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anjelicawrites · 1 year ago

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Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader x Osferth and all the combinations thereof.

Synopsis: the lovely anon requested OG!Poly either prompt #1 or #8 from this prompt list. I went with #8 and for a University!AU because why not?

Warnings: a dash of angst with a happy ending, kissing, edging, biting, fingering, oral (f receiving), discussion of limits, a bit of demeaning language, p in v sex, anal, titty sucking.

A/N: your request is finally here nonnie! Sorry for the long wait!

NSFW and 18+ only please!

“Spread your legs baby, that’s it… Wider.”

Aemond’s voice is husky in your ears, Osferth’s big hands help you open your legs more, until he can hook them behind his, baring you to your other lover’s burning eye.

This is not how you expected to end your night but it’s definitively a better way than what you’d imagined.

When you started uni, you never expected to find yourself in a three way relationship by the third year, and not with Osferth, the sweetest member of the Tau Lambda Ki fraternity, and Aemond, the brother of the head of the other fraternity, The Beacon.

You three had all the reasons to keep your relationship under wraps, but you never expected Aemond and Osferth to disappear from your life right around graduation. You never hoped whatever you three shared to survive university, but that they would drop you without a word, and Aemond… You don’t want to go there, you don’t want to think about the sweet moments you three had shared, and the filthy ones, and the movies you three watched together, and the songs and…

You abruptly stand up before you start crying and ruin your make up, the chair falling behind you in the haste of your movements,: those two imbeciles don’t want to be in your life anymore? Well, you feel sorry for them! You look so cute in your summer dress and you three could have a last encore, before leaving university: their loss! You’re going to the party all the fraternities have organized and have all the fun you can get, and if you’re hooking up with someone? Even better!

You can feel the thump of the bass in your blood an in your head, it beats with every breath you take and cancels the pain stabbing you when you see all the happy couples kissing around you; not that you, Osferth and Aemond could even think about pulling a stunt like that, but…

Cursing you stomp towards the bar, hellbent in getting drunk; on your way there you see Osferth’s friends in the distance and longing stabs you again. Angry you slam the money on the counter and drink the vodka down in one gulp, the alcohol burning you throat, the peachy taste lost.

You drown two more shots before throwing yourself in the sea of bodies again, swaying following the people around you, skin on skin your body moves around the dance floor, with your eyes closed you don’t see where you’re landing, the alcohol muddling your desire to care.

You feel yourself becoming one with the people around you, their heartbeats yours, your sweat mixing with theirs, their skin brushing on yours as you glide through the crowd, the flash of the strobe lights painting galaxies under your closed eyelids.

You feel hands on your hips, warm and big they glide over the cotton of your dress and you push yourself against the foreign person touching you, your ass moving against their front as you feel them hugging you from behind to pull you backwards some more, until you two are hidden from everyone else.

“Finally found you!” Osferth’s voice is still soft in your ear, even when he has to fight the blast of music deafening all of you. “I’ve missed you, my sweet.”

You tense up immediately and turn around to face him; he’s standing with a big smile on his face, his hands still on your hips.

“You must be kidding me!” You growl, swatting his hands away.

“Why? What happened?”

Without even thinking, you slap the kicked puppy expression off his face and storm away, his voice calling after you.

In a whirlwind you run outside, barely missing a couple of waiters and their trays. You don’t even say you’re sorry, pain and rage blind you, so are the tears welling up in your eyes; you’re not sure if someone has seen you, and you don’t care, you yell at the girl working at the cloakroom to give you back your jeans jacket and start running towards your dorm as soon as she manages.

You realize how stupid you have been when you can hear no sounds around you and see how dark the night is, moonless, the road barely illuminated by the sparse street lights.

The club is in the former manufacturing part of town; while most of the firms have moved away from the area, the buildings are almost all boarded up and closed, giving the neighborhood a creepy atmosphere. You are positive no one is around, but can you be sure, with all the overgrown vegetation where the parking lots used to be? Are small animals causing the sounds you hear around yourself?

Anxious you tighten the lapels of your jacket closed over the neckline of your dress, walking faster when you start to hear footfalls behind you: turning back is not an option anymore and there’s no shuttle bus working on this road. You curse under your breath and start walking faster, curling the strap of your bag around your hand to use it as a weapon as you try to book an Uber: you need to get to the main road, where people are and you can be seen!

The footfalls sound closer to you, dangerously so, and you break into a run when you start seeing the shapes of cars in the distance: you need to get there, it’s not too far away, not too far…

A hand curls around your free wrist and pulls you backwards, out of fear you use the momentum to swing your bag to your assailant's head, screaming like a mad banshee you keep hitting and hitting, until someone else tries to grab your swinging arm and you kick them in the shin, teeth snapping like a rabid dog.

“It’s us! Are you out of your mind???”

“Aemond? Osferth?”

You walk a couple of steps backwards, eyes leveling the two men who are staring at you with their hands raised in front of their chests; you must have hit Aemond, his usually perfect hair is mussed, the eye patch askew on his face.

“What were you two thinking?” You’re screaming with adrenaline and fear still coursing through your veins.

“Why were you running? We couldn’t keep up!” Aemond bites back, angry and hurt.

“I’m all alone in a bloody back road and I head footsteps! What was I supposed to do?” You march until you are face to face with him. “And why do you care now?”

Aemond and Osferth share a perplexed glance and then stare at you owlishly; if you weren’t that angry you’d laugh in their faces.

“We always care?” Osferth approaches you cautiously with his hands still raised.

“Do you?” You whip your head around and Osferth steps back, scared and confused. “You two disappeared on me! Barely responded to my texts. And you Aemond, I know what you’re doing with your professor!”

“You’re jumping to the wrong conclusion.” Aemond answers coldly, his back straightening unintentionally. “You should get a grip on yourself.”

For a second you are too surprised to say anything, to move, even: how dares he?

Your hand connects with his scarred cheek before you can even realize what you’re doing, the only sound you can hear is Osferth’s surprised yelp.

“Go fuck yourself Aemond, better, go fuck your professor. I thought you were better than that!”

You turn around, you feel the tears threatening to fall again and you’re never going to let them see how much it hurts; Osferth’s hand grabs your wrist before you can walk away form them.

“Aemond is acting like an idiot…”

“Hey!”

“… but he would never do that to you, to us.”

“Let me go, now!” Your voice trembles and it’s so hard not to cry.

“Let us explain, sweet beloved.”

“There’s nothing else to say. You two have moved on, I would have appreciated the head’s up.” You sob.

“You’re such an idiot. Sometimes I wonder why I have fallen in love with you.”

Aemond’s words freeze you on the spot: love? When did any of you talked about love?

“You know how hard it is to switch law schools so late in the year?” Aemond adds, trying to keep his own rage under control.

You turn around to look into his eye: now you’re the one confused.

“The reason why we haven’t been able to be more present is that we have been trying to switch to the uni where you’re going to do your teacher training.” Osferth tells you, gently.

“No, wait, what?” You can feel the gears in your brain halt to a stop.

“Alys, Professor Rivers, was helping me with switching law schools and Osferth has managed to get a place in a different Theology School than the one he applied for earlier this year. All to be with you!”

You feel your knees buckle and it’s all thanks to Osferth’s hold on you that you don’t fall on your ass.

“Why didn’t you two tell me?”

“We couldn’t risk getting your hopes up, not without being sure.” Osferth gently cups your cheek.

You let your face fall against Osferth’s chest, shaking with all the violent emotions that have been plaguing you for days and he hugs you tight with one hand, with the other he grabs Aemond so that he can hold you from behind, effectively sandwiching you between them.

“Why are you crying?” Aemond asks against your hair, aren’t you supposed to be happy?

You don’t answer immediately, your brain is still frozen up, all the information hitting your overworked gears: coming with you? Changing schools?

“You said you love me!”

You can feel Osferth’s chest rumble with a laugh he can barely control, behind you Aemond huffs.

“We always had, sweet beloved.” Osferth murmurs against your hair.

“You never expressed it! With words!”

“Did you need us to?” Aemond asks behind you, surprised.

You manage to evade their gentle hold to stare into their surprised faces: for being two guys in your age group, they are pretty smart and make you forget that they are still men, therefore they need to be told to do things, even expressing their feelings.

“Yes, Aemond. How do you expect me to infer that?”

Aemond’s brows knit at your question: wasn’t it implied to all your interactions?

“Why did you think we were with you?” Osferth looks even more perplexed than Aemond is.

“The great sex? We had loads of that.”

“We spent time together, gevie, why would I waste my time watching those awful horror movies, if not because I am in love with you?”

“Because we fucked afterwards. We always did, after any sort of activity we did together. I thought it was the endgame here.”

And it hurt. If you are being honest with yourself, all your couplings with them had been great, the best you ever had, but left you with a sour taste in your mouth when you had started to develop unwanted feelings you believed were unreciprocated. How were you supposed to know? Aemond is intense, but never expresses his feelings outward and Osferth… Osferth goes around a lot: under the cute smile he’s insatiable and very good in bed, he's probably slept with all the sorority members on campus, and some of the fraternity guys as well (you don’t know he’s stopped after the fist time he’s gotten a taste of you). Based on all of this, why would anyone think those two idiots are in love?

“Perhaps we had some communication issues.”

You bark a laugh at that: Osferth wants to become a pastor and being able to communicate is kinda big in that line of work, you have always thought, and he can’t even let you know how he feels about you.

“What’s so funny? I wasn’t joking!”

“I’ll tell you later, Osferth.” You answer.

“What about you? Why didn’t you say it out loud?” Aemond asks, so aggravated you can’t help but laugh again.

“First, what makes you think I am reciprocating your feelings?”

You see the panic under the mask of coldness Aemond always wears: you love when you manage to make him shake in his boots.

“Second, to then see you run away? You don’t say ‘I love you’ to the guys you think are in just for a booty call, you dummy!”

For a second you are afraid he’s going to faint himself, if you have to go by the way his body visibly relaxes, then his pride wins and he grabs you by your arms, forcing you to stumble against him.

“You’re going to pay for that.” The darkness in his voice makes your knees weak.

“And there I thought you were the one who likes it when I get the upper hand.” You growl back, your hands managing to grab his long hair to pull on them.

“Now, now, now.” Osferth hugs you from behind. “Shall we move this somewhere more private?”

“Do you two deserve it? After the stunt you two pulled?” You love fucking with his brain as well.

“We might have planned this wrong…” Aemond starts.

“You did, I wanted to be clear from the get go!”

“Whatever, Osferth. We thought it was a good plan…”

“What he’s trying to say is: we fucked up, please let us make this up to, please?”

