#Zabrak markings are painted on and have meaning

[kiku91]

Jeez let Maul get his look done

this is like my most hit tweet of all time

[beckyh2112]

when I call myself a shell, I mean- 3/5

when I call myself a shell, I mean- 1/5 when I call myself a shell, I mean- 2/5

Yes, it sprouted more parts.

Behind a cut to avoid cluttering your dash and make it easier for me to correct typos.

---

Vekha pulled out her ID as she walked in one of the Senate building's many service entrances. The Corries knew her by sight now, but they still checked her ID. Because, unlike some other security forces in the Senate, they did their jobs.

"Do you guys want any..." Her voice trailed off.

The security checkpoint was empty. Not a red-painted set of armor in sight.

She looked around, saw one of the credit union ladies on her comm. Vekha waved to get her attention. "Where's the Guard?"

The twi'lek-hybrid shook her head, lekku swinging. "I don't know. They usually send out a mass-mail to warn about drills, but..."

"Kriff," Vekha said with feeling. "Our cafe is open 24/5. If there's been an incident-"

She stepped away, pulling up the number of the overnight manager. "Chidoro, hey, has anything happened?"

In the background, she heard the credit union lady talking to whoever she'd commed.

Chidoro sounded harried - the Mon Cal's Basic sounded like she was gargling saltwater. "Where are you? There's some karking debate today, and a bunch of senatorial staff stayed overnight."

"I'm at the entrance, but... the Guard's not here."

"What the kriff? Ugh, let me grab one of 'em in here." On the comm-projection, Chidoro moved like she was walking, her eyes swiveling to scan the area. A confused look came over her face. "There's no Guard."

"What the heck." Vekha could kinda, sorta imagine the Corries missing a small service entrance like this one. (She'd have to be high to believe they'd actually do that, but she could imagine it.) But the cafe was on a major thoroughfare in the Senate building. Chidoro should have been able to see one Guard from inside, and at least three more if she stuck her head outside. Chidoro not seeing any Guard? Weird as heck.

The credit union lady - Vekha thought she might be the branch manager - stepped into her line-of-sight and flicked her fingers to get Vekha's attention.

Vekha put her hand over her comm input. "Did you find out anything?"

"No one in the Guard's offices is picking up." Her lekku were tying themselves in knots. "My regional manager tried Commander Thire's personal number, and nothing."

What the kriff.

-

"Set some of the jogan fruit juice aside for the Guard?"

Arado shook his head, lekku shifting slightly. "Magpie swung by yesterday. Him and his boys are getting transferred away, so no need to hold things for them anymore."

"How do you even tell them apart?"

The male togruta snorted. "The same way I tell zabrak apart - by their markings. Nice, bright colors, and they each have different scuffs and scrapes. Makes 'em way easier to tell apart than most humans."

-

Thunder woke up to a privacy-marked, pre-recorded holo-call from his vod'ika. Today wasn't his rest day, though, so he couldn't find a private spot to watch it just yet. Not if he wanted to have a meal before shift.

It was still so strange to have rest days. At first, the Jedi had insisted on one day out of every five being a rest day, now that the war was over. But for most of the vode, that was just too much. They'd lived their entire lives either training for battle, preparing for battle, fighting in battle, and recovering from battle. Suddenly having an entire day to just do nothing, if they wanted, was beyond jarring. It had screwed a lot of them up in the head; who were they without the war?

"No wonder the Corries are so high-strung," he'd heard someone say in passing. "It was probably like this all the time for them during the war."

Thunder's shift was spent tracing power lines in the depths of the Jedi Temple. His own fault for nursing a vague interest in electrical work into 'let Thunder look at the problem before you bug Engineering.' By the time it was finished, his armor was scuffed and dusty, he was pretty sure he'd be seeing the voltimeter readout on his helmet-cam in his dreams, and they'd discovered this particular power line just snaked through a bunch of halls without attaching to anything. It might have been an adaptor for an older system once, maybe.

But being down in the depths of the Temple meant he had plenty of isolated spaces to sit and watch what Pup had sent him.

He projected the holo from his wrist comm. Pup looked to be sitting on a crate - he'd probably gone someplace private to record this. "Hey, Thunder." He bit his lip nervously. "It's-"

There was a hiss, and a massif tried to climb in Pup's lap. He laughed and gently pushed them down. "Yes, Bumble, we'll go do the course as soon as I'm done here. In fact, say hi to Thunder?"

He gestured to direct the massif's attention, and they panted at the holo-pickup before Pup tapped his knee twice. The massif immediately laid down at his feet.

"Good girl," Pup said. "You're getting good with tap-signals."

Thunder smiled to himself. He knew massifs weren't smart enough to understand exactly what Pup had just said, but the affection and praise in his voice was obvious.

The happiness and self-assurance just seemed to drain out of Pup when he turned his attention back to the pickup. "Thunder. I just- I just wanted to say this isn't your fault."

What? Something cold slithered down his spine.

"We're leaving. The Guard and Home Fleet. All of us."

What?

"I don't know where we're going, so I can't tell you anything about that." Pup looked down and spoke at his massif. "I wouldn't even if I could. You're my ori'vod, you'll always be my ori'vod. But a lot of the Guard have bad relationships with their batchmates now. Commander Stone-" He shook his head. "That's not my story to tell."

"But. We're leaving, and we don't want to be found."

Thunder sat there numbly, staring at the holo. His vod'ika continued to speak, but he wasn't listening. Everything was just noise in his ears. His vod'ika, and the rest of the Guard, were leaving? What did that even mean? How did they even think they'd manage that? There's no way they could move the Guard onto Home Fleet ships without-

Without someone noticing. Like the Home Fleet and Coruscant Guard troops who kept track of all military movement in the system.

Oh, no.

Thunder was up and running before he registered the holo-call had finished playing. If he could just- If he could get to the Corrie barracks in time- They couldn't be gone already- Someone would have said something-

He just had to get to the Corrie barracks.

