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asymm3 · 9 months

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half asleep brain strikes again

this time with a rex/savage au

prepare yourself for incoherent ramblings that turn slightly more coherent as i wake up

so we got uhhhhh rex on dathomir. do i know how he got there? no, no i do not

he’s been captured for Reasons and cannot escape bc mother talzin has done some weird magicky bullshit to his heart

it kinda looked like what the briarhearts have going on from skyrim? with the whole not-quite-open-wound-but-you-can-see-the-heart-beating thing? with the giant threads across? her magic has put a stasis thing on it so if he leaves or whatever it’ll disable and he’ll essentially die immediately bc giant open chest wound

rex is given to the nightbrothers for minding bc the nightsisters are all eW gRoSs MeN

(i guess this is pre-ventress? or ventress never did her Selection thingy and is just chilling)

but anyways rex ends up in savage’s custody. savage does not appreciate this. savage has a whole village plus a feral to be taking care of. savage does not want the small angry human. small angry human keeps trying to bite him with his baby omnivore teeth. zabrak skin is too strong for that. savage definitely does not find this biting endearing after a while. nope not at all.

after rex is a bit more healed from the open chest wound, aka it’s not actively bleeding but you can still see his heart beating which is gross but also cool, and he’s stopped actively trying to bite savage, he has to help out with the village chores and shit bc they don’t have means to support another person. a lot of the nightbrothers have suffered under the nightsisters, so a mostly-able-bodied person does have to contribute or else they are going to starve. it’s also easier for savage to keep an eye on rex is he is with him.

through interacting with the nightbrothers and working alongside them, rex learns a bit of nuance, bc not everyone that is a part of your Enemy is actually your enemy. he knows this but doesn’t Know This, yanno? it’s also easier on the psyche to generalize your Enemy as all one bad conglomerate

there is an awkward accidental vouyerism scene, aka sharing a small house and somebody is trying to jack off quietly. rex has the most confused boner bc Hot but also Imprisonment. savage thought rex was asleep. he is feeling guilty about it bc rex is a prisoner but he also keeps trying to bite savage which is Doing Something for him.

while on a hunt with savage, feral, and some others, rex ends up saving feral from a predator or some shit. he fuckin yeets a spear into that bitch. yes that scene from the zygerria arc lives in my head rent free

yay feast time! they’re not gonna waste good food! they’re also celebrating feral not dying! ft. the innate homoeroticism of drinking wine or mead and making eye contact over the rim of the cup while the other person is laughing and lit up by firelight. rex and savage are both having Big Feelings. i’m having Big Feelings. you’re maybe having Big Feelings?

they end up having nice nasty filthy sex with a side of a size kink and voice kink. (maybe also biting kink) bc savage is Proportional and likes to hear men whimper. me too bud. savage freaks out the next morning bc rex is A Prisoner and he feels guilty and like he coerced him or something. rex acknowledges the power dynamic thing but also that he very eagerly consented and would appreciate if savage didn’t disregard his autonomy please and thank you.

rex also starts to emphasize to savage that he and his brothers deserve more than the slavery and abuse they suffer under the nightsisters. which savage already knows but an outsider’s perspective and knowledge that there will be something kith there for them kinda catalyzes it for him.

there’s definitely another Morning After where rex isn’t up for breakfast and savage goes to get some for them and bring it back bc it is Polite to do so after rearranging your man’s guts and turning his legs to jelly. good natured teasing from feral and the others ensues bc that’s what younger siblings and friends are for.

but uh oh spaghettios, the nightsisters return for rex bc dooku/mother talzin wants to use him for nefarious purposes. like a sleeper agent type thing, creating some latent mind control with Magic tm and then using him to kill jedi or something (listen plot isn’t my strong suit)

savage really can’t do anything to stop them from taking rex and is big mopey man until feral and a few others show up armed to the teeth bc they are going to get rex back. savage can either go with them or sit around and mope but they are getting rex back whether he likes it or not bc rex is Their Human Too.

meanwhile, rex is getting the everliving physical and mental shit tortured out of him. cuz whoopsies, he doesn’t break that easily and he’s got someone to stay sane for. nightbrothers attack the nightsisters, action shit happens, they get rex back. my original thought was to have feral die, but that feels mean and i don’t like it so he maybe loses an arm. or some fingers. prolly gets his horns broken with a side of head injury. who knows

uh oh spaghettios part 2, the stasis on rex’s weird heart wound thingy starts to fail. very sad. we cri. savage is cradling a dying rex while rex pets his horns. savage is crying and begging rex not to die. then ventress shows up bc she’s had enough of this bullshit (somebody’s jedi upbringing kicking in a little?) and she’s able to prolong the stasis. rex is alive but not doing too hot, so they take ventress’ ship (which is somehow big enough to hold an entire village shhh stop asking questions) and they go pick up the rest of the nightbrothers that stayed behind.

ngl i have no idea where it would go from here. like if they go to the jedi for help, both for rex and the nightbrothers, realistically they’re gonna lose rex back to the GAR. however, the mental image of ventress dropping off an entire ship of refugees and a dying subordinate to obi-wan is hilarious. but if they don’t go to the jedi, they’re not gonna have the support the nightbrothers need.

so i guess ventress drops them off at obi-wan and then dips? it’s like they have a weird custody battle going. ventress is the semi-deadbeat dad.

so rex doesn’t die (yay) but now they have to deal with a whole “rex is still property of the GAR” kind of thing. maybe a convenient loophole? since rex has been “dead” by GAR standards for a hot minute. or if he is married to savage by nightbrother standards he’s a free person (inspired by @/blackkatmagic’s marriage-loophole fics bc they are my favorites) (not gonna tag them bc i am Shy and do not want to be A Bother but go read their stuff it’s amazing and big inspiration, especially for rarepairs)

anyways they get a happy ending bc i say so

#sig’s fic ideas #captain rex #savage opress #feral opress #rex/savage #savage/rex #star wars #tcw #the clone wars #long post #<<had to add that after i realized how much scrolling on mobile it was jfc

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o-wise-corvid · 1 year

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Dathomir Daily

These two are so… infuriating. They speak so softly, the rolling tongue of their homeworld. Because they think Maul doesn’t understand it. They don’t know Sidious hammered not only his own language, but several others at well. They don’t know what he is… well. Savage does. But Savage… it is a puzzlement.

This other brother, this Feral… Maul grimaces at the thought of what Savage described doing to him. It had plagued the hulking Zabrak, knowing that to save his brother, he’d have to wound him irreparably. Maul… doesn’t know what to think about that. Is it “wrong”? What is wrong?

Is there wrong?

Maul wants to do something that he only vaguely remembers doing as a boy; when he was overwhelmed, he’d wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth. It helped him feel safer. More secure. Sidious had rapped his head and shoulders with a metal rod for this. He was not supposed to look so pitiful in the presence of his Master… He sits still, fists clenched.

“Maul?” Feral moves toward him, that strange whispering voice hard to gauge for emotion, but Feral felt… innocent. Such an unfathomable state of being.

“What?”

Feral frowns at… something. Maul doesn’t care to decider what. “We are about to hunt. Come with us.”

“I do not hunger.”

“Yes you do. You are always hungry.” Feral’s pale gold eyes widen as he slowly lifts his hand to cover his mouth. “I… I am sorry. I did not mean to…” But then his face hardens. “Actually no. I am not. You are starving. You haven’t touched food since you have been here… please…”

“Please what?!” Maul’s voice explodes out of him like he’s been holding it all in. “I AM NOT GOING TO BE YOUR BROTHER. I AM NOT WHAT YOU WANT ME TO BE. EVER. I WILL NOT EVER BE.” A low snarl crackles up from somewhere deep in his chest. “Shā su vīn’kr!!”

The echo of Maul’s outburst shudders through the evening air. Savage, who’s been readying himself for the hunt, rises up out of the dust bath he was applying to himself, eyes heavy with worry.

“I have heard all your little conversations.” Maul hisses loudly. He is so SICK of being whispered about like he is a sickly little whelp. He was Sith. He has slain hundreds. He has… he… “You worry, worry, worry… stop. I have always watched over myself. I do not need either of you. I am STRONG.”

“If you don’t eat, you will starve.” Savage moves closer, placing himself between Maul and Feral. He’s seen Maul in an unstable state. He can’t let something happen to Feral. Not after everything that’s happened. “Maul… we just want to help you. We expect nothing from you… just… be here. With us.”

“I came here because you offered it to me. I did not come with plans. I am not… founding a village out here in the desert with you… do what you will. Leave me be.” Maul’s gaze bores into Savage’s hurt expression. And then shifts to Feral’s. He doesn’t look hurt. He looks…? Maul cannot tell.

He… he doesn’t care. No. Feral is one alone. Savage and himself can protect him. Savage needs more training. That is all he is to them. A means to an end. It’s all he’s ever been. This ruse of brotherhood is so useless. Unnecessary. Be honest with him at the very least.

Feral’s brow creases deeper into the cavern of a scowl. He glances at Savage. “What happened to him?”

The brothers had been picking their way over a pricklewing hive for two hours, hunting for one of the native mustelids that liked to eat the burrowing insects.

Savage’s huff of annoyance makes Feral bare his teeth in warning. “I’m sorry… I don’t know. He won’t speak openly of the time before I met him anymore. After the Mandalorians found us… he’s been different. Whimpers about a girl and her cheek in his sleep sometimes.”

Feral hums. “You said he doesn’t know our language.”

“I’ve never heard him speak it before…” Savage’s shoulder bunch and relax, his tattoos rippling as he shrugs. “I’m not surprised. He knows… many things.”

“What-“ Feral’s reply dies as out of the pricklewing towers lumbers a rancor. It braces it’s huge claws, long as a brother is tall, upon a particularly high stand of them and pushes them aside as if they are cloth curtains.

A rider, long white braids framing her lilac-tattooed face, leers down at them from her saddle. “Well well well,” she crows. “Where is your little Sith p-“

The rancor shrieks, throwing the rider off before she can finish. Feral would have missed the red star fall from on high and impale itself in the things forehead had he blinked. It howls, swiping at the tail of the star but hunks if seared claw and knuckle drop in huge, smoking piles as the creature tries to rid itself of the burning brand driven into its brain. When it finally collapses, the rancor shudders and writhes, arms hewn to stumps, huge glowing scores from the star’s flame carved across its face.

The Sister who rode it kneels in the dirt, her quarry forgotten, and weeps at the sight. She doesn’t react when the red star lifts up into the air and slowly trails its way over… into the red hand of its wielder.

Maul strides between his brothers, spinning his blades lazily as he approaches the wailing woman. She crawls over to her rancor, draping her arms about the ruined muzzle of the great beast. When Maul cuts her down, she is whispering to it.

Savage swallows loudly.

“You wanted meat,” Maul says flatly, sheathing his lightsaber. He turns, not looking at either Savage or Feral. “Lāsh dē bā.”

Tag list: @alexeithegoat @thesitharts @crc-jedi-knight-serushna @hotshot9 @smoooothbrain @gran-maul-seizure @foreverchangingfandomsao3 @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @justalittletomato @stardustbee @storm89 @by-the-primes @ohboi @and-claudia @eloquentmoon

#dathomiri daily #the pink era invades #the phrases mean: leave me alone #and #there it is

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mauls-fair-in-love-and-war · 3 years

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Subjecting you all to my SWTOR characters

because i can

Kitmi

My sith inquisitor (assassin) character for my first playthrough. It’s been a while since I finished the main storyline but i really liked it. i’m planning to subscribe and start chapter 7 once i finish my current game.

Qiean

I wanted his name to be Qi’an but it was already taken so I just fucked with the spelling a little. He’s a sith warrior (marauder) and the son of Kitmi. I originally wanted Kitmi to be Qi’an’s son, but the game storylines made more sense the other way. The inquisitor is born into slavery and becomes a Sith Lord and the warrior is born into nobility.

Khamat

okay fine i’ll play a jedi.

My jedi consular (shadow). I just started this line so I haven’t gotten beyond the first chapter. i don’t really have an explanation for him using a red lightsaber other than I picked up something with a red crystal and swapped it because i think it looks cooler than green. Since bitter exes isn’t an option, he’s Kitmi’s “rival”.

Edit: I wrote this on my computer and for some reason the images are way darker on mobile

#i dont really have much to say about them i kinda just wanted to show off my little dudes #yes they are all zabraks. you cannot stop me.#i posted yesterday about maybe posting my character ans it got like two likes so that means im doing it #btw the relationship thing doesnt actually do anything its just for funsies #i think it was going to go somewhere and got dropped? not positive though #(when i googled it a shit ton of people hated it bc you have have biological relationships that shouldnt be possible so i guess that makes #it bad? like m8 ur the one setting it up. its your design. if u want it to make sense make it make sense. who cares??? anyway-)#if you read this far i appreciate it but also why????#i didn't mean to give them all k-sound names that sorta just happened but i might keep it up lol #i wish there were more tattoo designs but hopefully more are coming? maybe???#might update this list next time i start a new character idk #feel free to add me lol im not on as consistantly as i used to be but :eyes:#anyway thank u for letting me spam yall. back to ur regularly scheduled programming #swtor #// caspian yells into the void

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Cooking in the Crest (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Summary: You become sick of the endless prepackaged food you eat while living on the Razor Crest. From a holovid, you and Din try to learn how to cook.

