Ok, so get this. There's an imperial ball, OK? EVERYONE'S there. And I'm talking everyone. Darth Vader, Eli, thrawn, tarkin, kallus, EVERYONE! And S/O just busts in. There in this ~glourious~ princess dress, there hair is done, it's immaculate! This dress sweeps against the floor and S/O is on this fjord horse! Everyone turns to look at S/O. What happens next? -grublubgar anon
Answer:
I’ve suddenly been transported into a fantasy AU… and unfortunately that is the only way I can possibly think of to continue this concept
I imagine that Thrawn would be the one at your side almost at once. You’ve made an entrance, one grand enough to turn heads, and it’s something he loves to see from you. It’s his way of acknowledging your power.
So looking up, he extends a hand to you, understanding full well that it’s more of a formality than anything, and you take it, sliding down from your position. Thrawn’s other arm slips to your waist, stabilising you as you draw closer. Whether by accident or instinct, you place a hand on his chest, and you can swear for a moment that you saw a smile.
Though no one else notices it, and before too long, the music that had inevitably paused for your entrance resumes, and those that don’t know you personally or those caught up in that mixture of disgust or jealousy that so many often find themselves entrapped in continue on with their discussions or dances. Thrawn leads you through the thrum of people, barely stopping between even the most important of officers, wanting only to show you off even further than you’ve already been.
And he leads you in the dance, many others still looking on in little less than astonishment. Those within Kallus’s circle wonder how you did it. Sure you’re charming, they say, watching as Thrawn makes every effort to keep the space between you as small as possible, but someone of his station, someone of his mindset, they can never imagine him making such a choice.
But the ones in Tarkin’s circle say nothing. They know better.
And Eli wonders how long it’ll last, if it does at all, and can only seem to assume the worst. But he knows Thrawn, and he knows him well enough to be able to see that he’s happy, if only for the time being, and chooses to keep those predictions to himself. The way your eyes fall on him, the way he sways with you in every manner that matters, it all adds up to something. And something is better than nothing at all.
But it’s Vader’s attention that no one seems to notice, though it’s the one that follows you, the one that knows what this is. He knows the steps you take before you make them, the smile that graces your lips when Thrawn’s mouth grazes your ear, saying something that Vader can’t quite make out, but he knows what it is nonetheless. And sometimes, he blinks, and it isn’t you there anymore. It isn’t Thrawn. It’s a memory.
Brown hair.
Pink lips.
A voice saying his name.
But he blinks again, and it’s just you. He wonders why he came at all, what the point is. When the song ends, he looks up again, and Thrawn’s lips are pressed against your own, that grin on your face still lingering even after the moments have passed, your fingers intertwined together like your very lives are held between your palms. And he allows himself the slightest of smiles.
- In your dreams, you are running. You are always running. So much so that when you wake in a cold sweat, you know you cannot stay. Yes you did things your own way. But this is different. This could be the beginning of something new. You peer into the mirror. The face that you see has endured hell. And always at the hands of others. But now? Now she will make it a hell for those who have hurt her.
- When Vader comes you are waiting. “You were right Lord Vader.”
- “You feel the dark side.”
- “I feel my rage. I feel this desperation to be free of my limitations. I know that you feel the same. Anger is all we have left.”
- A silence. “When you emerge yourself, there will be no turning back. You will be Darth Kessilis. You will even be free of the limitations of time.”
- “But you …”
- “I am not of your race. You have always had eternity in your veins.” He is eerily close. And though he wears a mask, when his gloved hands lift your face to his, you swear you can feel warmth. This pull. The sadness behind those darkened eyes. “I will train you. Teach you. You will be free of death, of the sickness plaguing you. And in return …” His hands drop, leading your face cold.
- “And in return?”
- “Perhaps you will save me as well.”
