, we have gone into after-parties, late-night food,” Mindy says. “This consists of greasy, junky food to absorb all of the spirits that you have consumed in the last five hours. It’s very optional. It’s not budget-friendly. But if it’s important to you, it’s really a fun addition to your celebration.”

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[shiani25]

If you're still taking them, I would humbly request a spot of jealous Megatron! Sure Starscream is difficult, but no one can deny how pretty he is. He must have 'cons (and even 'bots, who knows!) coming on to him all the time. And I think it should make Megatron territorial :3c

Ohh this one is good! Nothing better to spice things up than a little bit of possessiveness from Megatron. 💕

"How Not to Die on the Nemesis"

On the Nemesis, there were a few golden rules that every Decepticon—whether a battle-hardened warrior or a fresh-faced recruit—needed to know in order to survive.

1. Do not touch Soundwave’s screens. Ever.

2. Knockout’s finish is more important than your life. Accept it.

3. Never—under any circumstances—wake Megatron up from recharge.

But the most important rule?

4. Look, but DO NOT touch Starscream!

Why?

Because Starscream, the glorious, the sleek, the stunningly aerodynamic, was Megatron’s.

And Megatron was possessive.

Everyone on the Nemesis knew that Starscream was gorgeous.

He knew it, too.

His wings always gleamed, his plating was polished to perfection, and the way he moved—with such grace and confidence—made him impossible to ignore.

Decepticons admired him from afar, whispering about his beauty, his alluring presence, his—

But no one touched.

Because the last mech who tried?

Megatron threw him off the ship.

Through the wall.

Without a shuttle.

But Starscream, being the chaotic menace that he was, loved to make things difficult.

He thrived on teasing.

A lingering touch here, a sultry glance there, a suggestive flick of his wings—and suddenly, some poor fool thought they had a chance.

Spoiler alert: They didn’t.

Because Starscream wasn’t flirting for fun.

He was playing a dangerous game.

A game called: ‘Revenge on Megatron for whatever he did wrong today’.

---

Now, every seasoned Decepticon knew to stay far away from Starscream’s little mind games.

But today?

Today, a new recruit had joined the ranks.

And he hadn’t heard the horror stories yet.

Meet Deadmeat.

Okay, that wasn’t his real designation, but it might as well have been.

Deadmeat was young, naïve, and—unfortunately for him—very, very stupid.

So when Starscream started giving him attention, Deadmeat didn’t question it.

He didn’t stop to think, Wait, why is someone as glorious as Starscream interested in me?

No.

Instead, he thought, By Primus, I must be the luckiest Decepticon in history!

Oh, Deadmeat.

You sweet, sweet fool.

---

Starscream, as always, was in peak form.

He leaned just a little too close to Deadmeat during weapons inspection, his claws tracing along the new recruit’s arm.

“My, my,” Starscream purred, his voice as smooth as the finest Energon. “You’re quite impressive for a recruit.”

Deadmeat’s cooling fans whirred.

“Oh! Uh—thank you, Commander!”

Starscream smirked.

Across the room, Breakdown winced.

Soundwave recorded.

Knockout muttered, “Oh, this poor, poor scraplet.”

Because they all knew what was coming.

Starscream continued his performance, sighing dramatically. “It’s just so refreshing to have someone who appreciates me.”

Deadmeat nodded enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the death sentence he was signing. “Of course, sir! You’re amazing!”

Starscream beamed, but behind that charming smile?

Oh, he was plotting.

Because Megatron—his mate, his lord, his supposedly devoted partner—had ignored him all fragging day.

And Starscream?

Starscream was not the type to suffer in silence.

If Megatron thought he could neglect him, then fine.

He’d make sure his dear warlord noticed him.

And what better way than to provoke his legendary jealousy?

Starscream leaned in, optics half-lidded. “Tell me, soldier… have you ever been desired by someone in power?”

Deadmeat blinked. “Uhh…”

Across the room, everyone took a step back.

Knockout hid behind Breakdown.

Soundwave silently replayed the audio of Megatron’s past executions.

Because they all felt the shift in the air.

The sheer fury rolling off Megatron was palpable.

And when Megatron got possessive?

Oh.

Things got messy.

---

Before Deadmeat could even process what was happening—

BOOM.

Megatron slammed into the room, optics glowing with barely contained rage.

The ground shook.

Decepticons scattered.

And Deadmeat?

Deadmeat was frozen in place. Like a mecha-deer in the headlights.

“M-Mighty Megatron, I—”

That was as far as he got.

Megatron’s fist obliterated Deadmeat’s helm in one punch.

One.

Just one.

The recruit collapsed, utterly and completely offline.

The room went silent.

Starscream, still lounging with a self-satisfied smirk, let out a delighted purr.

“Oh, Megatron,” he sighed dramatically. “I was so worried you didn’t notice me anymore.”

Megatron glared at him, still seething with anger. “Starscream, you are impossible to ignore.”

[lil-leviathan]

Weaving with the trans yarn! It's so refreshing to just do plain weave. The same thing in the warp and the weft. Just turn your brain off and weave. One shuttle, no extra threads to catch.

I'm absolutely LOVING how the color is shifting back and forth in the weft. When the shuttle runs out it'll of course reset, but I'll enjoy this pattern while it lasts!

This stuff is too scratchy to be a scarf. Definitely going to be sewn up into something useful!

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Twelve - Oddities

Part Eleven

———

Intergalactic news was fairly upkept, they might not have a 24 hour news channel or two, but they certainly kept the vast community in the know as much as they could. Yet, the universe is a vast place and there were many inhabited planets, planetoids, and space stations, so news did travel but it certainly no longer travels fast to the edges. 

Closures of Cybertronian space bridges were very notable, travel was now significantly longer and unauthorized bridges were far more common than they had been in centuries past. Smuggling was on the up-tick and the intergalactic council certainly wanted answers. 

The answers they got certainly were not the ones that they did want however. Quickly shutting down most connections with both Cybertron and Quintessa while they still could.

Civilizations prayed, others rioted, and several set about to prepare their own planets for invasion. Some pitied the unprepared and others anticipated their downfalls.

Everything kept moving and turning, eventually everyone adjusted to life as it was. 

—

Slowly, one by one, they each climbed from their suits anxiously. Sunstreaker had re-secured his helmet and visor which effectively closed him off, Sideswipe chose to remove his completely and fuss with his hair, Breakdown had gotten out and perched himself on his own mechs shoulder while Hound was the last one out and nearly fell straight to the floor. 

It was the first time in over two weeks they hadn’t been in a space shuttle or their mech suit and the evidence was apparent to Jazz, “Jeez, you all look terrible.” Hound pulled his visor away from his face, blinking slowly and struggling slightly with the orientation of it all. Everything was so much bigger when you weren’t in a suit, “Prowler set up the refresher with a spot for us to wash up, go ahead and take turns or whatever you all need to do.” Footsteps almost shook the room as Prowl moved over and had a seat, shifting Jazz to his shoulder with a practiced ease as he seemingly pulled a tablet from no-where. 

“Oh, I’m showering first.” Sunstreaker was already backing up towards the door Jazz had gestured to, “Like hell you are.” Sideswipe just missed tackling his brother as he took off through the opening door, “Damnit, get back here!” Once he was able to get back to his feet, he ran straight into the now closed door and banged on it for a second before sinking to the floor, “God, even millions of miles from home he’s insufferable,” “I heard that!” Sunstreaker’s muffled voice was still incredibly loud, “You were supposed to, you asshole.” With a sigh, Sideswipe pushes off the ground and walks away from the door, starting to wander, “Whose place is this anyway?” He scratched at his stubble covered jaw.

Jazz leaned forward slightly, “Technically, mine, but Prowler gets the most use out of it. He spends more time in Iacon than I do and this place is much closer to central than his place.” He leaned against the side of Prowl’s head, finally removing his own helmet and brushing a hand lightly through his hair. Prowl didn’t seem phased by any of this, focused entirely on his tablet, Hound nodded slowly and lowered himself to the floor uneasily; “Yeah, so this is the free apartment you just get for fighting the aliens from hell?” Jazz chuckles lightly, “Guess so.” It was all confusing and concerning in a way, Hound really couldn’t understand.

Glancing around, the space was huge but it was made to fit mechs not people. Hound had to keep reminding himself that they were the only people around. 

Taking a breath, Hound cleared his throat almost painfully, “So, why don’t you spend a ton of time in Iacon?” The word felt so foreign to him, almost getting stuck in his throat, “Cause the Prime asked me to fight the Quints. Hound, our suits were designed for this fight, we were designed for this fight. These guys, they weren’t.” Jazz activates the magnates in his boots and gloves, lowering himself down Prowl with a practiced ease, everything he seemed to do around Prowl had so much ease, “You agreed to stay.” “I agreed to stay because I can see you plan to, part of our mission was to find and recover you.” Hound takes a breath, starting to pace, “And they said they’ll launch our relay satellite which means at least the potential of communication with home.” Jazz froze once he was on the floor, staring, “You have a relay satellite?” “Yes, of course. It’s on the Odyssey.” Hound glanced back and paused, staring at Jazz and remembering why pilot selection had been so selective on who was compatible with the one way trip.

Nodding slightly, Hound pulls at his assistant suit briefly before sighing, “Ricochet is doing good.” Jazz seemed to deflate, sinking to the floor, Hound remembers Rico had a similar reaction when the connection had been lost all that time ago. It was hard, losing one friend and watching the other fall apart because of it, “Focused on the job, you know?” With a bit of a nod, Jazz leaned against Prowl’s leg, closing his eyes. Hound nodded again before turning away to give him some privacy. It was a lot to take in. All of this was a lot. 

—

The shower had been hot and the clothes were familiar as their assistant suits were being decontaminated inside their mechs, clearing the cockpits of foreign bodies and bacteria, it was a normal procedure that was usually done by clean up crews back home but they’d redesigned the suits to do it themselves for this mission. Jazz was still grumbling about it.

Hound was now sitting on the table in the center of the room, on a rug while Sideswipe continued to run what could best be described as a towel over his hair. Sunstreaker was pacing around the edge of the table, trying to get a good view of the room and Breakdown was actively tracking the location of the Odyssey. The sun that Cybertron orbited was already starting to go down when they were all clean and their suits decontaminating, “The shuttle is only a few klicks from here, so it’s likely they moved it last night or while we were on the transport here.” Breakdown was scrutinizing the screen, “Don’t worry about your ship, you’ll have access to it tomorrow.” Jazz was back up on Prowl’s shoulder, he too having showered and changed into entirely unfamiliar attire.

”Our food is on the shuttle, so are our clothes and other things.” Sideswipe finishes, sort of lamely, still rubbing at his hair with the not-towel and frowning deeply as it wasn’t getting any drier, “Don’t worry too much about that, I said I’ve got a garden.” Hound tilted his head slightly, “Here?” “Yeah, UV lamps and all.” Jazz taps the side of Prowl’s head and says something that they didn’t understand without the suits before Prowl got up. The floor shook lightly as he walked, sending the table shaking under the weight, “Oh god, I hate this.” Sunstreaker quickly plastered himself to the surface of the table, it shaking again as a door across the room opened and closed behind the pair.

Hound sighs slowly and rubs his face, “Alright, is it just me or is Jazz not worried about what we're worried about?” “Oh is he not? I didn’t notice.” Sideswipe leans his head against his hand and Breakdown nods a bit, scratching his jaw lightly, “He’s been here longer than we have and he didn’t have a shuttle full of supplies. He had to rely on those around him much faster.” With a huff, Hound shakes his head and stands, “He is crawling all over an alien like its normal,” “It could be normal for him, you never know.” Sunstreaker shrugs slightly, tugging at his hair a bit. It was frustrating, “Are we just supposed to accept the weird situation we’ve been thrown into then? Or are we actually going to do something about this.” Breakdown looks over, “We cannot recover the Odyssey without them and we can’t get the satellite pointed towards Earth without them either. We give it time, we try to adapt.” Hound took a breath and let it out, they were meant to be able to adapt.

With a slight shudder, a door across the apartment opened and Prowl came back through with Jazz still on his shoulder, who was holding a bin full of weird space plants. With a worried look, Hound patted at his pocket lightly for the protein bar he’d grabbed from his cockpit. Whatever this garden was, he wasn’t looking forward to the vibrantly colored things in Jazz’s grasp, “Alright, lunch, sort of.” He’s lowered to the table and sets the bin down, taking out several things, “Some of this stuff needs to be cooked, so we’ll save that for later.” Sunstreaker turned a little green and leaned towards his brother, “You know how I was shitting on the protein bars?” He kept his voice very quiet, “Yeah Sunny.” Sunstreaker nodded slowly, “I regret that now.” With a pat to his back, Sideswipe nodded, staring at a giant purple something.

Jazz smiled and lifted something neon green, “This, this tastes like, and I’m not joking. Like ice cream, but with the texture of beef jerky, it’s insane.” Sunstreaker dry heaved and Sideswipe turned away, gagging. Hound stared at Jazz like he’d grown a second head, “Is it good?” Jazz paused, “Not really, but it’s high in protein and some vitamins.” With a quick movement, Hound pulled the protein bar from his pocket and threw it right at Jazz’s face.

It hit dead on, smacking Jazz in the nose.

A moment ticked past, then another, before Jazz picked it up off the floor, “We’ll supplement the supplies we have on the Odyssey with the best of the food from your garden. We’ll eat the perishable stuff first, then save the non-perishables for missions.” Hound was speaking through grit teeth, his own stomach turning lightly at the weird sounding food. Breakdown was going through the box and pulls out something the size of a grapefruit that was brown and smooth on the outside, “What’s this?” He turns the sphere over in his hands lightly, Jazz looks over, still lightly holding the protein bar, “Ah, that is what I call green raspberries, the outside has to turn brown and hard before it’s ripe. Here.” Jazz was quick to pull a knife and gently take the strange fruit, before striking it and cracking it much like a coconut. 