W/C: 3.2k

Warnings: FOOD is a big warning here; this is all about food, cooking, and eating; some language, and mentions of violence and blood because Din is a hunter.

A/N: this was a request by lovely @binarydanvvers !! I hope you guys like it too :))

The Razor Crest was not exactly built to be a home. The beat up old ship, a pre-Imperial piece of garbage, was mainly meant to be a freighter, to carry loads and supplies around. It had a bunk, yes, but that was mainly for the pilot to sleep. Some ships were elaborately built and crafted to house people, even families; this was not one of them.

You could tell that from the moment you walked aboard. This was not built to be a home, but the Mandalorian and his little green child had made it one. It was endearing, really. It was still cold and harsh, not exactly welcoming, but there were little touches. A sling for the baby to sleep in above the man’s bunk. A few scattered toys for the kid. Extra clothing tucked away, and what seemed to be a makeshift kitchen.

It can hardly be called a kitchen. It’s more of a food storage area. The Mandalorian man has stored packets of food, dried or wrapped, water, and other assorted food necessities in a small corner of the ship. There’s also a device for heating meals, like the just-add-water foods he carries so many of.

The baby doesn’t complain. Well, he really can’t, considering that he cannot speak yet, but he never pushes away the food. Of course, his favorites are frogs and occasional organic things he picks up on the surface of the latest planet, but he’s never refused a nutrient bar or an instant bread loaf. The kid is always hungry; he’ll take anything.

You’ve been traveling with Din for a while now. He entrusted you with his name not long after he entrusted you with the care of his foundling. He’s a kind man, surprising beneath the layer of impenetrable beskar, with a warm laugh even through the modulator.

In this time, you’ve become exhausted over the endless routine of microwavable carbohydrate packs with dried proteins. A nutrient bar is a nice switch, but it’s endless days and nights of bland food. “Do you even eat? Does your species photosynthesize or something?” You’d asked Din once, teasingly knocking on his beskar.

“I’m human,” he assured you, voice dry. He presents himself as tired of your endless teasing, but you both know he could never be. You’re the energy, the entertainment to him and his little green child.

“I doubt that,” you teased, nudging his hip with your own as you walked past, the baby on your other side, giggling at your words.

The kid is smart. He can’t yet speak, but he can recognize meaning in words and the emotions you convey with your tones. You’ve been steadily working on teaching him the right morphemes to form words, but he’s just not quite there yet. He made a little babbling noise at his father, then turned and looked up at you, grinning with tiny white teeth.

Din must eat, you’ve come to notice. He never takes the helmet off; you’ve never heard his voice without the modulator, you’ve never seen him eat. But the stock of food dwindles at a quicker pace than it would for one and a half people, so he must consume some of it. You’ve noticed that the dried proteins or instant spicy grains go quicker- those must be his favorite. You’ve made mental notes several times to pick up extra when shopping.

As the three of you take off from the last planet, a lively and populous city center, your stomach is happy with its contents: you and the baby had gone on a culinary tour, trying different local delicacies. You glance at the kitchenette in the corner and wince at the protein bars. Surely you’ll be reduced to eating the dry and chalky sustenance the next time you’re hungry.

The baby sits in your lap, bouncing excitedly as the ship lifts off. He coos and waves his hands excitedly as Din turns and navigates, though it’s nothing too bumpy for the little thing to handle. There’s a jolt when you leave the atmosphere, and the baby squeals as the stars rush past when Din maneuvers the Crest into hyperspace.

Once the course is set, Din turns to you. You wonder what he’s thinking; it’s a shame you can’t see his face. “We should be at our next location in about a day.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, heightened over the prospect of eating more dried, flavorless food. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Do I know how to what?” Din asks, cocking his head.

“Cook. You know, make food in a way other than using the microwave.”

Din stares at you for a minute. “No, I really don’t. I’ve never had reason to.”

“You don’t consider eating this bland shit eternally a reason?” You ask, folding your arms. The little green baby on your lap mirrors your actions, looking at his father. “I don’t either, but I think we both need to learn. I’m sick of this endless dried food and nutrient bars and instant grains.”

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “Fine. How?”

“How what?” You ask, taunting him back from his earlier sarcastic question.

“How are we going to learn how to cook?”

You shrug. “We could take a cooking class on some populous planet. They have them for couples.”

Din looks at you, sharply even though you can’t see his face. “Okay, well, two people,” you chuckle, though you can’t help but notice the rigidity of his body. You’re skilled at reading his body language by now; something changed in him when you said couple. “Why the hell not?”

“Because, cyar’ika, I am a Mandalorian. I’m not exactly going to fit in with the happy honeymooners at a cooking class, searing bantha for my beloved.”

You frown at him. “You’re such a pain in the ass, Din. Work with me here.”

Din is frowning beneath the helmet. You can just tell. “I don’t exactly take orders from you.”

“It’s not an order,” you roll your eyes. “It’s a request. Please.”

Din sighs. He’s quiet for a minute. Then: “Fine.”

“Yay!” You grin and brace his beskar helmet in one hand, pressing a kiss to the visor. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

“I don’t know how fun that can be,” he grumbles.

The holonet turns out to be a surprisingly vast resource for cooking and recipes. You’d never expected this much to be uploaded to it. There are traditional dishes from Tatooine, Naboo, anywhere really. The first struggle is deciding what to cook.

You stop at another populous planet next. Thank the Maker, you mumble as you put the baby in the wrap carrier that straps him to your chest. “We’re gonna make something good, huh kiddo?” You ask and smooch the baby’s little green head. He just coos in return.

Wandering through the planet, you find various little specialty shops, and you mark off the list you’ve created. Spices from the shop specializing in them, fresh vegetables at a stall, meat from a grocer. When the foods are all collected, you return to the ship, where Din has purchased a portable heat source to be used for cooking.

The business Din has on the planet goes quickly and he’s back before you know it. You’ve barely had time to clean the vegetables under the small refresher sink before you hear the clink of beskar and the baby’s excited laughter at his return.

You carry the bowl of vegetables and grin as you spot Din on a crate in the corner, wiping down his armor of blood. “Welcome home, bounty hunter,” you tease as you arrange some crates to form a table and chairs and set the holoprojector in the center. “How’d we do today?”

“Wonderful,” he grumbles as he wipes a smear of mud off his chest plate. He finishes then looks at your arms, holding the ingredients. You set them down and the hot plate as well. “We’re cooking now?”

“I’m hungry,” you shrug.

Din nods. “I suppose. Do you want me to get piloting us out of here and then we can start?”

You shrug again. “We paid for a full day and night. Might as well use it.”

He nods and begins removing his beskar, leaving him in just his flight suit and helmet. You cock an eyebrow at him and tilt your head in confusion. “Don’t wanna get any food on the beskar.”

This makes you genuinely laugh, throwing your head back. “Oh, blood and dirt and mud are okay but no food? You have some odd standards, Din.”

No one has called him by his name since he was a child. You’ve never even said it aloud save for once or twice. The sound of your voice saying it is like the sweetest music; he could listen to it eternally. He’s a little nervous inside, tingly and fluttery from the feeling. Thank the Maker his helmet doesn’t let it show.

“Go wash your hands and let’s get going,” you order him, stacking two extra crates and setting the child on top so he’s the same height as the two of you. He’s delighted by the view, looking around.

You put the vessel on the hot plate then turn it on, unsure of how quickly it heats. Din returns not long later, sitting on his crate across from you. “First step?”

To answer his question, you turn on the holovid. A cheerful Zabrak narrates for you and shows you the steps, starting with the first: to chop the ingredients. Din reaches for his leg and you shoot him a glare, pausing the video. “You were not about to use that knife to prepare our dinner.”

Din just looks at you. “Why not?”

“God, you’re impossible,” you laugh, though it’s lighthearted teasing. “No, use this, a clean one.” You hand it over along with a few vegetables. Din starts cutting with neat precision, the yellow tuber vegetable falling in perfectly round slices to the surface you’d laid down before.

The baby whines in protest; he wants in. Looking around, you scramble for something before giving him the softest vegetable and a plastic utensil. “How’s that?” You ask him.

He’s delighted, slicing his vegetable and mirroring his parents and the video. When the step is finished, you press play again and it informs you to add some of the oil and cook the vegetables first.

Din pours them in, causing a sizzle from the hot cooking vessel. “Ooh, it must be ready,” you grin and drizzle some oil over the top.

“I don’t think that’s the order we were supposed to do it,” he points out, rewinding the video.

“Oh well,” you shrug and stir the vegetables. The aromatic plants waft from the steam, making you sigh in happiness at how wonderful the recipe smells, even now. “Can you smell under there?”

Din shakes his head.

You frown. “I’ll close my eyes. Lift your helmet and take a smell, it’s delicious.” You squeeze them shut as if to prove you’ll do it.

He would never trust anyone else like this. He’s surprised he even trusts you enough, but he unlatches his helmet and lifts it just enough to catch a whiff of the delicious smell. He sighs happily too and puts the helmet back on. “You can look again.”

You open your eyes and smile at him. “Well, we’re not doing terribly! What’s next?”

The video plays a little longer, telling you the next steps: add the spices to the cooking vegetables, stirring them in, then the broth you’ve purchased.

Picking up the bag, you rummage through for the intended spices. “You wanna do this part?” You ask Din.

“I’ll probably mess up.”

“Give it a shot,” you say with a warm smile and hand him several small pouches of spices and a measuring stick.

His fingers are thick and worn without the gloves, and the sight of them pinching the bright orange powder and sprinkling some in the pot is truly humanizing, indicative that this man is Din, not The Mandalorian like you knew him as before. He does that with the required spices, choosing to go by heart rather than the measured values.

You go next, adding the broth to the pot and closing your eyes to listen to the beautiful hiss of the liquid against the hot metal. “Do you think you could cook on beskar?” You tease Din. The man just shakes his head.

The recipe then indicates for you to cut up the meat and add it before covering and letting it boil. Din uses the sharp knife you’ve provided to once again, neatly slice the meat and add it to the pan. “You’re quite precise with that thing,” you inform him with an impressed nod.

He snorts. “I know the ten quickest ways to kill someone with it.”

“Still, precise to do that,” you laugh. You cover the pot and sigh, setting a timer on the holopad to the amount of time needed before the meal will be ready; thanks to the specialized tech in the hot plate, it won’t take long at all.

The baby shows you his knife work with the mushed vegetable. It’s considerably less impressive than Din’s, but you ooh and ahh over it all the same, making the baby beam with pride. “Your knife work rivals your father’s, little man,” you tease the baby and poke his side.

“Yeah right,” he snorts again and leans back against the metal wall of the Razor Crest’s hull.

While the food carries on its quick cooking, you prepare three bowls and spoons to eat with, setting each in front of where the three of you sit. The bowl is much smaller for the child, but he seems just as pleased.

The timer dings and you clap your hands together in excitement. “Let’s see!”

Lifting the lid, the smell that wafts out makes your stomach growl. “Oh, this is going to be good,” you sigh, setting the lid aside on the heatproof surface and scooping some into each bowl. “Careful, it’s hot,” you warn your boys as you a hand them their respectful bowls.

“It sounds wonderful but… you know I can’t eat it,” Din reminds you.

That makes you frown. “Of course you can. We made it together.”

“No,” he sighs. “I can’t eat it because I’d have to remove my helmet.”

The idea crosses your mind as quickly as his words. “Well then.” You stand and push your crate aside, then pull him up and do the same. With your bowl of stew in hand, you plop down on the floor and turn your back to him. “Now you sit with your back to me.”

“Cyare, I-“

“Just humor me, Din. Please.”

He sighs and gets on the floor, groaning at the creak of his joints and popping of his back. Din presses his back to yours, sitting with his legs splayed carelessly to either side. “There. This what you wanted?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Now eat. I won’t look, and the kid is your foundling, he can see you.”

Din is hesitant at first. He sits there for a moment while the baby slurps his dinner, pondering what to do. Then he remembers how much he trusts yoh. How you’d do anything for him and he’d do anything for you.

He removes his helmet, setting it to the floor with a heavy clunk. “There we go,” you smile and reach behind you to pat his chest. “Eat up. I bet you’re hungry from that hunt.”

“Hungrier from making this,” he grumbles as he scoops a spoonful, ungracefully shoving it in his mouth and moaning in content. “Oh, that’s damn good.”

“Isn’t it?” You laugh, eating some yourself and smiling at the flavor. “Seasoned just right,” you affirm him, resting your head back against his own. You can feel that he has hair- well, now you know he isn’t bald.

