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thenightmarketofdathomir · 2 years

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What kind of aftercare do the brothers give? What kind do they want or perhaps need? Apologies given if you’ve already answered this or something much like it. <3

Okay I lied. ONE more. Because this will put me past three thousand words for one Night Market and folx let me tell you, that is a lot for one session.

Okay? Okay.

*musters self*

*puffs up*

*sags*

*pot belly bloop*

All three Opress Brothers are great at aftercare...

The hand on the back of your neck stills, waiting for your heart rate to slow. "Let's clean you up," is code for what comes next:

He gives you an anti-inflammatory potion for any swelling or pain, cleans off any wounds or scrapes, and salves over any spots that might have been worked raw.

He makes sure you drink enough water. Two cups at least.

There's a bath drawn that's big enough for two, and he carries you to it to clean off any remnants of your playtime. He sinks in with you, settled between his legs in the deep part and tucked against his chest. He bathes you with a soft sponge, and fragrant soaps, careful of any sore spots on your body.

He touches you continuously, quiet if you prefer it, but murmuring praise of a job well done: he tells you about what he saw during your scene -- the little things: your resistance, your yielding, your body shuddering, how well you behaved. So much praise. You were so good. So ready. You took it so well. He calls you every pet name, and others too: words from old languages that you know mean Goddess or Queen.

When your muscles have relaxed and you're warm and safe, he lifts you with him, wrapping you in clean, softly woven towels and drying you carefully.

He's prepared something to eat, and watches to make sure you clean your plate: fresh things suitable diet that you like, and a few treats he knows you crave.

There's clean clothing for you if you'd like it, and the bed's been prepared with fresh sheets, and if you want him to stay with you, there's space enough for two.

Usually, you do, and you tug him after you so that you can curl up in his arms with a little plate on your laps, offering him a little snack from your fingertips if he needs it.

Before he gets that far-off look in his gaze, you snuggle together, confessing in whispers what you liked about your scene: how he made you feel, how hard you came, how you'd love to try something again. Small appreciations, but they go a long way to bringing you closer, and making him feel like he's done a good job.

Maybe you massage his hands for him, or soothe him if he's tense in places by offering him a similar, gentle treatment -- some healing oils you thought to have brought in if his palms are raw, or his muscles tense.

Mostly, you stay together quietly, appreciating the closeness and comfort of each other, because in a relationship this trusting, it's easy to fall to slumber wrapped in each other's arms, when every need and every care is considered.

#AFAB Cis Reader #cw: D/s #cw: BD/SM #cw: pet names #cw: aftercare #soft soft soft #Darth Maul x Reader #Savage Opress x Reader #Feral Opress x Reader #Darth Maul x You #Savage Opress x You #Feral Opress x You #Darth Maul #Savage Opress #Feral Opress #Opress Bros #the night market of dathomir

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dathomirdumpsterfire · 6 months

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(surely this has already been done, but i could not find it, so i had to make sure it existed. -dathomirdumpsterfire)

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iszapizza · 9 months

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middle child… but he so smol

#Star Wars #the clone wars #darth maul #savage opress #feral opress #i checked their heights AND ages and discovered that maul is both the smallest and also the middle child #it’s so funny to me #the most unhinged of the three #feral is so sweet compared to his bros sjdhjd #savage is giving #doodle

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carcassarkis · 1 month

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Here’s the sticker variations I’ve got! I’m going to put a link up sometime in the next week, though getting stickers out may take a bit as I am a broke college student 😔😔

This is purely Rebels characters, going to do separate ones for other characters from other shows/movies. Eventually. Some day.

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jgvfhl · 9 months

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Maul Week 2023 begins!!!!! Prompt 1 is Nightbrother Culture, so I did some thinking about Dathomir as a planet, and how it generally sucks for a lot of things. But maybe it has some fun, naturally acidic bodies of liquid, like Yellowstone in the US? So my little contribution to Nightbrother Culture is tie-dye! Or... bleach tie-dye anyway. It's an easy way for the Brothers to decorate and personalize items of clothing with what they have available to them on-world.

