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Why do I have stupid ideas after seeing this?

But I can totally imagine the reader poisoning her husband Krennic after she hears about his latest atrocities... What does the ever-wise @sparklebunny57 say on this matter?

Vincent Price and Carol Ohmart - The House on Haunted Hill (1959) dir. William Castle

[septima-severa]

Tarkin's Game (Krennic x reader)

I have finished editing the latest story of Orson Krennic x reader. This time, the crack idea was "make Tarkin an absolute creep". Which, according to @sparklebunny57 was achieved (based on the snippets I've been sending her via messages).

The first part of the first chapter - yep, it is a four-headed hydra now - was posted in WIP Wednesday: Tarkin's Game previously.

Now, I put the first chapter on AO3, too!

With the exception of the third chapter, it will be NSFW. Because I just can't help myself, I don't know how to write "suggestive" without a HoloNet porn site quality anymore. And because Tarkin tasks Krennic with a special assignment (whether it was to prove something to himself or drive our Director to an early grave, I leave the speculations to you), I was *this close* to describing them leafing through Kama Sutra.

... Oh, that might actually be a good idea for a Scarif holiday these two idiots are planning.

Excerpt:

“Director Krennic,” Tarkin’s holoprojection started, a slightly distorted voice filling his tiny office on Geonosis. “Any luck with your newest project?” The signal was weak at best, image flickering and glitching occasionally.

The man stood there, hands clasped in front of him. “It’s running smoothly, Grand Moff,” he said tersely, dismissing this impromptu progress report.

“Then she’s not pregnant, I take it. Which will not happen unless you share a bed with her.”

“I couldn’t possibly compromise Stardust by bringing her here, Tarkin,” Orson growled. “Besides, my current work schedule prohibits me from leaving this Maker-forsaken place right now. We’ve encountered a deficiency in the supply chain recently, and I must be present to prevent more such setbacks that could hinder our progress. Geonosis is as off limits to Lady Krennic as it is to any non-military personnel, excluding the construction workers. Or do you suggest I should enlist her?” he quirked his brow.

“Her talents as an engineer would deem it unnecessary and would be wasted anyway. I believe her contract with Kuat is still effective, and she can stay there for now. Makes it easier to track her down.”

“Since you’ve been keeping an eye on her, you should know best.” He had suspected that you had been under surveillance. This only confirmed his suspicion. This and the fact that the despicable man knew. “What do you want, then?”

“You seem… tense, Director. Maybe a leave would do you some good. The stress, you know, is not beneficial for your health.”

You old nerf herder, Krennic thought bitterly, it was all your doing, you’ve been running me down to an early grave. “We’re now at the critical stage. The construction has resumed, and I deem it necessary to prevent any further delays from Poggle the Lesser’s hive. The latest mutiny among the drones cost us dearly, combined with the supply chain problems.”

“Kuat has been selected as the manufacturer for the Stardust’s hyperdrive engines. Maybe, at some point, you would like to also inspect their progress,” Tarkin shrugged. “And bed your wife properly once you’ll be there.” The sound that left him afterwards did not resemble anything human.

Krennic bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying something he would regret later. Fortunately, the Grand Moff then terminated the call and so didn’t witness the rage flaring through him, hands clenched in fists and prepared to hit just about anything, even if it was a console. Seriously, where did Tarkin find the time to pester him so much?

---

A beep of message received woke you up with a jerk – you had fallen asleep at your desk. It was a middle of a night cycle now, and the light of a desk lamp hurt your bleary eyes. You squinted at it, mildly annoyed. Your jaw ached, your neck protesting the odd angle it had been forced to assume for some time. What was even worse, the flimsi you had so meticulously covered with notes and calculations now resembled a big mess, everything smeared, some things outright missing, smudges of ink on your exposed skin a silent testimony of what had happened to them.

You groaned in frustration. You would have to redo everything.

But what had you been working on?

Your mind remained blank as you reached for the datapad – one of many on the cluttered table, yet unmistakably your personal one.

Two messages.