“Cooked properly thanks to you,” he reminds you.

“Ha! I don’t know shit about cooking. Thank that holovid,” you chuckle, nestling your back against his. You can feel every little notch of his spine, the lumps in a perfect line cascading down his body, as his back presses against yours. He’s warm, and you can feel him breathe in and out slowly- he’s relaxed. Good.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you eat your meals. The kid has long finished his tiny bowl and has passed out in his seat, which makes you laugh. He’s missing the sight of his helmetless father thanks to a post-meal nap.

No words need to be exchanged. There’s meaning in the silence, in the fact that you can hear his breathing and his real voice, the hard gulp of his throat as he swallows yet another bite. Maker, he’s so wonderfully human. You absolutely adore it.

When you’re done with your stew, you set your bowl to the side. Din does the same, and his back relaxes against yours. Neither of you are quite ready for him to put the helmet back on, so you breathe the unfiltered air with him, listen and feel him breathing, try to take in every detail of what his body feels like pressed to yours, even if it’s back to back.

“Din?” You ask softly after a few moments.

“Yes, cyare?”

“I promise my eyes are closed,” you tell him.

“What do you mean-“

Din is cut off when you close your eyes but turn, kissing his cheek. You can feel stubble beneath your lips, and above it smooth skin. God, he feels so damn warm. With your eyes still closed, you hug his neck. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

Din breathes slowly, forcing his heart rate not to accelerate into hyperspeed. “It’s not putting up with you,” he admits. “It’s enjoying you. I really do.”

The words make you flushed and flustered, honored that this strong and silent type has used such eloquent words to compliment you. “Thank you. For all of this, Din. Thank you for letting me know you.”

He’s grinning ear to ear, and he turns his face to kiss your cheek back. “You can know me all you want to, mesh’la.” Din puts his hands over your arms and takes one last moment in your arms. “Well, we need to put the child to bed, and I’m legally supposed to be wearing my helmet right now.”

You turn and sit with your back to him, smiling and nearly giddy from the moment. “Who’s gonna yell at you if you don’t? Mando police?”

Din groans and puts his helmet back on, ignoring you. When you both stand, you hug him for real this time, chests pressed together. “Thank you for a wonderful meal,” he mumbles through the modulator and presses his forehead to yours in a keldabe kiss. “Let’s do this more often.”

“I agree,” you nod and kiss his helmet one last time.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal

#din djarin x you #grogu and din #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din and grogu #din djarin headcanons #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian headcanons #mando #mando x reader

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willowcrowned · 3 years

Text

Grey Apprentice AU (Installment #4)

aka Sith!Obi-Wan AU Flavor II

(Previous parts: x x x)

Qui-Gon paces the length of his and Obi-Wan's small sitting room, first once, then twice, then a third time. He looks up, expecting the usual dry comment from Obi-Wan on jedi masters’ peaceful bodies and minds, but he’s not there. Of course, that’s the problem in the first place: Obi-Wan is gone, off on a ship with a figure that felt like a maelstrom of darkness in the Force, and he’d left with a wink. The man must know something Qui-Gon doesn’t, but what it is, he can’t guess.

He turns, pausing at the entrance to Obi-Wan's room. He normally doesn’t enter without permission; it’s an invasion of Obi-Wan's privacy— privacy to which he is well entitled— but in this case...

Qui-Gon grimaces, opening the door. He won’t snoop, won’t do anything other than have a superficial look. At the very least it might calm him down to have tangible evidence of Obi-Wan's intention to return. When they’d left, he hadn’t taken the black bag he usually keeps with him, a velvet thing smaller than Qui-Gon's palm. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have left it if he thought he’d be gone for more than a week.

The room is just as Obi-Wan had left it, tidy and empty, with a plant on the desk next to a picture of his friends, a spare cloak hung up on the peg next to the door, and a blanket folded perfectly at the foot of his bed. It’s the room of a knight, not of a padawan, Qui-Gon realizes, and he has to push down the surge of pride and guilt that seems to swell up in his chest more and more often these days.

He frowns, for the first time noticing the odd pressure building in his brain. It’s a strange, blunt, thing— the marked absence of something, rather than its presence. He scans the room once more for the offending object, for the first time noticing an odd red glow from the closet. Qui-Gon pauses. He’d said he wouldn’t touch anything, but— The glow grows brighter, and he can hear the Force calling to him from it, not light, not peaceful, but not unkind. Qui-Gon sighs, and opens the closet door.

The glow is coming from the floor, within the black bag Obi-Wan had left behind. Qui-Gon looks at it, a furrow forming in his brows. It’s not Obi-Wan's habit to leave things on the floor, and the cleaning crews haven’t been in their apartments since they left. When he picks up the bag, intending to return it to its place on the shelf, a white-hot pain sears through his hand, and he drops it. The bag tumbles to the floor, and out of it falls a holocron.

It’s the last thing Qui-Gon notices before the onslaught of darkness hits him, pressing him beneath a tsunami of emotion. The fury slams into him first, not so hot as the zabrak’s had been but far, far, deeper. Qui-Gon falls to his knees without noticing, forced to sustain the mental battering of his shields. He can feel them weakening even as he clutches them tighter, being torn away bit by bit like an old house in a storm.

How is no one noticing this, Qui-Gon wonders. How come no one has come in to see what this endless wave of darkness is— this storm with no light.

The first tear in his shields happens, and he works it shore it up, plugging it with whatever he can think of: random bits of trivia, a poem, a meal he shared with Obi-Wan. Stay, he tells them, give me time. The pieces do not stay, each layer being ripped away until all that’s left was the look on Obi-Wan's face as he realized the sandwich he’d bitten into was filled with candied ants. Then, abruptly, the maelstrom stops, and Qui-Gon is left grasping for the pieces of his shields, the void around them quiet once more.

“Do forgive my intrusion,” a female voice says, dry and unapologetic as Qui-Gon struggles to get control of his breathing on the floor. “You know how it is: better safe than sorry.”

Qui-Gon falls back, resting against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. “What are you?” He says, injecting his tone with as little worry as he can manage. “What are you doing here?” What are you doing in Obi-Wan's room, he wants to add. What have you done to my padawan?

Zannah’s nose scrunches slightly, halfway between amused and disgusted. “Your shields are down, Jedi.”

“I wonder why that is,” he manages.

She shrugs. “I’m not going to apologize.”

Qui-Gon patches up his shields, weaving the skeleton of the old threads of memory into a new place, beside several strong pockets of compulsion. It won’t be enough to stop the woman if she attacks him again, but it might gain him a few seconds of reprieve. It will have to be enough.

“As for your questions,” the woman says once he’s finished, “A Sith, sleeping, Obi-Wan brought me here, and I’ve done nothing to him.”

“Nothing,” Qui-Gon repeats, disbelieving, the aftershocks of her attack still filtering through his mind.

“Yes,” the woman says. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Darth Zannah. I’d tell you to sit down, but, well...” She gestures to him collapsed on the floor.

Qui-Gon shakes his head, trying to disseminate the information. “Does he know you’re here? Does he know what he brought back?” Surely not, he thinks. Surely Obi-Wan wouldn’t have knowingly brought a Sith into the heart of the Jedi temple.

“I should hope so,” Zannah says, “given that I’ve been training him for twelve years.”

“Twelve—” Qui-Gon freezes.

“Yes,” Zannah agrees, “since Bandomeer.”

“Impossible,” Qui-Gon breathes.

“Is it?” Zannah raises an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Obi-Wan— or, no, all this time Obi-Wan must have been imitating her. Qui-Gon remembers when he picked that little habit up; it had been the months after he’d turned seventeen, just beginning to grow into his too-long limbs, still gawkish and almost awkward. Then, over the course of their mission, his gait had grown smoother, countenance more graceful, and his awkward smiles at Qui-Gon's jokes had turned into an amused raised eyebrow and half-smirk.

It had felt odd at the time, watching the maladroit child he knew turn into a clever, subtle, adult, but he knows it now as the sign of Obi-Wan growing up, leaving Qui-Gon as a student and returning to him as a friend. He remembers the white stone of the city, remembers the late spring blossoms of the sea-roses, remembers the first time Obi-Wan had turned that quizzical look on him— and feels the taste of the memory, sweet with the blossoms, turn to ash in his mouth.

“How—” Qui-Gon starts, mouth dry. “Why—”

“I offered him knowledge,” Zannah says, not unkindly, “and companionship not to be found in the constraints of Jedi.”

“Why train him?” Qui-Gon asks, clutching at proof that she has not— could not— have trained Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is kind, and clever, and selfless, and none of the things a Sith should be. He cannot have lied so fully for so many years. He cannot. “Why not train someone else? Someone you wouldn’t have to corrupt first?”

Zannah gives him an incredulous look. “You think I’ve corrupted him? Have you forgotten Ghé’aiit so easily? That was not the behavior of one corrupted.”

Qui-Gon feels ire stir deep in his chest, at her prodding, guiding rhetoric, but the memory springs to him unbidden.

It had begun as a trade dispute. Three families, each the head of a government and of a trade sector. The Jedi had initially been brought in to facilitate negotiations; those had lasted all of two nights, ending with Obi-Wan kidnapped and in chains— a hostage for the third family. Qui-Gon hadn’t known that at the time, of course. He’d only known that Obi-Wan was gone and the place where their bond was had turned to a jagged mess of edges before it disappeared into nothingness.

He’d found Obi-Wan again, oblivious to Qui-Gon's presence, escaped and facing the Third Peer, who was holding a blaster to his sister’s head. It would have been easy, laughably easy, for Obi-Wan to let him shoot her, claim he had gotten there too late to save her, and arrested the Third Peer with little risk to himself. Instead, Obi-Wan had lain down his blaster, and braced himself for the shot.

(Later, when their bond was back and whole, Qui-Gon had blocked it off again, too overwhelmed by fear and relief not to yell at Obi-Wan. How could he yell at Obi-Wan, when he’d done exactly as a Jedi should do? But how could he not be angry, not be furious, that he had lain down his blaster and braced himself for death as if it were second nature? How can I forgive you, Qui-Gon had thought then, for almost leaving me? How will I be able to let you go when it’s time?)

“He scared me too,” Zannah says softly. “When I heard what he had done, I could barely restrain myself. Foolish, loving, Jedi, and their need to do the right thing.”

“I hope you don’t think,” Qui-Gon says, tired, “that I trust you.”

“No,” Zannah says. “You’re not a stupid man, on the whole. I hope you will trust Obi-Wan, though.”

Qui-Gon sits straight up, reminded of what had caused his agitation in the first place. “Obi-Wan. You sent him after that darksider?”

“Darth Maul,” Zannah agrees. “I wouldn’t fear, he’s not a match for Obi-Wan— merely the servant of the Sith Master.”

“You would send Obi-Wan to do another Sith’s dirty work?” Qui-Gon doesn’t hide the curl of his lip from her, meeting her gaze head-on. “I thought the masters were supposed to discard their apprentices themselves.”

“I do not,” she hisses, eyes flashing, “do that creature’s dirty work.”

“Lady Zannah—” Qui-Gon replies coldly.

“Lord, actually,” Zannah corrects, and all of a sudden the fire has left her eyes. “The title is ‘lord’ regardless of gender. A Sith Lady is a different job entirely.”

“Lord Zannah,” Qui-Gon corrects, making sure she can hear the eye-roll inherent in his tone, “Are you implying that not only are you embroiled in a rivalry with another Sith clan, but that you have, in fact, created your own?”

“We call them houses,” Zannah replies. “Mine is that of Athén. And you are correct, Obi-Wan is a part of it. We are a House of two.”

Fantastic, Qui-Gon thinks bitterly, and his patch-job must not be as good as he thinks it is because he swears he hears Zannah chuckle. He sighs. “Out of curiosity, what is the job of a Sith Lady?”

“A combination of cultural advisor, archivist, and magic user. And occasionally a consort.” Zannah smiles a wickedly sharp smile. “I much prefer being a Lord.”

Yes, Qui-Gon thinks, not caring that she can hear it. You would.

Some notes:

-Yes Zannah did name her house after her dead wife, who is in turn named after Athena, because I am a basic, basic, bitch

-Yes, I did borrow the line about Sith jobs from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles. Patricia C. Wrede I’m so sorry I’m using your work for my nonsense AUs but also those books shaped me as a human, so. Too Bad. They’re a part of my writing now.

- I included a bug-eating joke because apparently I am constantly under the compulsion to talk about people in sw eating bugs. I have no excuses

#I still need a name for this AU so if you've got suggestions hand 'em over #this is long enough to be an actual fic chapter #but it is also woefully underedited and I dislike posting unfinished things on AO3 in any case #on the offchance I do ever finish this story I may edit and post it on AO3 #star wars #star wars au #sith au #sith!obi wan #darth zannah #qui gon jinn #grey apprentice AU

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justalittletomato · 3 years

Note

in a Mood, how does maul react if he thinks hes disappointed you and/or failed you when he didn't at all and you weren't even close to thinking that darling where is your brain?

oof.