Savage didn't get to bring any of his dyed clothing with him off of Dathomir, so he explained the whole process to Maul, and it can't be hard to get your hands on bleach as master of a crime syndicate, so here we are! Maul gets a nice new blanket. @darth-void (i feel like you're my go-to tag for maul lol)

#but seriously wear gloves with that shit #maulweek2023 #darth maul #savage opress #angry zebra bros #i do the doodles #tcw fanart #star wars fanart #nightbrothers #zabrak #star wars headcanons

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ddejavvu · 2 months

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I’m finally caving and buying the first (and hopefully only) dlc I’ll ever pay money for in the sims - journey to batuu :D

#will i woohoo with kylo ren just to see what happens? yeah #will i be more concerned with making the opress bros in CAS? yeah #I'M GONNA MAKE QUINLAN <333

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queen-rhaenys-opress · 1 year

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Anyone interested in giving me ideas of other Star Wars characters with short quotes? Happy with how these came out.

♥️🖤🧡💛🤎

#darth maul #savage opress #feral opress #zabrak #zabrak bros #from dathomir with love #my ridiculous art #Star Wars #Star Wars fanart #digital art #procreate #profile portrait #nightbrothers

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aftergloom · 5 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @thegreatwicked! This is my main — @thenightmarketofdathomir is my sideblog (and I usually do these tag games over here.)

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Twenty one. Have deleted as many in as many years, probably.

2. What's your total A03 word count? 740,975. I had this horrified moment as I was tallying… what if my current WIP (not live) has a bigger total than everything else that’s up as of today? (It’s not. I’m not sure if I’m relieved because this thing is shaping up to be a trilogy.)

3. What fandoms do you write for? Stah Wahs

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Kudos in ratio to chapter, orrrr just the volume? Some of them are shit and I pretend they don’t exist anymore so I’m not going to list them. They’re like bad dreams. That shit never happened I don’t care if it took 38 chapters. And I’m not counting the Nightmarket because it’s a hundred and eighty one-shots lumped together.

Somebody's gonna have a bad time by nxctuary (Opress Bros x Reader)

Drown Me in You by nxctuary (Mermaid!Maul x Reader)

The myriad applications and multiple uses for a Corellian HWY-280 class fresher. Article 342: One locking door. by nxctuary (Feral x Reader)

The Collector by nxctuary (Maul x Reader)

The Ritual by nxctuary (Maul x Reader)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Depends on a couple of things that aren’t always consistent, and often if I don’t reply it’s because the comment broke me. (I often will reply, but I’m like a cryptid — expect me to pop-up without warning six months after you’ve left a note.) It’s often someone saying something nice, my inner self-hatred seeing it and going, “LIAR!” And then taking six months to convince myself that I just can’t take a compliment when negotiating my own imposter syndrome.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ah that’s… hm. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone lately.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Everyone gets a happy ending. Even if it’s a little twisted. I like horror endings, you know? The kind that, on the surface, appear as if everything’s actually going to work out for the better but there’s a single drop of darkness left on the page that implies everything can be lost at a moment’s notice.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Narp.

9. Do you write smut? Yarp.

10. Do you write crossovers? Just once. Let’s not talk about it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Better not have. I’ve had multiple pieces plagiarized partially, though. In really hilarious ways (to me, at least) because there’s nothing like borrowing a turn of phrase said to you IRL (while you were sleeping with the person who said it), giving those words to Maul as he speaks them to the Reader character, then finding someone else pulled out several lines of the same dialogue to use in their fic without permission. Maybe don’t do that. You don’t know where this stuff comes from, and you definitely don’t know what I was working through when I wrote it. Awkward.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not that I remember. (Maybe once in X-Men? I've had work turned into podfic, though.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Feral and Kai? Do OCs count?