Small green pea looking things fell out as he carefully held one hand out to Breakdown then the other to Hound. Staring at it, both men took it uneasily, the green was much more fluorescent then peas were, “It tastes like raspberries. Trust me. It’s got the same vitamins in it too.” Breakdown was the first to crack, even as Sunstreaker dry heaved again, pouring some into his hand and popping them into his mouth. Cringing, he slows it slowly, “It melts.” “Yeah, you get used to it.” Hound shifted slightly, still holding his, “Does it taste like raspberries?” He almost didn’t want the answer, but Breakdown was already getting his second handful, nods, so with a deep breath, Hound follows the older man's lead.

It did taste like raspberries and melted in your mouth like cotton candy, it almost felt refreshing like a drink. Smiling a bit, he looks to Jazz, “Alright, what other weird things do you have then?” Jazz grinned and picked up a giant squash looking thing which was dark purple, “You steam this and it cracks open, it has rice inside. Not literal rice, but it tastes and has the same texture as it. It’s a fantastic base.” Then he went on, lifting things up and showing it off as they all finally sat back down. Though Sunstreaker’s dry heaving continued over certain things such as the thing that looked like a literal lufa tasting like beef. 

They might not adapt well, but they would adapt.

—

By the time they were able to get back into their suits, several odd alien foods had been tried and enjoyed, though Sunstreaker had refused several and ate half of Jazz’s protein bar. In all honesty, they should be headed to sleep, to get the rest they would need, but there was too much to do. Check on the Odyssey and ensure their secret remained just that, a secret, as well as get the relay launched. There was supposedly a shuttle who would carry it up on his way out off the planet, or so Prowl had said.

When they hit the street, Bluestreak and Smokescreen returned to walk with them, clearly their guards even if they were being asked to be here. Mechanicals may look alike but they were from a different planet and were a different type of mechanical than the others. Hound was walking with Jazz, as the twins were talking the Prowl look alikes ears off, he sighed slightly as he looked around, “How did you get used to this? All of this?” He kept the general comm off, only using his external speakers, Jazz smiles a bit in the corner of his visual feed, “I had to survive. Adapt and survive. It’s the name of the game Hound.” Nodding slightly, Hound takes a breath, “I know, but there is a drastic difference in fighting aliens than working with ones.” He could tell Jazz was smirking without even looking, “These ones are a lot more like us then those ones. Sure, they're big and stuff, but look.” He gestures to the twins, who’d already mandated to drape themselves over who he thought was Bluestreak, “You get used to it. The suits for us, their a second skin. You can’t tell me you don’t feel more like yourself in your suit than out now, not after all this time.” 

Hound looked at Jazz, biting his lip before nodding and looking away, “When I’m not in it, I feel like, like,” “Like you’re not really yourself, that you’re missing something.” His hand comes down to rest on Hound’s shoulder, “We all know the feeling Hound. You’ll get used to it, working with these guys. Their soldiers like you were and some things about that just don’t change. They all take orders and follow the guidelines where they can and where they can’t,” Hound smiles a bit, “They make them up as they go along.” They shared a look, smiling at each other over the visual feed before looking back towards the front of the group and the streets of Iacon. 

Adapt to survive, come to understand who you were working with and work through the culture shock of it all. He may never be to where Jazz is, comfortable with using his magnets to crawl all over another mech, but he could certainly adjust to work with another army. A unit to work with, his team and those his team trusted, nodding a bit, he grins wickedly. A unit of those he thought were trustworthy and his team, some of the best pilots to ever use a suit were around him with some of the highest Quint kill counts out there, it wouldn’t take long at all. 

———

A/N

Wow, that took a minute. I meant to have this out yesterday, but I was still working on it at 10:30 last night. So I pushed it to this afternoon so I could have part of the next chapter finished before posting. 

I can’t believe I’ve written 12 parts of this, technically 13 with Arcturus Two now that I’m thinking about it. 

I’m living for all the tags in re-blogs and the comments, they truly are keeping me motivated in this. 

Next part might have a bit of a time skip, as I planned to do for this part, but I wanted to wrap up the whole apartment thing before going on to the fight and stuff. 

It won’t be that long of a skip and I will reference back to things that happened “off screen” I just have a hard time writing the awkward moments. Tense moments, I’m good, awkward, not so much. 

I really hope you’re all enjoying this as much as I am. 

Tags!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 10

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: a bit of violence

Chapter word count: 2.6k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Geta watched as Daphne's dark figure walked down the street. He waited to see if she would look back, but she kept walking and pulling her donkey along, her feet steady, her back erect, until she vanished amongst the crowd.

He wished he had said something more profound, or perhaps more tender to her. He wished he had taken her hand. He wished he had—

No. It was for the best. After all, she was becoming a distraction. If he'd taken her hand, he wouldn't have had the strength to let go. Yet, as he made his way into the tavern, he found himself reaching for his cheek, remembering her touch there when she was shaving him. Realizing what he was doing, he frowned in annoyance with himself and rubbed a hand roughly across his skin, trying to wipe away the memory, to no avail.

It was odd, not having a beard. It made him feel naked, vulnerable. The last time he had been clean-shaven was when he was gazing at his brother's corpse. He supposed that had been part of the reason why he'd grown a beard, so he wouldn't be reminded of his brother every time he looked into a mirror.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head, he stepped into the tavern. It was cool and dim after the sun-drenched street outside. After his eyes had adjusted, he saw that it was set up pretty much like any Roman tavern, with a counter presided over by a woman in her middle years, her black hair shot through with gray, caught up in untidy loops around a square-jawed, formidable face. This must be the innkeeper, Eukleis, whom Daphne had mentioned. Behind the woman were shelves stacked high with amphorae of wine and a curtained doorway leading to a room in the back, no doubt where the kitchen was.

Although it was between the midday and the evening meals, the tavern was crowded. Customers thronged around the counter and filled simple wooden tables dotted around the small room, some even spilling out onto the street outside. The staff—a pretty, buxom girl who seemed more preoccupied with flirting with the men than working, and a thin, harried-looking man—ran back and forth like shuttles in a loom, carrying trays of drinks and food. The innkeeper barely glanced at Geta as he walked up to the counter and ordered wine and something to eat. What she did look at was the Roman coins he handed to her.

"Not from around here, are ya?" she asked.

"Are these coins not acceptable?" he said, instead of answering.

The woman immediately closed her fist—as big and strong as a man's—around the coins. "No, of course not, all coins are accepted here," she said unctuously. "Welcome to Adala."

Geta decided not to mention his travel plans just yet. He retreated to a table in a corner, where he could watch the comings and goings of the customers. The girl brought him an amphora of wine, a beaker, and some plates, taking her time putting things down on the table.

He drank the wine, which was sour but refreshing, and picked at his food—a bowl of chickpeas, some olives, bread, and grilled mutton on a bed of wilted lettuce. There was a law forbidding taverns from selling meat dishes, but almost no one in Rome abided by it, and it seemed to be similarly disregarded here. The serving girl circled back a few times, making eyes at him. If it had been a few months ago, he probably wouldn't have minded a tumble with her upstairs, but now, all he could think of was Daphne, her eyes blazing in the dark room, her body trembling under his... No. Daphne was gone. He must not think of her. He turned his attention back to the room, and the serving girl, seeing that he paid her no mind, went away pouting.

The mention of Macrinus's name from a nearby table made him prick up his ears. The table was occupied by two men, with the looks of small-time merchants about them. "At least the war is over," one of them was saying, his bald head shining with sweat despite the coolness inside the tavern. "And we can trade with Parthia again."

"Sure, sure." The other nodded over his wine. "But that compensation Macrinus is forced to pay to Artabanus, where'd you think it's coming from? Our own pockets, that's where!"

Baldy wiped a sleeve across his shiny dome. "That's true," he mused ruefully. "200 million sesterces is a lot. Not a great start as Emperor for old Macrinus."

"Can't be worse than the previous one," his friend said.

Geta gripped his cup of wine so tightly he almost shattered it. His mind was reeling. The war with Parthia was lost? Macrinus as Emperor? How could this be?

"Will he stay on the throne for long, d'you reckon?" Baldy was asking. "Or would we have another Year of the Five Emperors?"

Geta still remembered that time, though he had been barely five years old then. One was assassinated, one executed after purchasing the throne, two—including his own father—engaged in civil war, and one was allowed to be co-emperor, only to be killed once his usefulness ran out. His father had emerged the victor from all that chaos. Now here was his son, lost in chaos without a way out.

But he would not stay lost. He was a survivor, and he would survive again. He needed more information though. Picking up his amphora of wine, he went over to the two merchants' table.

"Excuse me," he said in his most polite tone, "I can't help but overhear your conversation. I've been away from these parts for a while and have some trouble catching up with current affairs. You two sound like you have a firm grasp on them. Do you mind if I join you?"

The two men eyed him for a brief moment, then Baldy's friend spoke up. "Not at all," he said, patting the chair next to them. "You're welcome, friend." He flashed a smile, showing off a gap in his mouth and a gold tooth next to it. It sent a jolt through Geta, as he remembered another gold tooth, in another mouth, splattered with blood. Steadying himself, he sat down and poured generously for both men.

"Did I hear you say that Macrinus is now Emperor?" he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Marcus Opellius Macrinus, the praetorian prefect?"

"The former prefect," corrected Baldy. "The very one. He's been Emperor for a good three months now. Where have you been that you didn't even know that?" He downed his cup and smacked his lips. Geta suspected that the wine had more to do with their ready welcome than his attempt at friendliness, but he didn't care. He refilled Baldy's cup.

"The silver mines of Britannia," said Geta, coming up with the furthest, most remote place he could think of. "I was ill with a fever on the way back, so I haven't heard anything."

He was surprised at how steady his voice was, how his hand didn't even shake as he signaled for the serving girl to bring them more wine, even though his insides were seething, like Mount Vesuvius, with questions and suspicions.

"What happened to—" he began to ask and found his voice stuck in his throat. He couldn't even say his own name. How pathetic. He corrected himself, "What happened to the former—"

Before Geta could finish his question, Gold Tooth held up a hand in caution. "Shhhhh!" he hissed. The air whistled through the gap in his teeth. "It is punishable by death to utter his name now!" Just as he'd done with Caracalla. So they were both condemned emperors now, like Caligula, Nero, Domitian, and Commodus before them. Were his statues being destroyed at this very moment, were coins bearing his face being melted down, was his name being struck from every official record?

Leaning down, Gold Tooth said in a conspiratorial whisper, "They say Macrinus had him offed. I wouldn't be surprised."

A fire started in the pit of Geta's stomach, the low, simmering fire of anger. He took a deep breath, trying to keep that fire in check, and asked, "And what of the Dowager Empress?"

"She's dead too," Gold Tooth said carelessly, and Geta's heart sank. His mother. His one mainstay. The only hope he had left. Dead. Gone. "Some say she killed herself," Gold Tooth continued. "Some say Macrinus had her killed as well. He would certainly be a fool to let her live."

Despite Geta's effort, the fire grew and spread throughout his body, scorching him like little red-hot needles, making it difficult for him to speak. Still, he managed, "The army let Macrinus get away with it?"

The two men glanced at each other with a contemptuous look. Clearly, they thought Geta was some naïve youngster, clueless as to how politics worked.

"What does the army care, as long as it's still getting paid?" Baldy said. "In fact, I know a great many soldiers would thank Macrinus for putting an end to this senseless war with Parthia."

The fire reached Geta's face now. A red haze licked at the edge of his vision.

"It wasn't senseless," he said through clenched teeth. "It would've expanded the Empire and brought such glory and riches—"

"What riches?" Baldy sneered. "All I know is that it halted trade with Parthia for nearly a year and cost me thousands of drachmae."

"Yes, I have to agree with my friend here," said Gold Tooth. "Even back when—the—the other one was on the throne, he did nothing but put money into the army's pocket."

"And he was a tyrant and a murderer to boot," Baldy chimed in.  

"Good riddance," nodded Gold Tooth.

"Fools!" snarled Geta, his caution burning to ashes in the fire of his anger. "You don't know what you're saying! How can provincial bumpkins such as yourselves understand his vision? He would've turned Rome into the greatest empire—"

"Listen to this lad!" exclaimed Baldy with a snigger. "Why such a hard-on for our former Emperor, eh? A pretty face such as yourself, were you the Antinous to his Hadrian, boy?" He let out a snort-laugh, clearly pleased with his joke.

And Geta saw red.

With a roar, he flung his wine away and lunged at Baldy, sending cups and plates to the floor and the other customers to their feet in a panic.

"Shut up, you fat fuck!" he roared, grabbing the older man's saggy throat. "You'll pay for that!"

He reached for the dagger at his belt, but before his fingers could find the handle, Eukleis had jumped out from behind the counter. For a big woman, she could move with impressive speed, and she threw her considerable bulk between Geta and Baldy, holding them apart.

"None of that in my tavern!" she rumbled. "Either drink in peace, or take it outside!"

"He started it!" Baldy protested, pointing a greasy finger at Geta.

"He insulted me!" Geta spat, writhing and squirming to escape Eukleis's hold, but the strength of her grip was as impressive as her speed.