- So it begins. The chamber of night. The shadows that feel home to you. The glorious chanting of the Sith igniting flames of hatred in you that for so long had gone unquenched. Only as you go under, do you realise they are chanting your name. Kessilis. Kessilis. Kessilis. When you go under, the world turns 360 degrees. Inside out.
- Your race once ruled the galaxy, They were mighty, conquerors of the Force. Everywhere their feet steppped, the skies would brighten, the people would bow, order and security became the true religion of the Galaxy. Until one day, they became too powerful. Your race were cursed. Their powers could not be stripped. But they could become mortal. From that day the Force itself intervened, and your race had their years cut short. Every time they used their powers, they would die a little more. Until they find their Anchor. No one has ever found their Anchor in a lifetime. This Anchor would heal and protect them. Shelter them. Temper the evil in their hearts, with understanding. And love. Thatt is why you will be free. That is why you will live forever again, as once upon a time, your ancestors did. Because you have found him.
- When the vision is finished, you stammer. Blue eyes. Vibrant blue eyes. Could they be … His arms drape a cloak around your naked body. But not once do your eyes leave his. Perhaps you will save me …
- “Vader?” You murmur as he steps away from you. “You …”
I was thinking about this whole triangle ordeal… and how there may be days when Thrass wants nothing more than to tell you how he feels, to forget everything else in the world and know only your love. I was thinking about how on those days, when he comes so close to throwing caution to the wind, to ignoring the bitter gaze of his brother, to pour his heart out in every way for simply the smallest chance of you accepting him, he would write letters. He would sit at his desk, an almost agonizing pain taking hold as he moves his pen (yes, pen, because no one types love letters), writing every bit of love he feels into the letter, only to sit back for a moment after it’s finished, crumple it up, and toss it away.
But at some point, there’s one letter he can’t bring himself to get rid of. He places the last mark, and hesitates before he can destroy it. It was the letter that felt right, the one that, if ever he would tell you the truth, he would leave for you to read. He can’t destroy it. So he folds it neatly, places it in an envelope addressed only with your first name, and slides it into an empty drawer, one he has no intention of opening again.
Maybe you’ll find it someday, helping him on a day he’s cleaning out the office and has all but forgotten this small crime. You’ll read it when he’s left the room to organize a different desk.
Or maybe you’ll find it after the accident, when you and Thrawn enter his empty house, a light layer of dust falling over every piece of furniture that you had so often enjoyed laying about on and discussing happy memories and the ones you wished to come. And the two of you go about sorting through belongings that either of you or his parents might want, the rest of which will be stored or sold. You offer to take the office while Thrawn begins in the common room. And you pull open drawers, take down the little notes pinned onto the wall in front of the desk, determining which files need to be kept for the Ascendancy’s sake and which don’t.
There’s an empty drawer at the bottom. You open it just to make sure. It is empty, save for a single envelope that had slid to the back, simply your name written on the front and nothing else.
I have been so busy with work and school I missed your blog so much. So a little taste of thrass HC being proud of his S/O for working so hard would be nice🤗if it's not to much to ask!
Answer:
I gotcha!
Thrass is one of those people that drops by wherever you may be working. Whether it be at home or the work building, or anywhere in between, he finds it fun to drop by and check in on you whenever he can. It’s a way for him to show his support while simultaneously making sure you aren’t overdoing it.
And that’s another thing. He loves how good you are at what you do. To see you so driven is important, to say the least. But he also can’t help but worry about your well-being. He urges you not to stretch yourself too thin, as he would much rather you be comfortable and healthy.
If you can assure him that you’re taking reasonable care of yourself, he’s unbothered in every other way.
When you come home, he hurries to greet you, eager sit around and chat about what both of you had done that day. He figures it’s a nice little pastime, to talk about your day and the accomplishments of it. And since you seem to enjoy it too, he’s more than happy to do it every single day.