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Nothing is ever finished even if it’s finished. I don’t understand the question. /j

16. What are your writing strengths? I show up every day and I do the work. Even when it sucks and when I hate it. I do the work.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? If I don’t have a clear overview of how a scene is going to play out (or especially the layers of an argument between the characters — what they’re saying VS what they really mean, what they’re withholding, what the reader knows but they don’t, etc) I will spin my wheels and fill up a page with setting description to avoid making a bulleted list of what’s actually happening so I can get to the point. Then edit it twelve times later like hacking away at a hunk of marble trying to get to the good bits.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? Doesn’t bother me. There are circumstances where the jist of the conversation carries regardless, and if not, I’m assuming the writer’s offering a translation either in-text or as a citation. I mean, if you want to get granular about it, then start asking does doing that serve the story and what does it add, or does it detract, but that’s a situational thing and I think you need to experiment a bit to learn what works in context.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter. Draco/Harry. I was baby.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? Archangel (unreleased). Heartsong (unreleased). Crown of Motherfucking Horns (current WIP). CoH my heart. CoH beloved. CoH my baby.

Tagging (no pressure): @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @grinningnexu @sinisterexaggerator @inquisitorius-sin-bin @umber-cinders @graaaaceeliz @not0a0mundane and anyone else who wants to play :)

#tag game #on writing #Darth Maul x Reader #Feral Opress x Reader #Savage Opress x Reader #Opress Bros x Reader #that polyfic follows me to this day istg #Maul x Reader #Maul x You #Feral Opress x You #Savage Opress x You

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magnoliamyrrh · 5 months

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how to explain to ppl that if theyve realized the american empire is bad this does not mean the chinese or russian empires are good 🙃

#my bro theyre doing the same shit different ways #genocide colonialism fucking over other nations pollution opression of the population like???#theyre the same shit in a different trenchcoat

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nun-draws · 10 months

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throw back to when i made them all in the sims and lillithe and talzin IMMEDIATELY STARTED SCREAMING and throwing drinks at each other unprompted 👨‍🍳 😘👌💋

#perfection #i didnt even have to tell them to #mother talzin #darth maul #savage opress #count dooku #star wars oc #star wars #nightsister oc #zabrak #star wars the clone wars #zabrak oc #dathomir #dooku #dr lillithe talzin #sims 4 #so many mods #THE OPRESS BROS JUST... IN THE BACK... IGNORIHNG #theyre on a tropical beach

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biomechanical-quinn · 4 months

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Feral, talking to Quinn: Yeah, I'm actually biphobic.

Quinn, caught off-guard: Sorry???-

Feral: I don't know, I guess I just hate buying stuff, y know? Back on Dathomir we just hunt for our food.

Quinn, facepalming, realizing somebody else poorly explained a term from their reality: Feral, don't say stuff like that.

Feral, just not getting it: What did I do??

#feral opress #star wars #oc meme #thought I should actually post here LMAO #I have a whole AU in my head about how the three Opress bros get stuck together with Quinn and their roommate

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thenightmarketofdathomir · 2 years

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This Fic is Cursed [Re-release]

Title: This Fic is Cursed Pairings: Feral x Reader, Savage Opress x Reader, Maul x Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 11,518 words Warnings: P in V (bareback), dirty talk, inappropriate use of the Force, rough sex, masturbation, blindfolding, size kink, anal play, bondage/suspension, dominance play/choking, pet names, praise kink, a soupçon of degradation, Force-created sex toys, makeshift gags, alien biology, creepy dolls Notes: All three readers are AFAB Cis

Summary: A cursed bedroom, a creepy doll collection, and three Opress brothers seeking some private time with their respective partners. Unfortunately, no one told them the bedroom on the fourth floor doesn't unlock from the inside. Nothing bad can happen, right?

Excerpt Below or Read it on Ao3 >

i. Feral

—

“It’s vaguely oppressive,” Feral says, which is about as much precaution as you’ll get. He hesitates a second, hand on the worn brass knob of the second bedroom on the third floor set into the only stretch of wall that isn’t showing the wounds of their restoration work. “Mother gave us specific instructions in her will about this room in particular — we weren’t to disturb it. Supposed to be left as-is.” He glances at you. “A condition of the inheritance.”