You don’t answer immediately, you love that it’s them now marinating into uncertainty.

“And how do you plan do reach your goal?”

Aemond hums, the vibration from his chest travels pleasantly through your body.

“Let us show you once we are somewhere less… open.” He answers.

“You can do better than that, Aemond.”

Purposely you slide up his long body, making sure that your breasts are pushing against the expensive cotton of his shirt; the pupil of his eye devours your movements and you can feel his cock harden against you.

“Bookshop date, on my card.”

“Interesting, but you can do better.”

Osferth snickers behind you, he knows what you're after.

“Sushi at that super expensive place, afterwards.”

“And…?”

Aemond uhms, his eye focused on the cleavage pushing out of the low neckline of your dress.

“Then he drives you somewhere nice and secluded to ravish you on the hood of his car.” Osferth says.

“What? No! Leave Vhagar out of this!”

“Aren’t you tired of standing at the side of the road?”

“Don't think you can get off the hook so easily, mister!” You tell Osferth. “And keep your hands off my tits!”

Osferth’s hands stop their ascent up your ribcage and he makes a sad sound behind you.

“What are you offering?” You ask him.

“I’ll do the packing for you. All your books.”

“Only that?”

Osferth puts his chin on your shoulder, you can imagine how much like a kicked puppy he looks now.

“I’ll wear the vibrating cock ring at the next Mass.” He concedes.

“See, it wasn't that hard.” You turn your head and kiss his cheek. “What about you Aemond? Do we have a deal?”

Aemond's eye falls on Osferth's hands, now cupping your soft breasts: he knows he's gonna fold, but he wishes he’d driven a better bargain.

“You don't hop on Vhagar’s hood with your heels on and I choose the place we go.”

“Fair enough.” You say with a smile. “Let's go home.”

Home is actually Aemond's flat. Like the good old money baby that he is, he doesn't have to live in a dorm or a fraternity, like you and Osferth; having a safe space like that helped you three keep the relationship hidden. You three have christened every surface and furniture, yet getting there makes your heart do somersaults every time.

You don't mind not driving shotgun, when you notice how eager Osferth is to open the passenger door for you; the car is old and sleek but, as all sports cars, doesn't have that much space in the back, for this reason you don't expect Osferth to follow you there and lay on you to start kissing you ferociously, his whole weight keeping you flat on the expensive leather, his hips grounding against the cotton of your panties, the short skirt of your dress bunched around your hips.

“I’m going to have your arse for that!” Comes from the general area of the driving seat.

“Please Aemond, don’t threaten me with the promise of a good time.” Osferth’s voice is muffled by your breasts but the moan he exhales can be heard perfectly.

Aemond doubles down on the gas, smoothly the car rumbles under your body, the vibrations adding to the pleasure of Osferth’s lips sucking on your nipple: you’ve missed his hunger for your body and his need to drive you mad, as much as you did his filthy moans of absolute pleasure at your taste.

“Out!” Aemond barks the second he’s parked Vhagar in the garage of the exclusive building he’s living in.

During the ride up to the highest floor you three have to play it nice, keeping your hands for yourselves, not wanting your effusions to be taped by security; when the door closes behind you three, you know you have nowhere to hide.

Fueled by all the pent up sexual frustration of the past few weeks, and the little show in Vhagar’s back seat, Aemond grabs the hem of your cute dress to roughly pull it off you, his hands go to your ass to pull you up, your legs falling around his trim waist as he kisses you, possessive and hungry, teeth nibbling at your lower lip, cock already hard against the wet patch on your panties.

Aemond throws you on his big bed, his eye focused on the cute matching lingerie set you’re wearing.

“You wanted to get laid.” He growls. “You went to the stupid party to hook up.”

“So what? You two ignored me for so long. I have needs.” You answer, opening your legs for them.

“You naughty little thing.” Osferth’s bare front connects with Aemond’s clothed back. “I think some punishment is in order.”

“Yes, yes it is.” He says, hunger dripping from every word.

You arch your back and slip your fingers under your panties with a long moan: you’re drenched and your clit is puffy already.

“Tell us.” Osferth murmurs in your ear when he sits behind you. “Did you touch yourself?”

“I did. Ah!” You whine when his bigger fingers start teasing your wet hole.

“Did you imagine us?”

“Like hell! I used anyone else but you two! I was angry!”

This earns you a harsh squeeze of your clit and Osferth’s promise to thoroughly punish your cunt when you two are alone.

“Let’s count your offenses.” Aemond’s voice is so low you can barely heard him. “Slapped Osferth then me, pulled that little stunt after our confession… What else? Ah, yes: you were ready to get laid without us and didn’t play with yourself thinking about us.”

“I was angry!” You try to retort.

“That’s the only reason why I am only going to edge you five times and not more: just one for every transgression you did.” Aemond says, calmly.

Before you can say anything, Osferth stops you.

“Do you truly want to risk adding to that? Because I have ideas.”

Oh, the smirk in his voice! You’ll make him pay as soon as possible, for the moment you elect to frown.

“I don’t think this cunt deserves any attention, but I’ve missed your taste too much.” Aemond growls with his hands on your knees, pushing your knees apart to the point where you feel your tendons pull, Osferth’s knees keeping you in position as Aemond darkly murmurs against your clothed pussy.

Aemond’s hands are big on your hips, his fingers grabbing at your skin possessively, least you forget to whom you belong to; he mouths at your clothed center, the friction of the wet cotton on your oversensitive clit and his quick tongue make you arch and whine, seeking the pleasure he so carelessly gives you, only to remove his face with a dirty laugh, when pleasure crests, only to stop abruptly.

You know better than complain, but you can’t help frustrated sound that escapes your lips.

“Thank him, sweet beloved. He’s doing this for you, for your character.” Osferth murmurs in your ear, hotly, his hands under the cups of your bra. “It opens on the front?” He adds, surprised.

“If we hadn’t already decided on five, that would have warranted at least another two missed orgasms, for parading around like a cheap whore ready for the taking.”

Aemond rarely demeans you, but when he does, it stings; if Osferth waren’t pinning you open like a butterfly, you’d curl into yourself, ashamed.

Aemond seems to pick on your feelings and gently kisses your forehead to then drag his lips down your nose and your eyes.

“Shh, gevie, shh. I know you are our good girl, shh. Do you want to show us how good you can be?”

“Yes.” You murmur with your face hidden against the side of Aemond’s neck.

“Are you going to take your punishment and thank Aemond like a good girl?” Osferth soothes you.

“I will. Just…” You hesitate. “Please don’t be mean? I can’t take it, not tonight?”

You put up a brave front, but after weeks of miscommunication you can’t deal with harshness: a wrong word and you’ll start crying. Your boys press you immediately in a tight hug, Osferth from behind, Aemond diving between your splayed legs, until your breathing slows down.

“Are you feeling better? We can stop if you want.” Aemond tells you.

Osferth voices the same feeling: he’s happy to torment you until you can’t physically take it anymore, but not to the expenses of your happiness.

“I want to go on. I want to be your good girl, please?”

“Anything you want, gevie, anything.”

With gentle kisses Aemond’s lips travel up your leg, until he can bury his nose in your drenched cunt and breathe you in: he’s missed you smell and taste, those past few weeks pure hell for him. With a wicked grin he helps you out of your panties and throws them in the general direction of the floor.

“What do you say: when we move together, you’re going to wear no underwear. We’re going to need full access all the time.” Osferth murmurs in your ear.

“Your cunt seems to like the idea.” Aemond says when you clench around nothing.

“Only if I get free access to you two. Turnabout is only fair, ah!”

“You can always have free access to us.” Aemond says with a smile, index finger gently caressing your bud. “Now, let me see how wet you can get.”

Osferth’s hands squeeze your breasts gently, feeling the softness of the skin, his fingers playing with your nipples as Aemond’s long digits explore your depths and curl to find your G spot, massaging it firmly, eye on your face, on your mouth opened to let out harsh breaths and moans. When his thumb finds your clit, it’s almost impossible for you to reign in your orgasm, the pleasure white hot burns your nerves and you have to bite on Osferth’s shoulder to keep a tight rein on your control.

A desperate groan and a whimper-y “Thank you” salute your second missed peak. You whine when Aemond starts sucking on your breasts, as Osferth gently caresses your thighs, helping you to calm down, before his fingers spread your lips again.

They play with your body like a fine tuned instrument. Their hands and mouths bring you up and up, only to curb your pleasure cruelly; you arch under their ministrations, sweat rolling down your skin, slick pouring out of your hole obscenely with every near miss.

By the third almost orgasm you abandon yourself against Osferth; with your eyes closed you’re simply putty in their hands, your body a bundle of nerves responding only to their combined wills: you’ll come when they’ll let you, their praises all you need to feel fulfilled.

“You are our best girl.” Osferth tells you sweetly once they’re finished with you.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to continue tormenting you? Go on all night?” Aemond asks with a wicked smirk on his face.

“Please.” You sound broken and miserable. “Please I need you two so much! No more teasing!”

“Shh my love. There’s no need to cry. Shh, anything you want.” Osferth says, squeezing you as tight as he can.

Your breath is still ragged when they lay you on the bed; they caress your skin with gentle strokes and leave small kisses on your face and neck until you laugh and squirm under them.

Osferth’s body covers yours, his warmth safe, the smell of his hair familiar in your nose as he nuzzles your neck; he moans when Aemond pours lube on his hole before start scissoring him gently, while you grind against Osferth’s erection as he tries to move, sandwiched as he is between your wet cunt and Aemond’s curious fingers: he can barely grind follow your movements.

Osferth’s long back arches, he trembles when Aemond’s fingers start touching his prostate lightly, not wanting to let him come too soon: Osferth is so precious when he’s letting go of his control, to just feel the love and desire you and Aemond have towards him.

Your teeth nibble the soft skin of Osferth’s long neck, those small hiccup moans he makes drive you mad: he’s so defenseless and needy, his orgasm so close his hips stutter against yours and he tries to beg when Aemond’s fingers fuck his arse with intent, hard and fast against his tight ring of muscles, making it almost impossible to reign his orgasm in: he wants to come inside of you, but it’s almost too much!

Osferth’s eyes are scrunched closed, his teeth bite his lower lip savagely in the vain attempt to keep a sliver of control against the dual assault: your cunt so wet and inviting, Aemond’s fingers that reach so deep inside of him he’s going mad with pleasure.

He tries to beg, to desperately form the words of his pleasure, all he can manage are those small whines that make your cunt clench and Aemond’s cock swell.

