septima-severa

[septima-severa]

I have been talking for three weeks straight, @sparklebunny57 - and of course, whatever I say, the little devil stays on my shoulder. What glue have you used?

Oh no, we're fused together now.

So, my typewriter is ready.

what? oh sweetheart no, you're not weirding me out at all. you're weirding me in. keep talking, freak

[septima-severa]

Sex and Subterfuge

Sex and Subterfuge (a.k.a. Chiss in the Sheets) is now on AO3!

Pairings: Thrawn x Krennic's wife!reader; Krennic x Chiss OFC

The title was the idea of @sparklebunny57

Because it is over 14k words long, I divided it into two parts. In the first one, there is more plot, the only NSFW scene is Krennic getting pegged by a Chiss courtesan. You will hear of her more in the future as she belongs to his extensive network of informants with the codename Bluebird. The second part is mostly Krennic's wife treating Thrawn's rut, so the ratio is more NSFW and less plot. Because... even though this series started with the idea that she stays faithful... since her husband is such a man-whore, why should she not have some fun?

Be warned, Krennic's storyline in this one is a sidekick to the main Thrawn x reader.

PART ONE

ON AO3

“I find it interesting that you are offering yourself to me so freely, my lady, without the knowledge of the mating ritual of my people,” his red gaze pierced your very soul, yet you didn’t flinch. “As you have correctly observed, my species can pick on pheromones. In extreme, rut would last so long until the mating partner doesn’t show a change in scent – a change signifying a successful outcome to the series of copulations.”

He noted your sharp intake of breath, baring his teeth at it. “Until the female is pregnant, then,” you muttered, turning your head away from him.

“Precisely. Governor Tarkin has taken the contraception from you because he wants you to procreate with your husband, not whore yourself around the Galaxy,” last words were spoken in his native language, a series of singsong consonants you couldn’t possibly grasp the meaning of. “Again, you know nothing of me,” he muttered, turning away.

PART TWO

ON AO3

“You need help. I offered it you, as I am apparently the source of your distress. Yet you have waited until it drove you to the brink of madness, Commodore. Why?”

He lowered his head to the crook of your neck, and you waited with a bated breath while he sniffed at your skin cautiously. “Because,” he said slowly, “you are ready now.” A statement which, to you, didn’t make any sense – you would swear that your cycle was at the follicular phase. His teeth flashed in the dim light, and at that moment you didn’t see a naval officer above you, but a predator from half-forgotten myths with blazing red stare consuming his pupils completely. You shivered involuntarily.

And you became his prey.

“Are you afraid?”

“A little,” you admitted, gulping.

He observed the movement of your throat for a heartbeat, then traced it with his finger. “Good. May this be a lesson to you, then, to not offer yourself to strangers so freely.”

[septima-severa]

THIS doesn't help with my "men in uniform" problem at all. It probably started with Ioan Gruffudd playing Hornblower, but boy, in times of desperation, the type of uniform doesn't matter too much.

Excuse me, I need to hide in my little corner and be absolutely feral about this one.

BEN MENDELSOHN as King George VI — DARKEST HOUR (2017) dir. Joe Wright

[septima-severa]

Edits, edits, edits. Rinse and repeat.

There are a few positively unhinged things that I engage in on regular basis. Seems that editing the Krennic and Thrawn smut stories while listening to the Top Gun soundtrack has been added to the list.

The only issue, though, is that I might need to divide the 10k+ opus into two, because, let's not kid ourselves... how many of you would read it in one go when there are so many... distractions to masturbate to daydream about?

By the way, Krennic would totally have an extensive collection of vinyl records.

I should maybe put my playlist on shuffle, I'm intrigued about how well it would go with Vivaldi or Tchaikovsky -

What do you listen to while working?

Because... that bastard Krennic probably loves listening to pathetic pleas for life when he has them in a chokehold.

“Believe me, Piett is the last person to rat on me to Tarkin,” he grinned devilishly. “This,” he trailed his gloved finger along the column of her neck, observing her reaction, “would easily end his career in the navy – especially with his noble family background.” His expression hardened again, and caressing touch morphed into a painful grab. “Now, tell me, my little bird, where did you get it.”