And when something big happens? You can bet he’s there. Support is a huge thing with him, and he’s prouder of your achievements than even you are. He has a little habit of hugging you tightly and spinning a bit, before parting and placing his hands on your cheeks in excitement, gushing about all you’ve done to make it possible.
Buuuut he’s always a little sad when you have to go away. Even in the mornings, when it’s time to get up and do productive things, he grumbles and whines a little, holding onto you tightly in protest. You insist that you have to leave, but all he can think about is skipping everything and staying home.
Yer idk why I wrote this either. I’m not ashamed though. And if you read this you’re just as bad as I am for writing it. No more said . Enjoy
Word Count: 1377
Warnings : explicit, brief mentions of smut but nothing too heavy, bit angsty, mentions of violence (but if you’re here then I’m sure that doesn’t put you off), kinda out of character (I’ve tried, but darth isn’t a shagger, not canon anyway)
There was not a day that went by when you didn’t consider yourself the stupidest bitch on the planet; scratch that the universe
I’m not sure why it was the chosen name that he gave you. It seems like that’s the most agreed upon factor across many works involving him, and I still think about it sometimes.
Could you maybe do a 'lil short fic of Thrawn and s/o's "first time." I could see her in his lap, both looking into each other's eyes, hips rolling together in smooth thrusts. They just feel the moment and enjoy the long-awaited union.
Answer:
This was good to write I needed to get it out of my system
Warnings: It’s generally NSFW, you know the drill. Nothing intensive, though. This one’s more on the vanilla side of things.
Do Thrass and Thrawn look alike? Cause imagine you see Thrass and run into his arms, thinking it's Thrawn (bonus points if he's in love with you because boys gonna get his hopes UP)
Answer:
Oh god you run up to him and hug him without a second thought and you’re saying “I missed you so much!” And he’s literally dying inside thinking,
“Me?”
And he’s kind of silent for a bit, so you ask, “Thrawn?” And his heart just drops. And you look up, but it isn’t who you thought it was, and you let go really quickly and apologise. He plays it off well, pretending he finds it funny, all the while he couldn’t be more hurt.
Do Thrass and Thrawn look alike? Cause imagine you see Thrass and run into his arms, thinking it's Thrawn (bonus points if he's in love with you because boys gonna get his hopes UP)
Answer:
Oh god you run up to him and hug him without a second thought and you’re saying “I missed you so much!” And he’s literally dying inside thinking,
“Me?”
And he’s kind of silent for a bit, so you ask, “Thrawn?” And his heart just drops. And you look up, but it isn’t who you thought it was, and you let go really quickly and apologise. He plays it off well, pretending he finds it funny, all the while he couldn’t be more hurt.
I’ve watched 13 seasons of Bondi Rescue in the last few weeks and I’m now saying everything with an Australian accent, and have had my standards for men considerably raised.
As per @any59‘s request, I’ve created a ~thing~ using a concept we’ve been discussing these past few days.
Warnings: The prompt here was created with a concept rooted in a misunderstanding involving infidelity, but it’s only vaguely implied, and not explicitly mentioned here. The plot itself is not reliant on it, though, and can very easily be replaced with a number of other misunderstandings.
hello. i am writing to let you know you did good job on the stars, and also on cats.
yours respectfully, me
dear universe,
in the original post of this, it says “dogs” where it now says “cats”. i do not know when (or how) it got changed, but i am glad that someone loved cats enough to do that, because i love my dog and i also love my cats and i felt bad about not mentioning it that first time. i’m also glad for all the tags where people told me what i should have added (like libraries and waffles and maple syrup) and i am glad for all the comments about how much they love their pets (and some people have such cool pets!)
i kind of think, universe, if we are your children, this is our macaroni art. see, see, see, you gave us a little bit of the stars, and we’ve made our own constellations. we tried to give back to you by making art and music and books and bad poetry and our laughter and our love and our tv dramadies. we took pictures of the night sky and pictures of sunsets and pictures of dew, we fell in love with space and the rivers and the rain. i personally have my desktop background as a picture of one of your nebulas. your hair looked great that day.