[its-not-a-pen]

the Unknown Warrior, meditating before the hunt.  The Warrior is an Iridonian Zabrak. They are dressed as the mythological figure known as the Peregrine, a heroic figure to some and a cautionary tale to others. 

“The origin of the distinctive Dathomirian tattoo has been the cause of more than one fist-fight in certain academic circles. Some insist they arose through purely pragmatic means: first as camouflage for hunters, and then gradually increasing in complexity to serve as identifying markers for different tribes. Others insist they have always served one purpose: art for art’s sake. 

Whatever the reason, these early markings were clearly very significant to the bearer. They were painted on and would need to be washed off and re-applied every day. Furthermore, someone else would have had to paint their back--and the recipient would have had to take their word for it that they had done a good job.”  - Whitebone, F. (22ABY). Dividing Lines: an incomplete history of Dathomirian Tribal Art (pp. 22-36) Orion Publishing

[fallenrepublick]

Oof I love suffering I guess so how do you think the zabrak brothers (including Riot, Brutus, and Sunder) would react to having an s/o who is chronically ill and their health is in decline?

I’ve had some long stays in the hospital and I find you can learn a lot about someone when they have to take care of you in those moments.

Thank you for sharing your writing!! I love your blog! Hope you’re having a good week!

Ohhh I see. Well... This is a horribly painful concept, especially if it's particularly serious. And of course I'm going to do that.

Get some tissues

Maul remains strong. He's dutiful, attentive. It's all he can be. It's not combat, there's no danger to protect you from. He can do nothing. And though he's there, watching over you, holding your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles with a silent will not to cry at the sight of you, there's resentment. Not at you, never at you. At himself. At this sickness, at his helplessness. He had promised to always look after you, had sworn up and down that he would ensure nothing happened to you. But he wasn't prepared for this. How could he be? There was no way to prepare, the thought had never crossed his mind.

And yet it dawns on him, should something go wrong, should everything take a turn for the worse, he could lose you. He could come in the medbay to the very thing he fears the most. Even if you look well enough now, how could he be sure? What if it doesn't stay that way? He doesn't want his arms to be left empty, his ear devoid of your voice, the only thing that had ever brought him comfort in life. He can't bear the thought of being left with nothing, not again, not this time, please.

He doesn't leave, he refuses to. He sleeps in the chair beside your bed, hunched over with his head leaning on your mattress. The slightest stir wakes him up, he brings everything to you, brings you to everything that can't be carried. His well being means nothing, nothing, so long as it's for you. Just don't leave him. You promised you wouldn't leave him.

Savage, in that classic way older siblings do, shifts into a responsible mindset. He keeps himself busy, cooking everything and anything he can find that's easy for you to keep down, making sure your room is spotless, keeping up with your medication. He throws himself into his duties as the one you love, promising he'll take care of you. Thoughts of the worst creep into his mind, but at least in the beginning, he pushes them down in favour of keeping you comfortable, keeping you safe.

But pushing down the pain and uncertainties only allows them to fester, to grow and consume his every waking moment. He tries to mask it, tries to stay strong and responsible for you. Still, it becomes easier and easier to see through, and you hold his face, asking what's wrong, what troubles him so often that he's barely slept. Dark circles are painted below his eyes as he stares up at you, and you hold his face, brushing at his cheeks.

And he tells you how he tries not to fear, how he's done everything not to be terrified for what may happen. But it's impossible. You can promise him nothing, nor does he expect you to. Instead, you kiss his forehead. "Whatever happens... it'll be okay."

Feral isn't as good at hiding. He sees you in this state, and while he tries to push down everything, he chokes, and the tears start falling immediately. He doesn't know why. Nothing's for certain. Why does he have to be so weak? So useless? His job is to keep your spirits up, to help you, not fall apart like a coward right in front of you. And yet he's already failed.

His head often rests gently on your torso, feeling you breathe as he trembles, reminding himself that nothing is set in stone. You'll be okay. You'll be okay. That isn't set in stone either, but he has to fool himself. If only for now.

He checks in with you thoroughly and often. There are pangs that strike through his chest when you turn down food more and more often, tension in his hearts like he's never known when the only thing you ever seem to do is sleep. No. You're healing. That's what it is. Sometimes, he'll lay on the bed next to you, holding you to his chest as if it's the last chance he'll get to do so.

You're healing. You're healing.

But Sunder backtracks, just a bit. Perfection. Swallow his feelings, if only for now, do what he was born to do: Protect his mate. What he feels about this doesn't matter. Only you. Do everything you ask of him, bring you comfort when there's little other source. His kisses are often on your forehead, ignoring the fact that he can do nothing in reality. It's cosmetic, all of it. His help is but the tiniest change, practically useless. But he has to.

He forgets often that he himself has to eat, has to sleep. All he can think of is you. You, who's given him so much. Who's taught him about the world. His saviour, his guide from a life he had always thought was the end. He owes you his life. And yet he can't give it. Not like this.

When you sleep, when your slow breaths seem just a bit too slow for it to be right, he holds your hand, he makes wishes, ones impossible to grant. "I would trade my life..." he says tightly, shaking, "I would give everything... Please... Please... Take me instead... I'll do anything..."

Riot tries and tries to lighten your mood when he can. He cares for you as he very well should, yet through it all, there's that classic goofy grin on his face. He can make you laugh, always, even in the worst of times, and he uses it every moment he's in your presence. As long as you're smiling, he can tell himself it'll be fine.

But the smile falters every so slightly sometimes. He doesn't want to hide, doesn't want to wear the mask in front of you like this, yet he can't bring himself to take it off either. He has to see you smile. If you smile, it'll be okay.

He's instructed himself not to break down, not even when others ask how he feels, not even when they offer to help. Even in moments where he's alone, cooking, bringing you your daily medications. Even when you're asleep and he's brushing at the skin of your arms. Even though he's tearing himself apart inside, thinking about how stupid he is, how he could do more, how he's not trying hard enough. No, he has to be fine. So long as you smile, so long as you know he loves you. He will be fine.