“So of course it’s the first thing you went and mucked about in,” you tell him.

Feral gives you a winning smile.

You know how they all felt about Talzin, in the end.

“She always did like to meddle; very domineering woman — couldn’t leave us well enough alone. Never satisfied with our life’s choices,” he says, gesturing. “This is just a bit of —“

“Retaliatory post-mortem payback,” you surmise. “Colour me unsurprised.”

The door is white, and the ghost of an old plaque belonging to its previous owner has left a corona of dirt.

“What’s she going to do?” Feral asks. “Reach beyond the grave to impart one further lesson to her darling children?”

He scoffs, and falls to stillness — seeing your hesitation.

“Are you sure about this? Because we can sleep in the parlour —”

“Not with the rancor in there.”

His shoulders hunch, and showing a flash of teeth, Feral drops a palm to your shoulder, giving you an indulgent look that leaves you a little heated.

“I can guarantee that at least that thing is less creepy than what’s in here. Besides, it’s not a rancor anymore. It’s just a head.”

It’s the only private room in the whole four-floor Victorian. While Maul or Savage might not care so much about sleeping with their asses out between walls torn down and doors off their hinges, this is the only private time you and Feral are gonna get this weekend. So kark the parlour.

“Taxidermed animals are pretty high up there on the creepy spectrum.” You gesture vaguely at your face. “Something about the eyes. It’s like they’re watching you.”

Feral doesn’t have eyebrows, but there’s a slightly manic glimmer about him when he flashes his teeth, draping an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry, love.” He pulls you in, brushing his lips over your temple, sticking you with a firm smooch, and dropping to breathe into your ear — heavy with suggestion: “I’ll protect you.”

You poke him in the side for good measure, but he holds you close enough for you to huff the light oakmoss scent of him through his shirt: a little cream and a little cardamom beneath laundry detergent; mischief passed off as some innocent youngest brother bantha pudu.

He pulls back, and makes you promise: “No take backs.”

But your yeah yeah is forgotten as he crowds in after you when he opens the door. You’re already in the room before the overhead light crackles and pops to life, but by then it’s too late: he’s shutting the door after him, locking you into this time capsule that makes no logical sense when set against the rest of the house.

“Whatthekark,” you breathe, but your fate is sealed when he squeezes your hip, pulling you with him into the centre of a powder pink and lace-fluffed horror show.

ii. Savage

—

There’s a dangling chandelier in the centre of the ceiling, placed equidistant from the twin bed with the brass curlicues ornamenting the head and the foot, the child’s vanity with its little mirror and bench, and the overstuffed toy box.

The chandelier tinkles, sending sparkles of refracted light around the shelves that line the room, little rainbow colours trapped between posters and photographs clipped out of Tiger Beat and Seventeen magazine.

“Feral came in here?” He doesn’t sound convinced.

You’re still staring. And the room stares back with hundreds of eyes: glass and beaded and plastic, all colours and shapes, and some are buttons.

You hover in the threshold, considering how Savage’s bulk swallows up so much space that he hulks over a bit, looking decidedly uncomfortable, and now you’re unsure.

“I thought he did, but it’s not like you can hide two people in that closet.”

There are ruffles on the valance. Ruffles on the bedskirt. Ruffles lining the window curtains.

“Your mother had some really… interesting decorative tastes.”

Savage’s frown deepens. “Talzin always wanted a daughter,” he mutters. “We disappointed her in more ways than one.”

You recognize some of people featured on the walls — far younger versions of older actors, and some bands you’ve never heard of — but you’re shaking your head, even as Savage’s horns tangle in the fixture.

He winces, hunching into himself, but the damage is done. Ensnared, he stares at you, bent necked and resigned to exasperation. It’s almost sweet. You do not giggle. Instead, you drag the bench out from the vanity, hauling yourself up to eye-level with him to try and work the beaded pearls out of his horns from the dangly bits.

“I think you turned out alright,” you tell him. “You even look cute in her old apron.”

It was pink and it had frills, and barely cinched around his waist, but Savage had worn it diligently while flipping pancakes that morning at the tiny gas stove in the ancient kitchen.