The first one bore very non-standard encryption. It was a follow-up on your recent endeavours to sell some of your finished designs. It stated that the buyer – or his associate, you presumed – would meet you in six weeks on Cantonica and that further information would be sent closer to the date of transaction.

The other message, however, infuriated you. It was from Tarkin. And blank, with exception of a file attached.

Your biggest mistake at that moment was opening it. Because once you did, there was no way back.

“That skroggin’ Sithspawn!” you spat, jumping out of your chair. You stared at the screen incredulously. “I’m so gonna kill that old son of a monkey-lizard!”

It seemed that the Grand Moff got himself so invested in his little game that he sent you a file showing an outrageously detailed assembly of very descriptive sexual positions. And what was worse – with notes on which ones were considered the most effective for the female to conceive.

You briefly contemplated chugging a container of engine coolant, too petrified to move.

Yet something even more terrifying occurred to you: he was monitoring your progress – or lack thereof. How else would that absolutely despicable man know that you had failed to fall pregnant in these past four months? Whether he was using a network of spies or bribery… You shuddered at the thought, the room suddenly too cold to be comfortable.

The intercom chimed shortly before the unlocked door opened with a hiss. A Death Trooper stood at the threshold, and you stared at him with an open mouth, not comprehending anything. The corridor lights, dimmed for the night, reflected off his polished armour.

If you expected a whirl of white uniform and a cape marching in, you were in for disappointment.

“Ma’am, I have orders to bring you to Cato Neimoidia.”

You flinched at the sound of his electronically disrupted voice, glad that you weren’t surrounded by these on a daily basis. “When?”

The trooper stepped inside. “Effective immediately.”

The Imperial shuttle loomed in the hangar like an obnoxious bird of prey, its wings folded. It dwarfed the other spacecraft, mainly personal transport for the company employees, this one almost too big for the landing bay. Still, you accompanied the guard meekly inside and followed the orders, secretly hoping to catch up on sleep, even if it would be on the hard bench that was assigned to you for the duration of this trip.

The destination wasn’t too far from Kuat, however.

[septima-severa]

I've given it a day. And STILL, I can't NOT THINK about this. It is an absolute gem, it's holding me in bear hug, it doesn't want to go away. Do I want to hear MORE? Oh, you bet, pal.

I want to visit The Amidala Conservatory, if just to see their shenanigans.

thrantovember teaser but like. sequels flavored. antifascism is stored in the 30 year old gay interspecies sex tapes. hux better take a look at them just to make sure there's no important resistance info in there. just in case.

Some of the recordings are utterly mundane, as is the case with a series of short videos illustrating a recurring problem with the sink in their quarters, or otherwise so abstracted from their original context that any significance is lost on Armitage, as is the case with an image of a circuit board taken from such a close angle that Armitage is unable to discern what sort of larger structure it may have been a part of. Some of the recordings were once precious memories, and some of them are of a more intimate nature. Armitage watches those with a dry mouth and a hot face, unable to look away from the proof that the legendary Grand Admiral and his respected aide had in fact been engaged in an illicit interspecies homosexual relationship. He deletes all evidence of the fact from the camcorder lest it fall into the wrong hands, but keeps a copy of the intact data on a secure and private personal card. Two hours into his perusal of the card, Armitage comes across a picture of Eli Vanto posing in front of a sign reading Amidala Art Conservatory and Museum. The metadata on the image reveals that it had been taken in the Capitol Province of Naboo early in 4 BBY, and the next thirty or so images and videos are all of artistic and cultural artifacts that no longer exist. The Amidala Conservatory had been destroyed in the Nabooian winter of 4 BBY, mere weeks after the date shown. Armitage knows well the sort of seditious and inappropriate content that had been housed in the Conservatory. He brews himself another cup of tea, then sits down and begins to study the now-illegal images. By the time he's finished, the remaining two thirds of the tea has gone cold, and when he presses the forward arrow and finds he's reached the end of the series of Conservatory images, he finds himself feeling strangely disappointed. He pages back until he's returned to one particular image, a still of Vanto before a sculpture that bears a striking resemblance to his own profile, all old-world Wild Space dignity, and looks at it until when he closes his eyes, Vanto's face flashes behind his eyelids.