She gasped for air, lashing at him with the crop in panic. But Krennic only seized the tip, trying to yank it from her hand in a struggle. With his full weight on her, though, she couldn’t free herself – a realisation of the fact hitting her hard. He ended pressing the crop to her throat, holding its ends with both hands while her arms grasped his uniform in a desperate attempt to throw him off. He briefly wondered whether it was only males of her species with inhumane strength or if she had grown soft during her time in the brothel.

“Do you think I’m stupid to not recognise my wife’s work?” he spat into her face, making her stop squirming instantly.

“Malastare!” she almost shrieked. “But I can’t tell you more!”

[septima-severa]

Thanks to a different sewing pattern from the same era, I might soon be on the right path leading to the reconstruction of this gorgeous dress.

I only need to think of a suitable alternative to the flower on the front of the sash...

Rose DeWitt Bukater's green lace dress in Titanic 4k

[septima-severa]

Oh, but what if my brain goes like "This is too good to be kept a secret. You need to show it to people. Post it on Tumblr NOW." -

- usually before I do two or three rounds of editing. Hereby I must apologise to people who actually read those posts, because most of them were not polished before I hit the "post" button.

(especially after yesterday when I discovered that there was "... ask that idiot Bhrea to you're back...", then had a mild heart attack and checked the original file - only to discover that MS Word had the audacity to ask me whether it should cease changing "wash your" to "you're" in the future)

Bonus points if your inner voice sounds like creepy Palpatine.

Gentle reminder, first drafts are for putting it all on the page and out of your head. First drafts are for telling. Later drafts are for showing. So keep writing that first draft. You've got this.

[septima-severa]

But where is home? (Krennic x reader)

He helped you into the water, perching at your side. A contented sigh escaped you as the water, cloudy with some soap he had put in it. Its scent was pleasant, yet you seldom used it, if ever.

“If you miss bathing so much, wife, maybe you should have asked that idiot Bhrea to wash your back?” Chuckling at your visceral reaction, he couldn’t help himself but stir up a hornet’s nest, fully knowing that those proverbial hornets would turn against him before he was done.

“If I ever asked Mr Jerrod to wash my back, then we wouldn’t be here right now,” you hissed. “Instead, I would have to clean up the carnage after you tortured him to death, making a mess and enjoying every second of it I bet, husband.”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t make much of a mess and kill him outright.”

“But you never do half of the job, do you? Knowing you, you would make a macramé of his intestines, Orson. There would be blood everywhere!”

He laughed dryly, and for a moment, silence reigned over the rather cramped refresher unit.

“I wish you could join me,” you grimaced after a while.

“I will, once we return to Coruscant.”

“I hate Coruscant,” scowling, you craned your neck to watch his reaction. “Even after all those years… Always the same narrow people, same mindless chatter. And gossip, scheming and theatrics of it. I can’t smile and nod and take their beating in stride. It’s tiring when you must always watch your back, lest someone stabs you in it, twisting the imaginary knife viciously.”

“Somebody got their taste in politics, hmm?” he chuckled, grabbing a sponge and scrubbing your back when he pushed you forward gently to reach it more easily.

You rested your head on your knees. “I like the Institute, though. But having three lectures a year hardly requires my constant presence on the planet. And even then, it’s snickers and gossip behind my back because I will never become a true scholar – for achieving that title, my life would have to be very different. Marriage aside, I would have to conduct more research, but then there is the KDY politics which effectively thwarts anything I do.”

“You could join the Emperor’s energy program,” he shrugged noncommittally, the sponge travelling back up, copying the curve of your spine and circling your neck before he coaxed you to lie down so he could continue lathering soap into your skin.

The water sloshed inside the tub a bit as you moved again. “So far, another grand plan without a solid shape. Isn’t it more of a rumour circling the court than anything else?”

“Maybe for now, but soon it might become a reality.”

You tsked, dismissing both the idea and the topic. “I’ve spent more time on Naboo than on Coruscant. I’d like to raise our daughter there – if I could so choose.” Your voice barely rose above whisper. What a family you were: your man from Lexrul, you, a former slave without true identity, an assimilated Naboo, and if you stayed here until your child’s first birthday, she would become pure Alderaanian. You smiled at the idea, even though it would probably remain just another dream – like many things in your life.

---

Now I'm thinking of some lavish costume party happening on Coruscant...