He mutters, “Mother would be thrilled. It’s a small mercy she isn’t watching over us all, still.”

A large hand steadies you over the hip, fingers notching into your belt loops and back pocket: large enough to wrap around most of your thigh on a good day, and heavy enough to leave a lasting mark; soul-exit-body-style if he thinks you’ve earned a good spank.

You lift a shoulder in a shrug. “I thought you liked showing me off?”

His frown deepens.

You suppress a snicker: “Maybe not in front of dear old mom.”

“The dead of Dathomir are often quite persuasive, especially its witches.” He purses his lips. “We are fortunate she left no unfinished business; no further imparted wisdom for our… predilections.”

You arch an eyebrow, your fingers working out the last knots.

Savage squeezes, and you warm to the attention — the dip of his gaze to your legs as it spindles lower.

“Oh,” you say, smiling. “Your lifestyle choices.”

The door clicks shut behind you with a muted snap of the lock, and you don’t think anything of it.

Savage’s gaze sharpens, going still the longer you dither.

“How much longer, little one?”

“Just hold still.”

His gaze slides away and beyond you, and your tiny fingers do what his could not: unknotting the shimmery bits of jewelled plastic that have tangled through his horns like gaudy Life Day ornaments from the 80s.

His rumble of displeasure swirls low in your belly, rough with menace that you’re accustomed to. “Why are you smiling?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I can’t get it all out,” you tell him. “But you do look adorable.”

If Savage’s grip tightens on your hip any more, you’d grit your teeth. The big guy knows you like it rough, but sometimes the foreplay gets started a little early.

“Handsome?” you try again.

“Please hurry,” he says. “The dolls are watching me.”

Setting your hands on his shoulders, you peer around the room, unconcerned by the collection of stuffed animals and antique dolls: shelves upon shelves worth, they pour up the walls all the way to the ceiling, piled in tiered stacks up the tiny bed, ruffles and rumples and pretty porcelain faces all serene and indifferent to the two intruders in their midst.

“They’re just toys, Savage.”

“They outnumber us,” he murmurs, and if there’s something ominous in it, you’re distracted as he picks you up and deposits you on the floor gently, warm hands lingering on your body. When you take his hands in yours, you smile up at him, pressing into his stomach and giving him a coy look that usually endears you to him.

Savage’s mouth takes a downturn at the corners.

“You are not seducing me here.”

You wink. “It’s private, at least.”

“It’s creepy.” He leans down, considering, and withdraws before he can give in, eyes narrowed.

You smile, indulgent, and entirely too smart for your own good.

“There’s a bathroom with a locking door on the second floor?” you offer, tentative, but your fingers are wandering — creeping down to cup the bulge in his shorts, semi-erect already and pressing against khaki.

He stiffens, a low rumble of interest building in him at your touch.

“But it’s a whole two floors away, and —” You pluck at your top, revealing the hint of a fleshy swell that you know he can’t resist. “There’s a bed right here.”

Savage sniffs, his expression darkening as he leans in. When he growls, it’s a sensation that begins in his belly, rumbling through the points of connection between your bodies, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the tinkle of his chandelier-made-tiara. He practically huffs, rolling his eyes upward, and then back to you as those large hands descend to cup your bottom, dragging you up to the tips of your toes so that you’re pressed against him, your ass a kneadable, tender thing begging for reprimand.

“Impatient, again,” he murmurs. “Or teasing, you insatiable creature. Indifferent to where and when I fuck you. Shameless, utterly.”

Savage squeezes, and you suck in a fluttery breath, pressing your hands to his chest.

“Never knew you were so sensitive,” you manage, trying to regulate your breathing as that rumble of his discontentment becomes a challenge. “Or such a tipyip.”

He stills in that expectant, assessing way you so love when you’ve put exactly one toe out of line.

The slash of his smile leaves you simultaneously shivering and heated by his attention as he rolls you against his thigh, folded around him as if his knee wasn’t adding the exact right sort of pressure in the exact right place to break you into a thousand bitty pieces at his prompting.