With a firm hand you grab Osferth’s short mop of hair; his lips are bitten raw and there’s tears at the sides of his closed eyes.

“Do you want my cunt? Do you want Aemond to fuck you raw?” You growl, your own need besting your thinning patience. “Say it out loud, I want to hear it!”

You can see the physical strain talking his for Osferth: the way his eyes are glossy with need, how his body contorts with desperation when Aemond starts scissoring again with deep, slow motions and all Osferth can do is open is mouth and babble and moan.

“That will not do, beloved: let me hear you out loud.” Aemond says with a smirk on his face, his fingers stopping their slow movements, just to see how Osferth's body trembles with frustration.

“Please…” He tries. “Fuck… oh God! Me please!”

“With pleasure.” Aemond growls.

Osferth’s body trembles so much that you have to slide a hand between your bodies to grab his erection and help him sink inside of you with a filthy moan; only when he’s bottomed out with a groan, Aemond starts breaching him gently, pouring too much lube on his cock to make sure he’s not harming Osferth, who is moaning and keening as his hips try to push back to follow Aemond’s movements.

The sound Aemond makes when he’s breached Osferth fully is beyond pornographic, carrying the promise of more pleasure; his hands are manacles on the other man’s hips and you don’t even try to suppress your own moans, full as you are, blocked under their combined weights you can’t even try to move, you can only bear the brunt of Aemond’s pushes and pulls, Osferth’s cock fucking against your G spot slowly, sensually, as he begs, his body trembling with the need to move and fuck you to his leisure.

He’s made to follow Aemond’s gentle rhythm inside of himself, those deep pushes that make him keen and beg for more, the same way you’re doing, your cunt massaging him tightly, with filthy, wet sounds that make Osferth shiver with need.

With trembling hands you manage to grab Aemond’s hips to push him fully inside of Osferth and still their movements; they both groan and moan with pleasure.

“Fuck yourself on Aemond’s cock.” You murmur against Osferth’s parted lips. “Show me how much you missed me.”

The desperation on Osferth’s face is clear, he’s holding on shards of control like a drowning man when he sees your lips around his small cross; to move between you two is pleasure and pain, is drowning inside of you and split himself open on Aemond’s raging erection, is to feel all the nerves of his body scream as his mind blanks and blanks and he’s reduced to a mindless animal who just wants pleasure, wants your cunt to strangle his cock and his prostate bullied, until Aemond has to grab his hips again to help him move, to fuck him fast and hard, using him to get the three of you off after weeks without a mere touch: this knowledge shatters Osferth’s fragile sense of self and he comes with a long scream of pleasure, his hips kicking brutally in Aemond’s hold, forcing you over the precipice, your whole body curling to envelope your two lovers, Osferth’s arse a vice so tight Aemond loses control as well and comes, copious, like he hasn’t in weeks.

You three are a trembling mess on the bed, hands searching and caressing, lips kissing all the available skin as your bodies come down from the high, all three having missed each other’s taste and proximity.

“Silly, silly boys. What were you two thinking?” you pant.

“Nothing smart.” Osferth replies, his brain barely managing to string words together.

“About keeping you safe and happy.” Aemond adds.

“Promise me you’ll never pull a stunt like that ever again?”

You can feel their eyes on your body, the desire they still have for you, and for one another.

“Never.” They say at the same time, before sealing their promise with a deep three way kiss that leaves you dizzy.

You three shuffle around the bed until you are between them, loopy with pleasure and happiness, your body slowly recuperating before another round.

You’re not sure who has turned the telly on, not that it matters when you are safe in your lovers’s embrace and finally know what’s the name of the feeling binding you three together: love.

Poly taglist : @fan-goddess, @notyour-valentine, @aegonx

#answered #polyquestion #aemond targaryen x reader x osferth #aemond targaryen x y/n x osferth #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #osferth x reader #osferth x y/n #osferth

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independentanon · 1 month ago

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Budget Portable Projection for Simple Tags

I've been keeping to myself lately. My life is falling apart, but I'm pretending everything is fine. To distract myself, I've been working on a few ideas, and I'd like to share one of them today: how to make a cheap as fuck projector for assisting with simple spray paint tags.

This all started with a simple idea: try to recreate the iconic lambda tag from Half-Life 2, which is shown on the left. On the right is the original symbol from Half-Life which the tag is based on.

Seeing as the tag from Half-Life 2 appears to be freehand, I attempted to recreate it myself the same way, but I quickly learned that it is surprisingly difficult to replicate.

(In retrospect, I wasted paint covering up the previous attempts. I could have just used more cardboard, as it's much cheaper and abundant than paint.)

At this point, I knew I had to come up with a solution for how to stay precise while also keeping it freehand. I came up with a few ideas, but I eventually settled on trying a simple method of portable projection. The idea would be to make a basic projector using a combination of cereal box cardboard, tape, sandwich bag plastic, and permanent marker ink which could then be taped to a cellphone and have its light shown through it.

Here's the first prototype and how it looks in use:

You can see the projection is fuzzy and the projector has to be REALLY close to the target surface. Not great.

The second prototype ended up bigger and longer, which looks like the following when in use:

The projections from this version are much more clear, but the light is slightly darker because the projector has to be further away. A worthwhile tradeoff, in my opinion.

Even so, there was still room for improvement. The design for this projector was still too complicated and didn't work as well as I wanted it to.

I also realized here using a negative of the graphic would likely work better. The best way to achieve this - instead of covering plastic sheets with tons of permanent marker ink - would be cutting a stencil out of something like cardboard or paper.

The third and final prototype ended up being the winner, having the simplest design and producing the clearest projections. It's even reusable with masking tape, allowing us to switch out gobos (the thing with the design cut into it) without causing much damage to the projector or the gobo itself.

I made and tested two gobos. One had the original design, the other had a thin version of it.

I'll explain how to make the projector and gobos later on in this post. Just know that, in the end, the design with the thinner lines ended up being the most useful.

In testing, I found that attempting to follow a design directly from a projection ended up too difficult as my hands would warp and block the light...

Yeah...

So instead, I tried gently blotting some paint over the projection before moving the projector out of the way and finally connecting the dots.

Despite me failing to follow the dots on the bottom-left of the design, this produced the best result and was an excellent proof of concept! I'd recommend blotting clearer dots than I did, though.

=================================

Ok, so here's my blueprint for both the projector and the gobos that go with it.

It's pretty straight forward. For the projector, cut where solid lines are shown, and score and fold where the dotted lines are shown.

The flaps on the bottom overlap in a circular arrangement, with either clockwise or counter-clockwise overlaps, much like how you'd close a box without using tape. In this case, we will use tape to help hold these flaps in this arrangement. We'll also want to tape the long edges of the projector together (not shown, but you'll know what I mean when you get to this part).

The flaps on the top are folded outward instead and act as surfaces for aligning and attaching our gobos to.

As for making the gobos, I'd recommend cutting them out of card stock (it's the same type of poster paper I've been using for my other stencils). Even though the gobo will be 3" x 3", the design has to fit in a 2" x 2" space in the center. The 0.5" of padding is where the tape goes when attaching it to the projector. For how to make stencils, please refer to this other post of mine:

The last thing I forgot to mention is that you'll need something to hold your projector setup in place. I have a tripod and a simple cellphone mount which can hold my phone in the correct position and angle while I blot the design onto my target surface.

Here's the mount I use:

And that's about it! I'm pretty happy with how this all turned out, and I hope it's useful for you too... for legal purposes, of course :)

#stencil #spray paint #graffiti #projection #half life #half life 2 #hl2 #lambda #resistance #graphic design #budget art #budget #diy art #tutorial #how to #gamers on tumblr #gamers of tumblr #artists on tumblr #artists of tumblr

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ak-vintage · 9 months ago

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Quarry - Chapter 22

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, light angst, canon-typical violence and peril, lots and lots of mostly made-up Star Wars technobabble

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Note: This chapter features events from season 2 episode "Chapter 16: The Rescue." You will notice borrowed dialogue and synced plot points.

---

Of the seven-person team that Din had assembled to rescue Grogu, you were the only one who had never had the experience of waking for the day only to immediately begin preparing for battle. However, as a pale sunrise bloomed over the horizon of this nowhere planet where you had found Bo-Katan, as the inhabitants of the Firespray all began to roll out of their bunks, you could feel the shift in energy like a tangible thing. The comfort and the softness of sleep, the comradery of your friendships, even the tender intimacy of your shared quarters with Din all dissolved as the ship’s lights flickered on and instead were replaced with an intensity of focus you had never encountered.

It was militant and almost entirely silent, the way each party member prepared themselves, and the lack of easy conversation that had become so normal on the Firespray over the last weeks set you on edge. Blasters were wiped down and loaded, armor was donned, and every belt, pocket, and holster was filled with backup supplies and secondary melee weapons. Everyone took turns in the mess, moving around one another quickly and efficiently like a well-oiled machine. They all seemed to favor light, nourishing breakfasts of nutrient-dense ration bars, canteens of water, and – in Fennec and Cara’s case – strong carafes of caf. You, however, could barely stomach your food, so tied up in knots was your body at the thought of the approaching challenge, but you forced down a few mouthfuls anyway at Din’s insistence.

“Epar, cyar’ika. Eat,” he bid you, hitting you with a hard stare through his visor. “You will need your strength.”

You did not have the same arsenal of supplies as the others, but you did take some time to back up your schematics of Gideon’s light cruiser onto a palm-held holoprojector you borrowed from Boba’s supplies. You also tucked a couple of datasticks into your pockets with some cyphers you recalled from your days of installing and configuring starship security and defense systems. Other than that, all there really was for you to do was to lace up your boots, whip your hair into a tight braid, and wrap your beloved scarf around your head like a headband. You didn’t really need it here, you knew, but at this point, it felt almost foreign to dress without it.

Just before you disembarked to board the Lambda shuttle with the rest of the group, Din took you aside and inspected your blaster while Cara Dune fitted you with a slick black leather utility belt from her own wardrobe. She fastened it snugly around the flare of your hips before slipping a matching leather holster onto the strap.

“Safer than keeping that thing in your pocket,” she quipped with a wry smile, nodding toward the blaster Din was currently polishing and reloading for you. You huffed a laugh and thanked her, but not before she slid three additional tibanna cartridges into your belt loops.

“You really think I’m going to need all this?” you asked warily.

The dark-haired woman shrugged, and you noticed that she had lined her deep brown eyes with kohl this morning, giving a fierce, predatory look to her striking features. “Maybe not, but better to have it than wish you did.” You swallowed thickly, nodding, and she clapped you warmly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ve got your back.”

“Cyare.”