i think…. you did a good job, universe, on the stars, and what the stars became, because you put us together and yes, yes, things might be terrible - but good gracious did we make so many things worth loving, worth writing to you about, worth telling you - thank you, i’m taking the spark you put in me and using it to be kind, to be alive, to be wildly fierce about our gardens and gentle about our pets.
so hello. i amend my previous memo. i am writing to let you know you did a good job on the stars, and on my dog and my cats and the lizard i kept illegally in my apartment. and universe, i hope you’re watching, because some of the people you made? they’re great, universe, and they’re full of love, just endlessly capable of loving. and they give me hope.
and through them, universe, that’s you. that’s how the stars sing.
Before I get into it today, I hope that those of you in the U.S. are safe and not in immediate danger. Breathe, do what you can to stay positive (or as positive as you’re able), take a break from the news, get some water, etc. I’m here for a chat too, if you need it.
Remember the good things that came from today! You’re doing great! <3
this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)
OH MY FUCKING GOD, IT’S BACK ON MY DASH.
THIS SHIT WORKS OKAY, I AM DEAD SERIOUS.
The last time I saw this on my dash, I didn’t think it would happen, so jokingly I wished I could go to a fun. concert.
AND GUESS WHAT, I WENT TO A FUCKING FUN. CONCERT.
THIS SHIT WORKS, TRY IT.
YOOOOOOO
I SAW THIS ON MY DASH THE OTHER DAY AND THOUGHT “ITS WORTH A TRY” SO I WISHED I COULD GET A 3DS
LITERALLY LIKE 4 DAYS LATER MY DAD SENT ME A PICTURE OF THE 3DS XL HE BOUGHT FOR ME WHILE I WAS AT SCHOOL
IM STILL FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS
holy fuck, I didn’t expect this to work, I was like psh, whatever it’s just a quick reblog, but I wished my Dad would actually respond back to me AND HE FUCKING DID A FEW DAYS LATER, I GOT A FUCKING TEXT FROM MY DAD TODAY WHO HASN’T SPOKEN OR RESPONDED TO ME IN MONTHS HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THIS MAGIC IT WORKS.
I WANTED TO SEE MY BOYFRIEND AND I DIDN’T THINK I’D GET DAYS OFF BUT THIS WEEKEND I’M HEADING UP THERE??? THIS IS CRAZY SHIT
SO LIKE I JOKINGLY WISHED FOR MY OWN LEN KAGAMINE AND THEN LIKE A WEEK LATER I GOT A LEN NENDOROID??? H ELP
WTF OKAY SO THIS SHOT ACTUALLY WORKS BECAUSE WHEN I WISHED, I HAD WISHED MY CRUSH WOULD LIKE ME BACK AND GUESS WHAT? I HAVE A BOYFRIEND NOW. WHAT THE HELLLLL?????
ok I’ve said this before but IM DOING IT AGAIN THE FIRST TIME I SAW THIS, MY WISH DID COME TRUE SO I REBLOGED AGAIN AND SAID IT IN THE TAGS BUT THEN I WISHED FOR SMTH ELSE AND IT LITERALLY LITERALLY HAPPENED LIKE A COUPLE DAYS LATER WHAT THE HELL SO NOW IM WRITING THIS HERE FOR YOU BC I DONT BELIEVE IN THIS CRAP BUT STILL IT’S AN AWFULLY BIG COINCIDENCE
So last time I reblogged this I met Tom Hiddleston within the month…
I reblogged these some time ago and my wish came truth. It was the deepest wish I had and I still can’t believe it came truth
oki
I hope that this wish come true <3
ok thingy see on my dash consistently for the past long time…this one is for scientific purposes…but hell if it works that’d be cool
Can I have a new and better paying job out of the country please?
Hope and a dash of luck….