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Seems that I just can't leave the Dianogas living on the Star Destroyers in peace...

First was Sally the Dianoga for Faro x reader, now I need someone to name the creature dwelling in the main trash compactor beneath Tarkin's feet to add some curry to Krennic x reader.

Any suggestions?

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WIP Wednesday: Tarkin's Game

“You’ve had your fun, Director. It is time for your pretty plaything to serve the Empire properly. Perhaps you should dedicate your next leave to the effort to finally make her pregnant… Should you have a problem in that regard, I believe there are… other possible solutions to your fertility issues.”

“I don’t need help with that,” the man in white uniform growled, rather impatient to end this interrogation as soon as possible. “Are you insinuating that I can’t fuck a woman thoroughly?”

“All I’m saying is that the implants, especially in Lady Krennic’s case, may be considered… a waste of the Imperial resources.” The thin smile appearing on Tarkin’s face wasn’t short of creepy. “If you require a cruder explanation, Director, I shall say that it’s not about your ability to fuck a woman, it’s about your inability to fuck a child into her. I would guess that by now, you should be quite… familiar with her body.”

“Uh-huh,” he tried to drown his displeasure in the offered drink, but the amber liquid was turning sour in his mouth in such an unappealing company.

“If you require an… assistance in this regard, I believe something could be arranged.”

Although Krennic doubted it was supposed to sound eager, especially coming from the distinguished Grand Moff, he noticed the subtle signs of excitement over the proposition that had just come out of his mouth – that much was obvious even without the training he had received at the ISB academy. He also understood fully why you had been outright dismissive of the idea of serving the old fuck.

“Your wife might still be considered youthful, but she won’t be getting any younger with passing years. I suggest you take advantage of her fertility – for the Empire, of course. In the end, she is your wife and must obey her lawful husband. Besides, they are usually quite eager at the prospect of bearing children; I suggest you take a full advantage of that.”

He noticed the shudder running through Tarkin’s body. The sole idea of him assisting with anything that involved you made him angry. All that talk of obedience… He knew too well the darker side of the so-called Tarkin Doctrine.

But subjecting you to it? Could he live it down?

What he did not know, though, was that the Grand Moff had already set his newest plan into motion when you had visited the clinic for the regular implant replacement, and he would discover the full extent of it later, once you would inform him of your suspicions via a message.

---

A plate hurtled through the air, missing him by mere inches before it hit the wall and shattered. You were already grabbing at another one, reducing the contents of your household at an incredible speed. He could tell you were seething with rage even without the dramatic display, although he had to note your increasing accuracy with a worry.

“A breeding MARE! You’re reducing me to some BREEDING mare! A common whore, Orson!” you shouted.

“You don’t understand –“

“Of course, I understand, you bastard! For the kriffing Empire!”

Maker, you looked so beautiful when you were angry, and he would like nothing less than fuck you silly – if you had only let him closer, which was currently impossible when even the most improbable objects transformed into dangerous projectiles in your hands. Nevertheless, lust settled into his core, stirring with each passing moment when he observed the goddess of wrath that had taken your place.

“Fuck you! And fuck Tarkin!” you howled.

The next thing that smashed into the wall beside him was very uncomfortably close to his groin, and at that moment, he wished this could be only a holocall.

Waiting for another missile to be launched his way, he watched the knife within your reach with mild concern. “If you heard what he proposed, you would kill him,” he gulped, not really knowing what propelled him to say that. Out of all things.

“I will kill him! I will KILL him!”

Then the initial rage left you, and you collapsed on the floor with a bitter laughter that morphed into a painful wail.

At first, he thought you injured yourself accidentally while aiming at him. You stayed there, curled in on yourself, gasping and obviously in pain. His mouth ran dry; he had never seen you like this. Shards of glass, porcelain and ceramics crunched under his boots as he closed the distance between himself and your hunched form. He tentatively reached for you, but you recoiled. Instead, he witnessed you reaching in between your legs, bringing bloodied fingers to your face. You were mortified and fled from the scene.