Brutus doesn't react for much of it. If anything, he goes about helping you as if it were always the routine. He's got the schedule memorized, trying with hidden desperation to bring a sense of normalcy. But his words carry less bite. Where he once would've said, "Gods, what the hell do you think you're doing, huh Firefly?" he now says, "What are you doing?" It's flatter, his voice softer, and his eyes watch you as if he realizes something, yet you can't quite pin down what it is.

He sits at the side of your bed, listening to you speak, holding your hand in silence, lifted a bit and rubbing at your fingers. You still smile at him, and he can't bring himself to return it. He doesn't scowl anymore, his face brought more to a neutral state, and it remains there no matter the task. Simple conversation, helping you eat if you're particularly weak, lulling you to sleep. His face never changes. He's gone from an open book (at least to you), to completely unreadable.

But it's when you're asleep in the late hours of the night that it unravels. He sits on the floor of the hallway, knees pulled up to his chest, fingers gripping into his head, leaving marks from his nails, and he cries. It's audible, sobbing, his voice bright in the dark, empty hall. The tears are hot on his cheeks, falling to the floor, onto his clothes. He can't stop them. He won't. Because the sound doesn't pass into your room. He thinks you don't know.

But when you see him each morning, it occurs to you that there's only one thing that can leave those kinds of bruises.

[a-dorin]

feral | darth maul

word count: 1.760k

warnings: nsfw, sex pollen(and its effects), oral (receiving), smut, filthy language, cursing, nudity, pet names, mentions of ovulation, horn kink

a/n: i incorporated a request, along with sex pollen for this one! i hope you guys like it, as i am really proud of it! if you wanted to be added to my taglist, let me know. enjoy our favorite zabrak, consumed with lust from copious amounts of sex pollen! 

prompt:  “Please, I need a fic of Savage, or Maul, just dying slowly in his rut, just smelling the reader ovulating and internally going nuts from all the hormones”

(not my gif)

it was almost as if he was suffocating. 

as if someone had their hands around his throat, choking him. maker, was this feeling unmatched. it was overwhelming, flooding his body with one, primal, desire. the zabrak shook his head, a low growl erupting him from his lips. his insides burned, his body temperature elevated. he was panting, his breaths coming out ragged, shortened. 

he had to quench this fire consuming him whole. 

and he had to do it now. 

“m-master?” your sweet, innocent voice filled his ears, “are you all right?”

the zabrak eyes blazed, an intense, smoldering amber as they fell on you, “i’m fine.”

wrinkling your nose, you arched a brow, “are you sure? you smell so.. sweet. did you roll around in wildflowers on your way back?”

his hearts thudded as a whiff of your scent flooded his nostrils. your scent was heavenly, an alluring mix of sandalwood, starflower, white agarwood, and amber. a trace of starflower lingered as well. he could sense your pheromones, ears pricking up on the dull beating of your heart as you gazed at him, depths glimmering with concern. 

maker, was he ready to pounce. 

but, not yet. 

time was not of the essence in this case. the effects of the pollen would last the entirety of the night. and maul was patient. he was calculating your every response in his mind. although he could sense your unease through the force, he didn’t want to extract the thoughts swimming in that little brain of yours.

hearing the words tumble from those pretty little lips of yours would be far more satisfying. 

in the moonlight, your exposed skin glowed, a bright, softened, greyish-blue glow. a loose tunic hung from your frame, your nipples hardened, peaking out through the thin fabric. your thighs were full, the skin so tantalizing. if only he could feel it against his tongue. maul blinked, unsure if his eyes were deceiving him. 

if this was a mere mirage, an illusion. 

or, if this was reality, and you were standing before him, aching and desperate for him. 

“you’re ovulating,” his eyes narrowed, “i can practically smell your arousal, little one.”

satisfaction rushed through him as pink dusted your cheeks, “w-what are you talking about?”

the zabrak cleared his throat, “i can sense the desire consuming you. it’s gnawing away at you, and the way your cheeks flushed tell me everything i need to know. there is no need to lie, (y/n).”

“okay, okay,” you muttered, cheeks burning crimson now, “perhaps you’re right. but what are you going to do about it? besides, i think i recognize that sickening scent.”

“please, tell your master what you believe it is.”

“somehow, you encountered sex pollen. did you walk in a field of wildflowers?” your tone was smooth, the words confident. 

the purr intensified, “i may have stumbled across some. yet, there is nothing more i would like to do right now than take care of your problem, little one. would you let your master help you? it would be a fair trade.”

“i don’t think you have the-” you began, but maul practically lunged forward, his lips merely centimeters away from yours. 

“just because i don’t have the same anatomy as my other males of my species does not mean that i cannot feel or give pleasure,” his words pierced right through you, directly to your core, “do not underestimate me, little one.”

“i never said i-”

the words formed, yet didn’t come out as his lips collided with yours, the kiss hungry and open-mouthed, desperate to establish dominance. you couldn’t help but submit, nearly collapsing as he sucked on your bottom lip, his tongue exploring your mouth. deepening the kiss, a guttural growl rumbled in his throat as your hand, so soft and delicate, rested on his chest, tracing the tattoos woven on his skin. your lips were plump, a trace of strawberries lingering. 

the lust that threatened the zabrak intruded his mind completely, any coherent thought slipping from his mind. 

he was bordering the line, his inhibitions crumbling away by the second. 

maul was about to go feral. 

a yelp bounced off the walls as maul scooped you into his arms, grasping you by your thighs. your arms looped around his neck as he clambered towards the lower deck, in the direction of his personal quarters. he took no time, reaching the destination within minutes. 

as soon as he stepped foot in the space, he threw you onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress. the zabrak looming over you was on longer maul, your master. the aura hanging over him was nothing but pure lust, his instincts shrouding his logic. yet, you couldn’t help but feel the wetness between your thighs. how you were just as desperate as he was. how you yearned for a touch. his touch. 

his body was on top of yours now, the heat radiating off of him in thick, intense waves. lips connected with yours once more, the kisses needy, craving more. his hands tugged at your tunic, the fabric crinkling between his fingers. 

“you can take it off,” your lips brushed against his.