[septima-severa]

Spread the word.

refseek.com

www.worldcat.org/

link.springer.com

http://bioline.org.br/

repec.org

science.gov

pdfdrive.com

[septima-severa]

Frederic Edwin Church,

Aurora Borealis, 1865

[septima-severa]

<< doesn't have a working title >> (NSFW)

Propped up on one knee between your legs, he captured your calf, the silky material of your nightgown sliding up and exposing more of your skin to him while he kissed it on his way up. You were ticklish, and his featherlight touches drove you insane.

“What a naughty girl,” he purred, discovering that there was no underwear in his way as his fingers brushed against your sex, hidden by the fabric. The silk crumpled under his hands then as he pushed it up your thighs, now kneeling fully between them. The fire in his eyes intensified once your pussy was fully exposed to him, and his mouth hovered above you, delivering nips and licks to your inner thighs on its way to his prize.

At first, the sounds he made you do were drowned by a persistent birdsong outside that seeped in through the open window in the kitchen. But the bolder he got in his worship of your pussy, licking and groaning into it, the more heated your moans became.

A thick finger entered you, testing your wetness more than doing anything else, and you squirmed under him, panting his name. He thrusted it in and out lazily while his tongue flicked at your clit, sending shivers up your spine.

“Please… Ben… I need more,” you whined.

He indulged you. The stretch of second finger was so delicious your back arched off the couch as he scissored you, caressing your insides while slurping at your glistening folds. But when the coil of heat in your lower belly threatened to snap, he stopped with a devilish smirk, your juices smeared on his chin.

Your chest heaved with the effort to take in some air he was robbing you of. He knew exactly when your peak ebbed away, and only then he started pumping his fingers in and out again casually, watching you trying to chase after more with your hips. He was now hovering above your torso, and you threw your legs around his hips in an attempt to cage him in, reclaiming his mouth and tasting yourself on his plush lips.

“Paul Benjamin Mendelsohn, you better shag me good,” your voice sounded mock-serious.

[septima-severa]

Oh, don't worry. I think that at this point, you should be a co-author - and you have certainly done more than some of my co-authors on my academic papers!

Looking forward to many more crazy idea exchanges, they truly inspire me.

On the beaches of Scarif (Krennic x reader)

I've been hopping from one unfinished story to another lately, not even bothering to write down my ideas chronologically. A month ago, I said that there was another Krennic x wife!reader story brewing in my head, and subsequently, posted two more snippets from the same story (because it evolved into a multichapter thing over the time): more of the same scene, and the aftermath.

While I've been pestering @sparklebunny57 over the messages with bits of everything Mendelsohn-related that I wrote, she's been whispering into my ear, suggesting something so ridiculously sweet that I've started working on it (actually, it's not even ridiculous, but I am not exactly known for writing nice guy Krennic). After all, Scarif beaches are romantic - until Tarkin comes and stomps on everything that is nice in the galaxy far, far away.

Who wants Orson Callan Krennic, the knight in shining armour, to save you from a coconut crab?

Nobody?

Well, your bad.

Walking on the stone path was uncomfortable, even more so once you diverted from it – Orson hadn’t exaggerated with his dark promise. I can guarantee you won’t be able to walk straight after tonight, he had said and had made good on it. The lingering ache between your legs reminded you of it, as a light breeze played with your dress in the shade of tall areca nut palm trees.

Scarif really was a paradise. Even though you were aware of its treacherous ecosystem and dangerous predators lurking in the jungle, the resort he had taken you to was far from these challenges. It was also removed from the vicinity of any areas storing refined coaxium, a hypermatter used as a fuel for hyperdrives. The only source of raw and extremely volatile fuel you knew of was Kessel – the poor conditions in its mines inspired fear in many, and your former master had threatened you with selling you as a slave worker there on multiple occasions when you had grown disobedient.

At least Krennic didn’t make the same threats, and you could live with his ideas of punishment.

You winced when dry sand shifted under your feet unexpectedly, catching balance making your abused muscles stretch.

After the better half of the day spent walking and swimming alone, it was no wonder that you fell asleep in a hammock, lulled by the sound of sea. The shadows were dancing on your eyelids while you were dreaming.

You were both lying in the spacious bed of your house on Naboo, a fire cracking in the fireplace, playing games of light and shadows around you. His hands were travelling over your body, caressing your belly. “I love you so much,” Orson whispered to the growing bump, soothing places where your child was already delivering kicks with its tiny feet as it was making itself comfortable for sleep. “We can’t have you causing discomfort to your mother, little one, that is my job,” he chuckled gently.