At the sound of the endearment, you glanced over at Din and found him extending your blaster back to you. You took it with a murmured ��thank you” and slipped it into the holster, feeling the cool, steady weight of it against your thigh. It was already more comfortable than having it shoved in your pocket.

“Are you ready?” the bounty hunter rasped.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Inclining his helmet at you solemnly, he pressed his hand into the small of your back and steered you toward the ramp. “Then let’s go.”

---

Mere hours later, in the depths of hyperspace, the boarding party clustered around the helm of the Lambda shuttle as you neared your destination. The recycled air was thick with anticipation, with the knowing that the moment you dropped out of light speed, there would be no more time for preparation. Of course, this was precisely the kind of thing that everyone had been trained for.

Everyone but you.

Shifting on your feet, your palm fell to the grip of your blaster, and you could feel the sweat on your skin slip against its textured surface. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, your stomach heavy and acidic in your abdomen, and you struggled to keep yourself present – in the moment rather than in your head, lost in your anxieties. At the heart of it all, however, was frustration with yourself. You had fought for this chance, this opportunity to exercise your skills, to contribute, to be kriffing useful for once, and you refused to throw all of that away out of fear. This team needed you; Grogu needed you. You had to get it together.

And so instead of hyperventilating, as you thought you might have done otherwise, you focused on taking deep, steadying breaths and drying your palms against your boilersuit.

“Moff Gideon is mine,” Bo-Katan emphasized from her seat at the helm, hands steady and sure as she manipulated the controls without even hardly looking. “Got it?”

“He’s ex-ISB. He’s got a lot of information.” Cara adjusted her grip on her heavy-repeating blaster rifle, the butt of which sat propped on the toe of her boot. “I need him alive.”

Bo-Katan smiled icily. “I don’t care what happens to him as long as he surrenders to me.”

At that moment, Boba Fett’s low, gravelly voice crackled through the comm system. On one of the readouts on the console in front of you, you could see the vague outline of the Firespray pursuing you through the hyperspace tunnel. “Prepare to exit jump space.”

“Copy that,” the red-head replied. “Get the hell out of there as soon as they clear us to dock. And your shots have to look convincing.”

“Power up those shields, princess. I’ll put on a good show.” You smirked at the sound of his gentle condescension in spite of yourself.

The expression was echoed on Bo-Katan’s sharp-featured face. “Watch out for those deck cannons.”

There was a brief pause, and Boba sounded genuine this time as he responded, “Don’t worry about me. Just be careful in there.”

On the console in front of Koska, you watched as the glowing icon indicating your target coordinates grew ever larger in size.

This was it. It was time.

On instinct alone, you reached out, took hold of Din’s hand, and squeezed, suddenly desperate for something to ground yourself. All broad palms and long, thick fingers, he gripped you back with a ferocity you didn’t expect from his calm, collected exterior. Somehow, knowing that he was just as strung out as you over this eased your fears even more than the touch would have otherwise.

Koska, however, was the picture of composure as she narrated your approach. “Exiting hyperspace in three, two, one…”

The tell-tale, stopped-time sensation of dropping out of hyperspace tugged at your navel, and then –

Bright red blaster cannon fire lit up the forward viewport, Bo-Katan poured on the acceleration, and you took off at the fastest sub-light speed the Lambda shuttle could handle. Dodging Boba’s attacks with expert precision, you noticed that each round only narrowly missed the long, fin-like wings of your hijacked Imperial shuttle. The proximity of a few of them had your heart jumping into your throat, but each time, she managed to evade them.

Up ahead, looming pale and angular and absolutely massive against the inky blackness of space, precisely as you had pictured her, was Moff Gideon’s Imperial light cruiser. And you were headed straight for her.

Bringing her palm down on the comm controls, Bo-Katan hailed the cruiser and shouted into the receiver, affecting a distressed tone, “This is Lambda shuttle 2743, requesting emergency docking!”

Her distress call was met only with silence, and you couldn’t help but glance around at the others’ faces as the subspace connection remained dormant. Would the cruiser really ignore them? They looked like an ally, why would they not –

“Repeat – requesting emergency docking. We are under attack!” Bo-Katan echoed.

This time, a commanding, feminine voice responded. “Copy, Lambda shuttle. Request received.” Another pause, this one much shorter than the last, and then, “Stay clear of launch tube. Deploying fighter squadron.”

Bo-Katan shot a significant look at Koska, and the dark-haired woman clenched her jaw and nodded once. You realized they must have come to the same conclusion – the plan would need to remain the same even in the face of this new hurdle. In order to board the ship where it was most vulnerable, the Lambda shuttle would be facing down the TIE fighter squadron head-on – at the mouth of the launch tube.

Just as this thought occurred to you, a single silver TIE fighter streaked from the opening of the launch tube, rocketing out into space through the narrow walls of the aperture. Through the viewport, you watched as the fighter drew closer, closer, closer still. Bo-Katan held her course, however, continuing to dodge Boba’s cannon fire while never once wavering in her aim. For a moment, you thought the fighter might not adjust course in time, but then, at the last second, it veered hard to starboard and only barely missed clipping wings with the shuttle.

You swore you could feel a collective breath of relief being released across the room, but the feeling was short-lived as another TIE fighter appeared at the mouth of the launch tube.

If the first of the squadron had cut it close, this one was downright reckless. Blasting at top speeds through the narrow mouth of the tunnel, you were certain you could see the black reflective surface of the pilot’s helmet through his own transparisteel viewport before he finally dropped into a steep dive and ducked beneath the Lambda shuttle.

And still, Bo-Katan and Koska held steady. The aperture of the launch bay glowed bright blue in the distance, visible through the long, thin tunnel right at the nose of the light cruiser. Another fighter was being brought out – you could see it clearly now; another was about to launch, and the shuttle was nearly at the tunnel’s mouth.

You were coming in too hot. If Gideon’s crew launched that fighter, you would meet in midair, trapped in the restrictive space of the launch tunnel with nowhere to go, and no dodging or maneuvering – no matter how expertly done – would be enough to stop a collision.

The crew on the light cruiser seemed to have noticed the same. Bursting through the comm lines with urgency, the communications officer barked, “Request denied! Please clear launch tube until fighters deploy!”

Bo-Katan grit her teeth and responded, a bit of real anxiety beginning to creep into her façade. “Negative! Negative! We are under attack!”

You braced yourself against the nearest bulkhead as the shuttle dodged another volley of rounds from the Firespray, and in that moment, bright green blaster cannon fire joined the red. The two TIE fighters had joined the fray. Your pilots were left then to dodge both assailants and somehow still thread the needle into the mouth of the launch tube.

Gripping Din’s hand in yours even harder, you swallowed the ball of fear that had begun to build in your throat.

You had talented pilots at the helm of your ship – experienced fighters, cunning warriors both with nerves of steel, you told yourself. You had to trust their timing, their skills. Otherwise, you would be a harried mess before you even had the chance to step foot out of the shuttle and begin the mission in truth.

“Clear launch tube immediately!” the comm link commanded, and although she knew they could not see her, Bo-Katan shook her head, red bob dancing along her jaw.

It was miraculous, truly, what the would-be Mandalorian ruler was able to accomplish over the next few seconds. The sequence of events began to blur together, dissolving into one long, chaotic moment, but the next thing you knew, the entrance to the launch loomed directly in front of the viewport. You felt the ship shift with the mechanical vibration of the shuttle’s wings lifting into their vertical position, narrowing the ship dramatically, and just as they locked into place, you breached the mouth of the tube with mere inches to spare on either side.

But you were still coming in too hot, too fast. The short distance between the mouth of the tube and the ship’s shield-guarded launch portal was quickly disappearing, and there was no way the bulky wings of the Lambda shuttle were going to make it into that tiny opening unscathed.

“Hang on!” Fennec warned, seeing the same thing you did. Din dropped your hand and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side as though preparing to shield you against the inevitable collision. You hid your face in the crook of his shoulder, unable to watch, as the aperture swallowed the shuttle whole.

The impact was immediate and brutal, clipping the edge of the portside wing and sending you, Din, and Cara all flying across the cabin and slamming into the unforgiving deck plating. Din cushioned your fall somewhat, though you couldn’t say the beskar was a much more comfortable place to land. The shuttle trembled violently around you, and bright sparks flew as both wing joints dragged along the inside of the launch tube. The belly of the ship bounced once, then twice, the vibration ringing through your teeth, and finally – after what felt like an eternity but in reality was a mere handful of seconds – you skidded to a stop at the end of the launch tube.

The moment the shuttle stopped rumbling beneath your bodies, Din and Cara were on their feet, and you scrambled to follow. This was the moment – time to execute the next phase of the plan. And time for you to leave the bounty hunter’s side and pray that you would reunite on the bridge unharmed.

Gripping the side of your face in one hand and drawing his blaster with the other, Din yanked you to him and pressed his forehead to yours one last time.

“K’oyacyi, cyare. Come back safe.”

“You, too,” you whispered, breath fogging his visor. “Go get him. Bring him home.”

“We’ve got her, Mando,” Cara assured him as she raised her blaster rifle, pushing her dark, disheveled hair out of her face. “C’mon. Time to go.”

You nodded once, drew your own blaster from your holster, and stepped back as Fennec shouldered her way to the rear of the cabin. With sharp, determined eyes, she did a quick inventory of the room, ensuring that all members of the boarding party were prepared to disembark.

When her gaze landed on you, she said, “Remember the plan, girl. Keep to the center of the formation, wait for clear windows to shoot, and for kriff’s sake, don’t try to be a hero.”

Releasing a huff of laugh, you agreed with a glib “yes, ma’am,” and then Bo-Katan’s sharp voice rang out behind you, the sound modulated by the sudden addition of her helmet vocoder.

“Drop the ramp – let’s go.”

As the ramp began to descend, dense, white coolant steam billowed from the shuttle’s undercarriage, obscuring your view of the bay ahead. In the distance, you could hear a Storm Trooper shouting, “Clear the launch tube! What are you doing? Get that thing out of here – ”

Whatever he was meant to say next, he never got the opportunity. With steady precision, Koska raised her blaster pistol and shot twice through the fog, and instead of more protests, all you heard was a pained “argh” and the sound of two armored bodies hitting the deck.

Then chaos erupted.

Shoulder to shoulder, Fennec and Koska led the charge down the ramp while Bo-Katan and Cara brought up the rear. You stayed tucked between them, blaster drawn, head down, the marshal’s broad form shielding you from the bright red bolts of light that filled the air. In the distance, you could see more than a dozen Imperials charging at the shuttle – some in full Storm Trooper white, others in officer gray, all with blasters drawn, raining fire on your boarding party.