His hand found the dagger. Eukleis saw it and let go of Baldy to grab Geta's wrist with her other hand. "Oh no you don't, laddie," she said. She squeezed his wrist until Geta's fingers went numb and the dagger fell to the floor with a clang. Eukleis then hauled him across the tavern by the scruff of his neck, like a mother cat dragging her kitten, and tossed him through the door. "Out! And don't come back, or I bring the Vigiles down on ya!" she shouted.

Geta scrambled up from the dust, intending to barrel his way back in, only for the dagger to come flying out the doorway, almost catching him in the eye. He ducked, slipped on a pile of horse dung, and collided with a large earthenware vat at the corner of the street, placed there by the night soil men to collect urine for laundry and tanning. The vat wobbled and shattered, its odiferous content spilling across the ground, coming in a stinking wave over Geta's feet and even splashing the hem of his tunic. A disgusted groan rose from the crowd mingling outside the tavern, mixed with a few derisive laughs.

His face burning, now with shame rather than anger, Geta picked up the dagger and stumbled down the lane.

He walked for what seemed like a long time through the labyrinthine alleyways of Adala, not knowing where he was going. In truth, he didn't care. He was still so dazed after everything he'd learned that he hardly took notice of his surroundings, not even the stench of piss and shit coming from himself. The fire of rage and betrayal was back, burning up his insides, only this time, finally, he knew at whom to direct it.

Macrinus.

Geta berated himself for how blind he'd been. Macrinus had been behind it all from the start. He'd suggested the trip to Carrhae; no doubt he'd whispered some poison in Martialis's ear and convinced Martialis to act as the assassin.

And, as Geta thought further back, the wrathful fire inside him cooling momentarily in the chill of fear, he realized Macrinus had been there during Caracalla's demise as well, not in person but in spirit, hovering in the shadows and the spilled blood, like a lemure. Of course. Geta had always wondered where his feeble-minded, weak-willed brother had found the strength to act against him. It must have been Macrinus all along. Macrinus must have convinced Caracalla to murder Geta for him, seeing Geta as the greater threat, so it would leave Caracalla as the easier target to be taken out later. Only Geta had upset that plan by killing Caracalla first, so Macrinus had wormed his way into Geta's inner circle, waiting for the right moment to strike, and like a fool, Geta had let him...

Knowing who his enemy was did little to help him. Geta had thought he only had to get back to Edessa, to show his enemy that he was still alive, and they would all fall to their knees before him. But now, he was no longer so certain. Macrinus had been not one, but several steps ahead of him. Macrinus had declared himself Emperor, and if he had ended the war with Parthia, that meant he had the Senate and the army behind him.

A strange bitterness colored his rage. Geta had always known the Senate had no love for him, but the army? He had increased their pay, marched with them, fought with them, had done everything in his power to improve life for them, and the moment he fell, they had pledged their allegiance to another. Macrinus's treason enraged him, but the army's disloyalty hurt, more than he wished to admit.

A stitch in his side forced Geta to stop. He slammed his fist into a mud-brick wall, furious at his own helplessness. This was no time to be whining about how the army had deserted him! He needed a plan, something firm and clear to act on. But try as he might, wrack his brain as hard as he could, he came up with nothing. Only the fire of rage kept burning higher.

A scream from somewhere to his right jolted him out of his seething and brooding.

"Help! Somebody, help me!"

A woman's scream. There was panic in that voice, distorting it, but he recognized it anyway. Daphne's.

Without stopping to think, Geta ran.

Chapter 11

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve, @flawssy-227, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs, @deliciousfestsalad (if you want to be tagged or removed, let me know!)

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“The Butcher and The Wolf”pt.2

Commander Wolffe x Princess Reader

R4 trilled while plugging data‑spikes into the sleek shuttle’s nav‑computer; TC polished the boarding ramp as though senators would rate its shine. Inside, [Y/N] sealed a crate of festival gifts—kyber‑laced lanterns, citrus‑spiced tihaar—when the hangar doors parted.

In strode Master Plo Coon and Kenobi, with his most innocent smile. Behind them Commander Cody and an impeccably straight‑backed Commander Wolffe.

Kenobi surveyed the scene, eyes twinkling. “My lady, I trust Coruscant treated you… memorably?”

Plo’s mask inclined. “Yes, I understand you’ve already formed a—shall we say—effective working rapport with our best security personnel.”

TC’s head swiveled. “If you refer to last night’s flawless briefing, Masters, I assure you my presentation notes were—”

“—copied from my schematics,” R4 beeped smugly.

Kenobi chuckled. “Quite. Though some reports suggest the princess herself gathered more… field intelligence than anticipated.”

Wolffe’s helmet visor dipped a millimeter; only Cody saw the pained grimace. He murmured, “Steady, vod, you’ve faced droid armies—Jedi teasing won’t kill you.”

[Y/N] kept a serene smile. “Coruscant was enlightening, Master Kenobi. Your commanders are… thorough.”

“Thorough,” Kenobi echoed, barely suppressing a grin. “An admirable quality.”

Plo produced a data‑chip. “Your Highness, these are revised escort protocols for the festival. The Council looks forward to cooperating.”

Cody added, “Wolfpack leads the clone detachment. We’ll rendezvous in orbit over Karthuna.” He patted Wolffe’s pauldron. “Commander is eager to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

Wolffe managed, “Honored to serve, Princess.” Translation: please let the floor swallow me.

R4 gave a warbling laugh. TC translated dryly, “R4 suggests the commander already has extensive knowledge of our customs—particularly nightlife.”

Kenobi coughed into his sleeve; even Plo’s mask seemed to smile.

[Y/N] ascended the ramp, pausing beside Wolffe. Low enough for only him: “Try not to judge anyone before second breakfast, Commander.”

He answered just as quietly, “Next time, title first, drinks second.”

Her wink was pure mischief. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With diplomatic farewells exchanged, the Jedi departed, Cody dragging a still‑smirking Kenobi. Wolffe lingered as engines warmed, visor reflecting the princess who had upended his meticulously ordered world.

R4’s hatch closed, TC waved primly, and the shuttle lifted skyward—toward open borders, a five‑day festival, and a reunion sure to test the Wolf’s composure more than any battlefield.

⸻

Commander Wolffe had survived orbital bombardments, trench sieges, and General Grievous’s cackling—but nothing tested endurance like the embassy’s protocol droid at full lecture speed.

TC strode the aisle between jump‑seats where Wolffe, Boost, and Sinker buckled in.

“…and the Festival of Dawning begins with a kuur‑vaan procession. That translates roughly as ‘dance of a thousand sparks,’ involving micro‑kyber filaments that ignite in sequence—quite breathtaking, provided you wear appropriate eye shielding. Now, the correct greeting is ‘Gal’shara’ with palms outward—never inward, or you imply the listener lacks honor. Also, avoid offering your left hand—historically used for bloodletting rituals dating back—”

Sinker slumped. “Commander, permission to eject myself through the air‑lock.”

Boost whispered, “Could be worse—could be a Senate speech.”

TC continued, undeterred. “—and if you’re offered sapphire tihaar, remember it’s an apology drink, not casual refreshment. Accepting without cause is tantamount to admitting fault. Speaking of fault, did you know the northern fault‑line—”

Wolffe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Droid, compile this in a datapad. My men will study quietly.”

“Oh, certainly, Commander. I have already prepared a 312‑page primer, complete with holo‑graphs.”

Sinker mouthed three‑hundred‑twelve?! Boost mimed choking.

⸻

[Y/N] sat cross‑legged in her cabin, R4 projecting a secure blue holo of King Talren—silver‑bearded, stern eyes softened only for his daughter.

“Little Dawn,” he greeted, using her childhood nickname, “I won’t waste time. Loyalist scouts uncovered three insurgent cells. Extremists insist reopening our borders is betrayal; some whisper of Separatist aid.”

A map flared beside him—red sigils in mountain passes.

“I need those cells silenced before the festival opens,” the king said. “You know the terrain. Take whatever force is required, but keep off‑worlders uninvolved. This must look like an internal matter.”

[Y/N] bowed her head. “It will be done, Father.”

The holo faded. R4 beeped a query.

“Prep infiltration loadouts,” she answered. “Low‑flash sabers, sonic mines, and two squads of Shadow Guard on standby. We strike first nightfall.”

R4 warbled approval, projecting tactical overlays. She added waypoints, carving silent routes Wolffe’s clones would never notice.

⸻

Later, passing Wolffe in the corridor, [Y/N] offered a casual nod. He paused, as if sensing undercurrents, but protocol kept him silent.

Behind him TC called, “Commander, I neglected to mention Karthunese dining order—if the Princess serves you last, it’s actually a sign of high esteem—”

Wolffe muttered a prayer for battlefield blasterfire to drown out etiquette lessons.

In her quarters, [Y/N] traced insurgent sigils on the holo with a gloved fingertip, resolve hardening. Opening Karthuna’s doors to the galaxy meant showing strength the old way—quiet, decisive, unseen.

And if the Wolf and his troopers never learned how the festival stayed peaceful, all the better.

⸻

The twin suns of Karthuna cast copper light over the obsidian‑paved sky‑dock as the Republic cruiser settled with a hiss of repulsors. King Talren stood flanked by honor guards whose sun‑metal armor threw brilliant flares into the air. Behind him waited the planetary senator, Senator Vessar, and the ever‑skeptical Governor of Interior Works, Governor Rhun.

The ramp dropped. Out strode Masters Plo Coon and Kenobi, Chancellor Palpatine in ceremonial crimson, a cluster of senators, and the clone detachment led by Commanders Cody and Wolffe flanked by Boost and Sinker.

Talren bowed with a warrior’s economy. “Karthuna welcomes the Republic. May the Force greet you as friend and guest.”

A respectful murmur answered. Yet even before introductions concluded, his daughter slipped to his side, murmured, “Urgent Shadow Guard matter, Father,” and—still in civilian vest and braid—beelined for a sand‑silver speeder.

Wolffe’s visor tracked her, but protocol held him. Engines howled; the speeder vanished down a cliff‑side lift‑tube toward the high passes.

Talren inhaled—the first lie ready on his tongue.

⸻

Kenobi stepped forward, large smile in place. “Your Majesty, we look forward to your famous Festival of Dawning.”

“As do we all,” Talren replied, steering the party toward the citadel’s balcony overlooking the festival valley—far from launch bays or military comms.

Chancellor Palpatine clasped gloved hands. “Your daughter leads the festivities, does she not? I had hoped to congratulate her.”

“She prepares a…surprise presentation,” Talren said smoothly. “Artists’ temperaments, Chancellor.”

Governor Rhun muttered just loud enough, “More like a warrior itching for mischief.”

Senator Vessar chimed in, tone dripping dry humor, “I assure our off‑world partners the princess habitually vanishes moments before debuting something spectacular—or spectacularly dangerous.”

Talren fixed them both with a steel‑edged smile that promised discussion later.

Plo Coon shifted his weight, Kel‑Dor mask unreadable. “Your Highness, Clone Commander Wolffe will require coordination with your security captain.”

“Of course.” Talren gestured toward the fortress doors. “Commander, my staff will relay schematics over luncheon. Meanwhile, allow me to show the Chancellor our kyber‑terraced gardens—quite safe, I assure you.”

Wolffe’s unspoken protest died behind the visor; duty bound, he followed Cody toward a briefing alcove where TC awaited with yet another data‑slab. Talren breathed easier: one crisis delayed, if not averted.

As the king guided the diplomats through colonnades, Governor Rhun leaned in: “You risk interstellar incident if the princess sparks bloodshed while the Republic picnics outside our walls.”

Talren’s voice stayed velvet, danger beneath. “Better insurgent blood in the mountains than senator blood in the streets.”

Senator Vessar added, half‑teasing, “If she returns with soot on her boots, I shall schedule extra press holos to reframe it as heroic cultural demonstration.”

Kenobi caught the whisper, grin curving. “Your court seems…spirited, Majesty.”

Talren allowed the tiniest exhale of amusement. “Karthuna has waited fifteen years to step back onto the galactic stage, General. We intend to give a performance worth the ticket.”

Above them, fireworks crews tested micro‑sparklers; bright hisses masked the distant roar of a speeder blazing toward insurgent territory.

In a quiet moment against the balcony rail, Talren gazed over valley tents blooming for festival week, mind split between choreography of diplomats and the razor‑work his daughter undertook beyond those peaks.

He whispered to the wind, “Return swift, Little Dawn.”

⸻

By mid‑afternoon the princess was still missing.

Commander Wolffe stood on the citadel parapet overlooking the valley’s bustling festival city, visor fixed on the distant scar of mountains her speeder had taken.

Local Sun‑Guard Captain Arven stepped up, spearhaft tapping stone.

“Enjoying the view, off‑worlder?”

“I’d enjoy it more if your crown heir were within com‑range,” Wolffe replied. “Transmit her last coordinates.”

“Princess has classified authority.”

Wolffe’s servo‑joint clicked as his gauntlet clenched. “My mandate is to protect every Republic dignitary on this rock—including her.”

Arven smirked. “Karthuna protected itself centuries before troopers in white armor needed it. Stand down, Commander.”

Cody’s voice crackled through Wolffe’s comlink: “Easy, vod. Diplomacy first.”

Wolffe never took his eye from the peaks. Diplomacy ends when the VIP bleeds, he thought—and weighed the odds of “borrowing” a gunship.

New LAATs screamed in, disgorging Jedi and clones.

Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano with the 501st, assigned to guard Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo and a cadre of Core‑World legislators.

Masters Mace Windu and Ki‑Adi‑Mundi arrived with Commanders Ponds and Bacara respectively, doubling ground strength.

Skywalker clapped Wolffe’s pauldron. “Heard your princess pulled a disappearing act—sounds like my kind of trouble.”