“Orson! That is hardly something you should say to your unborn,” although you willed your voice to sound serious, you couldn’t help the smile creeping up your face. While your husband was curled around you, you were carding your fingers through the soft curls of his hair, messy from your attention –

You woke up with a peaceful smile on your lips and hand on your belly, stroking it absentmindedly, but a loathe to open your eyes. You wanted to hold onto the delicate thread of your dream for a little bit longer –

Something bumped into your foot. Thinking it was just some areca nuts falling off the tree above you, knocked by a gust, you didn’t pay it more attention.

But then it happened again.

You cracked one eye open –

Only to become fully alert in a second.

It was no fruit falling off the palm tree, but a kriffing nut crab!

You shrieked, totally spooked by the thing that moved clumsily towards you, more than half of its ginormous body still hanging off the rope securing the hammock to the tree trunk awkwardly. Your first instinct was to kick it, which you did, and it eventually landed on its back with a thud muffled by the sand – not to stay in such vulnerable position for long, though. You sprang out of the net, taking hasty steps backwards –

“Ah, there you are!” Krennic’s voice reached you, and you risked a glance in the direction it came from –

Only to trip over the sand and landing on your butt. “Kriffing hell!” you cried out in surprise.

He quickened his pace, the ridiculous cape floating behind him. “What happened?” he called, his blaster drawn, and you could only point your shaking hand towards the crab that managed to turn over on its legs again and was currently walking slowly back to the palm tree. A single shot came out of his weapon. “Why, it’s just a nut crab!” he laughed, checking that the poor thing was dead with the toe of his boot.

“It’s kriffing huge!” you protested incredulously. “And it was crawling into my hammock!”

“And got you scared out of your wits I bet," he snickered.

“Orson! It’s not funny!”

[septima-severa]

On the beaches of Scarif (Krennic x reader)

I've been hopping from one unfinished story to another lately, not even bothering to write down my ideas chronologically. A month ago, I said that there was another Krennic x wife!reader story brewing in my head, and subsequently, posted two more snippets from the same story (because it evolved into a multichapter thing over the time): more of the same scene, and the aftermath.

While I've been pestering @sparklebunny57 over the messages with bits of everything Mendelsohn-related that I wrote, she's been whispering into my ear, suggesting something so ridiculously sweet that I've started working on it (actually, it's not even ridiculous, but I am not exactly known for writing nice guy Krennic). After all, Scarif beaches are romantic - until Tarkin comes and stomps on everything that is nice in the galaxy far, far away.

Who wants Orson Callan Krennic, the knight in shining armour, to save you from a coconut crab?

Nobody?

Well, your bad.

Walking on the stone path was uncomfortable, even more so once you diverted from it – Orson hadn’t exaggerated with his dark promise. I can guarantee you won’t be able to walk straight after tonight, he had said and had made good on it. The lingering ache between your legs reminded you of it, as a light breeze played with your dress in the shade of tall areca nut palm trees.

Scarif really was a paradise. Even though you were aware of its treacherous ecosystem and dangerous predators lurking in the jungle, the resort he had taken you to was far from these challenges. It was also removed from the vicinity of any areas storing refined coaxium, a hypermatter used as a fuel for hyperdrives. The only source of raw and extremely volatile fuel you knew of was Kessel – the poor conditions in its mines inspired fear in many, and your former master had threatened you with selling you as a slave worker there on multiple occasions when you had grown disobedient.

At least Krennic didn’t make the same threats, and you could live with his ideas of punishment.

You winced when dry sand shifted under your feet unexpectedly, catching balance making your abused muscles stretch.

After the better half of the day spent walking and swimming alone, it was no wonder that you fell asleep in a hammock, lulled by the sound of sea. The shadows were dancing on your eyelids while you were dreaming.

You were both lying in the spacious bed of your house on Naboo, a fire cracking in the fireplace, playing games of light and shadows around you. His hands were travelling over your body, caressing your belly. “I love you so much,” Orson whispered to the growing bump, soothing places where your child was already delivering kicks with its tiny feet as it was making itself comfortable for sleep. “We can’t have you causing discomfort to your mother, little one, that is my job,” he chuckled gently.