But the women who surrounded you moved as a unit – like one that had been fighting arm-in-arm for years rather than days. It was tactical, the way they divided the oncoming hoard of combatants, and in perfect synchronicity, they cut through the launch bay like a hot knife through butter. The sound of it was overwhelming – the overlapping shrieks of volley after volley of blaster rounds, the whip of a grappling line from one of the Mandalorians’ vambraces, the flare of heat from a jetpack, the echo of heavy boots sprinting across durasteel deck plating. You kept your head on a swivel, your own blaster at the ready, but by the time your party had made it to the far side of the launch bay – leaving a trail of Imperial bodies in your wake – you found that you hadn’t even needed to fire it.

They had eliminated everyone in their path with such deadly precision, your presence had been entirely superfluous.

However, you hardly had the opportunity to feel self-conscious about that fact. Just as you had predicted, just as Mayfeld had warned you as you sat huddled over datapads and schematics in the depths of hyperspace, the moment the ship’s internal sensors detected blaster energy signatures, the launch bay doors slid shut. Emerging from the depths of the bulkheads on either side, two blast doors slammed closed over them, and a series of forbidding red lights flared to life around the metallic doorframe. The control panel to the right of the door also glowed red, and you felt the faintest surge of satisfaction at the sight.

The first security checkpoint had been activated. No one would be leaving the launch bay without passing a genetic scan and a chain code verification. You had been right.

“You’re up,” Fennec beckoned as the group approached the foreboding door, and you nodded silently.

This was what you were here for. This was something you could do.

Slipping to the front of the group, you took notice of how the other members closed ranks around you, placing their own bodies between you and any potential threats. The room around you was silent, almost eerily so, and you knew that none other than your team had been left alive. But still, they protected you.

For now, however, you shoved all of the warm feelings that realization elicited to the side and instead dug one of your arsenal of datasticks out of your pocket. You gripped it between your teeth to free up your hands, and then, digging the tips of your fingers into the frame of the control panel, you wrenched it open, exposing the inner workings of the terminal. The wires and switches and flashing lights before you might have looked anonymous and random to others, but to your eyes, it was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Plugging the datastick into the open port, you went to work.

Slice into the internal security system. Access the secondary protocols. Isolate the launch bay terminals, cut them off from the rest of the system. Identify the unique override sequence. You frowned, drawing your lower lip between your teeth in concentration. The press of bodies around you shifted restlessly as the seconds ticked by. You resisted the urge to reassure them – you were close, you were almost there, just one more redirect and –

“That’s it,” you breathed, removing the datastick, replacing the control panel cover. With quick fingers, you entered a series of commands into the panel, and suddenly, all of the lights surrounding the blast doors flickered blue. With a loud, mechanical thunk, every layer of the barrier retracted back into the bulkheads, and the path ahead looked back at you, clear and open.

Behind you, Cara released a breath of relief, and Bo-Katan swept an impassive stare from the bottoms of your boots to the top of your head, as though appraising you. “Well done,” she said, brusque but earnest. “Now fall back.”

You tucked your datastick back into your pocket and withdrew your blaster from your holster as you retreated back into formation. Koska took point once again as the party charged down the open corridor, and you encountered no enemies along its length. After a handful of minutes, you came upon a path that branched perpendicularly to the left, and Koska held up her fist for you all to slow to a stop. Blaster drawn, she peeked around the corner and scanned the area quickly. “All clear.”

Bo-Katan rounded the corner ahead of her, taking in the new corridor for herself. “A little too clear,” she agreed. Beckoning the group forward, she proceeded cautiously, and as you advanced, you realized that you had come upon an open-air catwalk connecting two sections of the ship. Above and below the narrow strip of decking that stretched out before you was nothing but open, vacuous space, and if you dared to glance down, you could see the infinite blackness twinkling back at you from beyond the life support system’s ray shields. Swallowing the wave of anxiety that washed over you at the sight, you kept your eyes on the back of Bo-Katan’s helmet instead.

“Keep your eyes open,” she cautioned as you began to traverse the catwalk. You were back to the center of the formation, as planned, allowing the others to keep themselves between you and the unfamiliar surroundings, but your blaster remained firmly gripped in your hand anyway, ready to defend yourself should you need to.

You made it about halfway across the catwalk unmolested. Just as you were beginning to think that this leg of your journey might prove to be blessedly simple, four Storm Troopers emerged from the open door ahead.

As if they had planned such a synchronous maneuver in advance (which, to be fair, they probably had), both Koska and Bo-Katan fired up their jetpacks and dove off opposite edges of the catwalk, leaving you, Cara, and Fennec to face the oncoming assailants alone. The marshal was quick to dig her fingers into the back of your boilersuit and tug you bodily behind her, but that didn’t stop you from raising your pistol. On instinct alone, you thrust the muzzle of your blaster into the space between the other two women’s bodies, and your fire joined theirs in gunning down the troopers. You couldn’t be certain whether any of your rounds landed, but by the time all of them had either crumpled to the floor or fallen off the edge of the catwalk, the unlucky Storm Troopers had only managed to get off a single round. No one from the boarding party had been harmed.

“Freeze! Drop your weapons!”

A sharp, modulated voice rang out behind you, and your stomach dropped, all of the bravado you had felt mere moments ago slipping away as quickly as it had come. Turning slowly, you found six more Storm Troopers equipped with sleek black blaster rifles spilling onto the catwalk.

“Dank farrik,” you swore under your breath, icy, paralyzing fear gripping your spine for the first time since leaving the shuttle. There had to be too many of them. You didn’t have the element of surprise like you had with the others; these troopers already had their weapons trained on you, and on this narrow walkway, there was nowhere to hide.

Should you surrender, you wondered? Drop your pistol to the floor, put your hands in the air? The idea had your stomach rolling. No, you couldn’t give up, not now –

The distinctive rumble of jetpacks reverberated off of the nearby bulkheads, and a rush of relief so powerful it nearly had your knees buckling washed over you as both Koska and Bo-Katan shot out from their hiding places under the catwalk. From several feet in the air, they rained blast fire down on the unsuspecting troopers, red light and white sparks flying with each impact, and in a handful of seconds, all six of your would-be captors had collapsed into white plastoid heaps on the deck.

You sent the two Mandalorians grateful smiles as they landed smoothly back on the surface of the walkway, and then you were off again, proceeding with haste through the open archway ahead.

---

The deeper into Moff Gideon’s cruiser the boarding party penetrated, the more confident you became. The adrenaline racing through your veins felt less unsettling, rattling on your nerves; instead it seemed to focus you, blocking out all other concerns and fears and narrowing your field of vision to just the mission at hand. Keep your head down. Shoot when you have to. Override every barrier, disable every checkpoint in your path. Trust your comrades to keep you safe, but watch their backs, as well. It reminded you a bit of the Razor Crest’s pursuit of Kevok Teklolq, the way you found yourself able to sink into this role, to concentrate only the task in front of you to the exclusion of all else.

As you made your way across a densely-packed cargo bay, surrounded on all sides by Fennec and Cara’s blaster fire and crumpling white-armored bodies, you felt as focused and in-control as you did behind the helm of a starship. So when one of those anonymous plastoid helmets rounded the corner in front of you, blaster at the ready, you didn’t hesitate, and at this close of a range, even you couldn’t miss.

You shot once. Twice.

The soldier let out a pained grunt and toppled to the floor, and if bile rose in the back of your throat at the sound, you were too focused on reaching the next checkpoint to notice.

Unfortunately, that next check point appeared to be at the far end of an endless series of corridors, and each one seemed to be filled with more Imperial forces than the last. The closer you drew to the bridge, the tighter the defenses. Keeping tight to your formation, the five of you cleared each hall as you entered it, the occasional round bouncing off of Bo-Katan and Koska’s armor as you advanced. It wasn’t until you reached the last turn that the endless wave of combatants became too much to bear.

“Split up!” Cara barked, breaking away from the group. Her massive blaster rifle propped firmly under her arm, she placed herself in front of the rest of you, strong shoulders broad and centered as she took on the oncoming troopers like a force of nature. You tucked yourself behind a support beam, pressing yourself against the bulkhead to steady your aim and did your best to back her up, but next to her oversized rounds, the ones coming from your little pistol seemed to almost inconsequential.

However, as Cara reached the end of the corridor, you heard a distinctive whirring, seizing sound coming from her rifle, and you watched as she quickly found her own support beam to take shelter behind as she cried, “My gun’s jammed!”

Fennec was quick to jump to her aid, yelling, “I got you!” The assassin was nimble, light on her feet, dodging shot after shot as she cut down the corridor toward where Cara had hidden. She was good, great even as more and more Storm Troopers fell at her feet, but it wasn’t enough. The two Mandalorians were occupied with forces approaching from behind, and while the marshal wrestled with her uncooperative weapon, Fennec was outgunned.

A sickening bolt of fear broke through your concentration as you watched yet another trooper round the corner into the corridor, raise his blaster, and take aim directly at the Rebel dropper at his feet.

“Cara!”

Again, you didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. You shot off three rounds, two of which arced wide, but the third one kept true and collided with the trooper’s chest. He staggered back with the force of the impact, a hollow “ugh!” ringing out through his helmet, and then Cara Dune was on her feet once more. Having given up on repairing her blaster rifle, she deftly spun the thing around and wielded the stock like a bludgeon. Lifting the gun high, she shattered the trooper’s helmet in a deadly blow, and white shards of plastoid sprayed through the air as the man collapsed, motionless on the ground.

The marshal shot a wild grin over her shoulder at you, pride gleaming in her dark eyes. “Thanks,” she huffed breathlessly.

You weren’t certain how you felt about that sentiment just now, knowing that you were being thanked for helping her to take a life, even if it had been to save hers. But you could unpack that another time, you decided. Now, your expertise was needed at the doors to the lift that loomed ahead – the lift that would take you to the cruiser’s bridge deck. You were nearly there.

You didn’t wait to be prompted. While the others polished off the remaining troopers, you darted over to the lift, outlined as all the other checkpoints had been in bright red lights. You got to work immediately – peeling back the control panel cover, plugging in one of your datasticks, everything just as you had done for the previous checkpoints. However, as you felt the rest of the boarding party fall into formation behind you, you noticed that each time you thought you had disabled a set of protocols successfully, the effects seem to only last for a moment or two. The layers of security would fall away, and then they would surge back into place, as if you hadn’t just spent long, precious seconds systematically taking them apart.