“Not helping, General,” Wolffe growled, though Ahsoka’s sympathetic grin eased his temper a notch.

Senators debarked in a flurry of aides, holo‑recorders, and fashion impractical for mountain air. Festival staff hustled to reroute them toward reception halls—distraction, Talren hoped, until his daughter returned.

Master Yoda, leaning on his gimer stick, sought King Talren atop a sun‑warmed terrace strewn with kyber wind‑chimes. The diminutive Jedi regarded the monarch’s sun‑metal cuirass and the twin‑bladed saber at his hip.

“Strong in the Force, your people are,” Yoda began. “Yet light and dark you name not. Curious, this is.”

Talren inclined his head. “Master, on Karthuna we are taught: there is no dawn without night. Deny darkness, and daylight loses meaning. Balance is not the absence of shadow, but its harmony with light.”

“Hmmm.” Yoda’s ears twitched thoughtfully. “Unnatural, you say, to void one side?”

“As unnatural as silencing half a heartbeat,” Talren answered. “We do not fear the shadow; we fear imbalance.”

Wind‑chimes chimed like distant sabers. Yoda closed his eyes, absorbing the resonance.

“Much to learn, even I have,” he murmured. “And much to guard, we both must.”

Talren’s gaze drifted to the mountains. “Agreed, Master Yoda. Balance must sometimes be defended by hidden blades.”

⸻

Sunset torched the valley when a sand‑silver speeder roared through the citadel gates. Clone guards scrambled aside as [Y/N] leapt off, still in dust‑streaked vest and combat shorts. She vaulted a barricade, sprinting for the grand foyer.

“Hey—civilian access is restricted!” bellowed Commander Fox, Crimson Guard staff lowered across her path.

She halted, breath steady despite the climb. “I live here, thanks.”

Before Fox could run ID, Chancellor Palpatine emerged from a delegation knot, eyes narrowing with fox‑like curiosity.

“My dear, racing through secure halls in such…practical attire—is something amiss?”

[Y/N] offered a flawless court bow that contrasted sharply with her grime‑spattered boots. “Merely last‑minute festival preparations, Chancellor. Please excuse me; I must dress for the gala.”

Palpatine’s smile sliced thin. “Ah, duty never rests. I look forward to your presentation this evening.”

Fox straightened as realization dawned. “Wait—you’re—”

She winked. “Classified, Commander.” Then slipped past, leaving red armor and red robes equally bemused.

In her chamber, TC fussed with brocade gowns while R4 powered a sonic shower.

“Your Highness, the schedule is punishing: welcome gala at nineteen‑hundred, holo‑address at twenty‑two, and saber exhibition by dawn.”

“Then we’d better look lethal and lovely,” [Y/N] said, toweling off. She chose a floor‑length gown of midnight silk that clung to sculpted muscle, high slits revealing thigh holsters for compact hilts. Sun‑metal pauldrons mirrored her crown, but the gown’s sleeveless cut displayed the lattice of scars down both arms—plasma burns, shrapnel lines, duelist nicks—each a story she refused to hide.

TC clipped the circlet into her damp hair. “Might I suggest gloves to soften the, ah, impression?”

She flexed scarred fingers. “No. Let the galaxy see what Karthuna’s balance looks like.”

R4 projected her entrance route. She studied it, then smiled. “Time to charm senators, silence rumors, and—perhaps—make a wolf squirm.”

⸻

A fanfare of crystal horns cut through conversation. Doors parted, revealing Princess [Y/N] radiant in midnight silk and sun‑metal crown, scars on her bare arms glinting like silver filigree. Senators gasped—half at the regality, half at the unapologetic battle‑marks.

Master Kenobi murmured to Skywalker, “Grace and menace in equal measure—definitely your type, Anakin.”

Skywalker smirked. “She’d have me for breakfast.”

Padmé Amidala complimented the gown’s craftsmanship; [Y/N] returned praise for Naboo’s relief programs, steering talk away from rumored insurgents.

Master Windu approached her, he attempted to discuss security perimeters; the princess assured him Karthuna’s Shadow Guard had “every shadow covered.”

Across the room, Governor Rhun whispered to holoreporters, stoking stories of her “reckless mountain excursion.” TC hovered, intercepting leading questions with cutting etiquette lessons.

Commander Wolffe, helmet clipped to belt, stood near a terrace arch with Cody and Plo Coon. When [Y/N] approached, conversation faltered like a blaster misfire.

She offered a delicate curtsy—mischief in her eyes. “Commander, I trust the briefing notes were…illuminating?”

“They were extensive,” Wolffe said evenly. “Yet somehow omitted your talent for disappearing.”

“Ah, but every good security test includes an unscheduled drill.” She stepped closer, voice just for him: “You passed—eventually.”

The faintest flush darkened Wolffe’s neck. “Next time give me a comm frequency, not a cliff to chase.”

[Y/N] arched a brow. “And deny you the exercise?” Her fingers brushed the edge of his pauldron as she glided past. “Meet me on the terrace at midnight—strictly business, of course.”

Wolffe exhaled—half growl, half laugh—as Cody elbowed him, grinning. “Careful, vod. That one dances with both halves of the Force.”

Strings struck up Karthuna’s dawn‑waltz. Jedi mingled with diplomats while clone troopers ringed the hall’s perimeter. Suspicion, politics, and bright music braided in the air—yet for a heartbeat, harmony held.

In the high galleries, R4 scanned faces, feeding the princess data on a Separatist envoy concealed among trade delegates—tonight’s real threat.

Midnight loomed, and outside the terrace doors, mountain winds whispered of balance, blades, and a wolf answering a princess’s call.

⸻

Princess [Y/N] leaned against the balustrade, moon‑silver kissing the scars on her shoulders. Commander Wolffe stood close, arms folded—attempt at stoic ruined by her playful tug on the strap of his pauldron.

“Still on duty, Commander?” she teased.

“Always.”

“So devoted,” she murmured, fingers ghosting along the seam where synth‑skin met armor. “Makes a woman wonder how else that focus might—”

A scarlet bolt sizzled through the ballroom windows. Shouts. Glass rained like crystal hail.

Inside, Governor Rhun lay sprawled behind an overturned buffet, cloak smoking at the shoulder. Clone guards returned fire toward upper galleries; a masked shooter vaulted onto a chandelier cable and vanished in a flash‑grenade’s glare.

Skywalker, Ahsoka, Windu ignited sabers; Cody’s troopers fanned out. Wolffe ushered [Y/N] through the shattered doors into the throne corridor, senators scrambling behind.

⸻

Heavy doors slammed. Present: King Talren, Chancellor Palpatine, Masters Yoda, Windu, Kenobi, Commanders Cody, Wolffe, Ponds, Bacara, Senator Padmé, and a handful of shaken delegates. Rhun, arm bacta‑wrapped, was dragged in by medics.

Tension whipped like live wire.

[Y/N] broke the silence, voice flat: “Pity the shooter missed.”

Gasps; Wolffe’s helmet snapped toward her.

Rhun snarled. “Should’ve been you that got shot!”

She advanced, eyes blazing. “I opposed reopening our borders. Tonight proves me right. We invited every power broker in the war to one valley—painted a target the size of a moon.”

King Talren’s tone cut ice. “Peace requires risk.”

“Blind risk courts massacre,” she shot back. “Insurgents in our mountains, Separatist agents in our ballroom—now assassins under our roof.”

Palpatine interjected silkily, “Surely, Princess, the Republic can strengthen your security.”

“More soldiers won’t erase the bull’s‑eye you represent, Chancellor.”

Mace Windu’s gaze narrowed. “You suggest isolation while the galaxy burns?”

“I suggest survival,” she answered.

Arguments flared—senators citing diplomacy, clones citing protocol. Wolffe stepped between factions, voice drill‑sergeant sharp: “Focus. Assassin is still loose. Mandates later, lockdown now.”

Plo Coon, calm amid storm, nodded approval.

King Talren exhaled. “Commander Wolffe, you have joint authority with my Shadow Guard. Hunt the shooter.”

Wolffe met [Y/N]’s gaze—heat of earlier flirtation replaced by razor respect. “Princess—coming?”

She clicked twin sabers to her belt. “Lead the way, Commander.”

Rhun blanched; Padmé exchanged a knowing look with Kenobi—battle partners born.

The moment the throne‑room doors slammed behind them, [Y/N] was already moving—midnight gown gathered in one fist, the other dropping her double sabers into waiting palms.

Wolffe fell in at her shoulder, DC‑17 raised. The marble corridor echoed with their synchronized footfalls.

“Shadow Guard breach tunnel’s this way,” she hissed, sweeping aside a wall‑tapestry to reveal a spiral stair cut straight into obsidian.

He nodded once. “After you, Princess.”

The air grew cooler, alive with a faint crystalline hum. Iridescent kyber veins glowed within the stone, casting violet and jade shadows across their path.

Wolffe switched his helmet lamp to low‑band; [Y/N] didn’t bother—her people’s Force‑attuned sight caught every shimmer.

A blaster scorch on the stair railing.

“Fresh,” she murmured.

“Means we’re close,” Wolffe replied, pulse settling into the calm that preceded battle.

The stair disgorged them into a vast cavern—kyber pillars rising like frozen lightning. At the far end, the assassin’s silhouette leapt between crystal spires, cloak tattered by security bolts.

Wolffe’s comm clicked twice—Boost and Sinker sealing exits above.

“Corner him,” Wolffe ordered.

“Alive,” [Y/N] added. “I want intel before he bleeds out.”

They split wordlessly: Wolffe low along a mineral ridge, [Y/N] sprinting the high ledge, gown whipping behind like a war‑banner.

The assassin spun, twin WESTARs barking scarlet. Wolffe dove, bolts sparking off crystal as [Y/N] sprang from above, sabers igniting.

A vibro‑dagger flicked from the assassin’s wrist—met by Wolffe’s gauntlet, beskad plating deflecting the strike. He slammed the butt of his pistol into the assailant’s ribs.

“Yield,” the commander growled.

A hissed curse the killer smashed a detonator against the pillar. Kyber screamed as fractures spider‑webbed, light flaring.

[Y/N] threw Wolffe back with a Force‑shove and thrust both sabers into the crystal, channeling energy away in a surge of blinding radiance. The explosion muted to a concussive thump; shards rained harmlessly.

When vision cleared, the assassin lay dazed, binders already clamping on under Wolffe’s practiced hands.

“Who hired you?” the princess demanded.

The prisoner spat blood, defiant. “Karthuna’s own who crave true freedom—and the Confederacy rewards such courage.”

Wolffe’s visor tipped toward [Y/N]. Confirmation.

⸻

Governor Rhun’s voice boomed across the ballroom remnant—holocams hovering:

“This outrage proves openness invites anarchy! I petition immediate curfew, martial oversight by local forces, and expulsion of unnecessary off‑world elements!”

Several senators, rattled, murmured agreement. Separatist sympathizers whispered through the crowd, feeding fear.

Master Windu folded his arms. “Governor, the assassin wielded Separatist tech. Cooperation with the Republic, not isolation, thwarts such threats.”

Rhun’s smile was razor‑thin. “Yet my princess would see me dead; perhaps the Council should examine internal loyalties first.”

King Talren’s reply was cut short by the distant rumble of kyber—catacomb fight vibrations reaching high halls. Panic rippled anew.

Wolffe and [Y/N] emerged, armor and gown dusted in crystal powder, prisoner in tow. Gasps rippled through assembled officials.

“Governor Rhun,” [Y/N] announced, voice carrying. “Your assassin failed. And he’s confessed to Separatist backing—backing that feeds on fear you happily sow.”

Rhun’s complexion drained.

Palpatine stepped forward, tone silken. “A grave accusation, Princess. Proof?”

Wolffe activated the assassin’s cracked vambrace: a holo‑sigil of the Techno Union flickered. That, plus recorded confession from his helmet‑cam, filled the air in chilling blue.

Yoda’s ears drooped, sad but certain. “Darkness invited not by borders, but hearts seeking power, yes.”

Arguments flared, but now the tide shifted: senators demanding inquiry into Rhun’s dealings, Jedi reinforcing joint patrols, clones and Sun‑Guard sharing data rather than territory. The assassin was led away.

In the aftershock, [Y/N] turned to Wolffe, adrenaline still bright in her eyes.

“You kept up,” she said softly.

“You lit up half a mountain,” he retorted, relief threading the words.

A grin tugged her lips. “Balance, Commander—little light, little dark.”

His chuckle surprised them both. “Next time, maybe just a dance.”

She offered her arm—scarred, unhidden. He took it, escorting her back into the fractured ballroom where a new balance—uneasy, hard‑won—waited to be forged.

Previous Part

[a-driftamongopenstars]

a little gift for @scintillant-h ✨ (he knows what he did 😂 /s)

also on ao3

Crow has to give it to Cayde, the man knows how to pick a location for a little get together. Just him, Crow and the Guardian, celebrating their survival of the final fight. The fact that they three made it near unscathed is quite the miracle. 

“Finally,” Cayde exclaims, motioning for Crow to come closer and quickly. “I was about to send a search party, and that's not the party I had in mind.”

“Sorry, I got held up by-”

“Paperwork. Oh yeah, I know all about it. Actually, way more than I wish I did.”

“Care to share some tips?”

“Nope.”

The Guardian chuckles, picking up a box of noodles and pushing it into Crow's hands as he sits beside them on the soft cool grass. 

They are on a lake bank, and in its mirror surface the lights and heights of the Last City are reflected. Like fireflies, shuttles and ships come and go, leaving behind colorful trails. Up in the sky, the moon glows ominously, and even further up is the Traveler, slowly healing from its paracausal wounds. 