Maul? Completely under the impression that he's disappointed and or failed you (when he didn't?), it is very difficult for him to move from this thought process.

He has literally spent his life ensuring that he did not fail- more so for survival however he still tried to appease- not that it ever helped him and nothing he did was good enough- well at least he was not killed.

But with you it is different, you show your appreciation for what he does and what he does well. He does all he can to make sure this is always the case. If he does this well...you’ll stay, right?

However, mistakes happen, a small mistake, a blunder, a failure, utter failure and he's not perseverating on that. He has been so careful! He had been perfect for you and yet...

A mistake...he's failed...a disappointment once more...but this time, it’s you he's disappointed. He’s already conjuring up the look on your face set in a deep frown and a deep sigh. You’ll shake your head and turn. Away...oh you are going to turn away, aren’t you?

Of course, he's going to fail. How did he expect this to last? He was not careful, foolish to believe he could do with relaxing just a bit. He must always be in guard, be perfect...every move and action. He failed you.

“It is alright, Maul,” you say to the Zabrak whose standing as still as possible.

He waits.

“Things happen,”

He waits for your face to contort for the smile to finally fade, just tell me already.

“Maul...?”

“I’ll do better, I swear you won’t ever have to suffer disappointment or failure from me.” Stars is he pleading? He supposes he is, he has not done so in decades but now...with the chance he is going to lose you. He will plead.

“But I understand, if you wish to be done with me.”

He waits for your sigh of relief, finally to be free of such a failure, to finally be relinquished from his side. Instead, there's only you getting closer and a gentleness to your voice that he cant focus on the words you say too well, all he can think of is you going.

“Darling...please listen to me, yes you made a mistake, a simple mistake, it happens”

A mistake. He made a mistake. That’s all he can focus on.

“It was never supposed to happen,” he hisses, “Not ever” he was supposed to be better, had he not gone through torture for decades to ensure perfection?

There’s a hand on his shoulder, “ Darling...my darling Maul. Please don't think like that.” you take hold o his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles. He’s shaking ever so slightly, from self-loathing, anxiousness and fear, only slightly wavered by your kiss.

“I know it is difficult, but please you must know that you cannot disappoint me from that. Oh Maul mistakes happen...they happen but that is not going to send me away. Please don't torture yourself with such thoughts.”

Maul tries to understand, but how? How can he stop this when every part of him is telling him that this was the only outcome?

It is almost as if you can hear him, more so is how he again trembles and his eyes grow distant. another kiss to return him, this time to his palm.

“I am here. I am staying right here, there’s no place I would rather be. Breath, my love, I am not leaving. I am with you.”

It is just enough to quell his hearts. You are not going...even though he made an error...you aren’t going...

“I’m here.”

He doesn’t have to be perfect for you...he doesn't...it will take time to grasp this, but for now this will do.

*Maul more so reads like someone who will jump 2 steps rather than take 1, given his history he is always trying to keep ahead and when it doesn't work out he may get up again, but in cases like this...well he is convinced he is done for.

@any59 @apocalypticwafflekitten

#maul #darth maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #maul x you #darth maul x you

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subbing-for-clones · 3 years

Text

The New Apprentice Part 9

Maul x Sith!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

WARNINGS: pining, plotting, touch of angst, fluff, mentions of sex,

PREVIOUS NEXT MASTERLIST

Finally, time halted. You no longer felt the chill of the earth beneath you or the air around you. You were gone, completely and utterly emerged with consciousness and the lack of it. No longer on Zanbar but drifting through the folds of the universe. It wasn't dark. It wasn't light, but you could make out a gleaming path underfoot. Following it wove your mind through different times. Your mother was brushing your hair behind you ear while your father smiled proudly at you. A tall, bald and dark skinned jedi was shaking his head at you as tears pebbled in your eyes. A Zygerrian latching binders on your wrists while shocks rang through your flesh. A scarlet and tattooed hand guided you to his ship. A blossoming affection between you grew in your chests and you were back on Malachor staring down the warrior who gifted you his weapons. His words echoed in your mind as they had since you first heard them. Everything you saw and felt continued this illuminated path that stretched out in front of you until images of the camp flooded your consciousness and you fell. The path was gone, your stomach fluttered with the sensation of the gravity as you plummeted through the stars.

"Ahem?" A gravely and unsure clearing of a throat ripped you from your pondering. Rage bubbled inside you, so close to the answer you sought.

"Fucking what?!"

Vizsla entered your tent holding one hand up defensively while the other hung the canvas flap so the entrance remained open.

"I heard you wanted to help the solders toy with the civilians on Mandalore but were worried about your identity..."

Great. You thought to yourself. Master, please come fetch your dog I'm not in the mood to play with your pet. You projected out into the force, hoping he heard you.

You took a deep breath and solidified your attitude. You had to be nice for now, if you made an enemy out of this man in this moment, all Maul was working toward could collapse and although you weren't convinced of its necessity; he was.

"Yes, that's correct." You offered the closest thing to a kind smile that you could muster as you stood, fearing it still dripped with your deadly venom.

"Well, I have a solution. A gift." He beamed at you. He didn't even try to hide his infatuation. He hadn't since his eyes first fell upon you. He took off the pack that he had slung over his shoulder and tossed it to you.

You raised a brow and looked inside, curiosity getting the better of you. Within the satchel was a large loth wolf mask and the traditional Pyke robes. You shot him a touch of a confused look just as your master could be seen walking up behind him.

"Well, that's rather straight forward and... kinky." You mused. Vizsla immediately flustered, rubbing the nape of his neck uncharacteristically embarrassed.

"No no no... you mistake my intentions." He coughed into his fist. "I just thought if you could keep yourself hidden in plain sight, you could still help us sway the people to trusting us is all. If you still wanted to, of course..."

You were genuinely surprised with his sincerity and felt true gratitude. Perhaps he isn't such a slime ball after all.

Maul could hardly contain his discomfort with what played out before him and hummed in a forced agreeance.

"Yes, my apprentice could stir up plenty of trouble for you to falsely put an end to I have no doubt."

Vizsla visibly jumped at the realization that your master had listened to the exchange and let out a heavy breath.

"For someone with a cybernetic leg you sure are light on your feet." He huffed with an attempted humor. You only shot a glare at the Mandalorian leader, shaking his shred of confidence around you.

"Well think about it at least." He gave you a slight wave before leaving you alone with the Zabrak.

Maul entered your tent and closed the tent flap behind him.

"Making friends I see.."

"Not really. He has to feel some kind of trust in us if we're gonna pull off whatever it is your planning. If he wasn't useful you would've disposed of him already."

He paced slowly around you while you felt the familiar gentle knocking against your mind. Sighing with a poorly hidden annoyance you let him in so he could see for himself that you held no secret intentions with the leader. However, once he was in, he could see the entirety of your inner conflict.

"I see..." he pulled back both through the force and physically. Sitting on your cot he contemplated while you returned to your kneeling position on the ground. Finally, he spoke in a whisper.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." You shrugged and tried to shake off the weight on your shoulders but couldn't. Your eyes met his, he seemed... smaller. You had seen him scared before but only in life-or-death situations.

"I will not stand in the way of your destiny and although I cannot see where the force guides you to; I will never purposefully deter you from your path.."

You stood and made your way to the cot, sitting beside him and taking his hand in your own.

"Despite the fact that I can’t see where you will go and what you need to do, I have faith that amassing this army will aid the both of us. I know it's slower moving than you'd like, that it was easier when it was just the two of us. Easier with you, Savage and I but... the force led the three of us here. I trust in it. Do you?" His eyes gleamed with sorrow while he awaited your answer. You took a deep breath and sighed.

"I'm not sure if what I'm feeling is genuine or just restlessness. I know you say I lack patience but I was alone in the wilds for a decade, I waited for you to come for me for... so long. I'm not parting from you on a whim." You cupped his cheek in your hand while he released huff of relief and eased into your touch.

"I'm sure I'll feel better once this has come to fruition. I don't trust these people."

He pressed his lips ever so lightly to yours and lay down, pulling you into his arms. Running his fingers across your neck as he seethed.

"I don't trust these people either but I promise, I swear I will gather the power their alliance promises to continue you on your journey. Wherever it may take you. I want to be at your side as much as I want you by mine."

You nestled your head into his chest and cooed peacefully. He chuckled and his hand followed your spine lower until he gripped your waist tightly.

"If it's restlessness your feeling little one, you know well enough I can satisfy your hunger."

You giggled mischievously and moved to straddle the handsome Zabrak while he hummed in appreciation. That afternoon you didn't care who heard the both of you while your master satisfied your thirst. Thoroughly distracted from Vizsla and Kataan currently plotting against you on the other side of camp.

"So, let me get this straight." Bo's face twisted in disgust. "You want to execute the two males but somehow convince the girl to join you in your rule."

Vizsla stopped in his tracks, a smirk on his face.

"Yes, she's beautiful, she's powerful, she would make a wonderful queen." Bo groaned.

"You want to kill her master. You really think she will forgive that and ally herself to you?" She might be a ruthless bitch but she wasn't stupid. "I think your letting your cock get the better of you. She seems quite loyal. Suspiciously a little too loyal. I’d be willing to bet there is more that meets the eye when it comes to their relationship.”

"She's a Sith, if she's anything like her compatriots she craves power. If I can defeat her master and his brute of a brother, I have no doubt her loyalty will shift to me. We're going to execute them anyway. It's still part of the original plan."

She wasn't totally convinced but conceded nonetheless.

"If you say so boss." She shrugged and nonchalantly strode off to continue preparations for the siege.

#maul fluff #star wars maul #maul x reader #maul x y/n #swtcw #swtcw x reader #swtcw au #sith #maul x sith apprentice #darth maul #savage opress #sith warrior #star wars #maul x apprentice reader

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zargsnake · 3 years

Photo

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 6: Tila Juna

Word Count: 1659 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

* * *

As he is meditating, several guards burst through the curtain into Obi-Wan's room.

“Alright, Jedi, what did you do?” asks a Rodian.

“Do?”

“Where is your boy?” asks an Ithorian in his steady, peculiar language, which the cosmopolitan scholar of course understands perfectly.

“Oh, dear. I thought he was with you!”

The Rodian smacks his insolent guts with her staff. “He's run off! What did you tell him? What did you give him?”

“Nothing. I know nothing about this station. And I haven't left this room.”

The Rodian whacks him on the head. “Sneaky Jedi rat.”

The Ithorian wearily halts his coworker’s attack. “Juna’s girl will work just as well for your death matches. Your boy was only ever extra bait. Now he has proven himself to be only trouble.” His gaze is imperious and bland. “When we find him, we shoot on sight. Then we’ll slice off his head before you can pull any of your magic tricks, and divide the spoils between the upper officers.”

“You underestimate him. He cannot be found if he doesn't want to be.”

“We shall see,” the third guard, a Zabrak, threatens.

Obi-Wan feels no fear at her appearance. She looks far more like his Zabrak friend Master Koth than the Sith. No one looks like the Sith.

But, for Anakin, he feels great fear. What did Anakin do? Where did he go? What is he thinking? Anakin amazed Obi-Wan with his knowledge of these low-lives. But on his own, in a place like this? With all the street smarts in the world, he won’t last an hour.

I have lost the Chosen One. Qui-Gon would kill me.

Nevertheless, the bold knight tuts and laughs. “You would love to hear our master plan, wouldn't you? Ah. I pity you all for what's about to happen to you and your little tournament.”

The Rodian hits him again.

“Alright, then,” says Obi-Wan, grimacing. “If you want answers, you'd better bring in your boss. I'll only talk to Knightkiller.”

“Not likely,” the Ithorian responds. “You'll only fight Knightkiller once you’ve defeated all the others. So many of our athletes are paying through their noses for the chance to kill you.”

“In that case, please do drop a line if my Padawan turns up.”

The guards leave, irritated.

A minute later, they return, now practically hysterical.

“Alright!” yells the Rodian. “Something IS up! Where's the girl, Jedi?!”

“What girl?”

“Juna's Padawan!”

“Goodness gracious. Can't you keep a better eye on us?”

The Rodian moves to hit him again, but stops since he doesn't seem affected. “We know you're behind this.”

“It's almost like the most highly-trained warriors in the galaxy can just slip through your nasty little fingers.”

She hits him again.

“The teachers will pay for their students' disobedience,” says the Zabrak, who pulls the other two guards out of the room and slams the door.

The warriors beside Obi-Wan have gone quiet, intimidated by his taunting, in awe of his unknown abilities and those of the other three Jedi. Obi-Wan wonders how long that awe will last, if he can't escape as the clearly more competent children did.

Suddenly, the door to the arena opens up. He hears the crowd chanting his name. When he steps out, his arm shielding the brightness from his eyes, they all cheer for him. He feels disgusted to be a source of admiration for people like this, for doing the worst thing in the world. The sand underfoot is congealed with spots of blood. An attendant hands him a clean sword.