He found you in the refresher, sitting in a tub full of steaming water, head resting on your knees, eyes closed. The humidity of the room made his shirt cling to his skin almost instantly. In the low light, the water started turning pink, and the discarded dress you had been wearing laid on the floor, stained with blood. Then it dawned on him.

The contraception implant had been removed approximately five days prior.

“Go away,” your voice was weak.

It was disgusting, he wouldn’t lie, and at one point in his life, it would have grossed him out, but there was so much blood on his hands now, he could handle some more. Especially since he didn’t cause you to bleed. He started discarding his uniform.

At the sound of fabric rustling, you cracked one eye open, watching him like a hawk. “What – what are you doing?” you asked when he put the articles of clothing away safely.

“Move.”

[septima-severa]

Reblog if you are a fanfiction author and would like your readers to put one of your fic titles in your ask + questions about it

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

2: What scene did you first put down?

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

5: What part was hardest to write?

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

7: Where did the title come from?

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

11: What do you like best about this fic?

12: What do you like least about this fic?

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

[septima-severa]

As long as you whisper the deliciously depraved ideas into my ear, @sparklebunny57 , I can see about that ;) Especially in Krennic's case, I haven't been writing anything else but smut, anyway. So, to save some Geonosians, let's ride the Director!

Every unhinged fic writer needs an equally unhinged friend who "yes ands" their ideas and encourages them to write all their most far fetched and insane stories.

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I need some, too, because I have no idea for how long will @sparklebunny57 last during the orbital bombardment.

Every unhinged fic writer needs an equally unhinged friend who "yes ands" their ideas and encourages them to write all their most far fetched and insane stories.

[septima-severa]

Plate: "Glossy Starlings, Malabar Mynah", from The Illustrated Book of Canaries and Cage-Birds, British and Foreign (1878), by W. A. Blakston, W. Swaysland and August F. Wiener.

[septima-severa]

Discarded Jimmy Choo's

"And when would you want me to wear these, exactly?" you pouted, eyeing the contents of shoe box Ben presented you with remorse. You were sitting curled on the couch, massaging your swollen ankles.

"I hoped you would like them?" he looked at you with doe eyes.

You cackled, the sound bubbling in your chest happily. "I'm five months pregnant, Ben. My ankles are killing me and I already feel like a whale, even though I am barely showing. The last thing I need is a gorgeous pair of shoes I can't even wear now." You paused, crestfallen at his sad expression. "I mean... they're beautiful, but I can't appreciate them as they deserve."

"... You're right." You didn't expect him to kneel in front of you. He then took the box and tossed it over his shoulder carelessly, and you heard the most beautiful pumps clank on the tiled floor. "I'm so sorry, I hope you'll forgive me my foolishness," he whispered.

"Oh, Ben..." you caressed his five o'clock shadow lovingly while he continued to look at you like you were a goddess with those blue eyes you so loved.

"I love you so much it hurts."

Something caught your attention, and you looked over his shoulder briefly. As he had kneeled, his pant legs had ridden up, revealing a most ridiculous pair of purple dotted socks. It sent you into a fit of laughter.

Okay, I promised @thrawnnn a little fic bit, and then I saw a cursed post (actually two cursed posts, but deliciously cursed) by @99tech99 giving me the weirdest idea ever.

And I'm not going to apologise for this.

The previous fic bit is Mischief.

[septima-severa]

I got a suggestion from @thrawnnn for Krennic x reader wife. Now let's get to the brewing stage, because this look is really delicious. Well, thing is, after what he had done to the reader in the latest installment Vulnerable ("Orson, you bastard..."), the reader AT LEAST deserves an apology from him.

On the other hand, I think that Mustafar would freeze over before Krennic said "I'm so sorry" or "I'm an idiot" or both in one sentence addressed to her.

But getting him pregnant? HOW? Biology.exe not working in my storyline.

I need to get him pregnant.

[septima-severa]

What the flock?! such smart names!

Science should let more cartoonists name things. That how we got the thagomizer and the Rube Goldberg machines. Anyways! SHERLOCK CROWMES!!!!!