How relatable. 

“My favourite kind of scenery,” Cayde says, pushing the noodles into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks. “Even better now that I have time to take it all in.”

“It's not bad,” Crow says with a smile, opening up his own box which steams and brings in the smell of spices. 

They eat in silence, savoring the food and the moment. Crow feels a lightness in his chest that is new, refreshing. A sensation that both pleases and frightens him. A hanging thread of anticipation, a surprise of tomorrow. 

He looks at Cayde, whose fractured eyes gently glow in the night ambiance. He seems thoughtful, but not unhappy. They have not talked about it, but Crow wonders if he would be Cayde-7 now. There is a weight to that number, a new chapter, a different kind of promise. 

Crow looks at the Guardian, their shoulders unusually slouched. Like the weight of the world has been lifted, but they forgot how not to carry it. What will they be now, when no longer the atlas of the world? 

Crow reflects on himself, his vision clear, his hair held tightly at the nape. A new cloak embraces his shoulders, a blanket sense of belonging. 

“Hey kid,” Cayde calls to him, mentor-like, quiet. “Your noodles are getting cold.”

Stop overthinking it, he means. Live in the moment. Take it all in. 

Crow plucks the noodles with the chopsticks, giving Cayde and the Guardian a smile. 

“I'm on it. Race you?”

Cayde laughs, turning to look at him, opening his Exo mouth near menacingly. 

“You're on.”

The Guardian watches and laughs and shakes their head. 

[thealtoduck]

Reunion

Cal Kestis x Male Mirialan ex-Jedi!Reader

Warnings: You flirt with stormtroopers…

Part 1: Being a mirialan jedi youngling and getting your kyber crystal…

Y/l/c = Your lightsaber color

Summary: After the fall of the Jedi Order you fled to Raxus Secundus for your survival, 5 years later Cal Kestis and the crew of the Stinger Mantis land on Raxus Secundus with their ship in need of repairs…

——

You walked in to the cantina looking around at the different patrons, you walked and sat down at the bar. The bartender soon showed up in front of you and asked ”What can i get you?”. You thought for a second and decided ”A phattro, please”.

”Coming right up” he said and soon placed a glass filled with a purple beverage in front of you. You took a sip and a familiar refreshing taste hit you. Two off-duty stormtroopers were sitting a few chairs away from you, their helmets placed next to their drinks.

They were looking towards you. You gave them a small smile and raised your glass to them in a little ”cheers”. They smiled back at you and grabbed their drinks and helmets coming over to you, sitting down on each of your sides.

”Hey beautiful, what’s your name?” said the one to your left. ”I’m Y/n, what’s yours?” you said in a alluring tone. ”They call me Red” he introduced himself with a smirk. You turned to the trooper to your right and asked ”And you?”. ”Spikes” he answered cooly.

”How may i be of assitance for the troops?” you asked taking another sip of your drink. ”Well, we’ve had a lot to attend to lately and it can get very stressfull” Red explained. ”Extremely stressfull” Spikes added. ”And we thought a pretty thing like yourself might help us… relieve some of that stress” Red said putting a hand at your waist.

You smiled a flirty smile. ”Oh really, how about we-” you started but was cut off by a sudden feeling brought on by the force, a warning? No. A familiarity, a memory, a very distant one. You stood up and looked around seeing no one. ”Are you alright?” Spikes asked.

”Uh yeah… Sorry i have to go” you said, leaving credits and a tip for the bartender. Red scoffed annoyed and said a snide ”Tease”. You ignored him and walked out on to the streets of Tamwith Bay. The connection you had felt was now lost.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus, reaching out through the force, trying to find the connection again but there was nothing. You were left alone and confused.

As you wandered home you thought to yourself about what or who it might’ve been, a Jedi? Just another force user lost in the galaxy?. Memories of the jedi and your training started flooding your brain as you entered your small apartment.

You had been made a padawan only 4 months before the collapse of the Jedi Order and the Republic. In most cases you would’ve most likely been to young to become a padawan but the Clone Wars had taken a big strain on the order and because of the deaths of many masters and padwans in battle there were a lot of gaps to fill.

You had been assigned to Jocasta Nu, the chief librarian of the Jedi archives. You didn’t earn a lot of battlefield experience from this but your master had shown you some of the secrets of the Jedi temple.

Once the destruction of the Jedi hit in full force you and your master escaped the temple through a secret passage hidden within the temple. Once on the streets of Coruscant she ordered you to get on a shuttle while she had drawn away a group of Clone Troopers.

That had been the last you ever saw of her as the shuttle had left. Sometimes you wondered if she had survived that night and had managed to escape the purge as well but even then they might’ve caught up with her sooner or later.

You lifted a loose floor panel of the ground revealing a box containing your now dusty jedi robes, a hard drive containing Jedi texts and your twin lightsabers. You brought your lightsabers out afraid to turn them on incase someone could here the noise and report it to the empire.

You shouldn’t even bring them out of their hiding spot, you never knew who was watching. But something told you that you would be needing them in a couple of hours. You went to bed that night with your lightsabers hidden under your bed in case of a intruder or sudden attacker.

You were kept allert by the force the next day, you hid your lightsabers beneath a cloak as you ventured out in to town. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so you just tried to go about your business as usual but as evening came, things would change.

You were once again making your way home but saw people running away from the town square, you decided to check it out. Once you got there you were met with a life changing sight. It was jedi, or at least someone carrying a lightsaber who knew how to fight like a Jedi.

He was fighting what you assumed was an imperial inquisitor, you had heard rumours about them but never seen one in person. They were Jedi hunters, sent out to find the survivors of the purge.

You then felt the connection from the day before reignite, you had met this Jedi before… but who was it? Suddenly the Inquisitor used a force push to knock the Jedi in to a stack of crates, knocking him over.

As the Jedi layed among the crates you caught a glimpse of his face, he looked like… Cal Kestis, a friend of yours from the order. The Inquisitor walked menacingly towards Cal, spinnig his double bladed lightsaber.

Without thinking you forced jump up in the air and landing between Cal and the Inquisitor. You faced the Inquisitor and ignited your lightsabers making two y/l/c blades emerge from them.

”Two Jedi, this just got a lot more interesting” the Inquisitor said, his smirk being covered by the helmet. It had been a long time since you fought or even practised with your lightsabers so you begged the force would guide you.

The Inquisitor slashed at you but you dodged, you flipped over his head cutting at him but he blocked. The two of you started attacking back and forward while Cal tried to absorb what just happened. A hodded Jedi had just come out of nowhere and saved his life.

He watched as the Jedi fought, lightsabers skills clearly rusty but skilled. Cal then got of his feet and jumped, attacking the Inquisitor from behind. The Inquisitor managed to block but started to struggle keeping up with the three blades slashing at him.

While the Inquisitor was blocking an attack from both one of yours and Cal’s saber. You managed to get a cut in down the middle of the doublebladed saber, destroying it. You and Cal then force pushed the Inquisitor at the same time sending him flying in to a stone wall which knocked him out.

Cal then let out a sigh of relief at the Inquisitor’s defeat. He then turned to you and said ”You’re a Jedi”. ”Not quite” you said lowering your hood making Cal’s eyes widen as regcognition hit. ”Y/n?” he questioned.

”Hi Cal, it’s been a while” you greeted. Without warning Cal ran up to you and threw his arms around you. You were caught of guard at first but then wrapped your arms around him as well, it didn’t hit you until now how much you had missed him.

You heard troopers approaching and broke the hug. ”Come on, this way” you said and started sprinting down an alley way. Cal followed close behind. You led him back to your apartment, you gave one last look outside before closing the door, making sure you weren’t followed.

Once behind closed doors you find your arms locked around each other in another tight embrace. ”How did you survive? You were on Coruscant that would’ve been the most heavily guarded planet?” Cal questioned in amazement.

”Let’s sit down” you said, you made some tea for the two of you and poured it up in two cups. You both sat down around a small table and you started telling him how Master Nu had saved your life and that it had let you escape Coruscant.

”How about you?” you asked and Cal explained that his master had sacrificed himself for him. He then told you of the events that led him and his crew to land on Raxus Secundus a couple days ago for ship repairs.

”Y/n, you should come with us, we’re trying to rebuild some of what’s left of the Jedi Order, you could help us” Cal suggested. You thought about it for a second before answering ”Cal, I’m not sure how much i will be able to help you, i only just became a padawan before the fall of the Jedi”.

”To us that’s enough, we need to rebuild with what little we have left” Cal insisted. ”I don’t know Cal, i just need some time to think” you told him. ”Alright, you have until tommorow, me and my crew are leaving once our repairs are done” Cal said.

You opened the floor panel and brought out the hard drive out of the box. ”What’s that?” Cal asked. ”It’s a hard drive, it contains a few Jedi texts from the library. It’s not a lot but it’s something, i think you should have it” you said handing it to him.

”Thank you” Cal accepted gratefully. Cal then contacted his crew and let them know about the events of the day. They decided it was best for Cal to stay the night with you as security had tightened because of the reveal of two Jedis in the city and that he should try sneak his way to the ship at the crack of dawn.

”Where should i sleep?” Cal asked, looking around your small apartment, there weren’t many options besides the bed and the floor. ”You can have the bed” you offered. ”And let you sleep on the floor, we can share your bed, wouldn’t be the first time” Cal suggested.

”Alright” you nodded and the two of climbed in to bed together, laying on your sides to face each other. ”This reminds me of when we would sneak out of out temple rooms to have sleep overs together” Cal said making a smile spread over your face.

”I remember that and that one time Master Skywalker caught you on the way to my room but he promised not to tell anyone” you reminded Cal who let out a chuckle. ”Then after you left the temple with Master Tapal, i remember how much i missed you and how lonely i felt” you admited.

”I missed you too Y/n, especially after purge. It was terrifying having no way to know if you had survived or not” Cal said as you gazed in to each others eyes. He continued ”But now we’re both here again and i never want to leave you behind”.

Cal then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, from which you didn’t pull back. While attachment was against the Jedi teachings their was no order around anymore to supervise you. You were free.

As you both pulled away from each others lips you brought a hand up to cup his cheek stroking it lightly. ”I’ll come with you, i don’t want to lose you again either” you confessed. You both then fell asleep, hands clasped together ready for the challenges tommorow would bring.

[cyberlovewiitch]

TITLE: Kookie Crumbles For You🍪🖤

“𝘚𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘭’𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦; 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩.”

𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 idol jk! jungkook x reader(f)reader

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 fluff, slow burn, butterflies, soft

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 3,037

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆!!! This fic is just the beginning-part 1 of a story that will take you deeper into a whirlwind of emotions, unexpected twists, and heartwarming moments. Stay tuned for the next chapters, where things will only get more captivating, and the connection between you and Jungkook will grow even stronger.(smut, angst, fluff) Trust me; you won't want to miss what happens next!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The morning sun poured through the curtains of your tiny hotel room in Seoul, painting everything in a golden glow. “A sign,” you told yourself, that today is going to be perfect. Your heart was already racing as you sat up in bed, the excitement bubbling inside of you. It wasn’t just any day. It is the day you have been dreaming about for months. Your first-ever fan meet event. It’s not just for anyone at that. It’s for 𝗝𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗸𝗼𝗼𝗸. The man whose voice had carried you through so many moments. You could hardly believe you were really here.

As you unlocked your phone, the time read 9:00am. The fan meet event takes place at 2:00pm. Your excitement didn’t allow you to linger in the comfort of your hotel bed any longer. You decided to roll out of bed to jumpstart this amazing day that lies ahead of you. First mission of the day? Breakfast. You scroll through the app “Shuttle”. A food delivery app in Korea that is bi-lingual. Perfect for foreigners at a time like this, when you didn’t want anything to be time consuming. You decided to order “Korean bean curd soup” and “Heukmi Bap”. Pairing those dishes with “Kimchi”. You didn’t want to eat anything too filling. As long as you were fueled for the day ahead of you; you were satisfied.

After a delicious breakfast and satisfied tastebuds, it was time to take a shower. The kind of shower that makes you feel like a refreshed brand-new person. Before turning the water on you decided to turn on some tunes. You knew 𝙚𝙭𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙡𝙮 whose voice you wanted to hear at the moment. Soon enough the bathroom was filled with the sound of Jungkook’s magical voice. His voice keeping you company as you turned the shower water on, stepping foot into the shower. You took your time letting the warm water cascade over your skin. You shampooed and conditioned your hair, shaved, and exfoliated. Taking extra keen to detail because you wanted this day to be perfect. You wanted to look perfect. Presenting yourself in a way that expresses this event means everything to you.

Stepping out of the shower, the sound of Jungkook’s sweet voice filling the air makes a smile appear on your face. This feels so surreal for you. The event will be happening soon and you cannot wait. After doing your skin care, body care, and wrapping your body in your pajamas; you move onto your next step— makeup.

Every step felt like a part of a ritual. Getting you one step closer to meeting the one and only Jungkook.

With Jungkook’s album “Golden” on replay in the background, you carefully apply your makeup look for the event. Your makeup look was already thought out prior to your trip. You ensured every detail was just right. Finishing the final touches of the makeup look, your reflection stared back at you. You were fulfilled at this makeup look. Your features are doubled enhanced. You felt absolutely stunning. You moved onto styling your hair. Your chosen hair style complimenting your makeup and face shape as well. Each strand of hair flowing with divine purpose. Finally, you slipped into the outfit you meticulously planned weeks in advance— an assemble that felt both confident and true to yourself. Very stylish. Perhaps Jungkook will love this style too.