“so eager,” maul panted, “do you really want me to take it off, little one?”

you nodded, earning a hum of approval, “as you wish.”

a horrid, tearing noise rang through the room as your tunic fell of your frame, crumpling to the mattress. your breath hitched in your throat as maul’s eyes raked over your exposed body, the amber hue darkening to a deep, murky honey. 

“you didn’t wear anything underneath.”

“i didn’t say rip it off,” you muttered, a flash of irritation ringing through your mind. 

a hand covered your mouth, “hush. i will replace it.”

warm, callused hands roamed all over your flesh. maul licked his lips, savoring how your skin felt under his touch. how it was so smooth. so soft. so human. 

his hands cupped your breasts, the zabrak rolling your nipples between his fingers. a breathy, broken moan dripped from your lips. his mouth met with your neck, gently nipping as he placed a trail of wet, sloppy kisses down, ensuring that he plastered you with love bites. you were his, and he wanted to ensure that you knew.

every single move was electrifying, the air crackling with tension as maul had his way with you, peppering kisses all over your collarbone and chest. a shiver ran down your spine the moment his tongue flicked over your nipple, a whimper flooding the zabrak’s ears. 

“you’re so beautiful,” maul murmured against the underside of your breast as he painted another mark, “i could ravish you all night.”

your hands wrapped around his horns, desperately clinging on as his mouth drifted lower, not leaving a single inch of skin untouched. the sensation was blissful, pleasure rippling through your body, pressure building in your abdomen.

“now what do we have here?” a purr rumbled from the zabrak as he parted your thighs, “my gods are you soaking. is this all for me?” 

blush spread through your cheeks, “it is, master.”

maul slipped a finger between your folds, his eyes hardening as you squirmed, bucking your hips, “i see that my apprentice needs a lesson on patience.” 

“i am patient,” the words were a groan as his thumb circled your clit. 

“i don’t believe that,” maul chuckled darkly, “you’re practically riding my finger as i touch you. little one, you’re eager for me. i promise i will take care of you.” 

the zabrak drank in the sight of you. although he was beyond the point of thinking coherently, drunk with lust, he knew the image would be permanently ingrained in his mind. he would remember the way you core glistened in the light, the way love bites, from his mouth no less, were plastered all over your skin. 

the way your eyes shone. 

ablaze with longing. yearning for to fulfill the fantasies hazing your mind. 

craving for him. 

your taste coated his taste buds as he buried his head between your thighs, his nose brushing against your folds as he delved deeper, aching to feel it all drip onto his tongue. 

maker, was the taste divine. 

it was pure ambrosia, ecstasy washing over maul as he consumed you. 

your moans were melodic, his arms wrapped around your thighs, clutching onto your hips, pinning you down. pleasure racked your body, your head thudding against the pillow, jaw slack as he lapped away at your core, the juices dribbling down his chin, onto the sheets. 

the heat of his tongue was blissful as it flicked over your clit, the zabrak purring as he inserted a finger into you. the action was effortless, his finger pumping in and out, curling as it entered you. pressure was building in your abdomen, coaxing you closer and closer to orgasm. 

you were a mess underneath him, bucking your hips, riding his tongue as he fucked you with not only one finger, but two. he was pushing so deeply inside you, almost to the knuckle. the way you gripped his horns sent euphoria crashing over the zabrak, his hearts thudding. 

and maker was the sight of you oh so gratifying. 

“i can feel your walls tightening around my fingers,” his breath was hot, amber eyes glossed over with satisfaction, “are you getting close?” 

nodding meekly, the words were strained through gritted teeth, “i’m so close.”

maul’s pace of his fingers intensified, “that’s a good girl. you’re my good girl, (y/n). you’ve been so behaved for me, taking my tongue so well. you can cum.”

the moment he was finished, his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the bud. 

you unfolded, collapsing onto the mattress. 

stars burst in your vision, dancing as your thighs trembled. maul lapped away, ensuring that he savored the taste of you on his tongue as you came, orgasm racking your body. your breathing was shortened, ragged as he pulled away, his lips glazed with your juices. 

“here,” maul murmured, his voice delicate, “taste yourself.”

parting your lips, you licked his fingertips, earning a praise, “good girl.”

maintaining eye contact, you sucked on the digits, watching as his eyes squeezed shut, a noise you had never heard before tumbling from his lips. 

the sound was sweet, flowing so beautifully from his lips, like honey. 

maul nearly melted.

“h-how can i please you master?” you inquired, keeping his hand close to your mouth. 

narrowing his eyes, a smirk crept onto his features, eyes glowing amber in the night. 

“come here.”

*****

tagged:  @sapphicstars @bonniewinchester  @pameladoesthings , @maulieber  @bonesaldente  @arsonistvoyager @fallenrepublick @princessayveke @queenlagerthaa @starflyer-104 @catsnkooks @tinalbion @brilliantbutbatty  @gczanetti1  @spaghetti-666 @moonsingers  @theclonewarsbrokeme  @amberkay284 @nik-barinova  @amvabril @charbokbok @obiorbenkenobi @theonethatdoesnthavedisneyplus @witchy-goth-unicorn @alwayshappysith @mother-0f-monsters @lastoneoutturnoutthelights @splittothebone @vei-saretti @isabewwwa @latran5k @bvnsolo @sithmando​ 

[pinkispoggers]

I Am Yours | Maul x Reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings: nsfw, dirty talk, pet names, slight blood, language

a/n: this is the second chapter to my Long Nights Series (idk about a series) you can find the first one here 

(yes this was also done on samsung notes so it took a while)

summary: after a bit of a mess, the little secret of what you did last night is not so secret anymore

enjoy :) 

• as the sun starts to set, you start to rise 

• only to be alone and very, very sore in your nether regions 

• you look down from your covers to see if everything is alright 

• and to your horror everything is not ok 

• there's blood everywhere 

• your first instinct is to scream bloody murder 

• so that's exactly what you do 

• and finally you hear loud ass footsteps running for the door 

•ofc you thought it was savage 

•but you really didn't want him knowing about what happened or getting suspicious 

• but what got you on edge 

• was the sudden crackling sound, you knew far to well as a lightsaber 

• suddenly savage, or who you thought was savage, put in the code and pushed open the door so hard that you had thought it was going to break 

• and to your surprise it was both of them 

• as soon as maul saw the tear rolling down your cheek, he ran straight for you 

• they usually both fight for your attention and you don't really know why 

• so you weren't shocked that savage too, was rushing to your side 

• you almost started laughing when savage almost pushed maul to the ground 

• earning a snarl from maul who got to you first anyway 

• "are you alright baby girl?" 