I wished for a better boyfriend and I got one T//A//T (REBLOGGING AGAIN SO I CAN BE A SUCCESSFUL ANIMATOR AND STILL BE HAPPY WITH MY CURRENT BF)
Who is old, grumpy, grey haired, inexplicably hot, and the unwilling guardian of children? I’ll give you a hint- his name starts we G.
If you read that and thought of Geralt, you’re Horny for Henry like the rest of us
If you read that and thought or Grunkle Stan, your taste in men is superior, you surely see the world in a lense of abstract colours previously only assessable to bees and some types of butterfly- Alex Hirsch has tears in his eyes, he’s so proud of you
You asked the question in a hush where you laid on the bed beside Geralt’s.
After months of sleeping right up against his side, feeling his warmth up against your back, you needed a hint of his touch to feel secure.
You wouldn’t say it in as many words, but without Geralt you felt scared of the dark.
You heard the rustle of sheets as he looked over to you, eyes glittering eerie and beautiful in the darkness.
“Mmm?”
You could tell from the volume of his grunt that he wasn’t completely asleep, but beginning to doze.
You clear your throat before repeating yourself.
“Could I hold your hand? So I know you’re there.”
There was a sound of more shifting before you heard feet on the ground, padding toward you lightly before stopping by what you think is the edge of your bed.
“Move over.”
You begin to shift to one side, you feel a hand on your shoulder.
“Other way.”
You quickly change directions, arranging the blanket as you go.
The mattress tips, taking you with it as you slide and squeak, hands stopping your decent as you place your palms firmly against Geralt’s back.
He set his head down on the pillows, feeling around behind him in a silent ask that you pass him some blanket. When he took the fabric, it quickly hitched up from around you to his tall shoulders.
You giggle.
“Leave some blanket for me, if you please.”
Reaching behind himself to swat you on the hip, Geralt gave a grumble.
“You ask for me in your bed you pay the price, girl. I don’t share blankets.”
As he spoke, Geralt gave you back much of the warmed bedding before using his huge, rough hand to feel around the dark until it found yours.
You squeaked as he drew your arm up around his middle so he could keep a good hold on you while laying on his side.
Your hand was entirely surrounded by his, warm and worn. Your body laid flush with his back, so close and comfortable that you heard to rumble of his breath.
“You do share blankets. Softie.”
Another grunt.
“Only for you. Sleep, we have a ways to go in the morning.”
Your eyes were already closed as Geralt muttered the command.
You humm this time, nose between his shoulder blades breathing in the gentle warmth of his scent as you drifted off to sleep.
Summary: you take it upon yourself to show a jealous witch that while you may be Geralt’s Child Surprise in name, you’re anything but a sweet little girl
“For someone old as you claim to be, you don’t seem to know much of anything.”
Your words to Yennefer were candid as if to imply that you weren’t insulting her.
She’d been so optimistic about you at the start- your first meeting with the witch had her cooing at you as though you were a child not a woman.
I always wanted a sister, she said.
You’ll be left wanting one, you replied.
It took her the same stretch of time as it had Jaskier to discover that yourself and Geralt were not engaged in any tripe familial relationship.
Well- the only family relationship you and your guardian could be in under more proper timing would be husband and wife.
You rather liked the thought of that.
She’d been more than a little rattled when she returned to camp from bathing to see you straddled over Geralt’s lap, eating at his mouth as he kissed you, hands squeezing up your hips of sides to show his appreciation.
You’d assumed it’d take much more than seeing a girl and man kissing to make an ages old witch blush.
If you were paying any close attention to her, you’d have seen that Yennefer didn’t blush from embarrassment, but that she flushed with rage.
She stopped all efforts of sisterly behaviour towards you after that incident.
Now, as you’d been left alone with the woman while Geralt hunted a pest, you saw that Yennefer was much more scathing than you’d credited her for.
“I know plenty more than you. You’re just a girl.”