Check out my stuff!

✧Read Namesake✧ ✧Read Crow Time✧ ✧Store✧ ✧Patreon✧

[septima-severa]

"Orson, you bastard..." part III

I have posted the first half of this two-parter on AO3, if you are interested.

Vulnerable ("Orson, you bastard...")

Despite the coldness that heralded an approaching end of summer on this planet, the room retained its warmth, the hearth bearing no signs of a fire that would have to be built during colder months. He had discarded his cape and outer uniform, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.

He craved a cigarra.

“Orson…” you mumbled, dreaming. His name escaped your lips sounding more like a sigh, and he tensed for a moment.

He had fucked up, and he knew. He had been stewing for over a month, conflicting emotions clashing within him every time your name crossed his mind. And literally anything could trigger that. He had left Coruscant in haste, if only to escape the apartment where the smallest of things had reminded him of your absence.

Maker, a feeling of guilt had stopped him from advancing on a rather young and naïve ensign assigned to his project, leaving him torn and his throbbing cock aching as he had been unable to seek release in another body. Even his hand had felt repulsing while he had touched himself later, chasing satisfaction that hadn’t arrived when he had spilled in his own fist.

He needed you.

These past fifty days of torture had been driving him mad – reckless, even.

Can’t those damn birds shut up for once?

---

When you woke up, the sleeping pill you had taken in the evening leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, nothing was amiss. The weather pattern changed, though, and the lake’s surface looked like a steel with storm clouds gathering on the horizon, heralding an abrupt end to the series of hot days you had endured. A subtle charge in the air promised to cut your plans of having a dip short.

Your bare feet padded softly on the tiles as you entered the kitchens. As a pleasant surprise, there were a few baskets with fresh produce of fruit and vegetables, as well as a loaf of warm bread you had tried to recreate over the past few days, with the mixed results being fed to bokboks since your baking skills hadn’t been on satisfactory level for that feat – it seemed that your housekeeper wasn’t scared away so easily by the guards today.

Putting a kettle on a simple stove, you heard voices behind you but paid them no mind.

Their owners walked in, and the knife you were holding fell from your grip.

“Dunstig?” you stared at the two men in disbelief.

“Mornin’, missus Krennic,” the captain greeted you with a soft smile while Agent Bhrea helped himself to a pear.

You were unable to recover for quite some time and let yourself be shoved gently away from your spot as your husband’s aide took over the task. You could only stand by the sink, still processing the fact that Pterro was here. Which meant that you hadn’t been dreaming at all –

“Where is he?”

“Haven’t seen him all morning, ma’am,” he answered truthfully. He was watching you from the corner of his eye the whole time, hyperaware of this space full of potential weapons you could grab.

[septima-severa]

WIP Wednesday: "Orson, you bastard..." part II

[TW: Krennic is not nice. Not a single bit - actually, it's a SA.]

Krennic was stalking towards the alien commodore and his aide, you could see that clearly. Intercepting him could only develop in two ways –

The question being whose humiliation it would result in.

Nevertheless, you traversed his war path, your head held high. You would swear you felt the scorching red gaze on your back, as his prey found themselves within the earshot of you two. Placing your hand gently on his chest crossed with black-and-white sash, you whispered his name.

He snapped his icy blue eyes at you within a heartbeat. “You whore, how dare you let him touch what is mine,” he growled, his gaze burning with hatred and a myriad of other emotions. You felt him struggling with the impulse to shove you from himself – maybe it was a plenty of potential witnesses and onlookers that prevented him doing exactly that.

“Orson, I’m tired,” you tried again.

The only response was the director’s scowl and the intensity of vibrations between your legs increasing. You gasped for air softly, panting against his shoulder.

Before you could change your tactics again, he was dragging you off to somewhere, your arm in his vice grip. “Ouch!” you hissed, but he did not relent. Anger was radiating off him as he threw you unceremoniously into a vacant ‘fresher, locking the door once he crowded you in. You stumbled, catching yourself before you could fall.