• savage looked over at maul slightly angry 

• "maul don't call her that" 

• maul groaned in response 

• "but really what's wrong angel?" 

• once you finally came out of shock, you shimmied off of the bloody mess that was still quite new 

• "what the fuck" savage gasped in horror 

• "it's just a bit of blood savage, calm down" the red zabrak sighed 

• "IT'S NOT A BIT OF BLOOD, ITS ALOT OF BLOOD" the yellow zabrak cried 

• "will you two not right now?" 

• the two of them stopped and turned at you in surprise 

• "I need to go clean myself ok?" 

• "yes whatever you need" the red zabrak cleared his throat 

• you padded out to the refresher to see what was going on 

• you looked down and the look on your face was of pure terror 

• something had split or broken 

• "fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" 

• you had no idea how to react to this situation 

• all you could think is that you needed a warm towel and some alone time with your holonet to try to calm down 

• when you were finally done inspecting the wound, you walked out of the refresher and down the hall were the two men were standing there anxious waiting for your arrival 

• "are you alright y/n?" The brothers say simultaneously 

• "no, and i'm going to need a lot of time alone" 

• "oh alright" the yellow zabrak sighed" 

• "you know" the other zabrak tsked "you could always come to me if you need something" 

• "oh maul always so caring" 

• "am I caring too y/n?" Savage asked right as your turning away 

• "always" you reassured him 

• you make your way to your quarters 

• your about to turn on your holonet 

• when you hear a deep voice you could only make out as savage 

• "did you fucking do something to her?" 

• you want to eavesdrop but you don't want to be rude 

• then you hear maul speak 

• "first of all calm down savage, and second of all I didn't do anything" 

• "yes you did i can sense it" 

• oh how you really wanted to eavesdrop 

• "no the fuck i didn't" maul growled 

• oh fuck now there getting into a fight, you thought 

• the two start raising their voices, cursing in dathomirian strings you didn't quite understand 

• you were quite tired of their bickering 

• so you turned on the holonet to drown them out 

• "oooo, a new episode of Keeping Up With the Hutts was on ~~~~~~~~ 

• about 7 minutes into the holonet 

• you hear quiet hushed voices 

• you instantly turn the H.N off to go eavesdrop 

• "fine, I may have-" maul was cut off 

• "I fucking knew it maul" savage growled 

• "no-" 

• "WHAT DID YOU DO?" 

• "fine, calm down, before I get tackled again, i might as well tell you" 

• "go on" 

• you were definitely listening in now 

• you wanted to know what happened too 

• you had hopes that you would find out what happened 

• "well... please don't lash out on me savage" 

• savage growled in response 

• "i may or may not practiced a more intimate form of spooning" 

• "maul, your going to have to be more specific" 

• a soft grown tumbled from mauls lips 

• "we practiced cockwarming ok" 

• "MAUL YOU CAN'T" 

• "why not?" Maul smirked 

• "YOU HURT HER DUMB FUCK" 

• "let me get to the point" 

• you were on the brink of laughter at the bickering but you know you couldn't blow your cover" 

• "i knotted in her" 

• "WHA- WH- WHA- WHA- YOU FUCKING KNOTTED IN HER" 

• "yes and I am afraid I might have broke something it her" 

• "WELL NO SHIT" 

• you were very worried at this point 

• you had no idea what knotting was 

• and you were very curious but you didn't want to come out 

• but you knew you had to so you trusted your gut and stepped out 

• the brothers were absolutely horrified by your presence 

• and the look on your face 

• it was a look mixed with confusion and horror 

• they knew by this point that you had been listening to their whole conversation 

• the red zabrak broke the silence 

• "so how what did you watch on the holon-" 

• "what's knotting?" you interrupted 

• "fuck" maul mumble under his breath 

• "excuse me savage, while I go talk to her in private" 

• savage just looked maul straight in the eye and looked away 

• "ok then. c'mon y/n" 

• you said nothing as you followed him outside 

• it was late in the evening 

• maul had landed the turtle on the far side of the beautiful planet ithor 

• he only landed here to get away for awhile and to try to get closer to the force therefore helping himself to meditate stronger 

• it was a win win because maul liked that there was no civilization 

• savage liked it because there were lots of fauna 

• which was very important if he wanted to eat 

• he's very picky about his food, he only eats meat 

• so of course he loves hunting 

• but something that you learned over the past 2 years of traveling with the brothers 

• is that when savage brings food in 

• if you didn't eat fast, you didn't eat at all 

• and you love it because of all of the trees and spots you could hideaway in 

• and in a flash you were outside 

• you didn't know exactly how maul knew but he brought you down to your favorite hideaway 

• it was a little cave, but it had a lot of meaning to you as you had become quite attached to it 

• so you weren't going to be happy when you had to leave 

• you both sat on the rocks near the little creek you had made 

• almost as if you were meditating 

• "so," you snorted 

• maul frowned 

• he knew he would have to explain sooner rather than later 

• "alright I guess i will get to the point. 