“Orson! That is hardly something you should say to your unborn,” although you willed your voice to sound serious, you couldn’t help the smile creeping up your face. While your husband was curled around you, you were carding your fingers through the soft curls of his hair, messy from your attention –

You woke up with a peaceful smile on your lips and hand on your belly, stroking it absentmindedly, but a loathe to open your eyes. You wanted to hold onto the delicate thread of your dream for a little bit longer –

Something bumped into your foot. Thinking it was just some areca nuts falling off the tree above you, knocked by a gust, you didn’t pay it more attention.

But then it happened again.

You cracked one eye open –

Only to become fully alert in a second.

It was no fruit falling off the palm tree, but a kriffing nut crab!

You shrieked, totally spooked by the thing that moved clumsily towards you, more than half of its ginormous body still hanging off the rope securing the hammock to the tree trunk awkwardly. Your first instinct was to kick it, which you did, and it eventually landed on its back with a thud muffled by the sand – not to stay in such vulnerable position for long, though. You sprang out of the net, taking hasty steps backwards –

“Ah, there you are!” Krennic’s voice reached you, and you risked a glance in the direction it came from –

Only to trip over the sand and landing on your butt. “Kriffing hell!” you cried out in surprise.

He quickened his pace, the ridiculous cape floating behind him. “What happened?” he called, his blaster drawn, and you could only point your shaking hand towards the crab that managed to turn over on its legs again and was currently walking slowly back to the palm tree. A single shot came out of his weapon. “Why, it’s just a nut crab!” he laughed, checking that the poor thing was dead with the toe of his boot.

“It’s kriffing huge!” you protested incredulously. “And it was crawling into my hammock!”

“And got you scared out of your wits I bet," he snickered.

“Orson! It’s not funny!”

[septima-severa]

Oh, yes, more fuel to the writing has arrived. Thank you so much!

I'm obsessed (follow me on tiktok for more Ben edits)

[septima-severa]

The only tarantula I can tolerate.

This week, get caught in the spider’s web.

Check out the incredibly detailed view our Hubble Space Telescope captured of the Tarantula Nebula! This cosmic spider resides in the Large Magellanic Cloud, a dwarf galaxy located about 160,000 light-years away in the constellations Dorado and Mensa. The Tarantula Nebula is the largest and brightest star-forming region, not just in the Large Magellanic Cloud, but in the entire group of nearby galaxies to which the Milky Way belongs. It's also home to the most massive stars known, some roughly 200 times as massive as our Sun.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[septima-severa]

See? Works nicely. Krennic IS a working class.

And as for the ISB, nobody is going to convince me that Ronan is not up to the backdoor stuff with his idol :D I even included it here:

She started teasing his arse, slickened pads of her fingers caressing his puckered hole, when he growled, “Make it hurt.” Sincerely, he was fed up with sweet and caring, he had been having enough of that from his Deputy Director. He craved raw and animalistic, a stark contrast from Ronan worshipping him like some deity. And he knew too well that this woman could deliver it.

“As you wish, Director.”

He gasped when she bit his buttock, drawing first droplets of blood.

ROGERING

🤣🤣🤣

Well... 'roger' is apparently an old English word for cock, so I guess it can be used in the sentence (adopting upper class English accent) 'By jove, who is that lovely bit of crumpet taking tea by the croquet lawn with Lady Farquaharahahars, I am minded to seduce her and give her a jolly good rogering before evensong.'

Orrrr:

Cockney accent 'That bird's a bit of all right ain't she, wouldn't say no to pulling that bit of skirt and giving her a right good rogering up the back alley before the missus gets home from Bingo.'

Does that sort of answer your ask?? 🤣 Not quite sure which one is more Krennic though lol!

[septima-severa]

AMEN.

For real, tho, we love to see that someone got engaged by our writing, left likes and kudos. AND reblogged it with some unhinged commentary. THAT IS OUR FOOD. Believe me, any comment and reblog is stronger than caffeine in our veins.

Please, please, don't leave us on edge like that bastard Krennic.

Can I gush a little about a fantastic SW fan fic I just read? It's called 'there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly' by SunsetOfDoom. It's so good that I consider it canon.

It's about young Savage Opress and Maul and it makes me cry every time I read it. Highly recommend.

[septima-severa]

It's very easy to put our ideas of someone we've seen or experienced in a medium as being real to that person. Like, a person plays a great person you're incredibly romantically attached to and you meet them and find out they're just kind of a disappointing anxious avoidant. Spoiler alert, me.

Ben Mendelsohn