By the time you were fully ready, the time read “12:00pm”. Though the event wasn’t until 2:00pm, you decided to leave early. The thought of being caught in a crowd or running into unexpected delays made you anxious, and besides, you wanted time to soak in the atmosphere & energy of other fans. The full experience. Grabbing your essentials, taking another look into the mirror; you took a deep breath. Reminding yourself that this day is everything you’d been waiting for. You walk out of the hotel room. Taking the elevator down to the lavish lobby. You make your exit from the hotel. Stepping out to this beautiful city; Seoul, made your excitement come alive. “Jungkook here I come!” You thought to yourself smiling.

The ride to the venue felt like an eternity, even though “Kakao” which is Korea’s version of uber, moved smoothly through the bustling streets of Seoul. As you approached, the energy was undeniable. Fans crowded the sidewalks. Their laughter and excited chatter blending with the occasional sound of a car horn nearby. The venue loomed ahead, adorned with banners and posters of Jungkook in striking poses. His “Golden” album artwork glowing under the afternoon sun. A long line of fans snaked around the block, many clutching handmade signs, light-sticks, and photo cards. The buzz of anticipation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional scream or cheer as someone spotted a friend— or maybe just got swept up in the excitement. Your heart raced as you stepped out of the car. This was it. The beginning of a moment you have been dreaming about.

The atmosphere outside the venue buzzes with excitement, a mix of chatter and nervous laughter filling the cool Seoul air. Fans dressed in an array of styles—from chic & trendy outfits to cozy casual looks. Even shirts with Jungkook’s name or image proudly displayed. Fans shuffle eagerly in line, clutching their merch or

light-sticks. After 45 minutes of anticipation, staff members emerge to check tickets; which added a new layer of excitement as the line begins to inch forward. Your heart races as you stepped closer to the entrance. A mix of nerves, joy, and disbelief washing over you. This is it—You’re moments away from seeing Jungkook in person. This realization feels surreal, as if time slows down and every sensation sharpens.

Inside the venue, the energy is palpable. Soft, golden lighting casts a warm glow across the space, reflecting the elegance and intimacy of the fan meeting. The stage is beautifully adorned with minimalistic yet striking decorations—a backdrop of Jungkook’s album cover and delicate lights that seem to twinkle in rhythm with the music. Jungkook’s soulful voice flows through the air as his “Golden” album plays. It creates an almost dreamlike ambience.

Finding your seat, you glance around as fans settle in. Their excitement buzzing just beneath the surface. Staff members move with precision at the front, ensuring every detail is perfect. The doors shut with finality that sends a wave of anticipation through the room. Security guards take their positions near the entrance, their presence signaling what everyone is waiting for. Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of exhilaration and disbelief—this is really happening. Any second now, Jungkook will step out, and the thought sends a rush of emotion flooding through you.

The music in the background slowly faints away. Time seems to stand still for a heartbeat. In no time, Jungkook steps onto the stage. The room erupts into chaos. The screams are deafening! A tidal wave of emotion wash over the venue as fans express their excitement and adoration. Your breath catches in your throat the moment you see him. Jungkook looks even more stunning in person. His smile is radiant, lighting up the room as he waves to the crowd; his confidence magnetic.

Your eyes can’t help but trace every detail: the way his tattoos flow along his strong arms, adding a rebellious elegance; the glint of his lip piercing drawing attention to his perfect smile; the sleek, all-black outfit hugging his frame effortlessly; and his flawlessly styled hair that looks so soft enough to run fingers through. It’s overwhelming—an intoxicating mix of awe, admiration, and disbelief flood your chest. Your heart races and you can feel your cheeks heat up as you struggle to process the reality of this moment. This isn’t a dream…it’s Jungkook, standing just a few feet away. In the same premises as you.

Jungkook’s voice is warm and inviting as he greets the crowd, “Annyeonghaseyo, Bangtan’s Jungkook imnida!” His tone is playful, his energy vibrant and magnetic. The room erupts into cheers, and his smile grows even wider. He laughs softly when a fan screams something teasingly cute, covering his face for a moment before replying with a playful comment that makes everyone laugh even harder. His giggles are contagious, instantly melting any nervousness lingering in the air.

As the Q&A begins, Jungkook listens attentively, nodding or laughing at fans’ questions, his responses heartfelt and sincere. You feel a mix of awe and envy, watching him connect with each person, wishing you could ask something but knowing your Korean isn’t strong enough. Still, you’re content to just be here, soaking in the moment.

𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓼.

While scanning the crowd, his eyes find yours. Time seems to freeze as his gaze locks onto you, his expression shifting subtly—his smile falters for just a second, replaced by a look of surprise, as if he’s taken aback. His eyes widen slightly, almost as if he’s forgotten the room is filled with other fans. It’s an intense moment, his focus completely on you, and your heart skips a beat. Your cheeks flush, and you feel both exposed and electrified, as though his gaze has pinned you in place. He stumbles over his words for a brief moment, his face breaking into a soft, almost shy smile, before quickly regaining his composure. But in that fleeting moment, it feels as though the entire world has disappeared, leaving just the both of you in the room.

The atmosphere shifts as the Q&A wraps up, buzzing with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. Fans chatter eagerly, clutching their items for Jungkook to sign, their faces alight with joy and disbelief. It’s a surreal energy, as if the room is charged with the realization that everyone is moments away from standing face-to-face with him.

For you, that nervous energy is magnified tenfold. Your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest, and your hands are clammy as you clutch your phone. The thought of standing so close to Jungkook, especially after the moment you shared, sends a rush of emotions through you—excitement, disbelief, and an undeniable thrill. His lingering glances during the Q&A play over and over in your mind. “Did that really just happen?” “Did he really notice me?”

You think to yourself.

When your row is finally called, the nerves hit full force. You stand, trying to steady your breath as you make your way to the line. But just as you straighten up, you feel it again—the weight of eyes on you. Almost instinctively, you glance toward the stage. Your heart skips a beat as you see him….Jungkook, staring directly at you. His expression is unreadable yet intense, his gaze unwavering, as if you’ve drawn him in without trying. Your breath catches, and the world around you blurs for a moment. It’s just him and you again, like earlier, and you can barely process the reality of what’s happening.

As you stand in line, you can feel the intensity of Jungkook’s gaze landing on you after each fan interaction. It’s as if he’s counting down the seconds, waiting for you to get closer. Your heart races with every step forward, each moment building the anticipation higher. You can’t help but feel special—noticed in a way you never expected. It’s thrilling, exhilarating, and a little nerve-wracking all at once. The warmth of his attention feels like an unspoken connection, a silent acknowledgment that you both shared something unique already.

Finally, it’s your turn. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed despite the storm of emotions swirling inside of you. As you step forward, Jungkook’s entire body language shifts. He straightens up slightly, his eyes lighting up as they lock onto yours. There’s a softness in his smile, but his presence remains strong and commanding. He greets you in English, his voice warm and welcoming, and you manage to reply, “Hi, it’s so nice to see you in person”. Your smile genuine as you hold his gaze.

He pauses for a moment, his expression shifting into something almost tender, and then he says it: “𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓻𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵. 𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓻𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮… 𝓪𝓻𝓽.” His words are simple yet carry so much weight. He’s smiling, but there’s a shyness to it, a vulnerability that contrasts with his otherwise confident aura. Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t stop the blush that rises to your cheeks.

“Thank you so much.” You say sincerely, your voice steady despite how fast your heart is beating. “Your compliment means everything to me.” Then, as if something inside of you takes over; you look at him and add, “But look at you—you’re so stylish, so handsome, such a man.”

The words spill out effortlessly, and you don’t even think to stop yourself. He needs to hear this. His eyes widen slightly at your boldness, and for a moment, it seems like time freezes again. His smile grows softer, his gaze warmer, as if your words have reached him in a way he didn’t expect.

Jungkook’s confident smile grows even softer, tinged with a blush that makes him look boyishly endearing despite his commanding aura. His and your eyes lock again, the world fading away as if you both are caught in the same unspoken pull. The intensity of the moment is palpable, a silent question hanging between you both as you guys try to decide what should come next. Finally, breaking the tension, he stands from his seat and gestures for you both to take a photo together.

You both pose naturally, almost effortlessly, as if you guys done this a thousand times before. His arm lightly wraps around your shoulder, drawing you closer, while you rest your hand gently on his back. Jungkook’s smile and your smile are radiant, but there’s something more—a connection that feels tangible, like the camera is capturing not just an image, but the spark between you both.

When the photo is taken, Jungkook turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable but undeniably focused on you. Your heart pounds as you wait, unsure of what’s coming next but completely drawn into the moment. He leans in slightly, his voice low and deliberate as he asks, “May I have your contact information? Some way to reach you?”

Shock and disbelief flood through you, followed quickly by an overwhelming rush of excitement. Your breath catches, and you can barely form words. “Yes, of course,” you manage, trying to keep your composure even as your heart threatens to explode. Jungkook pulls out his personal phone, opening the notes app and handing it to you. Your hands tremble slightly as you type in your Instagram, email, phone number, and Line ID, feeling the weight of the moment.

His reaction is a mixture of amusement and genuine intrigue, his eyes lighting up as he watches you input the details. “What’s your name?” he asks, his tone playful yet sincere, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You giggle, smiling back at him. “My name is y/n.” You say softly.

He nods, tilting his head in curiosity. “How do you spell it?” Then, with another smile, he hands you his phone again. “Here, you type it.”

As you type your name, your thoughts race. “He must feel some sort of deep connection to act this way. This isn’t normal—it’s special.” His expression mirrors yours—an almost incredulous disbelief mixed with a warmth that makes the world around you both feel far away.

Meanwhile, the fans in line start to shift uncomfortably, their murmurs hinting at impatience. But neither Jungkook nor you seem to be bothered. This moment is for you both and nothing—not the crowd, the staff, or even the passage of time—can take it away.

After typing in your name and handing Jungkook back his phone, you both share one final, lingering look—a silent acknowledgment that this moment was more than just chance. It feels like a mission accomplished, yet at the same time, there’s an unspoken longing, as if neither of you guys truly wanted to part ways. “It really was such a pleasure to meet you today,” you say, your voice soft but sincere.

Jungkook’s smile is warm, almost private, as he replies, his voice carrying a gentle weight that makes his words feel intimate. You wave your fingers in a playful, shy goodbye, and he mirrors the gesture, his eyes following you for just a second too long as you turn to leave.

As you walk away, a whirlwind of emotions floods through you—excitement, disbelief, joy, and a tingling sense of wonder. Your mind replays every detail: his words, his gaze, his unexpected request for your contact. Was it real? Did that truly happen? Your cheeks are warm, your heart racing, and you feel like you’re walking on air, unable to shake the sense that something extraordinary has just begun.

Later, you make your way to a nearby restaurant you planned to visit during your trip, trying to ground yourself in the normalcy of a good meal. But even as you eat, your mind is elsewhere, still wrapped up in the magic of the encounter. As you leave the restaurant, your phone buzzes in your hand. At first, you hesitate—there’s no way it could be 𝓱𝓲𝓶. But as you glance down at the screen, your breath catches.

The message is simple, yet it stops your world:

“𝐻𝑒𝓎 𝓎/𝓃. 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒥𝓊𝓃𝑔𝓀𝑜𝑜𝓀. 𝒜𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓊𝓈𝓎 𝓉𝑜𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉?”

Shock, excitement, and disbelief wash over you all at once. Your hands tremble as you stare at the screen, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure the world can hear it. “Jungkook… messaging me?!” “Reaching out to me after everything that happened today?!” You thought to yourself. It feels surreal, like a dream you never want to wake up from.

And yet, deep down, you know this moment is real. His words carry weight, holding the promise of something meaningful. As you smile, still stunned, you can’t help but think: “𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎.”

© cyberlovewiitch 2025 / all rights reserved

[cozzzynook]

can we plz get a dratchrod-specific version of kup visiting rodimus in the medbay and holding his new grandbitty?

Sure can 🍂💕

- Kup gets word that his grandbitty Rodumis went into emergence late at night all alone while Drift and Ratchet were on the last of their shift. His poor grandbitty was found in their wash racks holding a little femme looking exhausted but radiating happiness.

- he was on the first shuttle he could wake up from recharge as he flew to his grandbitties ship and high tailed it to the medbay like cons were on his aft.

- Kup had permission to enter Rodimus’s room and the nurse bot just gave him a smile and quick sanitation spray as he rushed past them and entered the room.

- there his grandbitty was holding his great grandbitty to his pouches, Ratchet on one side of Rodimus rubbing the sparklings fresh helm, while Drift was on the same side holding the little femmes servo with dried tear tracks that looked to be refreshing at any moment now.

- he understands the two new sires being captivated by their fresh bitty, he does. He was that way with his sparkling Percy all those million years ago. But like his sparkmates carrier, he only had optics to check on his bitty. Or in this case, grandbitty.

- “My bitty,” Kup strained quietly, optics misty as he held his arms up and came to Rodimus who was smiling and motioning towards his sparkling, thinking thats what Kup meant.

- “no bitty, my bitty,” Kup answered, holding Rodimus close and carefully. Pressing kisses to his helm checking him over making Rodimus cry.

- “grandsire,” Rodimus choked tilting his helm back to get himself together but couldn’t. His sparkling wiggled no longer interested in fueling as she patted at Rodimus’s chassis and gave a little noise that echoed.

“I’m okay, i’m okay,” Rodimus smiled at her and sniffled. It was Drift who carefully took her and both his spark mates held her as Rodimus latched onto Kup who held him tightly.

“You did so good. You had a sparkling all on your own and she is so beautiful, just like you and your carrier were. I’m so proud of you,” Kup sobbed clasping Rodimus by the cheeks and lower jaw.