• in my species, we tend to do something called knotting" 

• oh if you could only see your face because maul was on the brink of laughing when he saw it 

• a mixture of confusion and well... confusion 

• "ya know, I probably won't understand what you're talking about. But I tend to learn better with hands on experience" you teased 

• "y/n... your injured, we can't" 

• you weren't thinking when you got on top of him, straddling his waist, your already soaking entrance over his groin 

• "oh really?" a devilish grin paints your features 

• maul lets out a loud snarl to let you know that he is serious 

• "keep this up, and I promise you won't be able to walk for a month" 

• you knew he was serious but again you didn't care 

• you started rotating your hips over his increasing excitement as you had picked up from last night 

• before you could speak again, he was hovering over you 

• "don't fucking tempt me y/n" 

• "why not" you gazed into his eyes, the eyes that were now filled with lust 

• "because I swere to god, I will fuck you into next week, I swere you will have to tell savage you are sick so you can stay in bed" 

• you reached up to grip his horn 

• as maul snarls, you pull our hand back immediately thinking about how it could possibly hurt him 

• "touch them" 

• "what-?" 

• "did I fucking stutter. my horns. touch them" 

• once again you reach up to touch them 

• you end up massaging them as you've seen maul rubbing them while he's alone 

• but when he caught you watching him... 

• touch himself? 

• he stopped instantly and growled at you 

• so you just assumed it brought him much pleasure 

• he was purring. hard 

• but when you hit a certain spot 

• the lust in his eyes turned into pure, primal hunger 

• you didn't even get to take a good look at him before he was ripping of your thin dressy gown 

• and under him was a beautiful woman that all he wanted to do to her is ravish her through the night 

• you were very exposed, and wanted a little more privacy 

• you tried squirming out of his grip so you could maybe get him to follow you to inside of the cave were you could have a little privacy 

• "and were might you think your going kitten?" he purred through a growl 

• "well wouldn't you like some more privacy? you wouldn't want savage finding out now would you?" 

• "no I would not" 

• you both got up to go into the cave-ish place by the creek to have a more private time 

• "now lie down" the zabrak looks you dead in the eye 

• "maul, it's all rock" 

• he points to a sand bed on the right of him over in the far corner 

• you rush over to the corner with maul not far behind 

• as you lie on your back, maul again, tops you 

•he leans in so that his chin is just above your ear 

• "now you do as I say. understand kitten?" 

• you give him a slight nod as a sign of confirmation 

• he started to bathe you in kisses 

• not sparing an inch of you was spared by him 

•he palmed your breast, fingers toying with your nipple, earning a moan from you 

• from your neck, he glides down to your navel nipping at your soft skin along the way 

• each nip came along with a hard suck 

• a suck that would leave a red and purple mark for a week or two 

• "You're going to be a good girl aren't you?" 

• he looks downwards in shock 

• "everything alright?" You panic 

•"yes kitten, you are soaking and I have barely even touched you. so eager for me to have my way with you" a devilish smirk painted his face 

• "y-yes m-maul" you whimper 

• and with that, he rubbed his thumb in lazy circles around your clit 

• you were already a moaning mess at this point 

• you didn't know if you could last much longer 

• maul knew this and took advantage of the opportunity 

• he plunged 1 finger in and out of you 

• your moans were loud and heavy 

• you were very much on the edge right now 

• "you love this, don't you y/n?" 

• you could barely talk nor really move except for the shaking in your legs 

• which he held down using the force 

• so you nod in response 

• he adds a second finger in your sex 

• now you are beginning to see stars now 

• "m-maul I'm about t-to c-cum" 

• the instant he hears those words drip from your lips, he pulls his fingers out of your core 

• the shock hits you instantly 

• and as soon as you come down you stare at him as soon as he comes back up to your neck 

• his hot breath on your skin is enough to get you aroused again 

• "you will not cum until i tell you. do you understand?" 

• right now there was no way to say no 

• you didn't want to waste a good opportunity 

• "y-yes maul" 

• "now can you take my cock?" 

• you nodded up at him 

• "i need you" is all you can manage to get out 

• "tell me how you need me kitten" 

• something sparked in you. something dangerous and wild 

• something you didn't know quite how to use to get your way with 

• you glared at him with lust and heat in your eyes 

• "I need you to show me how much of a sith you really are. to fuck me so hard all I see is stars for the rest of the day. I'm yours maul." 

• "i. am. yours." 

• he had never seen this side of you and was very spooked by these actions of yours 

• but did he give a fuck 

• no 

• he wanted you and you only 

• for you to be spread out for him and only him 

• he got on his knees as he straddled you 

• he growled as he looked at you with a smile 

• "you have asked, now you shall receive" he growled 

• he starts to undress himself 

• as he started taking off his top robes 

• you couldn't help but stare at his tattooed skin 

• it was so pretty 

• you reached out to touch it but maul flinched back 

• "o-oh I'm sorry" 

• "no its fine, just old memories" 

• you slowly reached out again to touch him 

• his skin was surprisingly soft 

• you traced every inch of his tattoos, feeling his muscles ripple under soft touch 

• you traced up his neck and to his horns 

• your gaze, mischievous and you start to softly rub around the area 

• "y/n-" 

• a growl left his throat as he pressed his lips on yours. 

• this time the kiss was full of passion and lust 

• It was messy and needy and left you shivering from the intensity you were met with 

• you greeted his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, taking complete dominance over the kiss as well as your body 

• his hands are now wrapped around your neck 

• not tight but not loose either 

• he retracts himself off of your mouth 

• leaving you hungry for more 

• "don't you do that now" 

• "why- not" you ask once again 

• "because" he almost rips his under robes as he pulled them off to free his already hard member 

• it was just how you remembered it 

• but a tad bit larger 

• "damn" you gasp 

• "this is why" maul purrs ever so slightly 

• you buck your hips forward, signaling him that you are ready 

• "dirty girl" maul tks 

• all four and spread em'" a low snarl tumbled from his lips 

• "yes master" 

• a devilish look spread across his face as he gave you a look that could only be translated as pure lust 

• he lines himself up with your sex 

• he gave you no time to get adjusted to the tip before he was balls deep in you 

• something much different then a growl came dripping from his lips 

• more of a roar 

• moans were the only thing that you could make out 

• the feeling as you took all of it 

• he was massive 

• that mixed with the fact he had ridges 

• oh gods you were in heaven 

• but it was so so wrong at the same time 

• being fucked by a fearsome sith lord was not something you ever thought you would ever be doing 