“Fuck.” The curse came out breathless, and you could feel sweat gathering on the back of your neck and across your forehead as the realization shot down your spine like a livewire. “They’re changing it.”

“What is it?” Bo-Katan asked sharply, her modulated voice sounding just over your shoulder.

“The ship’s crew is countering. The security algorithm has started to vary – they’re trying to stop us from reaching the bridge.”

“Can you compensate?”

You weighed your answer only briefly before nodding. “Yes.”

The new cypher was complex, more nuanced and layered than the first, as though designed to test the limits of your knowledge and see how far you could push them. As you keyed through the terminal, you dug through your memories, your experiences with programs like this one. You pictured your father’s starship database, the endless stores of information, wishing you could remember even half of what you had studied at his side. You had always been more of a hardware girl, anyway; more than anything, you wished you had your plasma torch just so you could see how the security team on the bridge would respond to you simply cutting through the doors they erected in your path.

“Not to rush you, engineer, but if we need to find an alternate way to the bridge, we need to know now.”

“Shh,” you whispered, keeping your eyes on the open terminal before you. You were so close. You could feel it, you just needed to focus, you just needed –

There.

Your hands flew to reassemble the control panel, dropping your datastick back into your pocket once more. One quick command sequence, the foreboding red lights flickered blue, and the lift doors slid open without prompting.

All of the breath left your lungs in one loud exhale, and then you were all piling into the lift car. You input the bridge level number before anyone could ask, and as the car began to rise, you collapsed back against the durasteel wall in relief.

That had been too close for your comfort.

The near-complete silence in the narrow walls of the lift was jarring after the sounds of battle. You could hear the pounding of your heart for the first time since you had left the shuttle, and your own breath sounded too loud in your ears. In the quiet, Bo-Katan turned to you and demanded, “Did you shush me back there?”

Stars, had you? You supposed you had. Perhaps not the wisest choice – to be so disrespectful to the future Mand’alor. It hadn’t been consciously done, but still…

Thankfully, you were saved from needing to answer for this slight by Marshal Dune banging the butt of her blaster rifle on the floor and cursing loudly. “Dank farrik!” She fussed with the action, opening and closing it multiple times, blaster parts clanking against one another in a way no one in the lift could have ignored. “Son of a mudscuffer!”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Bo-Katan asked wryly.

With gritted teeth, Cara slammed the stock of her gun down once more, this time with enough force that you could feel the vibration of it through the floor. A distinctive whirring sound emanated from the depths of the rifle, and you breathed a sigh of relief as she said, “I think that did it.”

Just then, the lift arrived at the bridge level, and the marshal swung her oversized weapon around toward the opening lift door. “Excuse me,” she muttered under her breath, and then she was leading the charge, teeth bared, pouring a never-ending stream of glowing yellow blaster fire down the enemy-filled hallway.

“Hostiles! Stop!”

The command from one of the Storm Troopers ahead did not deter you. The four of you followed in the marshal’s wake, unleashing every ounce of aggression you had left, and just as before, the dense press of armored bodies fell in the face of your party’s sheer force. However, as you gained ground toward the bridge, which shone in the distance, you watched as one final security checkpoint – one you hadn’t planned for – flared to life around its entrance. Warning lights glared red in the frame, two layers of blast doors slammed shut at the end of the corridor, and you swore you could feel the leaden finality of them reverberate through your bones.

Somewhere off to your right, Fennec shouted your name through the deafening roar of blaster fire.

“Go! Get that door open!” she shouted, her low, warm voice hoarse and strained. “I’ll cover you!”

Wordlessly, you nodded, and then you were off like a shot, sprinting down the remaining distance between you and the door with single-minded focus. You did not allow yourself to look as troopers fell around you at the end of Fennec’s rifle, did not allow yourself to hesitate as you jumped over their bodies, as you ducked their flying blaster bolts. You trusted the assassin. Your teammate, your friend. She would keep you safe as you ran. She had to.

You nearly skidded to a stop by the time you made it to the bridge’s entrance. Bracing yourself with your palms against the durasteel, you curled your shoulders inward and tried to make yourself as small a target as possible as you got to work. There was no four-fighter squadron shielding your back this time. You would need to be fast.

As you sliced into the system, you found even more modifications to the algorithms than you had seen on the lift. Brows pulled low, lip between your teeth, you took deep, steadying breaths as you worked. You kept the peril of your situation at arm’s length, knowing that if you allowed yourself to experience it, to really hear the fight going on around you, you would freeze. Instead, you kept your eyes on the terminal, and you ripped the protocol to shreds.

You were putting the control panel cover back on when you heard it – Cara’s voice, then Fennec’s, then even Bo-Katan’s cutting through the chaos. Your name, repeated over and over. “Get down! Get down!”

You hit the deck on your knees, legs collapsing beneath you.

And three blaster bolts collided with the durasteel blast doors right where your head had been.

You felt as though your stomach had fallen clean out of your body as you stared up at the glowing hot dents in the metal, all clustered together right where you had been standing. Sweat poured down your face, fatigue settling in your bones. Stars, that had nearly been the end of you. Your mind flew to Din and then to Grogu, thankful down to your core that you hadn’t seen the last of them.

So overwhelmed were you that you barely noticed Cara coming up behind you until she hauled you to your feet.

“You’re all right, sweetheart, shake it off,” she encouraged, brushing imaginary dust from your shoulders. “We took care of that guy, don’t worry. Let’s get in this room, huh?”

You nodded gratefully. With the other woman’s arm still tucked protectively around your shoulders, you entered the final command sequence, and the security system disarmed.

The party made quick work of the few Imperials left on the bridge when the doors opened. Fanning out across the room, it took only a handful of quick, efficient shots to have the entire bridge crew on the ground.

Koska charged straight for the security station, withdrawing an abandoned code cylinder from the console. “Weapons systems disarmed,” she said. “Secondary security protocols also disabled. Everyone should be able to move freely now.”

Thank the Maker. All that was left now was to wait for Din to rendezvous with you all, and with any luck, he would have Grogu in tow. Your relief was all-consuming, and you found yourself sinking into one of the officers’ chairs with a sigh.

However, there was one member of your party who did not seem especially pleased with the results of your efforts. After taking a full tour around the perimeter of the bridge, Bo-Katan Kryze came to stand in front of the viewport, confusion and fury pouring from her in palpable waves even through her impassive helmet.

Shoving both of her blaster pistols into her holsters with force, she hissed, “Where’s Gideon?”

You glanced around at the bodies that littered the floor, seeing a handful of troopers, a couple of officers in gray... But no one in command black.

Moff Gideon wasn’t here.

---

Mando'a Translations:

epar - eat k’oyacyi - Cheers! Hang in there! Come back safely. Literally, "stay alive"

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 1 year ago

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tuesday again 5/21/2024

get a load of this cat

listening

one of my favorite bands, Joywave, dropped a new album last week! it is not my favorite album of theirs but so it goes. perhaps it needs more time to grow on me. Sleepytime Fantasy kicks off my favorite section of the album. video game enchanted ice cave dream sequence music.

youtube

i must stay true to my own rules for this series (not a rec series, genuinely what i've been into the most this week) and the song that's been on loop all week is a genshin impact character's theme music (punchy wolf-coded ice cop who is the duke of the prison he. runs? administers? don't worry about it). unfortunately a bop. the character music lately has been a lot more modern and experimental than i expected? this one has a police siren drop

youtube

reading

thank you mackintosh.

i really, really enjoyed Trouble And Her Friends by Melissa Scott (LAMBDA award winner 1995)! @delta-orionis and i frequently ask ourselves "what if neuromancer was good?" and this scratches that itch for me. it is often difficult for me to take neuromancer's protagonist henry seriously, but this book features a pair of extremely practical dykes. it opens on the passing of a new american law criminalizing big swathes of online activity, passed despite a presidential veto. description from amazon

Less than a hundred years from now, the forces of law and order crack down on the world of the computer nets. The hip, noir adventurers who get by on wit, bravado, and drugs, and haunt the virtual worlds of the Shadows of cyberspace, are up against the encroachments of civilization. It's time to adapt or die. India Carless, alias Trouble, got out ahead of the feds and settled down to run a small network for an artist's co-op. Now someone has taken her name and begun to use it for criminal hacking. So Trouble returns. Once the fastest gun on the electronic frontier, she had tried to retire-but has been called out for one last fight. And it's a killer.

this startled me by how fun and competent it is! i tried reading one of the author's books last year (Dreamships) and had a miserable time with the pacing and flow of information. there are echoes of the pacing issues i had with the last book-- this is a nearly four hundred page hardcover, we have a lot of Next Locations to go to, and we are going to take our fucking time getting there. a road trip book, rather than a destination book. Scott has gotten way way better at fleshing out those locations— an artists' co-op has their skylights set to amber to hide the wear and tear on everything in their central hangout space when the feds show up. i also connected with the inciting incident way more-- someone stealing a female hacker’s name and style is instantly relatable. i am riding shotgun with Trouble. i am ready to throw down with her.

it's a very physical book in many ways, bc it has three brief sex scenes, is very concerned with sensuality in both senses of the word, and overall it's like the background in an anime that’s full of dials and buttons and little blinky lights. written in 1994, fascjnating how much concepts of VR and sensory inputs have not changed, but everyone still has the equivalent of an enormous old school desktop and giant CRT monitors set up. everyone is constantly lugging around so much physical tech. the stuff that makes you better at hacking in the net is quick reactions to VR sensations, the only way to get that cutting edge sensation is to get a physical chip or “worm” in your head, and the only people who do that are the core outcasts and freaks of the internet (the gays, the women, the people of color, the all three, presumably the furries as well). from that day to this…

there's an interesting contrast between Trouble and her old partner Cerise stalking the virtual reality bazaars/being queens of the BBS undergrounds, and the danger they feel and face when moving about in the real world. some reviewers are very cranky about how negotiations on and offline feel the same but i did not feel this particular quibble. communication is communication. it is known both on and offline that they're 1) women and 2) lesbians. they're in less physical danger online but slurs can still happen no matter where they are. also, i am well used to the necessity of having to posture and peacock and be kind of a bitch to establish myself in order to get anything done in coding/hardware scenes, which is something i don't think any of the male reviewers of the day ever had to think about.

some cowboy shit goes down at the end that had me hooting and hollering, and Scott handled the hacking scenes in an interesting way-- a sort of abstracted duel? terrific "fight" scenes. very interesting at how she will move things around in order to treat scenes in ways she's good at-- like establishing very grounded locations that feel real, physical sensations, and fight scenes-- instead of just kind of slogging through a very surface level high-overview travelogue like in her last book. ive been stuck on a fic chapter for like four years and this is making me think about doing it the fun way instead of the way i thought it should be done. this may be obvious but i am an amateur and more importantly an idiot.