Sitting on the uncomfortable body of a felled tree, you glare.
“I know what attributes make women good mothers, and I can see that you have none of them.”
Yennefer didn’t bother with covering her anger as her eyes, unnatural shade of purple they were, snapped to you.
Even though you saw that adding any more words to the flames of Yennefer’s resentment would only harm you, you spoke your next words with a cruel sort of peace.
“It’s not as though you’re at risk of brining a poor child into the world, I know there’s no magic powerful enough to cure a barren womb.”
You weren’t surprised when she hit you, a backhand right across your cheek. Really you thought she’d be able to strike with more force. She’d hit hard enough to bruise, which was all that really mattered.
“You are a little fucking beast.”
Pressing a palm over your cheek, you smile.
“No, dear. I’m honest.”
When Geralt returned to you a handsome purple bruise had started pressing up against your skin, and while he himself was covered in no doubt uncomfortable gashes and scrapes, he’d taken no time before turning his blistering wrath to Yennefer.
Still running hot off adrenaline and potions, he hadn’t thought much at all about the words he bellowed in her face. You got quite the show out of it from your seat on a log.
She’d been sobbing as she collected her things, tremor in her hands and heart breaking in her chest. You watched on with impressive looks as she’d ridden away on her horse.
It wasn’t long before Geralt came back from seeing her off, footsteps heavy and furious while his eyes bled black as potions had yet to wear off.
His hand was under your chin with a jolt, lifting your face so he could examine you. His breathing was heavy and his breath smelled bitter, his grip was heavy handed in a way you’d never felt.
There wasn’t anything he could do to mend a bruise that had no broken skin or graze, so he shifted your head to the left and kissed the sore spot.
“Shouldn’t have met with her. I’m sorry.”
Lifting your hands to his shoulders, you shake your head.
“Don’t be. You couldn’t have known.”
He grunted, you framed his face with your hands.
“Kiss me again.”
He pulled away from you.
“No. Can’t until this wears off or I’ll hurt you.”
You sit yourself up properly.
“Maybe I like it when you hurt me.”
Geralt kept walking, loosening the ties of his shirt as he went.
“No you don’t. I’m going to bathe, stay by Roach.”
Laughing a little, you do as you were told.
There was no point in arguing with a bristled wolf.
You hear feet shuffle while your head is spinning.
“Boba, I need you”
You can hear more now, even if more was a pitched ringing.
“Bo-where are you I can’t hear”
You couldn’t hear, and couldn’t see, but you could feel, and you felt keenly.
You felt the pain that caught against the bottom of your ribs and spiked up to a shoulder, you could feel the wet trail of sticky heat that oozed from those places. You felt too much and you were too enclosed and you need Boba.
He was panicking, helmet off, gloves off, bacta on his fingers and sweat on his face. He couldn’t lose this, not this, not you, not like he had lost his Dad, not again, no.
No, he couldn’t lose you.
That was why he was trying. He was trying to be calm, he was trying to find his voice, he was trying to focus and slow down and look at your wounds objectively, he was trying.
Your right hand flails before you yell with the odd heft of a woman who doesn’t hear how loudly she’s speaking.
“Boba please- Bo, I’m scared.”
He knew that, he knew you were, but he needed both hands to work and even if he spoke assurances you wouldn’t be able to hear him over the ringing in your skull.
Lifting your shoulder and hearing you scream a second after, Boba reaches around you to apply the gel, trying to keep you off him as he did because he knew that once you caught him into your arms, he wouldn’t be able to escape.
I am presently writing a Law Of Surprise fic that will take place during the Witcher TV series time line- featuring an aged up (18 year old) CirianPrincessreader in the place of Cirilla, and an extraangstyGeralt who is trying his best to ignore reader and her hormones while keeping her safe from the crazy cult of the White Flame.
Whose in? Like or reblog this post to be tagged! I’m a writer building audience presently and I need all the help I can get!
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