• his thrusts are powerful 

• long and hard 

• you grip the rocks around you 

• his tip brushing against your g spot 

• you want to scream so loud 

• you throw your head back 

• the pain instantly turns to pleasure 

• he starts ruling lazy circles around your clit 

• you can't focus anymore 

• his pace intensifying, ramming into you 

• you pace yourself along with his thrusts 

• again you are already seeing stars 

• "mau-" 

• he starts applying pressure to your bud 

• "you can come for me my dear" 

• his words are enough to send you into the abyss of pleasure you've been craving 

• your orgasm violently takes over your body as you spasm out 

• the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock was all it took for maul to cum too 

• filling you up with his hot cum 

• but what you were not ready for was his member swelling inside of you 

• stretching you out to the max 

• it was only after you started to come down from your high that you noticed 

• it was very large 

• but you could handle it as it wasn't uncomfortable 

• "maul what's going on" 

• "you got exactly what you asked for, and your taking is so well" 

• you then realized what he was talking about 

• this was his knot 

• "um... i hope your ok with being in this position for a while" maul purrs 

• "how long?" you ask 

• "just a short while" he snorts 

• you could only sigh at this point 

• you started wiggling a tiny bit, cum dripping out of you onto the rock below 

• "oh y/n its not coming out that easily" 

• your beginning to panic slightly 

• "maul. it's been like an hour since we left the ship. savage is going to start to worry" 

• "don't worry baby girl. that oaf doesn't know where we are" the zabrak huffs 

• "If you say so" you shrug 

• he tried pulling out but it seems you two were gonna be stuck in the hip for a moment 

• it was only minutes before he finally pulled out and as he did you instantly turned around and kissed him 

• it was a hungry kiss 

• one filled with passion and desire 

• teeth gnashing together 

• tongues colliding with each other 

• fighting for dominance 

• of course he takes control over the kiss 

• the kiss felt like it was lasting for hours 

• hours that you never wanted to end 

• but suddenly you hear a loud, deep voice in the distance 

• "Y/N, MAUL, WHATS TAKING SO LONG? I KNOW IT DOESN'T TAKE AN HOUR TO EXPLAIN SOMETHING" 

• "i guess the big oaf does knows a thing or two" you huff 

• "shit shit shit shit shit" you panic 

• "what's wrong?" mauls gaze darts back over to yours 

• "LOOK AT ME DOOFUS YOU RIPPED MY CLOTHES HE'S GONNA SEE ME" you hissed 

• "maul quickly glanced around for a solution 

• "my robes. you can cover yourself with them" 

• "won't he notice? he can't be that dumb" you laugh 

• heavy footsteps were getting closer to the cave 

• maul instantly uses the force to grab his robes, putting them on and signaling for you to stand up 

• you were surprised he wanted you to stand in your current state 

• you already knew you were going to barely be able to really stand nor walk 

• you blankly stared up at the zabrak in hopes that he knew what you wanted him to do 

• and to your surprise, he caught on quick 

• he reached out his hand to help you up 

• you take his hand 

• your legs instantly felt like jelly as you fell into is arms 

• you waddled underneath his robes 

• he let out a soft chuckle as you headed out 

• "what's so funny hmm?" you joke 

• "oh nothing" you hear from under the soft robes 

• you would have very much liked to see his face when he giggled 

• you didn't really know what was going on outside 

• you were just very focused on not tripping over any rocks or sticks 

• you start to listen in on the conversation 

• "what took you guys so long" 

• you assume that was savage speaking 

• "well we kinda got sidetracked and talked about other things and had a normal conversation" maul huffed 

• "yes, ok but where is y/n?" 

• you panicked a bit, not knowing what maul was going to come up with 

• you really hoped it wasn't stupid 

• but you trusted him to know what he was doing 

• "u-um she said she was cold" 

• "fuck" you whisper to yourself 

• he nudges you to show yourself 

• "its 81° degrees fahrenheit" savage sighs 

• "well it's different for humans. I think" 

• you pop your head out of the robes "maul is c-c-c-correct" you fake a shiver 

• "oh, well let's get her inside" savage smiles 

• "oh, and I feel so it's going to be hard for me to walk so if I'm limping please don't worry about me I'll be fine" you reassure him 

• maul looks down at you and smirks implying that you did a good job 

• "got it" savages tone turns to a soft and loving one 

• it takes some time to get back to the turtle tanker but you make it eventually 

• maul guides you to your room 

• your door opening with a hiss 

• "thank you" you whisper 

• "any time" he murmurs as he gets up to leave you as you still need to find clothes 

• "wait" you call out to him just before he closes the door 

• he turns back immediately 

• you look to the ground and back at him 

• "i- i love you" 

• you can tell he is very nervous, left dumbfounded 

• a goofy grin paints his face 

• "oh my y/n, I've loved you since the day I saw you standing at the market on coruscant" 

• "is that why you saved me from those thugs?" you ask 

• "partly. I just felt something deep inside of me that said help her, go and help her" 

• your a brushy mess as he lets out his true feelings for you 

• all you could do was smile 

• he always loves when you smile 

• to see something bring happiness to you 

• to him you were the sun 

• and he was the planets that revolve around you 

• you were his everything 

• and he doesn't know what he would do if he ever lost you 

• your love was infinite and could never be broken 

• "get some rest my love, you will need all your strength for tonight" 

• "wait why?" you look at him in confusion 

• "well i heard that the Mos Eisley Cantina is having some sort of celebration tonight, and I figured we could go and get some drinks, get fucked up a little, dance, i don't know if your up for round two but yeah" he looked at the metal ceiling and back down at you 

• "maul, what's savage like drunk?" you jokingly ask 

• "well i guess we will see" he smirks 

• you giggle, bringing a smile to the zabraks lips 

• "anyway, I'll check on you in a bit" 

• "cool" you grin 

• as he left you couldn't help but wonder 

• were this odd relationship with you and maul would go next 

• you could only hope that it could last

taglist

@hxldmxdxwn​ @idiotonanadventure​ @bonniewinchester​ 

[b-radley66]

Lines I Loved Writing

Or, I should say a ‘scene.’ This is from a story I’m currently writing, called No Chains Shall Sully. It’s a scene between Ahsoka and an OC, probably my main OC, with some hints of his origin. I’m kinda proud of the language and the emotions in this one, just wanted to share. It takes place about 5-6 years after Order 66. I hope that you enjoy it. 