this was a $6/1 book special last year at one of my favorite thrift stores, a religious shop with the absolute worst vibes in the greater houston area but some of the best stuff

watching

Five Dolls For An August Moon (1970, dir. Brava). sometimes you see a cool title on kanopy and you don't have a better way to kill an hour and a half. plus it had some guys i know from cowboys. tw for a suicide's body in the first fucking ten seconds of the trailer, which is a weird trailer choice bc u don't actually see most of the murders in the movie.

ive watched a fuck of a lot of spaghetti westerns so i feel i am somewhat qualified to tell you this is one of the worst dubs ive ever seen. the lines actors are quarter-heartedly delivering do not always make a lot of sense and only occasionally match the subtitles. i am assuming this is the original dub, bc kino lorber generally does a pretty okay job restoring things?

youtube

this is not a good movie (extremely troubled production, director swap three days before filming, made on a shoestring budget, the actors mostly wore their own clothes, etc). it is not very good at maintaining tension, because it is a film that first and foremost Looks. beautiful fucking sets, beautifully decorated. the exterior is a matte painting, a sort of frothy dream-bubble of sixties architecture. most of the interiors are apparently a real house. incredible experimental burbling soundtrack full of Weird Sounds.

sorry about the tubi interface and our old friend the activate windows logo.

there are so many fun directorial flourishes and staging, but it does get a little wrapped up in itself. this made me think of The Secret of NIMH, a beautifully animated talking-animal film that gave me nightmares as a child, where the animation tricks and sparkles and moving parts sort of all get in each other's way to produce something less than the sum of its parts. this sort of happens here. i'm going to yoink this from a review:

Bava’s eye for exquisite compositions is equally evident. One scene in particular stands out in this regard: The filmmaker shoots an otherwise humdrum fistfight through wooden latticework that breaks the action up into an abstracted mosaic effect. The fight culminates with a table being upended, which in turn unleashes a myriad crystal spheres. The camera follows along as the spheres tumble and cascade down a spiral staircase and roll across a tiled floor before plopping like so many bath bubbles into a tub. The scene concludes with the revelation of a recently deceased character caught in what you’d have to call a tableau morte. It’s a dazzlingly orchestrated sequence, easily on par with more famous Bava set pieces.

it's gorgeous! there's also So Much going on. another lovely bit of business: as each person dies they get wrapped in plastic sheeting and put in the walkin freezer. next to slabs of beef. not a subtle film, and i don't mean it as a diss, bc where's the fuckin fun in that?

playing

i have not been doing much of anything here except listen to podcasts and work toward the two-thousand-fish-caught achievement in genshin. impatiently waiting for Clorinde to be released in several weeks. that one button needs a raise. it is So funny to see genshin characters with fucking guns. very sword and pike based societies so far

making

every time i have tried to make one of these samplers for Me it's gone horribly wrong or been somehow destroyed so i'm making this one for my brother's upcoming birthday, bc he will have off-campus housing next academic year, in an attempt to peacefully do some fucking cross stitch and get something out at the end of it. pattern here on etsy

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #Youtube

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al-astakbar · 2 years ago

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☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆ part 2/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆ Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [3.8k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ brief sexual language ☆ series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted

>series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

Neither Mirri nor Solis know where his shuttle is, and one did not stop a Grand Admiral as he was walking away to ask for clarification about something so trivial, despite you elbowing them to do just that.

They walk you to the turbolift, and just before you get on, an aide comes up and gives directions. Landing platform E-52. The lambda class shuttle. The aide leers at you openly, and wonders to his superior officer, “what do I have to do to get one of those?”

The Commander snorts. “A Prasad?” the formal term for the type of trained, indoctrinated pleasure companion popular among the Empire’s elite; you are surprised he knows it, though any good Imperial citizen would recognize what you are just from the distinctive robes. “Gain more favor than you’ll ever hope for in a lifetime. Or make friends with someone who’s got one. I hear they share the best ones around. Get invited to the right party and all you’ve got to do is wait in line for a turn.”

You stiffen and stumble, nearly managing to turn towards the two men, with no real plan of what you might say. Mirri catches you.

“Do you think he’ll be-- he’ll be nice?” You ask in a small voice once the lift doors have closed. Or at least gentle. Mirri and Solis do not answer. The walk to the platform is quick, just a short ways outside through more elegant, richly appointed halls. These ones have hanging gardens, trailing vines and foliage beneath a huge glass ceiling and bursts of flowers, the entire floor a mosaic of millions of black and white stones. You try to dawdle, slowing your pace to spend just a little more time. Given to a Grand Admiral, you will likely spend at least the next six months in space, on a warship, and you don’t know when you might be planetside again, let alone on one with greenery.

But Mirri and Solis lead you through it too quickly, and after a short walk, you are there on LP E-52.

Private platforms such as this one have small, luxurious waiting rooms, so that the senator or whoever is being flown that day does not have to wait out in the elements. Mirri and Solis choose not to use it, and you know they would have happily made you stand there in the wind, until you are bone-chilled and shivering despite the bright Coruscant sun.

Luckily-- one small mercy on this day-- the Grand Admiral arrives within minutes, walking ahead of a small contingent.

Nausea has been a constant, rising bloat in your stomach since walking into the throne room but now it threatens to overwhelm you. A wild, horrible thought comes to you, that maybe if you’re quick enough you could run for the edge of the platform, and just be… done. But you know it wouldn’t work. There are safety measures. Systems of repulsor barriers and simple old fashioned nets to catch people in case of falls or accidents.

“Be sure to mind him,” Mirri whispers to you harshly.

“The last nine to be presented before you all went to lower ranking officers or minor dignitaries—“ Solis says.

“And all were better behaved than you.” Mirri’s tone is venomous.

Then they both step back, bowing deeply to him, and you stand alone. Strong winds buffet the platform, whipping your robe against you like a sail.

Instead of his aide approaching you, the Grand Admiral himself advances. Up close, he is even more imposing of a figure, his bearing imperious and assured, his skin unmistakably blue and his hair sleek blue-black, like indigo. In this light, he looks magnificent, a paragon of an Imperial officer. His uniform is blindingly white, gold shoulder bars, silver collar insignia, and code cylinders glinting brightly, the broad expanse of his chest interrupted by the large rank plaque. The jodhpurs and black jackboots only make his legs look longer-- most Imperial officers you have seen do not carry off the look so well.

You have heard of Gifts kneeling when presented, and always thought it was stupid, but the urge to sink down in front of him pulls at you now. Somehow it would feel so natural. Just the idea of it feels traitorous to everything you believe.

“Come,” he says, bringing one white leather-gloved hand from behind his back to gesture for you to walk beside him. He is stern, but not hurried. He is a Grand Admiral, meaning everyone else bends to his schedule and never the other way around. A cadre of four black armored death troopers fall in step behind— they must be his personal guard. You gawk at them a moment too long, turning your head to look over your shoulder, then the Grand Admiral’s hand is at the small of your back.

“Watch your step,” he murmurs, a second before you trip— the hem of your robe, the uneven surface of the boarding ramp, or both— and he catches you, sets you right.

“I’m fine, I don’t need help,” you say sharply, even as your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

He lets you shrug off his assistance with another quiet word. His accent is like nothing you’ve heard before-- not that you are particularly well traveled-- but it certainly isn’t from any Core world.

“Where are we going?” you ask, feeling strange and a bit guilty for wanting to hear him talk more.

Once you, the Grand Admiral, the complement of troopers and a handful of aides are inside the small loading bay, the ramp closes with a prolonged hydraulic hiss.

“This way,” he says. You follow him through a narrow passageway to the main cabin. Unlike the rest of the shuttle, which is drab, Imperial-issue grey, this cabin is furnished with plush leather seats, what looks like a small bar, and a shiny stone surface desk in one corner, all in sleek black and white.

The Grand Admiral motions courteously for you to sit, while his aide, a pale, light haired young man in an olive-drab lieutenant’s uniform takes a post standing by the hatch you just came through.

“I meant-- are we leaving the planet? What system are we going to?”

At that moment, the shuttle’s engines kick on, and light streams into the cabin as the wings unfold while the craft slowly lifts off and rotates. Strange. From the outside it looks like the only transparisteel on the shuttle is around the cockpit.

“Yes,” the Grand Admiral says. “To my ship, the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera. Lieutenant Tyvo, send word ahead for the stormtroopers to begin preparing their cold weather uniforms and kit. And during the next week, have the section chiefs ensure forward chasing tractor beam targeteers run through another training cycle.”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant says, and immediately begins typing on his datapad.

The Grand Admiral continues speaking to the lieutenant, giving instructions about maneuvers and training schedules and meetings and briefings, and you realize he will not be sharing any more information with you. So you settle deeper into your seat-- much more comfortable than any in the austere cloister where you had spent the past year-- and gaze out the starboard viewport. The city flashes by, spire after spire, growing quickly smaller as the shuttle rises. No waiting in traffic, but of course a Grand Admiral must have his own priority lane.

“Anything else, sir?”

“No, that is all. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

You look over to find the Grand Admiral standing, as he seems to like to do, with his hands clasped behind his back. He regards you for a moment, cold and appraising, before sitting opposite, and his authoritative bearing makes you sit up straighter. Somehow his starched white uniform doesn’t wrinkle. “What is your name?”

The question gives you pause. It is customary to only speak a companion’s given name in private. “They didn’t tell you?”

“I would like to hear it from you.”

He does not seem cruel or pushy, and that unbalances you. With less reluctance than you feel you ought to have, you quietly give him your name so the Lieutenant can’t hear, and then ask his.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he says. “But you may find it easier to call me Thrawn.”

You repeat his name with a small nod. “Thrawn.”

His glowing red eyes do not have pupils, and though you can’t tell quite where he might be looking, you feel the weight of his attention pinning you down nonetheless.

You feel your face grow hot. Is he going to have you here, now? It would be well within his rights. He is entitled to anything— everything. The thought makes you squirm with anger and… something else hot and deep in your chest you can’t give a name to.

Quickly, you pull your gaze down to your lap. Demure, as you had been taught. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“For what?”

“Staring. You probably get stared at a lot.” Hold your tongue. Mirri and Solis would have seen that you were punished for this impertinence. There had been one girl who had been with you, retraining after her first master had been terribly displeased with her. At least, that is as much as you could glean. He had removed her tongue before sending her back, and the threat of having all her teeth pulled out too kept her obedient.

Thrawn raises a blue-black eyebrow. “Indeed.”