-🍂-

I hope this what you were looking for and i hope this is okay 🫶🏽

[wolveria]

What We Did on Felucia - Ch 4

Pairing: The Bad Batch x f!Reader

Series Warnings: Smut, dubcon, slow burn, sex pollen

Chapter Summary:

“Something else you wish to say?” “No, Master Yoda. Everything is included in the report.” “Sense more, I do.”

AO3

Between the medical droids and personnel (all Kaminoans, you realized, and of course that would make sense, most medical stations treated injured clones after all), you were soon cleared for duty.

You slowly dressed in a new pair of Jedi robes, these ones the standard fair for new knights. Your own specialized robes had been incinerated after they were stripped off your unconscious body, and after decontamination, nothing of the chemical remained. One of the Kaminoans informed you that even the sample they attempted to take from your skin had broken down too quickly to be useful. The Separatists had probably designed it that way so it would be more difficult to create an antiserum.

You were given a new comm device and told that the rest of your squad was cleared from medical, as well as for take-off from the station. After adding your signature to Hunter’s report, you boarded the Marauder in what was arguably going to be the most uncomfortable journey back to Kamino.

You wished you could say you weren’t a coward, and that you continued on as if everything was normal. But it wasn’t, so you didn’t, and you spent your time in the gunner’s seat, staring out at the blankness of hyperspace while you pretended to meditate.

The others let you be, for the most part. Wrecker and Echo asked how you were feeling (separately, of course), and Hunter came by with the occasional ration bar and unsubtle attempt to gauge how you were doing. Your responses were minimal and diplomatic, and not one of them bought it.

Tech and Crosshair remained scarce. Tech was often busy and distracted with maintaining the ship or working on a project, but his avoidance felt purposeful. Designed.

Crosshair’s absence felt like a heated point in an argument, one he was winning.

You only left to use the refresher, avoiding the bunks as if Wrecker had snuck another explosive onboard and tried to smuggle it under his pillow. You earned expectant looks when you did come out, at least from the others; Crosshair pretended you weren’t there, and you might have believed it if you didn’t sense every facet of his focus on your footsteps.

That wasn’t nearly as bad as Wrecker’s hopeful gaze slowly fading into hurt and disappointment.

The gunner’s seat was cramped and not meant for sleeping, but it was a long journey, and you couldn’t stay awake the entire time, exhaustion weighing you down. The first time you fell asleep, curled up and uncomfortable, you woke to a blanket covering you from the neck down, a cushion under your feet for support. Hunter’s familiar smell weaved into the fabric of the blanket, and you pulled it up to your face and closed your eyes.

Small indulgences would lead to disastrous outcomes. You knew this. It’s why you had to leave.

Once you landed on Kamino, the men didn’t stop you from departing for Coruscant—mainly because they didn’t know you were leaving. Like a literal coward in the literal night, you took a shuttle to a cruiser in orbit scheduled for the Inner Rim.

Your only obstacle had been Hunter’s attention after the Marauder touched down in the hanger bay. He caught you leaving the gunner chair after you sensed the ship was empty, and asked how you were doing. His gaze was a little too knowing at your answer that yes, you were fine. But when you said you just needed rest, he didn’t push it, and you left the planet within the hour.

The clone troopers on the cruiser sent curious glances your way, but they were cursory and mostly uninterested. You kept to yourself and silenced your comm when it beeped.

It had been a drizzling night when you left Kamino, but it was bright mid-morning when you landed on Coruscant. You thanked the gunship crew that took you directly from the cruiser to the Jedi Temple and prepared yourself for what came next. Striding through the golden halls wrapped you in a familiar warmth, but standing before the grand doors into the Council chambers made your stomach toss in a stormy sea.

You couldn’t remember the last time you were physically in the chamber, most times sending your reports to the database or attending meetings by holoprojector. If you could guess, the last time you were here was when the Council had assigned you to Kamino soon after the war started. You’d just earned the title of Master, and training a new army, even with the help of another Jedi and hired bounty hunters, had been a daunting task.

Your younger self could never have imagined it would lead you here.

With a signal you were unable to see or hear, the Jedi Temple Guards opened the massive double doors. Buttery sunlight spilled across your feet, trickling in from the windows that towered over your head. You took a deep breath and walked inside.

Not every member of the Council was there physically or by projection, but enough of them were that the nervousness stayed with you as you gave your debriefing. You repeated everything in Hunter’s report, neither deviating nor embellishing. You were glad you couldn’t sweat.

Some of the members had follow-up questions, such as the nature of the chemical, its intended purpose, and surprisingly, whether it could be replicated. You had to remind yourself they didn’t know what the chemical actually did, and you pleaded ignorance on all counts.

“That should be all we need,” Master Windu said from his regal seat, his expression stern but not unkind. “I think I speak for all of us when I say it’s good to see you made it through this trial intact.”

Intact. Right.

“Thank you, Master Windu.” You gave a small bow of your head. “I appreciate you taking the time to hear my report.”

And hopefully, this way, there was no reason for anyone to dig into the mission report any deeper.

“Something else you wish to say?”

You turned to Master Yoda, blinking, but the diminutive Jedi simply stared back, his face open and attentive.

“No, Master Yoda. Everything is included in the report.”

“Sense more, I do.”

You willed your heart to beat steadily, your face to remain blank. But this was the Council, and lying to them was as effective as trying to cheat a Hutt.

“I… will admit, it was a harrowing experience, for me and my troopers. I should have been better prepared for such an event.”

Master Kit Fisto spoke up, his tone kind even through the holoprojector.

“We have all fallen into the enemy’s trap, some more than others.” He cast a sideways glance at Master Kenobi who took the jab by rolling his eyes, and Master Fisto grinned toothily.

 “You did well,” Master Shaak Ti added from her own projected image; she was still on Kamino. “As did your men.”

“Yes, they did.” You met the eyes of the Council, your jittery nerves easing away. “Clone Force 99 conducted themselves admirably, as they always do, and I’m… I’m grateful to them. If they hadn’t acted so quickly, I would be a Separatist prisoner. Or worse.”

“Perhaps the first time in Republic history this particular squad has been said to conduct themselves admirably,” Master Kenobi chimed in with playful amusement, “but I too am grateful to them for your safe return. Anakin always spoke highly of them, so, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Warmth spread through you, pleased to hear your men praised by others. They certainly deserved it, and you returned Master Kenobi’s smile.

Master Windu concluded the meeting as your mission report was the last item on the agenda. You almost made it past the inner chamber before Master Yoda somehow managed to get ahead of you, blocking your escape.

“A walk to soothe these old bones, I need. Accompany me, you will.”

At least he didn’t make it sound like a choice. Normally you would enjoy walking with the old master, but the way he’d watched you throughout the debriefing didn’t bode well for you.

You followed him into the lift, emerging onto the floor that led out into the gardens. The cool breeze tugged at the strands of your loose hair, a soothing touch that soothed your heated skin.

“Returned to the Temple, you have, even when not needed. Holoprojector easier, yes? Why are you here?”

Cutting straight to the point, then. At least you had no reason to wait now.

“This mission… took more out of me than I thought.” That was certainly true, so why did every word feel dishonest? The feeling only got worse as you finally voiced the reason you came to Coruscant. “I returned in hopes I could request a meditative retreat.”

“Hmm. Worked long you have, many missions without rest. Pushed yourself too far in your duties, perhaps.”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

“Approve of this time of restoration, I do.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda,” you said with genuine gratitude.

“Rest, yes, good rest.” His smile was bright, even a little impish. “Reflect on that which burdens the mind. Then you will find the serenity you seek, hmm?”

He added a small chuckle, and you returned a strained smile. The Grand Master had no idea how right he was, or perhaps he did, and you eventually dismissed yourself with the feeling that he sensed the weight of the choice you would have to make.

You only hoped he didn’t sense the reasons behind your doubt and conflict. Even Master Yoda would be shocked at the depraved depths you’d sunk, and how eager parts of you were to revisit those dark waters.

Meditation and rest brought you no closer to peace. Your comm was still silenced, and while you had messages when you logged onto a datapad, you read them but didn’t answer.

Each one was a pang in your chest. Hunter checking in, concerned when you didn’t answer your comm and he found you no longer on Kamino. Tech sending a short message updating you on the droid schematics that had been stolen from the Separatists, your reason for being on Felucia to begin with. Wrecker asking if you were okay and when you would be back. Echo giving you assurances that you could take your time, and the squad would be there when you returned.

There were no messages from Crosshair.

A week passed. The messages came less frequently until they stopped altogether. That was for the best. They would grow accustomed to your lack of presence, making the transition easier. They might even be relieved when you officially asked for a replacement to lead Clone Force 99 in your stead.

That’s what you told yourself, so why did you feel a jolt through your gut when you received a request for another Jedi to lead a mission as commanding officer?

You swallowed your reservations and anxiety and signed the form. Master Inaro would do a fine job leading your team, and your heightened emotions were a sign that you needed to remove yourself as their commander permanently. You had approved Hunter’s falsified report as a way to protect your men, but you couldn’t do it again. You were already compromised. Unfit to lead, no matter what Hunter said.

You wouldn’t allow yourself to linger on the loss of what you would never have again. Tech’s quick wit and curious mind. Wrecker’s large heart and sweet nature. Echo’s steadfast bravery despite everything he had endured. Crosshair’s scathing tongue and the teasing slant of his rare smiles. Hunter’s thoughtfulness and warmth even as he tried to maintain the distance of command.

It hurt. You were surprised at how much.

Days passed in what felt like a listless slump rather than restful meditation, the world around you dull and colorless until the day your datapad beeped. It was a copy of the mission report from Aldera. You stared at it for a long moment, and then tapped it open. If Hunter submitted a report this timely, it would be something worth reading.

The report hadn’t been completed by Hunter. Another Jedi’s name was listed, and attached to the mission report was a preliminary analysis of the events of the mission.

There was a third attachment, completed by the same Jedi: the death certificate of Master Inaro, and two critical injury reports for CT-9902 and CT-9904.

For the first time in the Bad Batch’s history, they had failed a mission.

Next Chapter

[dystopicjumpsuit]

OC Sunday: Mic Dhorhil, the grumpiest bartender on Coruscant

A jaded Devaronian bartender with a complicated relationship to the Pyke syndicate. He absolutely judges your drink order. Don’t be fooled by his sardonic and guarded exterior: he might keep a slugthrower behind the bar (just in case), but he feeds the stray tooka who lives in the alley behind 79’s every night after he closes.

The face of a man who just had to clean up the used condoms from the floor of the refreshers at 79's. He is begging people, for the love of the Force, to use the trash compactor. Art by me 🩵

More info below the cut! Content warning for non-descriptive violence.

Overview

Name: Mic Dhorhil (pronounced Mick like Jagger, not like two turntables and a microphone) Birth year/age: 51 BBY (32 at end of the Clone Wars) Species: Devaronian Pronouns: he/him Orientation: bi/pan Home planet: Oba Diah Current location: Coruscant Occupation: grumpiest bartender on Coruscant; babysitter of one (1) pain in the ass Zabrak who is definitely old enough to know better Affiliation: 79’s bar Alignment: chaotic neutral Family: Branna Dhorhil (mother), Mhorig Durand (father, estranged), Oisin and Draig (family of the heart)

Physical characteristics

Height: 6’4”/193cm without the horns Eyes: amber Hair: bald Skin: green Tattoos/piercings/identifying marks: facial and ear piercings (and one more—can you guess?); tattoos on arms, back, and chest; significant scarring on face and body

Personal history: 

Mic was born and raised on Oba Diah, the son of single mom Branna Dhorhil. He never met his father, and Branna never talked about him. When Mic started secondary school, he met Draig, the young Zabrak who would become his lifelong best friend. Draig was small for his age, and he had lost his mother very suddenly only a few months before. Because of this, an older bully made the mistake of thinking he would be an easy target. Unfortunately for the bully, Mic was not small for his age. He stepped in and kicked the bully’s ass, with the result that both Mic and Draig were suspended.

Draig was distraught at the prospect of having to tell his father, Oisin, what had happened, when Oisin was already dealing with so much following the death of his wife. Branna was working the night shift at the time, so she was home. She recognized Draig immediately, as she worked with Oisin at the Oba Diah spaceport. She patched up the boys and got them a snack, then commed Oisin to explain what had happened. Oisin came to collect Draig, and they both stayed for dinner.

From that point on, the boys were inseparable, and the Dhorhil house was basically Draig’s second home. They formed a short-lived punk band, The Horny Devils, which played shows in Oisin’s garage once a week for their legions of adoring fan (it was Branna. Branna was their legions of adoring fan).

When Mic and Draig were in their second year of secondary school, Oisin collapsed at work. He was diagnosed with an aggressive illness, and the treatment was prohibitively expensive due to the Pyke syndicate’s monopoly on all medical goods and supplies on Oba Diah. The boys, being enterprising teens with endless self-confidence and very little impulse control, hatched a plan to break into the Pyke compound and steal the medication.

It did not go well.

They made it out, barely. They managed to get the medication and take it to Oisin, but unfortunately, they also got caught on security holovids. The Pykes, being the Pykes, didn’t take too kindly to being robbed by a couple of punk kids, and they put a bounty on both boys. The first hunter that found them cornered them in the Dhorhils’ home. Draig lost an eye to the hunter’s vibroblade before Branna managed to disarm and kill the bounty hunter with his own knife. 

They fled Oba Diah that night. Branna smuggled Oisin and the boys into the Oba Diah spaceport and stole a shuttle, then took them all to Coruscant to disappear and start over in the lower levels. Branna never told Oisin or the boys what she did to smooth things over with the Pykes, but eventually, the bounty was lifted. Nevertheless, Mic and Draig continued to give the Pykes a wide berth.