As the announcer speaks, and Obi-Wan's eyes adjust to the light, he sees that his opponent is that boyfriend-killer Tiango. The Mandalorian flexes and poses for the audience, but they are not swayed in their support for Obi-Wan.

In the same chair on which they had bound Anakin, now they have bound Master Juna. Where Anakin was terrified, Juna is peaceful, even content. She is a tall, large, fuzzy alien, a Lollian. Centuries ago, so he’d been told, her fur was bright orange with brown stripes, but he has only ever known her to be gray and silver. One of the two horns curling around her head is broken, but that was not from this death game; it has been like that as long as Obi-Wan can remember. The woman seems entirely unfazed and unharmed by the experience. He knows this cannot be remotely true, and yet she hides her pain so well -- or else, the Force is so strong with her that she sits on a plane of existence above it all, unbothered. She nods at him and he feels as one blessed.

Obi-Wan instinctively reaches out for his own master. The years of physical peril and spiritual confusion in the life of a Padawan trained Obi-Wan to reach out to Qui-Gon as an immediate reaction, utterly replacing his natural fight-or-flight instinct, the ways of the Jedi overcoming evolution itself.

But of course he cannot reach him. Grief strikes him harder than any of these crooks could, harder than even any Sith could.

He's got to replace that instinct himself, this time; he's got to do it himself. There's someone else he has to reach for now, someone who feels entirely different, strange, and small, still smarting from a bad first impression. And -- more than that -- he, Obi-Wan, has got to be ready for Anakin whenever Anakin needs him, for whatever, just as his master was for him. The weight of this responsibility could crush the young man.

Anakin is here in the audience. Obi-Wan can sense his presence.

Obi-Wan glances over the crowd -- Tiango seems to be posturing still -- but he can’t locate his Padawan. Anakin seems panicked, urgent. He has seen Tiango kill before, kill someone he cared for. He must be worried Tiango will be too much for Obi-Wan to handle. But Obi-Wan took down several Yoroo Soldiers less than one year ago. Sure, they're not an easy fight, but he knows their tricks; he knows their evil cybernetic enhancements.

Chahlee sends a laser, suddenly, at Obi-Wan, from his blaster-arm. Obi-Wan deflects it deftly, causing the audience to gasp, but the impact bends his vibroblade. Obi-Wan stares at it. He forgot they did that.

* * *

Freed, with the help of Fenn Gallowk and his acid-blaster, on the upper floor of the space station, Anakin knows he needs to hide his Jedi robe and Padawan hair. These people might even know his face. He got lucky with Fenn -- the next person who recognizes him from the Boonta Eve race probably won't give Anakin a chance to talk it out.

Anakin wonders if anyone here bet ON him. He doubts it. But it's a big galaxy, and maybe someone out there took a chance on him.

He remembers Qui-Gon's confident face, and how the man had picked him up to put him into the podracer, and then picked him out of it in the end and carried him on his shoulders. If Anakin is honest with himself, he knows Qui-Gon was, really, the only person who believed in him. His mom, Padme, and Jar Jar had supported him, and hoped beyond hope he would make it out alive. But Qui-Gon was the only one, probably in the whole universe, who believed -- foresaw, even -- that Anakin would win.

No, that's not true. Anakin had believed that too. How could he fail, when they all needed him so badly? When there was absolutely no other way, no choice?

Anakin hurries down the prison hall. The cells are closed on all sides; it is impossible to see who is being kept in them. He hides behind the flap of a garbage chute as a security droid passes; he sits with his back and legs pressed against opposite sides of the chute, careful not to fall down into who-knows-where. It smells awful. He jumps back into the hallway and finds the door to the public area ajar. He pushes his way out and tries to blend in with the crowd, keeping his head down and arms crossed around his blaster and the front of his robe.

Recharging: 3%.

Of all the blasters he could have stolen...

Just around the corner, he sees a big green alien at a desk and, behind them, a coat-check. Anakin ducks under the desk and sneaks into the room full of these criminals’ coats and cloaks. It smells even worse than the garbage chute.

He holds his nose and searches for something bulky, obscuring, and somewhat in his size. He finds a fur cloak, the pelt of a pink monster with its horned face still attached. He puts it on and ties the lower part around his waist so it doesn't drag on the floor. With the hood up, he can hide his own face inside the monster's mouth. He hides the blaster in the copious folds of fur.

Maneuverable? No. Inconspicuous? No. Unrecognizable, and able to hide his weapon? Yes.

Exciting? Yes!

Now he's got to get to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan will know what to do. Even if he doesn't, it's Anakin's duty to be at Obi-Wan's side.

The loudspeakers announce the fight between Obi-Wan and Chahlee Tiango. Anakin feels afraid, and tells himself Jedi do not feel afraid, but it doesn’t help.

He sneaks back out from under the desk and finds two large furry aliens on the way into the arena, arguing with each other and paying no attention to anyone. He sticks close to them and pretends they are his parents. Once the hairy family has entered the arena through this upper-floor entrance, Anakin separates from them and waddles through the balcony seats, trying to get as close to the arena as he can. He sees Obi-Wan and the Mando have already begun to fight. He takes a seat on the floor at the very front of the balcony and holds onto the bars with his shivering hands.

“Come on, Master.”

Chapter 7: Jane

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #obi-wan kenobi #tila juna #anakin skywalker #scifi #adventure

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reynesofcastamere · 4 years

Text

Thrown Gauntlet[Ω]

(A/N: Sooooo....I’ve decided to start another series of fics that I will be marking with [Ω] in the titles: To disinguish them from both the main series (which I am still working on) and the [β] drabbles (which are all over the place in terms of timeline, setting, universe, etc.). Essentially a very self-indulgent AU where Savage, Maul, and Feral all get adopted by Clan Wren. This installment takes place in 20 BBY, so Ahsoka is around 16 and Maul is about 34. However. I want to state outright that the dynamic is intended to be a verrrrry slow build and that nothing romantic and/or sexual will be occurring between Maul and Ahsoka until MUCH later. If what I’ve described does not sound like your personal cup of tea, then by all means, feel free to give this fic and/or series a pass. This is getting a bit long, so to sum up: No trigger warnings, Obi-Wan is an Incurable Flirt, Rex is Flustered, and Maul is about 100% Done With Everyone’s Nonsense. Unbeta’d) The Jedi Temple is buzzing. Not literally, of course, but Ahsoka can feel a strange vibration in the Force. Excitement, or maybe irritation? There’s definitely quite a bit more whispering amongst her fellow Jedi and the clone troopers she passes on her path to the east hangar. Master Anakin had told her to pack for a long trip, which she can only assume means they’ve been assigned another mission and he’s withholding the details so as to ‘surprise’ her appropriately. Typical Skyguy.

She spots Rex near the door, sans helmet. “Good morning, Captain.” A proper salute, quickly returned, though her tone is light. “Morning, Commander. And-er, yes, it certainly is.” He actually seems to be fidgeting a bit, and his face- “Rex, are you...blushing?” “N-no. No. Just-ah...Finished up my workout routine. Took more out of me than I expected. You know how it is; One day you’re all shiny-new and the next you feel older than General Yoda.” “Reeeeexxxx....Come on, whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

“The Clawbirds arrived about an hour ago. Captain Wren’s refusing to do much of anything until he finishes repairs on General Skywalker’s ship.” Rex caves, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Master Anakin can’t be too happy about that.” Ahsoka observes, knowing just how...particular he is about his personal projects. “Should I be worried?” “Er...maybe? It’s kind of a toss-up. Depends on whether M-” He begins, before a subtler voice cuts in. “Captain, there you are. I was hoping to speak to you.” The speaker is a male Zabrak with soft golden-yellow eyes and skin, the latter of which is liberally patterned in brown markings. Unusual enough, but he’s also clad in full Mandalorian armor, helmet tucked under one arm and carrying what looks like field medic gear along with the standard jetpack and arsenal of weapons. And he’s glowing; a defined Force signature radiating Light and positive energy like a solar lamp. How-? “Medic Sergeant Wren. They are still getting along, right?” “Oh yes. He’s in a much better mood than last time. Apologies, am I interrupting?” “Thank the Maker. And no, um. Commander Tano, this is Medic Sergeant Feral Wren.” Rex looks like he’s in danger of heatstroke with how red he’s gotten. It’s not hard to see why, especially when Feral gives a smile that could melt half the ice on Bahryn. Rather than salute her, he stretches his right hand out so that they can clasp forearms briefly, a greeting from one warrior to another. “It’s a pleasure, Medic Sergeant.” She smiles back. Ahsoka can’t help it. He’s just...She’s fighting the urge to hug him like some kind of stuffed animal toy. Which is bizarre and will most definitely not be happening anytime soon. “Tano...Oh, you must be ‘Snips’. It’s almost a shame Savage volunteered to help the younglings train, we’ve both wanted to meet you for some time now.” Wait, what? “Tranyc’vod [Sunny(star-burned) brother] Anakin hasn’t been able to call as often, but he’s very proud of your accomplishments.” Feral remarks, genuinely pleased even as her head spins with the implications. Her Master has a lot of explaining to do. “Speaking of which, I’d better not keep him waiting much longer. I look forward to talking to you again, though. See you later, Captain. Maybe you should ask the Medic Sergeant about those stamina issues you’re having?” She can’t resist ribbing Rex as she departs, watching him splutter as Feral, like any good medic, starts making inquiries about his ‘condition’ while looking him over. And placing a hand on his chestplate, apparently. Huh. Maybe her friend’s obvious crush isn’t quite as one-sided as she’d thought. Ahsoka navigates her way through the semi-organized rows of ships. Even if Anakin’s presence in the Force wasn’t abnormally strong, she doesn’t need to focus to find him. Not when he’s talking loud enough to be heard across half the hangar. “-last time, it’s fine! You’re just being paranoid, as usual.” “Every ship I have been forced to borrow from you has either crashed, suffered a critical malfunction, or was confined to the scrap heap mere hours after landing. No one is setting a foot on this poorly-constructed death trap until I am absolutely certain it won’t spontaneously combust mid-flight.” And that must be Captain Wren. He sounds...irritated, to say the least.

“My ships run perfectly, thanks. Must hurt that Mando pride, knowing a Jedi is a better pilot and mechanic than you, Captain.” She’s not quite within visual range yet, but she knows her Master is smirking. “How sad that as a Jedi, you cannot recognize your own failings, General. Perhaps you should conduct a survey of your ‘victims’ instead of this poor attempt at distraction. Mir’osik adiik be’kyorla hut’uun![Dung for brains child of (a) rotten coward!]-” “Ouch. What, did one of your horns get caught in the hydraulics?” “Hilarious. Make yourself useful by grabbing a towel, or something from Kenobi’s closet. I’m coming out.” “Ah, Captain Wren. I thought the general ambience had improved. What were you saying about my clothing?” She hadn’t been aware of Master Kenobi’s presence before this. Either he’d used a secondary entrance or had been waiting for his chance to join the exchange while the captain was busy. “Kenobi.”

“Oh come now, surely you can muster a more polite greeting than that. You’ve been away so long I’ve had to listen to recordings just to remember the sound of your lovely voice.” “Perhaps I will address you with respect when you learn to stop leering at me, besom [ill-mannered lout].” “Busted. Again.” “You’re not helping, Anakin.” Ahsoka rounds a corner and-Oh. Wow. How far down do those-? She blinks a few times, just to be sure of what she’s seeing. Yep, there is a very shirtless Zabrak with the kind of muscle definition that would make scores of artists weep standing with his back to her and wiping his face off with a towel. She desperately hopes that her jaw is not hanging open as he turns his head to survey her with one vibrant yellow tourmaline eye. She honestly doesn’t know if she wants to draw closer or back away in that moment. His presence in the Force is not a benevolent, harmless light, but rather a controlled fire that sparks and issues dark threads of smoke. This...Ahsoka doesn’t understand what is going on, and it’s starting to make her uncomfortable. “The spy finally shows herself.” He remarks, assessing and dismissing her as a non-threat within the span of a few seconds, continuing to wipe off whatever type of mess had been spattered on him. “Don’t mind him, Snips. Someone shoved a shock baton up his ass years ago and the medics never found a way to pull it out. Tragic, really.” Anakin Skywalker grins, arms loosely folded across his chest and leaning against the outside of his ship. “Ahsoka, this is Maul. We’ll be working with him and his people for the forseeable future.” It clicks suddenly where she’s heard both his name and that of his group before: Captain Maul of Clan Wren and his company are the only Mandalorian supercommandos who will actually work with the Jedi Council. At least, when they’re not busy with bodyguard or mercenary jobs. Part of that involves what is referred to -with some awe and a lot of fear- as ‘running the gauntlet’, a mandatory training course for any Padawans or Knights posted to or intending to spend a considerable amount of time in the barely-civilized regions of space. It’s been suspended since the war started in earnest, but if they’re going to be sticking around for a while...Well, the implications are pretty serious. And Ahsoka has somehow managed to ogle one of the most infamous hardasses this side of the Mid Rim. Fantastic. Really. Maul disposes of the stained towel and turns to face her properly, Ahsoka’s gaze staying determinedly on his face as they grip each other’s right forearms. He doesn’t pull back after a few seconds as Feral had, hand locking in place as he seems to peer into her soul. “I will say this once. We are not like our evaar’la vod’e[young brothers]. We are not subservient to you, and I do not accept excuses or blatant disrespect.” A pause and a slight increase in pressure, just below the threshold of inflicting pain. “Are you ready, Ahsoka Tano?” “Yes, Captain.” She answers with a certainty that she can feel in her very bones, and is rewarded with the hint of a wry smile when he lets go. Well that’s...something. Master Kenobi clears his throat pointedly. Right. Mission briefing first. Sort out her feelings later. Still, she can’t help but look forward to whatever comes next. (A/N: *cracks knuckles* Well, that’s the first installment. A little vague on the details, but I’m hoping to elaborate on what’s been hinted at here relatively soon. The name of the supercommando company comes from the Legends novel Maul:Lockdown by Joe Schreiber. And yes, for fellow Rebels fans who are reading this thing: In this AU, Sabine and Tristan get three badass Zabrak-hybrid uncles and a fair amount of adopted cousins. (Which is entirely Savage’s doing.) I do believe that Anakin is a gifted mechanic, but also couldn’t resist the running joke of ‘Skywalker’s ships/anything he tinkers with only work for him and Artoo’. Cheers!)