“How dare you humiliate me in front of the others!” he spat maliciously. “How dare you associate yourself with that alien pet of the Emperor!” his voice was rising, echoing off the walls. “Come here!”

You shook your head slowly, cowering in the corner.

“I said come here,” his words were laced with threat as he pointed to the spot in front of him.

“You can’t order me around,” you whispered, your body shaking with fear.

“But I can, wife. And I won’t repeat myself.”

You vacated your spot only reluctantly, and since you approached him too slowly for his liking, he grabbed at you impatiently. Once you were closer, he slapped you, and you watched him in disbelief, holding your reddening cheek. The force he then slammed you with against the counter robbed you of breath, and your outstretched arms landed on the mirror, shattering it. The glass shards embedded themselves in your tender skin. It hurt, and you howled in pain.

“You think you can disobey me?” Krennic snarled, bending over you, his frame pinning you in place, “think again, Y/N.”

You stared at the remnants of broken glass, wondering briefly that it could have been your head he would smash against it. That thought made bile rise in your throat, burning on its way. You tried not to move too much, frozen with fear, but the marble turned slippery with your own blood seeping from the cuts.

“I should have put the slave collar back on your pretty neck, maybe you wouldn’t disappoint me so much,” he whispered darkly into your ear, caressing your pulse point, before you felt his body rising from yours. He hiked up your skirts, gathering the material over your waist as tears streamed down your face. The device he had placed in your panties earlier slipped out of its place and fell to the floor with a thud as he moved the scrap of fabric aside. “You’re wet, darling,” he observed, “do you dream of his hands raking over your body, hmm?”

“N-no,” you sobbed.

“Does the idea of fucking an alien turn you on?” he continued, his gloved hand sliding along your pussy. “It makes me wonder: would you want to fuck him out of curiosity? Would you willingly climb into a bed with Commodore Thrawn?”

You shook your head in denial.

But he continued. “What if he doesn’t even have a cock to fill you up with? What then? Or maybe he would use some toy on you, hmm? Wouldn’t you like that, slut?”

You cried out when two of his fingers entered you roughly, not prepared for this. You squirmed against the counter, but there was no escape.

“Answer me!” he barked.

“I wouldn’t!” you sobbed in earnest, your arms trembling badly.

“It seems I need to teach you a lesson, wife.”

“No-no-no-no, please, I’ll behave!” you panted.

[septima-severa]

Okay, this is something I can work with.

[laughs evilly while opening a new document]

Eli Vanto (Thrawn, Timothy Zahn)

[septima-severa]

"Orson, you bastard..."

"I see you've found my gift for you."

"I seriously doubt it was meant to be a gift for me," you frowned, checking the fit again in the mirror. Krennic was standing at the door to the bedroom, leaning against the frame leisurely, with a glass in hand. "Was this necessary?" you finally turned to him, motioning for the rather delicate lingerie set hugging your curves.

"Well, lately, you haven't been putting an effort into dressing for me prettily," he smirked, ogling the garters framing your bottom, holding the sheer stockings, their back seams running down your thighs and calves. His hands were itching to touch you, but -

"The gala hardly seems the right time to parade me around like this."

Putting the drink aside, he was standing behind you in three strides. "That's what the dress is for, darling," he whispered against the exposed column of your neck. "Others don't exactly need to know what is under it."

You felt his hand cupping your breast, gliding down over the delicate lace slowly, his touch just a ghost feeling over your skin, before it stopped between your legs.

"Don't you see how beautiful you are now?" His finger started its torture on your clit, circling it. "This is much better than those rags you wear every day."

"You mean impractical."

"Is it wrong when I want to see you like this?" He applied slightly more pressure, making you moan as you leaned onto him, before his fingers delved further, tracing the seam of your pussy.

"You weren't complaining... much, Orson," you gasped.

[septima-severa]

Clara Emma Langenbach (Canada-USA, 1871-1964)

A Parrot, n.d.

Oil on board, 36 x 49.5 cm (14.17 x 19.49 in.)

Private collection

🆔 appears to be Amazona aestiva aestiva, the nominate subspecies of the Turquoise-Fronted Amazon native to E. Brazil