Folding over you, his hand brushes your breast on its journey to your throat, cupping you just beneath the chin in a hold not meant to choke, though he could snuff the blood flow to your brain to leave you pliant and quivering. A good Top knows what they’re doing, and Savage is no slouch.

“Brat,” he murmurs, mouth brushing yours, his hot breath on your face. “I should put you over my knee.”

Your eyes flutter shut, tasting the very air he breathes, fingers curled into his teeshirt, the pressure between your thighs absolutely maddening when he offers just a bit of friction.

“Promises, promises,” you manage. “You could make your point in other ways,” you suggest innocently. “Maybe even change up your thinking.”

Savage bares his teeth; the warning fades into a slash of a smile.

“Do tell me.”

“You already have a toy of your own,” you tell him, breathy. Savage stills, his nostrils flaring as your meaning registers.

“Don’t you want to play with me?”

He ‘hmphs,’ amused, and leans in to lick at your mouth, withdrawing before you can kiss him back, satisfied to see your nipples peaked and pebbled beneath your shirt. There’s a wet spot on his knee. Your skirt is practically hiked up to your waist. But you’re not asking how that happened.

The jewels between his horns tinkle again, and Savage shuts his eyes briefly in exasperation.

You have to bite back a giggle.

“Go now, before I chase you down,” he orders, but you’re already at the door.

The handle slides and clacks back into place. Old house. Old fixtures. Not the first time this has happened — just yesterday, Feral’s attempts with the kitchen pantry got it stuck so thoroughly that Maul had to kick it in.

When you try again and it doesn’t open, you know for certain:

“We’re locked in.”

iii. Maul

—

Two hits: Maul’s heel to the door, and the door crunching into plaster as it strikes the wall. The muffled whumps and muted squeaks of toys hitting the carpet don’t immediately register, because he’s breathing for you, thumb and forefinger notched into the waistband of your jeans, popping open the topmost button; the other hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you in place as he takes a taste of your mouth.

It’s a hungry kiss, built on breath and secret smiles, a brush of lips and trailing fingertips when you got too close and he just watched with that darkening interest that caged you in before you ducked out.

He chased you up two flights of stairs.

But rather than crumple on the landing, half-kneeling and partways dishevelled, you collapsed into the nearest bedroom without really checking which direction you were headed.

Now here you are as Maul does to your mouth with his tongue what he’ll do to your cunt as his impatience wins out, silencing you with that indulgent, lidded gaze — like he knows what you like better than you know yourself when his hand tucks between your thighs.

The sound you make is little better than a half choked gasp of pleasure at the contact: knuckles brushing over the front of your undies as he jerks down your fly, tugging you into him with the sort of insistence that leaves you fumbling and needy — not sure where to put your hands, but wanting to touch him like he’s touching you.

He murmurs against your mouth, “Push them off your hips for me.”

“The door —“

He growls, fingers pressing in, not bothering to move your panties aside but finding your clit through the gusset and rubbing it. The added bit of friction from the cotton isn’t too much. You’re too wet. Maul’s mouth finds your throat, and his teeth close around your pulse point, worrying the skin in warning. Your ankles roll out, and rising to the tips of your toes, you sway with the almost-feeling of getting fucked with those deft, strong fingers tracing your slit but never pushing in.

Head rolling back, you find his face — the carved lines of his jaw —

That smug twist of his mouth.

“Please —“

A rumble of a command, “Do as you’re told.”

But it’s so karking hard when he touches you like this; two fingers rubbing you through your clothes, intent on destroying what little control you’ve maintained. You shouldn’t even bother with underthings, he only wrecks them when he gets in a mood, and apparently after two coats of eggshell and a little splatter on your face from trying to paint the ceiling reminds him of what he might’ve done to you if you were alone.

The door screes on its hinges, shutting untouched, and there’s an element of foreboding to the fact that he’s so gentle with it when he nearly just tore it off the wall.

“Did you do that?” you ask him...

Read the Rest on Ao3 >

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