#maulsoka #eventually #tbh this one is pretty gen aside from minor feral/rex and obi-wan failing his seduction roll #for like the hundredth time

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myakkoh · 4 years

Text

brightened doubts (bleak hope)

(Read on Ao3 here!)

Inspired by @blackkatmagic ‘s tumblr blog by the apparent lack of space horror and creepy stuff in Star Wars. Did I mean to start it? No. Whose fault is it? By this point. BY THIS POINT. It's mostly Kat’s server’s fault but mostly Kat. Mostly.

(I did enjoy writing this, though! Without further ado, please enjoy!)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something is humming.

Jon’s eyes flicker open, before squeezing them shut just as quickly from the sudden painful throb in his head. Breathes slowly as he reopens his eyes to sickly green light flickering in front of him. If he remembers correctly, the last thing he has done was split up with Agen to find the supposed creature of the Dark Side Cave. Jon found, fought against a dark presence, and it... it was stifling.

It’s still stifling. His breath hitches as he stares in front of him, a dark wisp of smoke seemingly curling in amusement. The Darkness seems to lurk around it ever so carefree, happy, and the familiarity makes him grit his teeth silently. This is the presence he had faced, fought with earlier. Licks dry, chapped lips as he stares stonily at it, a brush of amusement against his shields.

There’s too much familiarity with Dark Woman, too. Jon nearly flinches, but holds steady from the dragging touch of sudden dread. The dark presence seemingly smiles, fades away to reveal familiar dark eyes watching him, soft warmth replaced by cruel amusement. The smile on its face has too much teeth, rocking back on its heels as it watches him.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” it drawls, smooth ice coated with honey, unsettling with its current looks, and—the voice is also his. Tries to move and there’s something clamped around his wrists, his legs. Oh, he thinks as he glances to see stone encased around him and tries to move with—no, it’s stone. Stone that seems to be preventing him from using the Force.

He can sense the Force. But he can’t use it.

“Interesting?” Jon asks flatly, tugs on his restraints to test the strength of it.

“Oh, yes,” it says as it lifts a dark-skinned hand to observe itself. The smile on its face widens, and Jon only blinks slowly. It doesn’t look right on his face, doesn’t seem right either, not when he’s kind, far more gentle than one would think. “I never expected to find a Human and a Zabrak coming into my cave. Even better...” It leers at him with a vicious smile. “You love him. The Zabrak. What did you call him again? Agen?”

The truth, laid out all bare to the world. Breathes steadily as he watches it continue to rock back on its heels, and—Jon knows. He knows he loves Agen, trusts him to be able to take care of himself, knows how loyal Agen is to the Jedi’s teachings and the Jedi Order. Knows how much Agen is true to his word, no matter what happens, how trusting he is to the other Jedi.

Agen trusts him, and that’s enough for him. He would never harm him.

“And?” Jon asks quietly, ignoring the sudden grip of fear that seems to clash against his shields. It reels back, hatred flickering across familiar dark eyes like a blazing inferno, then it smooths over into a neutral look. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it does, little Human. It does.” It smiles with Agen’s face, far too unsettling on the face it wears. A cold touch of dread bubbles in his chest, when he realizes where this is going. “You want so many things, but as those Jedi, you cannot act upon them.”

“I want nothing,” Jon says firmly.

“Oh, isn’t that a lie? You shouldn’t lie to yourself, shouldn’t you, Jedi?”

‘Agen’ laughs, a curl of dark pleasure echoing and thrumming against his skin. It’s no lie, he wants to protest, but settles for staying silent as it laughs again, and again. There’s no saying otherwise if the being believes that wholeheartedly, that Jon is lying to himself.

Sickly green lurks in the shadows, seemingly taking in the glee of him being restrained. Jon only stares back at ‘Agen’ with narrowed eyes, before he shakes his head and keeps silent. The creature of Dark Side Cave can feed on emotions, the inhabitants said when he and Agen had questioned them. It comes out of Dark Side Cave once a year to feed upon them all before retreating back.

They say that the creature is part of the tainted and corrupted Force lurking in the swamps nearby. Shadows, the familiar feeling of Darkness, how it turned into ‘Agen’ and has nearly the exact mannerism... it clicks. It shouldn’t have taken him so long to figure it out, but—it clicks, and he breathes through it slowly.

“You’re the creature,” Jon says softly.

It pauses, dark eyes glancing towards him, and there’s teeth. Pearl white, sharp fangs gleam in the dark, the sickly green light emitting from the cave walls. “Slow, but you’re smart, if not a little dumber than the others,” it purrs before letting out a throaty laugh. He ignores the implications of those words. “Yes. You can say I’m this... creature that you speak of.”

The Force is far stifling here than outside of the cave, but he needs to get out of here. Find Agen, make sure no one else is in the cave with them, and lead him back here to take down the dark presence. But—he’s trapped here, with no way to use the Force, and Agen is alone. Alone with no one to warn him. Jon meets the dark presence’s eyes. The smile widens ever so slightly with dark delight.

“You want him.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. How it wants Agen, Jon doesn’t know, but he doesn’t need to see to know that Agen will be in trouble regardless. Carefully doesn’t think of how lips curl into a faint smile and a warm hand gently lying across his shoulder. He doesn’t.

It laughs, sadistic and full of glee. “Perhaps I do,” it says slyly, examines the nails on one hand. So full of itself, but—a weakness. Jon discreetly files it away for later. “Your Agen is full of despair and pain, even if he doesn’t show it. It’s... delicious, really. Fun. A pretty plaything, if I have to be honest. Perhaps it’ll be even more fun to watch him break.”

Break.

The memory of the Zabrak’s soft smile and the steady look in his gaze flashes over Jon’s mind. His breath hitches quietly as ‘Agen’ laughs, inhumane in his ears. If the creature wants to break Agen, it won’t stand a chance against him. Agen is strong, and the other Jedi knows him. Knows him far too well and Jon knows, knows that Agen will know, too.

Jon presses his lips together tightly, looks past it and to the cave’s opening. He needs to bid his chance, once the creature leaves. To find a way to escape, find Agen, to protect the inhabitants in the nearby settlement. The cave opening is pitch black, full of looming and flickering shadows, then–

A flicker of wariness.

No.

The creature simply looks delighted. “Well, well, well,” it says and turns back to him with a sickening sweet smile on Agen’s face. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong– “I believe this is where we must part ways, little Human. Until I bring back the Zabrak’s broken body, anyways.”

The image of Agen on the ground, helpless and still, flies across his mind, makes him give the creature a stony look, breathes carefully as it laughs again. There’s no telling what it will do to Agen, what will happen. But Agen knows, he knows, he’ll be fine. “He’ll stop you,” Jon says quietly, his hands curled into fists. “He’ll know.”

“And if I look like you?”

“He’ll know you’re not me,” Jon says quietly as ‘Agen’ melts into wisps of shadows and darkness again. Watches it transform—his own face looks back at him.

Agen will know. He trusts him. Jon knows it in his heart, knows it when a sliver of light curls around his wrist.

His own face smiles cruelly back at him. “Well, let’s find out and see, shall we?”

#my writing #star wars #the enabling server’s collection #agenjon #jon antilles #agen kolar #force being #angst #look anytime I write a Jon fic it is Kat’s fault #it will always be either hers or Cat’s or one of the Star Wars enablers in the server #i love them for it anyways

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kyberled · 3 years

Text

More Memories

@theshaark asked:

💡- A memory that comes with an object or keepsake they have

It had seemed like an eternity. Multiple eternities, even.

Yes, he knew that didn’t make sense, but he liked to think he was entitled to a bit of harmless nonsense every so often. Especially after this.

Countless exams. Endless essays and reports. Enough research to make his eyes ache. All for this.

“Almost there,” Hano mutters. Lohata elbows him in the side, but she’s the one who moves, not him. The Force dances with good-natured irritation and familiar amusement, swirling happily in oranges and blues and warmth enough that Braig can’t help a smile of his own.

“You have come so far, young ones.” Master Kiwan said. The aged Zabrak’s eyes creased in the corners when he smiled. “Many of you, I have had in my own classes over the years. It has always been my honor and pride to help shape you into the Jedi you are becoming. And for those of you I was not able to teach,” he folds his hands behind his back, “I trust that my colleagues within the Corps feel much the same.” Some of the other teachers nodded from their positions at the front of the room. Braig gave a slight shake of his head to clear away a bit of stray hair, straightening his posture. Master Kiwan let the sentiment hang for a moment before continuing.

“The time has finally arrived that you may all embark on your own journeys, outside of our classrooms. I cannot say where that will take you; it is not my place to decide. Only you can make that choice, and all the ones that come after. I can only hope that the Force guides you to be your best selves, and the lessons we of the Education Corps have passed on will help you along the way.” He glanced over his shoulder and nodded, and some of the other teachers stepped forwards, a few of them carefully picking through the red bands in their palms.

“Congratulations to you all.” Master Kiwan bowed, and the collection of padawans assembled before him did the same. “May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you.” The padawans echoed. The teachers set about their task, one by one bestowing the students with the red band that would mark their graduation, adorning braids and beads and horns and more with practiced movements. An Iktotchi in tan robes stood before Braig, carefully wrapping the band under the white bead. He hadn’t had classes with her, but if he remembered right, he’d heard her called ‘Master Belwin’ before. She’d always seemed nice enough.

“Thank you, Master.” He said, and she smiled as she stepped back.

“Well done, Padawan.” She returned. They bowed, as did the other teachers and padawans as bands were affixed and rank was attained. The excitement in the room thrummed in the Force, barely contained and itching for freedom. It mingled with a pride that puffed itself up, a gilded sense of accomplishment. The air itself was giddy.

They’d done it.

Group by group, they were adorned and sent out, clasping hands and earning a few last well-wishes from the schoolmasters as they went on their way. Braig waited by the door, joined soon by the Twins.

“Finally.” Was the only thing they said, in their long-practiced unison. Braig only grinned in response. Hano came after, followed closely by Naweh. Naweh had a broad grin across her face, tinges of orange blooming on the edges of her scales, and Hano’s whiskers were twitching excitedly. The Force around them bubbled, and only intensified when Booda and Lohata emerged (walking as close as they could without drawing attention). Hano threw tree trunk arms around Braig and Booda, casually steering the group down the hall and glancing over his shoulder every few steps.

“Are we far enough?” Lohata asked, pulling her datapad out from the inner pocket of her robe.

“Yeah.” Garak shrugged, thumbs hooked into his sash.

“Freedom!” Hano exclaimed, punching the air with both fists. “We did it!”

“We did!” Booda chirped, bouncing as she clapped her hands together. “No more classes!”

“No more cellwork.” Braig grinned, pushing his hand through his hair.

“No more research projects.” Shah-Ki crossed her arms. “What do we do with all of this free time?” The entire group faltered in stride. Braig opened his mouth and closed it again without a word. Naweh frowned at the floor.

“More missions.” She shrugged, continuing down the hall. The others sighed collectively, then followed.

“Yeah. We’ll actually get free time when the war is over.” Lohata rolled her eyes.

“It has to be soon, though, doesn’t it?” Braig asked, tilting his head to the side. “I mean- The Republic’s scored a lot of decisive victories, lately, and I have a hard time believing that the Separatists aren’t as tired of fighting as we are. Not Dooku and Grievous and those, of course, but the reasonable ones. The Mina Bonteris, if you will.”