Mic started working as a busboy to help Branna while they struggled financially. Eventually, he worked his way up to become a bartender, crafting cocktails in some of the hottest bars in the upper levels. He dreamed of starting his own traditional Devaronian pub, and to help save money for that goal, he started working the closing shift at 79’s every night after he finished up at his regular job. Eventually, he scraped together the funds to start his own place in the Entertainment District, but he continued to work the closing shift at 79’s to make ends meet. 

Personality:

In the dictionary, next to the definition of “done,” you will find the above holo of Mic. That being said, he has a spectacularly long fuse. He doesn’t tolerate harassment or bullies, and the fastest way to find out what he looks like when he’s annoyed is to fuck with his customers, coworkers, or family (and he includes Oisin and Draig in that category). He’s reserved and quiet, but he has a wicked sense of humor, if you’re lucky enough to be able to overhear his commentary. 

He has Opinions™ about certain drinks, and he might not say them out loud, but you can feel the judgment if you come in and order a Green Zygerrian (like he just keeps green cream on hand, what the kriff do you think this is, a dairy?).

Aside from his family, Mic tends to hold people at a distance. It takes a long time to gain his trust, and even longer for him to feel truly comfortable around someone. Having witnessed how his father’s absence impacted Branna, Mic is very, very guarded about romance. He needs to get to know someone very well and form a strong connection with them before he’ll consider getting physical. But once he’s in? He’s all in. No games, no messing around: he knows what he wants, and he’ll be very upfront about it. He just needs to be sure his prospective partner is on the same page before he lets himself get involved.

Due to his personal history with the crime syndicates (not to mention his family’s nebulous respect for the law), Mic has an innate distrust of authority in general and the police in particular. He keeps a low profile, but when the Corrie Guard comes to 79’s, he’s on full alert. Oddly enough, Commander Fox is one of his favorite customers. Maybe he feels a deep spiritual connection to the Marshal Commander’s exhausted ori’vod energy.

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@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod

[fleeting-sanity]

Flying Underground

[ Previous Entry ] 🐜 [ Read @ Ao3 ] 🐜 [ Chapter Index ]

Rionnic was gone in a flash, utilizing the Force to escape Jaesa’s sights. When she returned to their manor, he wasn’t there, even after an hour in. Shortly after, their son woke up, all cheery and energized. Jaesa started dreading the father’s absence, as they had to depart preferably before noon.

“Where’s father? Is he at work already?” asked Rian freshly after showering.

“He’ll be back soon. Why don’t you have some milk first?”

She tried calling his holoreceiver, leaving a message when her attempts failed. Just as she was about to call her parents, the door opened to a calm and expressionless Rionnic. Immediately her head conjured a fantasy where she ran to him, arms circling his waist and inhaling his exposed chest. Instead, it was their son instead who ran to him for a hug. “Father! Where were you? You’re out so early.”

“Uh… just some work. But I’m confident I’m free of it until our trip’s over, this time. Have you had breakfast?”

Rian nodded, then returned the question to him. “Not yet. I’ll just have it on the way to our destination. Let’s get ready, we’re going spelunking!”

Which was met with Rian’s joyful exclamation. The little padawan skittered to his bag of equipment, while the parents did their best to avoid eye contact. She wordlessly served him breakfast, then changed to a more suitable outfit and gear for their activity; with her trusty double-bladed lightsaber holstered. When she arrived at the shuttle pad attached to their chateau, Rian was eagerly standing near the vehicle until he remembered something. 

“Oh! My special datapad! Let me get it quickly!” as the padawan ran back inside.

Rionnic soon joined her, face turned away while stating; “Stay alert for Killiks.”

She sighed. Her hand cautiously reached out to his arms, tentatively grasping his sleeve. He coldly took his arm back, proceeding to take his place in the pilot’s seat. Unbeknownst to them, their son watched the less than friendly interaction, killing the smile on his face and his enthusiasm. Once again, the silence was heavy on their journey to the mountains. Both parents noticed the change in Rian’s mood.

“You got everything sorted out, good Sir?”

“Yeah… I got my notes written on this datapad.”

Rian’s volume was subdued and somber. His mind kept collaging the moments from earlier with the question his mother asked of him on Ossus, and the way Rionnic hesitated each time he was asked about Jaesa. His parents however, were unnerved but quickly put the pieces together. They both admonished themselves, searching for ways to undo the damage.

“We’re almost there! Alright, Rian, there’s something that I need to emphasize here,” said Jaesa with a faux upbeat tone, grasping her son’s shoulders. “You’ve read about the Killiks, yes? If you’ve seen or stumbled upon one, do not engage them. Run to us. Inform us. Okay?”

“Y-yes, mother.”

“We’ll have to stay close to each other. Don’t worry, I picked the safest one, it should be clear enough.” Rionnic chimed in.

And thus the little family entered a cave in the Glarus region. It was damp and colder than the wintery landscape outside, and as they went further inside, traces of Killik hive mounds could be seen along the walls. Rian grimaced at the gooey texture, almost retching at the sight of carcasses trapped inside the structures. Jaesa tried her best to comfort him.

“Do you want to turn around? It seems like-”

“No, no. I’ve, uh, seen creatures in caves before! It’s just…” as the boy rubbed his face to try refreshing his thoughts. “You said you grew up here, mother?”

The former handmaiden chuckled quietly. “Yes, but not in the caves, of course. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Rionnic was strangely silent. His sight was focused on a crevice, sensing movement from the other side of the cave. But he had been told that this cave was already cleared of Killiks, as he grumbled inside. The Killiks were mostly driven back to the caves and out of the surface from the combined efforts of the Noble Houses and Galactic Solution Industries. Though, a small part of Alderaanians–particularly the scientists and historians, weren’t keen on the Order of Extermination. Not wanting to alarm his wife and child, he gently suggested that they either change course or find another cave. Rian chose the former.

“What’s wrong, father?”

Smiling, the father responded in a hushed tone. “They’re home. We might be intruding if we proceeded with that route-” 

But not a second later, two Killiks burst out from a hive mound, swinging their staffs towards the family. The father’s lightning reflexes had him flying to body-slam one while grabbing the other then throwing the Killik away. He confiscated the staff of the Killik he was pinning, bashing its head to unconsciousness. 

“Run out!” he exclaimed to his loved ones, while more Killiks appeared from a distance, disrupted by the noise.

Rian hesitated, but his mother dragged him away with her lightsaber in hand. He wanted to help, to finally fight alongside his father and put the sparring lessons to use. Rionnic’s lightsaber deflected the flurry of blaster bolts from the flanking Killiks, doing his best to avoid casualties, while fighting off the melee ones with the staff. When he felt that his family was far enough, he resorted to one of his more powerful but rarely utilized Force power.

Simultaneously, all of the Killiks began levitating off the ground, by their necks. 

The next Force power he used was to speed away, with the plan to release the Killiks once he was out of the cave. He didn’t have time to catch his breath upon seeing Rian sobbing in Jaesa’s cradle. “Rian?”

“Father!” As the boy jumped to his arms. “Did we… did we intrude? Was that wrong of us?”

The devoted father lifted him up in his embrace, stroking and soothing while walking away from the vicinity of the cave. “I have to be honest with you, I thought the cave was uninhabited. I’m so sorry. But I can assure you that everyone in the cave escaped with their lives.”

Rian’s response was to tighten his grasp, and his guilty sobs dried after hearing Rionnic’s suggestion. “How about we go to the Elysium now? The air is amazing there. We can go thranta riding too!”

Jaesa became the third wheel once again, a position that she wouldn’t protest. Hearing Rionnic’s tone and the way he embraced fatherhood made her fall even deeper. A private banter with Vette via holocom yesterday had her state her hopes of winning his heart back, something her twi’lek friend was fully on board with. This time, there would be no changing her mind anymore. 

She silently handed him a tumbler, which he took to replenish his mouth. The shuttle arrived at the Elysium, making Rian momentarily forget about his parent’s indifference towards each other earlier. Stepping out to the cool breeze and then seeing the ground below both excited and intimidated the young padawan, ready for a new experience. An unexpected sight was the group of Jedi in a tent, doing research on the ancient artifacts. Both mother and son introduced themselves while the father kept his distance. 

The sight of the Jedi being wise and knowledgeable, with some even sharing their research with him, inspired Rian.

Rionnic approached them, stating that a thranta was ready for a trip. Rian exclaimed his joy, skittering towards his father. However, the thranta can only fit two people at once, lest the third might lose balance due to the lack of space. Jaesa chose to stay behind with the Jedi, reminding her son to be careful and situationally aware.

“Wow! We’re flying! I mean–it’s different from riding a shuttle but–wow! Hahaha!”

Rian spread his arms out, mimicking the thranta’s wings. His father was glad–yet another one of his distraction tactics worked, but he wondered how much of it he had left and how often was it necessary. He knew that he was also hurting Rian by hurting his mother. Was he prepared to bare his heart again to her? What’s the importance of his wounded heart compared to his son’s?

The first thing he needed to do was to stop the disdain he felt whenever she was near. It was disrespectful, and even if she were to break his heart a thousand times more, he should at least remain dignified and composed for his son.

As soon as the thranta finished its lap, Rian immediately wanted to ride it again. Rionnic appealed to him; “The thranta needed rest and food, just like we do. We should do that too while we wait.”

“Okay… I’m kinda thirsty actually.”

Little did the former Wrath knew that he’d be eating lunch with the Jedi. He stood there like a frozen twig in winter, the thoughts in his mind crashing into each other like a trainwreck. Had he been a droid, he would have repeatedly uttered an error in the protocols. The only solace he took was how not one of them mentioned who he was. Yet. “Father? What are you doing? Come sit here.”

Rionnic’s awkwardness was almost comical to Jaesa. He couldn’t eat much–apparently listening to his son ramble on about archeology was fulfilling enough for him. The rest of the Jedi there didn’t talk much to him except for one. Kie’nir’tivvi, a Chiss Jedi made quite the change of atmosphere when she acknowledged Rionnic by “Lord Wrath”. She went even further by asking him if he would be interested in becoming a Jedi. 

“I’d love to see that!” Rian snickered.

A little jealousy in Jaesa thought that her colleague was making a move on her husband, while the husband was embarrassed, more than anything. Taking a short and sharp inhale, Rionnic wrestled the stoicism back to him, calmly replying; “Seems like a long shot.”

Kirvi chuckled. “I can give pointers. First hand experience here.”

The revelation was quite a shock to the couple. Rionnic declined to comment further, while Jaesa’s face slowly morphed into that of contempt. She knew of Rionnic’s character, making it not hurt as much, but she disliked the way other women were so easily cordial towards him. Rian noticed the tension, thus being reminded of the situation earlier that day. 

Children his age began to blossom in creativity and devious ideas. Once the meal was done, he was so insistent on riding the thranta again, to which Jaesa appealed for him to let the food digest to avoid air sickness. Just as they were about to board the thranta, he made a last minute change of mind by pretending to have a stomach ache. 

“It’s fine, it’s fiiiineeee, please go on ahead without me! I just need to go to the uh… refreshers!”

As if there were any of it on top of the Elysium. He made a show of running away, leaving the parents stunned. But not far from there, he turned around while comically pouting and placing his hands on his hips–metaphorically ushering his parents. If it were a children’s show, the parents would have been shown with visible sweating water drops, confused with Rian’s shenanigans. They had no choice but to get on the ride, awkwardly shuffling then colliding, adding to Rian’s amusement. 

“Wh-where are you taking seat-”

“The back–uh, backseat. Can’t have you hugging me from behind all the time, now, can’t we?” Jaesa teased, making Rionnic frown and sulkily hopped on the saddle. 

She fastened her arms around his abdomen, causing him to freeze for a second. It was the happiest Jaesa had been the entire day. As they began flying, she laid her head on his back, inhaling his scent, feeling safe and fluttery. He was trying his hardest to calm his heartbeat, not wanting to be flustered by the physical intimacy. The way her hands slithered around his body made the temperature rise, irregardless of how breezy flying with the thranta was. 

But he must make good of the promise he just made to himself. No more resentment, even in the absence of Rian.  

“Red…”

How badly he wanted to land quickly, but the thranta was just following the usual route it was trained for. 

“I understand your pain. I’ll always be here as your friend if you need me. I cannot help how I feel about you, though. If you’re not comfortable with that, I’ll try… try to…” Jaesa paused, unsure on how to continue. She tightened her embrace instead. “You deserve so much better. I won’t hold anything against you. But I want to help. Whatever you wish of me…”

Somehow, her words gave him comfort. She received no reply, but having him hear what she had to say was enough. They were silent for the rest of the ride. Once they safely disembarked, Rian was still with the Jedi group, having so much fun learning about archeology. He greeted his parents earnestly, immediately babbling about the new knowledge. 

“Soooo… what about your tummy? All good now?” asked Jaesa teasingly. “Hehe…. Yeah! Haha…” Rian swiftly realized that his parents were onto him. He lowered his gaze, watching his right feet sweep around the floor all guilty. Rionnic smirked and ruffled his son’s hair.

“Clever little boy, aren’t you? But don’t do it too often, lying can get you in trouble!”

“Yes, father…”

After Rian’s last thranta ride with Jaesa, the little family returned to their manor in a better mood than before, hopeful that the rest of the week would improve. But one question would change the atmosphere once again.

“Father, why did Master Kirvi call you Lord Wrath? What’s that?” 

[sims4cars-breezemotors]

“Let freedom roam”

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