For a time, he says nothing more, but studies you closely. His eyes seem to roam over your form, and you feel somehow naked, exposed for his discernment. You watch him back, thankful for your veil once more, studying his face. His features are even, well proportioned, though severe, and his dark hair slicked back from a widow’s peak makes him distinguished. Perhaps he is considered handsome among his people. The third time he catches your gaze, you get the distinct sense that he knows exactly where you are looking.

There is a definite hunger in the way he watches you, intent and completely still. As if waiting for you to act first. The tiniest movement. You exhale slightly, and it makes the fabric covering your face flutter.

Caught again.

“Remove your veil.”

You jerk at the order, and in a split second of gut instinct, almost obey, such is the authority in his voice and bearing. Thrawn’s aide gives a start too, fumbling the data pad he’s holding.

“Give us the room, Lieutenant,” Thrawn says without looking away from you, and his aide hurries out.

Thrawn rises, unfolding his long limbs gracefully, and crosses to you in two steps. “My apologies.” He stands at his full height, broad shoulders square and hands behind his back. It gives him an infuriating air of calm superiority. And still, you can’t shake a foreboding sense that he is very, very dangerous, and not to be crossed. “It is customary for those of your position to remain covered at all times, except during… intimate situations. Is it not?”

“Y-yes. Yes sir,” you say, relieved that he understands.

A beat passes, and then he prompts: “we are alone now.”

You feel your face heat at the implication. “I don’t want to.”

His mouth presses into a thin line. “That is of no concern to me.”

“I don’t want to kiss you.”

His red eyes gleam. “It was not a request.”

You stand up, meaning to move away, but it only puts you closer to him, and his height dwarfs yours. “I don’t want to lay with you!”

“Is that what you imagine necessitates showing your face?” His voice drops to nearly a whisper, full of dark promise. “When I fuck you, it need not be so personal.”

At that, your heart thuds in your chest.

Before you can think it through, you try to slap him. He catches your wrists, dispassionate and unflinching as you struggle against him. “Enough. There will be no need for…theatrics. I was given to understand that those of your Order are all volunteers. Is that not true in your case?”

You can’t help your wide-eyed expression. It is an open secret that many young men and women were pressed into this sort of service, and your Order is no exception-- but nobody spoke that secret aloud. And it certainly wasn’t brazenly stated by an Imperial Grand Admiral to his new companion. You nod in confirmation, hoping that this isn’t some sort of trap or game to get you to admit something he could punish you for.

“I see,” he says, considering for a moment. “Then, you have a choice to make. An unwilling partner is of little use to me.”

You wrench against his grip, but it’s futile. “Oh so I guess that makes it all right then. You don’t want to— to fuck me but you’re going to anyway,” you say hotly. He doesn’t rise to the accusation, merely waits for a beat, allowing you to continue. When you say nothing more, he speaks.

“As I said, I would prefer your cooperation, but it is not required. However, there are… complexities… to our situation. Our Emperor—“

“Your Emperor.”

“--Will expect me to fully enjoy the gift he has given me. This is not in question. He will know, if I do not take you to bed. I have no intention of slighting him by refusing his generosity.”

“But how would he know! Couldn’t you just tell him that you have?”

“No,” he says, his voice cold and soft.

You stare at him for a moment, breath catching suddenly at how close you are, and then you start struggling again. “Let go of me!”

His hands tighten around your wrists like shackles, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones grind together.

“Please!” A note of panic, breath tight in your chest. It had been your last, foolish hope that whoever you were given to would be understanding, would find the whole practice barbaric. “Just let me go, pretend I ran away, just leave me somewhere!”

Thrawn, evidently, is not that person.

“Think,” he presses, red eyes flashing with impatience, though he reins back in to calm just as quickly. “Under what circumstances might you leave my service?”

It takes a moment for you to realize that this is not a rhetorical question. Most of the time Mirri and Solis had considered answers to such questions as just another form of backtalk, worthy of punishment.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer,” he says, rather sharply.

Another trap? You try to gather your thoughts, calm your breathing, but your pulse is wild with high emotion, and your voice shakes. “I could… run away.”

“Yes. What else?”

You draw in a deep breath, and smell the starch and wool of his uniform. “You could let me go.”

He nods but stays silent, expectant. A third option? You frown, then venture: “someone else takes me. Without your permission. Steals me away.”

“Indeed.”

Your mind flashes to the ones who were returned broken and maimed. “I could misbehave,” you say, with a touch of defiance.

“Yes, you could,” he agrees. “The circumstances of you leaving my ship would be altogether unpleasant, but more so for you than for me. You are a gift that cannot be refused, so your removal would be necessitated by your own behavior. Now, what do you imagine the consequences would be like?”

You swallow thickly and shake your head, unable to find the words.

“At best, placed with somebody else with less concern for your… consent. At worst…” his voice trails off, letting you reach the obvious conclusion silently.

He is right, which is all the more infuriating to admit because of the matter-of-fact way he had stated it. Gifts who came back were, if deemed ‘salvageable’, subjected to months of remedial conditioning and then reassigned, almost always to someone less desirable than the previous recipient. Lower ranking, or particularly hideous or cruel. It was whispered that there was one Outer Rim Governor whose appetite for a fresh face had been the demise of at least four Gifts.

“There are functions, too,” he adds quietly, with just a hint of something in his voice that you imagine to be embarrassment or reluctance, “ that I will be expected to attend, with you by my side.”

“And by functions you mean…?”

“You might call it a party. Others who have been recipients of the Emperor’s goodwill would also be there, with their gifts. We will be… observed.”

He waits for that to sink in.

No… You have an idea of what he means, and it makes your blood run cold.

“It is imperative that we demonstrate our appreciation of His generosity.”

Your stomach turns. Not quite ready to confront the reality of what he’s telling you. “Can’t you just send a ‘thank you’ holo or something?”

He remains silent.

“How… how many people?”

“Hundreds.”

“Hundreds…” you repeat hollowly. “Observed… doing what? Having dinner together? Do you fuck me right there on the table between courses or could we get away with waiting until after the meal and finding a dark corner?”

Thrawn says nothing for a moment, just gives you a rather irritated look. “Understand,” he says flatly, “that I did not ask for you. You are a distraction.”

You have to swallow down the insult of this rejection.

“Then leave me at some spaceport. Outer Rim, I don’t care.” You say, voice cracking. One more try, even though he’s already convinced you of the futility of it all.

“I did not say I don’t want you. But— as I said, I cannot. If I let you escape, I show incompetence, and lack of control over those in my care. If I let you go, it would be seen as rejecting the Emperor’s goodwill, disobeying his command, even.”

It clicks in your mind, then. If you do not give him a certain degree of cooperation, it could hurt his career and reputation— whatever that might be. He is concerned enough to mention it, though his attempts to cajole you into compliance so far have been baffling. This strange Grand Admiral claims to have no regard for your wishes but he is actually trying to convince you instead of ripping off your clothes and holding you down. He’s taken the time to explain it all and seems to want you to understand his reasoning.

You take a deep breath, trying to slow your heart pounding. Thrawn still holds you close, and he is so tall his rank plaque is just above eye level for you.

“The embroidery on your robe and veil — tell me about it.”

This catches you off guard. “I—it’s part of our traditional— I don’t know what to call it. Our uniform, I guess. It’s added during our Vigil.”

“It is very fine work.” He sounds intrigued, and picks up the hem, holding it closer to look at and brushing his thumb over the stitching. “And the other two with you before, their garments had similar work to yours, also done in the same type of thread, though not as intricate. The motifs were simpler, and the execution… adequate. This was done with great skill and care.” He grasps your wrist in such a way as to closer inspect the embroidery; it draws you clear to him so you are pressed against his body. You squirm, knowing he can feel your breasts against him, as you can feel his heavy belt, and that he’s half-hard and hot against your stomach.

“Be still,” he murmurs, making no effort to conceal his arousal. He takes a few more moments examining the work, then lets it fall.

“Now,” he says. “Will you remove your veil?”

With a cooler head, you realize he had done nothing to punish your outburst, nor any of your other little jibes. Stars, you had tried to hit him and he hadn’t even been angry about it. This doesn’t mean you’re safe with him. Doesn’t earn him even a little trust. But for now, it seems wise to acquiesce. This will be okay, or at least not so bad. He will not demean or abuse you. And he is right. There is no good way out of this, for either of you.

Heart pounding-- no one outside the cloister on Coruscant has seen your bare face in over a year-- you sweep the fabric up and over, so that it trails down your back as if you were a bride. The change in light makes you blink and squint for a moment. Thrawn leans forward, as if he can’t help himself, and strokes a lock of your hair off your face.

You try not to flinch away from him, nor to let any emotion show.

But he traces his thumb over your lips and you feel a hot prickle of tears that you can’t hold back. It would almost be easier if he were cruel.

“When they train you,” he says, voice dangerously quiet, “do they fuck you?”

You feel a pulse through your core at his question, and immediately shove the feeling down. “Why? You don’t want someone who’s been used before?” Mouthy again. His expression stays mild.

“Previous experiences do not concern me. I only wish to know what your training entailed.”

“No. They don’t. In most cases the recipients want to be able to be the first, you know, to be in control of…that.” You finish lamely, a vivid blush creeping up your neck.

“It is believed the recipient will wish to shape the desires of his companion,” Thrawn offers.

“Yes. Not because of anything like— like purity.”

He takes a moment to consider this, then asks, “are you pure?”

You blink, meeting his eyes, and immediately regret it, as you feel tears well up anew. You quickly look aside, and can see the dark edge of space out the viewport, just where it meets the muddy orange-gold of the atmosphere. “No,” you say, then look right back at him, lifting your chin. “Are you?”

One blue-black eyebrow goes up. “No.”

Then he lets you go, saying nothing more during the ride except to direct your attention to the Chimaera on approach. It is a magnificent ship, and you press against the transparisteel trying to see more of it, though its bulk quickly fills the entire view. On the underbelly of the ship is painted a huge, stylized chimaera, twin heads crossing over the wedge line. You have to restrain yourself from asking him a million questions about everything you see as you pass beneath the bow and into its massive shadow.

An escort of four TIE fighters sweeps in to escort the shuttle to the hangar bay. The distinctive high roar of their engines is somehow audible inside the shuttle. You had never understood that, though admittedly your knowledge of physics and space travel is limited. You almost ask Thrawn. He would know, and he is still standing quite close to you. You can feel him at your back, watching the same panorama, and the one time you brave a glance over your shoulder at him, his gaze is distant and his expression inscrutable.

☆ link to part 3 ☆

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