“I have a hard time believing every other Separatist is a Mina Boonteri, Braig.” Shah-Ki said.

“It doesn’t have to be all of them.” Braig set his eyes forward. “It just has to be enough.”

“Ever the optimist.” Garak commented, and Braig finally let himself smile again.

“I have to keep my sanity, somehow.”

“Oh, Sith spit.” Hano stopped suddenly, looking quite scandalized. “We’re supposed to be sane?!” He huffed and scratched the back of his head as he resumed walking. “I must’ve missed out on that memo.”

“Yeah,” Naweh grinned and nudged her shoulder against Braig’s. “A sane Jedi? Are we from the same Order?”

“Okay, okay.” Braig nudged back, the Force around the both of them buzzing with amusement.

“Well.” Hano stretched his arms over his head. “I don’t know about all of you, but I’m going to use the free time and freedom we have now to go take a nap.”

“Exciting.” Naweh and Shah-Ki chorused wryly.

“Oh, be nice!” Booda patted Hano’s arm. “You know he just got back from the Outer Rim.”

“Another successful hunt.” Hano sniffed. “As always. ... Anyway, after that, I think I’ll head to the third-floor gym, if anyone wants to join?”

“I will.” Braig said, just as Garak added, “I could do for some rounds, sure.”

“I’m headed to the archives.” Shah-Ki crossed her arms. “I want to see what I have access to, now.”

“Ooh, good idea.” Lohata nodded. “I’ll come too.”

“I’ve got to check in with my master.” Naweh shrugged. “We’re supposed to be heading out in a few days, so it’ll probably just be a briefing, but. Whatever.”

“Me, too.” Booda brushed one of her haillu over her shoulder. “Well - not the briefing. But Nid asked me to see him once the graduation was over.”

“Meet for supper, though?” Braig asked, and was pleased to be answered with a series of affirmations. At least they had that much.

And years later, sitting on his bunk in the Remnant, the tired rogue would stare at the red band on the ‘bracelet’ around his wrist.

And he would wish beyond all hope that he could have that much again, even just once.

It would never come true, of course, but he could wish.

#theshaark #&& best foot forward; ic #&& as best i can; answers #&& brave new worlds; padawan #&& far far away; drabbles #&& from creche to grave; the gathering group #only a few months before 66 if i had to guess

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justalittletomato · 3 years

Text

Flowers (Savage x Reader) p 3

Summary: Gosh darn these two are fun....so in love but will one of them please say something???

Part 1

Part 2

You fidget with your sleeves made of a silky material and with buttons that were too dainty for you to use effectively. How do people use such clothing?

“There you are.” the familiar Starlight takes hold of your arm, “Ready for your first day with a clean bill of health?”

First day outside of the little world of just you and Savage? No. Ready for this to the start of being with Savage outside the little room? Yes.

“I suppose” you answer to your companion. She sighs, “He meant to be here to walk you to the council room, but a meeting came up. “

You feel heart your flutter at that, it would have been nice to walk down together. He’d likely take your arm in case you felt a bit uneasy. He was always taking care of you and making sure you were alright. It calmed you to be around him, he was first person in this new life of yours.

It would have been wonderful to walk down the hall together arm and arm and imagine what your new life would be like. Maybe you would have asked Savage to wait just a bit before you two went into the meeting, you’d ask him to come a bit lower so he can hear you. You would have mentioned that you wanted to tell him something, something that ached in your heart…

“Don’t worry I made sure for the rest of the day you two are seated next to each other.” You look away in shyness as Starlight smiles. The Consort knew too much already, she could see it in your face and likely in the way you would have a little smile when she brought up Savage. Savage had tried to keep Starlight away convinced his brother’s Consort was pestering you.

“Now no need to thank me…but” she looks you over, you sigh you already know what’s going to happen. “I have a better idea for your outfit, there will be a few prominent figures I’m afraid.” you are tugged back into the room.

Somehow you end up in a golden dress on level with Starlight’s, much too grand, pleasing to the eye and for some reason a wrap about your shoulders, she kept insisting upon. “Well it is chilly,” you look at yourself. It was nothing you would have picked but you couldn't help but be in a bit of awe at the sight.

You don’t see her grin. No not a hint of it as she walks behind you, the wrap with a design wings on your back.

You had forgotten that you were now in a palace, each hall filled with artistry and windows to show the outside capital, you have to remind yourself to listen to Starlight before getting lost in the scenery. Oh you would have loved to seen this with Savage as the sun came over the horizon.

“A small bit of advice, address the two as lords and I as consort, and don’t worry about Maul. He said he be nice today, and he should be after I was done with him last night.”

Your face burns as she traces over a few marks about her neck and a few she shows you that go quite low and she whispers to you where a few others are and you likely wont be able to look at Starlight or Maul in the face after.

“He must really like your kisses.” you mumble.

“Oh it was more than kisses…” she sighs dreamily, “ I might have tuckered him out a bit, but that just makes things a little easier.”

You knew what she was implying and your face burns more and more. Tuckered him out?

Now you have only met Maul on an occasion or two and even then it was not a direct interaction. Crimson skin and eyes that glowed, his mouth set into a constant scowl and from the looks of it reflected his mood. The tattoos on his face sharper and more jagged, he had an air about him that you would never dream of crossing. You had seen him angry and that was enough to know never to be in his path in such a mood.

Savage spoke fondly of his brother and by that he also made sure to add how frustrated he often was with him, always quick to anger and competitive. But yet, Savage loved him, he was his only brother after all and it had been sometime since he was close to anyone. In this new life they can choose what they do, of course his brother is set on getting revenge on what has happened to him..but for Savage…he gets a new life and gets to choose.

You step behind Starlight as she opens the door, and in the two of you go. Everyone rises from the table, and you stand frozen as Starlight introduces you. All eyes set on you and you fumble in your curtsy, were you supposed to curtsy? No matter, your eyes look around and stop on the golden Zabrak who stares at you.

Oh you you were truly an Angel in that gown, soft and with a grace about you. Starlight had done your hair and made sure you were ever bit more radiant, if that were possible.

Savage can’t keep his eyes away.

Nor do others.

“If we are done with introductions can we continue?” the crimson Zabrak at the end of the table announces, he is watching Savage and you carefully, his eyes also cast to the rest of the table. Thoughts passed, he furrows his brow, that will not be allowed to play out.

“Where did they hide them?”

“Poor dear must be so frightened.”

“Oh my he’d crush them.”

“I would love to take that one with me…”

You take your seat next to Savage and offer a quiet hello, “I missed you this morning,” already your heart flutters being this close and seeing that he can’t keep his eyes off you.

Well maybe he is just worried, he had been caring for you for quite some time. You two were… friends.

“So did I.” he keeps staring. Entranced by the sight of you next to him. He had longed for this, but he isn’t blind either. He saw the others look as well and he could hear the thoughts around him.

He would never harm you, he wanted nothing more than to protect you. Oh and you were never once frightened of him, no you never were. From the first moment you had reached for him and had been at his side since, he was your protector if you so wished. And that last thought, who had thought that? He grows a bit angered at the thought, he had not told you, he had to tell you before you were stolen away from his side….wait how can you be stolen if you were never his… You could have your choice of partner and while it would break his hearts he’d let you go. For now, he would treasure this moment at your side.

“ I apologize I had the intention to walk you over here.” he finally says, but this sitting so close to another would do just as well. His…not his….Angel walking in with a friend at their side and eager to sit with him. He would cherish this memory when you finally chose to leave.

You take his hand, your small hand on his. “You can after the meeting, I haven’t seen much of the palace.”

We can see it together.

He can’t wait, the time together did not have to end, he gets to have another chance, here is another chance for the two of you to speak and be around the other.

“Savage…will you please turn your attention to the meeting.” Maul remarks. “we are glad that your guest is well enough to join, but we need to continue…”

Starlight glares at Maul, he was supposed to be nice.

———-

The meeting is long but that doesn’t phase you, you like being near Savage and it helps that you even offer a few suggestions about certain commodities that are being exported.

“Y/N’s homeworld is known for its agriculture. They have been a wonderful help in today’s settlements,”

There’s a small round of mutters, all good you hope.

There is a small intersession in between and a tap on your shoulder. You swear you hear a rumbling sound, like thunder before a storm as one of the councilors asks to speak with you.

There is that rumble again as you step away from the table.

“ I cannot not help but commend your proposal in the matters at hand, were you formally educated in business affairs?”

You shake your head, “I helped to run my families apothecary it came with the experience.”

“Beautiful and clever…” your friendly smile fades just a bit, “if you should desire I can offer you a position that is with more favorable company.”

You don’t want this conversation to continue. You don’t like the way it was said or the suggestion that your current companions were not favored.

“Y/N is a valuable member of my council.” Maul has appeared at your side and is glaring at the councilor, “ They will remain here as long as they wish, in the company they want. I suggest you turn away now.”

The councilor moves quickly away and announces they will be leaving shortly after. You look to Maul, he looks to you, “ Be a bit wary they are not the only one who will make such an offer.” he offers his hand and you take it.

“Are you planning to stay?” he asks as he walks you back to the table. Savage and Starlight are talking, her hand on his arm and a stern look on her face.

There is no where else to be. You just want to stay here. You don’t want to go, if you do you would leave Savage. You don’t want that, you want to be here even if its just as friends.

“Yes,” is all you can say.

Maul nods, “Good.”

He brings you back to Savage whose glaring at the councilor who just left and when he sees you, there’s a small smile and the gentle purr you sometimes can hear. You had come back to his side!

“I actually need you two to get something for me.” Maul announces

——-

The cellar is small and cramped, well at least this one was. You grumble and fidget for the light,

“Are you sure there’s no other way?”

Savage hits the door once again, “No…we’ll have to wait.” the two of you sigh and remain in the cellar with the artifacts Maul wanted.

Now you two were trapped in and had to wait to get out of. You sigh just bit, its warm in here.

Savage is standing up an moving towards you, “ You aren’t running a fever are you?” there’s a hand on your forehead and you hold your breath at how gently he touches you.

“No. No I’m not.” Your face burns as he keeps trying to ensure this.

“Damn my hands are too cold for this.” you almost faint as you feel his lips press to your forehead, “ hmmm” you're skin is ablaze now. his lips move to your cheek.

“Y/N are you sure?”

you barely squeak out a yes. He sighs, “Oh good…I don’t want you getting sick. I liked seeing you today, you look nice,”

Radiant, beautiful, an Angel, enchanting, how he wanted to say these instead but once again he couldn't. He doesn’t get to say those things.

“Starlight made me wear it…it is at least very soft.” you whisper in the dark. He can see you perfectly, your fingers rub at the material.

“May I?” he asks. you mutter a yes and your hearts race when a hand presses over your waist. Why is he being so bold? Was it what the councilor had said? He can’t lose you like that…so quickly and gone out of sight. He has to tell you…he must.

After his lips touched your forehead and you swore your hearts beat ever so faster.

He runs his hand down your waist, he loves the soft and silky material and the feel of your waist under his hand. You lean into the touch ever so slightly. “It is nice…” your face grows hot again.

“Y/N..you're getting warm again.” he is mentally sabotaging himself from confessing, covering it all with concern over his…not his…Angel.

Its is not a fever…he leans in a bit close to check, lips to your forehead once more. You shiver and so does Savage.

“It’s not a fever.” you whisper, “Its not that…”

He leans in closer, “What is it then?”

He needs to know, then he will tell you. Tell me Angel…

“Why is your heart beating so fast and why are your cheeks are burning?” There’s only a small gap between you two now, your lips are so close.

“Savage…” you whisper and lift your head a bit higher you want to close the gap, tell him by showing.

“Y/N..” your lips are only a centimeter away from him. “Tell me what it is…”

The top of your lip brushes his, “Savage..I..” just a little more, your lips brush just a bit. It burns..just the smallest touch burns.

“I..”

The door swings open and Savage growls while you mentally cry out, no no no….you had been so close!!!

A little foundling huffs, “This is my hiding place, you two need to go.”

@savagesbonergarage @dvthomir @literatureandqueen @hannagoldworthy @theknightsofwren @zabrak-show @phantomofthenormandy @tupdidtherightthing @brilliantbutbatty @mother-0f-monsters @apocalypticwafflekitten @always-on-tatooine @imgonnabuildatardis

If anyone ever wants a tag let me know!!!

#savage x reader #savage opress #savage #savage x you #star wars x you #star wars #star wars self insert #these two play off a disney movie and I love it

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sky-scribbles · 5 years

Text

This is the Alliance Commander, whose enemies still call him a tyrant, whose old Order still calls him the Hero of Tython, and who still calls himself not enough:

He is two years old when the Jedi take him. He will not remember this, of course – only a handful of memories will linger with him, snapshots preserved in the Force like insects in amber. There’s a woman with eyes the same colour as his, and a beautiful laugh, and warm hands. Then those hands are reaching after him as firmer hands pull him away, and her voice is howling after him until he can’t hear her anymore.

These are his only memories of what it feels like to be someone’s son.

He is ten years old when he breaks down for the first time. It’s one of those days when the Force is just so loud, and he’s feeling too much, sensing too much. Every movement his classmates are about to make. Every insect that’s about to land on the grass. He can’t shut it out and it’s too much too much and then he’s hunched in a ball with his hands over his eyes, and the masters are murmuring to each other. Something about too much precognition with no control.

He curls up tighter. If they decide he’s not good enough, they’ll send him away, and then – he doesn’t know what happens then. He doesn’t know how to be anything but a Jedi.

He cannot ever let this show again.

He’s fourteen years old, and his master is dead. The one person who let him be imperfect, the one person who would lift him up if he broke, and she’s dead. One mission gone awry and she goes with it. But there’s no place for him in the Order if he breaks, so he swallows his grief. Gets the traditional Zabrak mourning tattoo on his back, and carries on under its weight.

He’s twenty years old, and his master is dead again. Light-years away, he feels Orgus Din’s presence blink out of the Force, and – really, you’d think this wouldn’t hurt so much the second time around.

He’s twenty, and he sees a planet burn because he didn’t reach it fast enough. He sees his best friend’s mind and body snatched from her. He fights and wins, and Master Satele calls him the Hero of Tython for it but later he’ll lean against Kira’s shoulder, numb, and say that he doesn’t feel like a hero. He doesn’t feel like anything much, except tired.

He’s twenty-two, and Master Braga thinks he’s good enough – good enough, Master Braga thinks that about him – for the mission that could end the war. He stands alongside his team, back straight, chin up. He faces the Emperor, and he fails, of course.

He fails. He’s twenty-two, and the Emperor slides into his head and –

(He doesn’t really have the words for this part.)

He’s twenty-two and he’s afraid to fall asleep in case it lets Vitiate back in. He goes from planet to planet to stop Vitiate because no one else will, running on caf and duty until he’s sick of the taste of both. He goes to Dromund Kaas, just him and four friends against the Emperor. He faces the man who broke him, knowing the galaxy is dead if he fails again.

He is twenty-two years old.

He’s twenty-five when he falls in love. For all his fine-honed precognition, he didn’t see this part coming. But Theron Shan has a rare smile that was made to be loved, and eyes that look almost golden in certain lights. Theron Shan built his life to the Jedi mould, only to have that mould broken – and then gathered the fragments together. He sculpted his own life to a different shape.

And Zeth feels something jump-start inside him. A wide-eyed little part of his soul that rouses from slumber, looks at Theron and thinks, you are strong, you are brave. Maybe you are what I could be.

He’s twenty-five when he decides, yes, he’ll let himself feel this. He’ll let himself love, and if that means leaving all the broken parts of himself on display, well… Theron doesn’t seem to mind them.

He’s twenty-five when he looks at the Jedi Code, at the rules and the expectations. He looks at the pattern to which he’s cut his life, and says, I think, perhaps, you’ve been a little too harsh to me.

A weight inside him lifts away. For the first time, he feels… enough.

And he still can’t stop Vitiate from eating Ziost. He can’t stop Vitiate’s son from locking him in carbonite, and when he wakes he’s thirty-one and his world has ended while he slept.

It’s probably a bad sign, when you become old hat at seeing your life crumble.

He’s – well, what is he now? Thirty-one years since he was born, but five of those years he didn’t get to live. He’s older, that’s all that really matters, and only T7 remains out of the family he built. Vitiate is back in his head, and that makes him want to curl up and shield his eyes like he’s ten years old again.

But Theron holds him through the worst nights, and there are no Jedi to say a word against it. Lana stands firm at Zeth’s side, and no one eyes him for signs of corruption because he calls her his friend. He hasn’t stopped thinking of himself as a Jedi, but it’s on his terms now.

And at last he looks Vitiate in the eye and says, no. My mind, my life. I will be free of you. I am enough.

He’s older still when the man he loves betrays him. For a few months, he lets it shatter him. Lets himself think, I wasn’t enough, even for him. Then he breathes in long and deep, and decides to take a risk. To believe. To hope. To put his faith in Theron, and in himself.

It’s enough.

He’s thirty-three when he marries Theron on the grass outside the Odessen base, a Zabrak wedding cord tying their hands and lives together. In a few months the galaxy will be at war again, but he’ll go back to the Jedi with the marriage cord worn openly on his wrist, and he won’t be afraid of what they say.

For now, he holds his husband’s hands and protests that Jedi never learn how to dance. Theron can’t expect him to dance in front of everyone, people are looking – but he does it anyway and of course he messes it up, and Theron laughs, and Zeth feels soft and calm and young.

He still, on the worst days, calls himself not enough. But the Alliance calls him a friend and a leader, and sometimes Theron calls him love.

So this, in the end, is the Alliance Commander: a man who lives with his brokenness. And is happy.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #swtor jedi knight #theron shan #theron shan romance #oc: zethak menet #otp: feels like light #hey look! swtor fic again!#playing onslaught made me emotional about how far zeth has come #sometimes i forget just how much he's been through #sky's writing

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ficsavagemaul · 5 years

Text

A second chance.

[this is an AU where Savage Opress has been ressurected] The red planet looked lost, a mess, fires here and there covering the surface. However, it was quiet. So quiet in fact that one could think the place was deserted. Yet was not, no something far worse had happened. After Dooku and Grievous came for it, it was destroyed. The people slaughtered for they were a great threat to their enemies. What was left of them was ashes and dust, the Gravel of their buildings and what was still standing. Even now, while walking across the surface of the dark planet, one could almost taste the conflict in the air and the bloodshed of the earth. It would stain it for decades to come. Bodies covering the grounds, both male and female. Yet not all seemed lost, as a cloaked figure marched across the empty planes of the planet surface. Looking around. A dark looming presence surrounding him, the force seemingly singing his dark tune of madness. Glowing yellow eyes surveyed his surroundings, yet there was no survivor to be seen. He was too late. At last, the cloaked figure lowered his hood as he ran ahead towards the main night sister temple, in rage. Seeing no one alive there either, he let out a loud screech of anger. They would pay for this, they would all pay. They had taken his home from him, stolen him from his mother's arms. Killed his brother, and the rest of his people. Destroyed his empire, and left him to die. Yet here he was, Maul, alive and well. Nothing stood in his way from taking revenge now. He was the last of his people and he would make the sith pay. Maul would ensure they would fear him the way he had feared them. His anger rose, as he balled his fist, objects around him floating on their own thanks to the magnitude of rage. The Jedi, the sith, all of them would pay dearly… The zabrak would make them watch as he took everything from them and more. He would torture them, rip their spines out and feed them their own dispair. Maul would hunt them down, and cut them up where they stood. “They will never see it coming” he laughed to himself a little in his moment of insanity. “They will feel my wrath! Yes, they will feel the pain I feel!” He laughed louder, his voice cracking a little in his moment of heavy emotion. He was losing it. He was about to continue his tirade until he heard shuffling, from inside the cave, and saw a shadow dart away. Maul, in an instant, had his lightsaber out and pursued it. “Running are we?” The former Sith taunted whatever had decided to cross his path. The figure ran deeper into the cave, Maul following it. Slowly getting closer and closer like a hunter would his prey. Finally, they hit a dead-end, at the end of a hallway. It had hidden in the last room at the end of it, most likely in an attempt to survive, and hope that Maul wouldn’t find it there. A smirk graced his lips. He wished. When he turned the corner and entered the room, lightsaber ready to strike, he stopped as he saw what was cowering before him. Or more likely who. Seeing the little trembling figure of a child night brother, he put away his lightsaber at once, seemingly in awe at the sight before him. A night brother, alive! At once he filled with some semblance of joy at the sight, even though the little boy was stark naked. He had bright yellow skin and had already received his tribal tattoos on his body. His small little horns were far from full-grown and Maul guessed him to be around 5. The boy had rolled himself up in a ball, however, and laid there crying softly, his head in his knees, so Maul couldn't see his face, and the little one couldn’t see his. Instantly feeling regret for his previous actions, Maul got to the boys level, unclasping his cape from his shoulders, and laid a gloved hand on the boy’s back. “There is no reason to fear, little one, you are safe now. I will not harm you, little brother.” Maul said softly to the child, as he thought about what to do with him. He couldn’t raise a child, he had no experience. Savage would have, but he wasn’t here to help him. Perhaps he had to find the boy suitable replacement parents. The boy continued to sniffle, still trembling in fear of Maul. The older Zabrak made a huge mistake hunting down the little boy like that. Reaching out with the force, Maul attempted to calm the child through it, trying to send soothing waves the boy's way. Even though he had never done that before and was a dark side wielder. “Shhh, there, there little one, I am no threat to you, you are safe,” Maul assured him.

The little zabrak seemed to take some solace from the force connection and actually connected to Maul back, allowing him to feel the boy’s fear and doubts. The bloodshed he saw as he waited here, waited to be rescued and recovered by the night sisters. It was then that the boy looked up from the cover his arms provided and Maul got to take a look at him. And he froze in shock. “S-Savage?” He asked in pure astonishment at the sight before him. The boy looked a bit confused and also hesitant as he saw the older night brother that seemingly knew his name. “I don’t know you” Savage shot back at him, but confirming for Maul it was indeed his older brother but brought back… Into a younger body. “I am Maul, I am your brother by blood” He explained slowly, as the boy opened up more, allowing the former sith to drape his cape over his little brother’s body. He must have been freezing. “W-where are the others?! Where is mother!? And the night brothers!?” Savage asked seemingly snapping out of his stupor to remember what he was hiding from. “Where are they! They told me to wait here and that they would come! Brother! What’s going on!” He didn’t know, Maul just realized, and didn’t remember anything of his past life either. Yet it overjoyed Maul that he got the chance to try again, even though the reason why was very distressing. He didn’t know how to break it to this fragile child, how to not crush his spirit. “They were taken from us, little brother. Stolen by the Sith. Their lives lost as they battled in glory.” Maul explained, hoping to set a good image for him, they didn’t die in vain. Savage was alive. And that was all that mattered now. “They’re dead!?” Savage stammered, tears streaming down his face. Even though Maul didn’t show much emotion outside of his anger, Savage showed how another part of him felt, the pain, the sadness. All of it in a tiny body. Maul saw Savage crumble under the news that his family was all gone, and he couldn’t do anything to change it. Suddenly, Savage got up and ran over to hug Maul, burying his face in his chest. Maul stood a bit frozen for a moment, not really knowing how to respond. His immediate reaction would have been to shove him off, however, this was his brother, that had saved his life before. That restored him to his former glory and that was the reason he was the way he was that day. Maul did the second thing that came into his mind, pulling him closer, and standing up with the child in his arms, crying into his chest. “Shhh, it will be alright, Savage. The Sith will pay for what they took from us!” Maul tried to console the child, though it was not easy considering the boy’s sorrow. “We will make them pay, and have our revenge. But first, you need to grow a little and learn. I will teach you the ways of the force, and together we will have our revenge.” Maul promised though Savage didn’t really seem to listen, but who could blame him? Maul looked around the room, to see if there was anything he had to take with him that seemed of importance, but there was nothing. He was sure the abandoned night brother’s village would have some suitable clothes for Savage before Maul could get him some new ones. “However, we cannot linger here, this was our home, but not anymore. They will return and if they find us again, they will attempt to hunt us down as well. Better to have them think we died with the rest.” The little zabrak didn’t even listen to a word he said, he only cried more. Maul could feel through the force how lost his brother felt. How lonely, how sad. Broken. Once more, he attempted to console him through it, sending him affirmative waves back, his own force signature wrapping around the little one of Savage. He would protect him, and raise him too. He got a second chance, and Maul would make the best of it. As he started to retreat from the cave and back to his ship he looked down to the sniffling child he held to his chest, and frowned. He looked exhausted. Maul was sure his adrenaline had kept him awake for so long, and he was fighting his drooping eyes at this point. He had stopped crying but only because he was running low on energy. Entering his ship, he walked to the cockpit and held Savage against him still. “Rest, little one, we have a long journey ahead,” Maul told him, but as he suspected, Savage tried to fight his fatigue, most likely to not seem weak in front of his brother. “I’m not tired…” Savage slurred in a stubborn response. That wouldn’t do, Maul shook his head a little and placed the fingertips of his free hand against Savage his forehead. Sleep. The boy went limp in an instant, snoring softly. Maul looked down on his brother, and chuckled softly, his brother lived. And No one would take him away from him again. “We will rule the criminal underworld as we had always planned brother.” He mused to his asleep brother as he buckled him into the co-pilots seat. Sitting down in the pilot's seat, he started pressing buttons, preparing to leave. “And I will train you, no one will be able to stop us. We will have our revenge.” He promised himself and Savage as he took off. Before all of that, he had to get Savage some clothes, however.

#savage opress #darth maul #savage opress & darth maul #little brother #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #star wars #starwars fanfic #star wars fic #fanfiction #darth maul fanfic

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