Ahsoka chokes back a cry, remembering where she is, as well as who is asleep in the room next to this one. She comes back to herself, the Force falling away from her mind like a ripping veil. She fights to bring her breathing under control, as her heart fills. She reaches up and wipes the tears from her eyes at what the vision—maybe even a memory had shown her. 

The one image sticks in her mind—the last one, like the final picture in a holoslide presentation. She wonders if it is real; there is a sense of a dream—or a nightmare—in the vision. A nightmare because of the sense of darkness surrounding it. 

She takes a deep breath, reluctantly focusing on the three inhabitants of the vision. She chokes back a sob at the sense of doom among the two adults. She can see the flames surrounding them in the ship.

Ahsoka takes a moment to analyze the faces of the two. She’d seen a portrait of Jamestyn Blackthorn once, a full-length painting completed when he was still the holder of the Covenant Chain. She  does smile as she thinks of the features; features that are now as familiar to her as his own, with some subtle differences. But the same eyes, albeit a different hue, their warmth and laughter apparent. A different type of smile, one with power and confidence, but even with a sense of hope and empathy. 

She shifts her mind to the woman, a woman in the same style of clothing she’d seen on the New Mandalorians she’d met. A woman who’d look equally at home in beskar’gam, wielding a WESTAR and a beskad, much like Bryne’s description of his late wife, J’ohlana Wren. She closes her eyes, seeing her first look at Bryne’s mother. She sees the dark bronze skin, slightly darker than Bryne’s but with those sea-green eyes. Eyes that stare into hers—eyes that she could stare into for hours, since their feelings and emotions for one another had changed in the galley of an Outer Rim pirate-ship, over a half decade ago. She feels the tears start again as she catches her first glimpse of Nadara Shysa. From a conversation over breakfast food in some hole-in-the-wall diner; she remembers Bryne saying he’d never seen a holo of his mother. 

Something grasps her heart, nearly ripping it to shreds, as she sees the desperation on their faces, along with something else.

Resignation.

Her heart calms as she sees something else present. Hope, as they place the toddler, his eyes probably the calmest of them all, in a lifepod—one that looks like it was designed for a child. Her eyes focus on the small amulet hanging from his neck. She sees Jamestyn kiss Bryne—or Jame—by the name his parents gave him, along with Nadara. They both touch the amulet. She feels her vision shift and concentrate on the bit of beskar. She notes its size and shape—a small disk surrounded by a stylized wreath. She can just make out the triangle shape—two triangles, offset, actually, with a line bisecting it—in the middle of the two, right where the second triangle’s apex overlaps with the first. 

She realizes where she’s seen the interior symbol before. On a heavy chain on a young girl’s shoulders, in silver, rather than gold. A young girl who is the center of attention in a large keep on Jame’s homeworld. A young girl staring out at the crowd with those same wide gray eyes of her grandfather. 

Jamelyn Blackthorn. Jame’s niece, on the day that she had accepted the title of Elector-Presumptive of Corellia. The guarantor of the people’s rights, from both the tyranny of their own government and outside foes. Along with the Covenant-Hope, the Protector.

The ‘Presumptive’ aspect would disappear on her sixteenth birthday, if she was on Corellia, if she chose to accept the full authority and responsibility. 

A move that would keep Jame as the Protector and in her fight against the Empire and its darkness.

Ahsoka senses movement near her. She doesn’t start, as she feels the familiarity of the person. A familiarity she’d sensed at the edges of the vision, as if he was watching as well.

She rises and crosses over to the now-open window, engulfing Bryne in a leaping hug. They kiss for several moments. As always, she locks her eyes on his face. She rests her forehead on his when they come up for air other than their own. She can sense his pain, as well as his grief. 

“You saw?” he asks. 

“Yeah, Bait,” she replies. “What does it mean? Is it real?”

He takes a deep breath before answering. “Yeah. I think so. At least the gist of it.”

She feels a puzzled look come over her features. She waits for him to explain.

“I think it gibes with what I’ve been told by others. But I’ve never seen that amulet.” He looks down. “But I’m getting a sense of something else, as well.”

“Deception?” Ahsoka asks, her voice even.

“Yeah. Something similar, but slightly different from what I felt on Felucia, Runt. When there seemed to be so many competing versions of my master’s death in my head. Hell, in the galaxy as well.”

She digests this. “Well, Phygus did manage to find that the Imperial version gibes with one of those. That she died at the Temple.”

He says nothing for several long moments. “Yeah. But she wasn’t on Coruscant. I saw it myself.”

Her eyebrow markings raise into her headdress. “Maybe, but she was on Coruscant briefly before that. Obi-Wan told me that she’d gone there to find and protect the Chancellor when Grievous attacked.”

He sits down, heavily. His own voice chokes. “I never knew. I didn’t even feel her during the battle. I never saw her after it. One of the other ‘deaths’ that I’d heard about was that she was slaughtered by Grievous after he captured her.”

“We reconciled this, Jame,” she whispers, “it was all the Asundrance. Along with mis-direction and legend from that time.”

“I think that’s what I’m feeling now. Like I’m being manipulated.”

“By Soma Jess?”

“Maybe,” he replies. “I’ve got to figure out how to get her out of my, and by extension, your head.”

“I’m sorry, Jame,” she whispers, moving her lips to his again. “I shouldn’t have even suggested meeting with her after I met her.”

She feels him touch the tip of her nose with his lips. “No, love,” she feels against her skin, “you were trying to help me get over something I should’ve gotten over soon after it happened.”

He shakes his head, as if filing these emotions away. He breaks away, then looks out the window. “There’s something more pressing.”

Ahsoka can tell that this takes an effort, to shove aside these emotions and that knowledge.

“The Force user. The Zabrak that we encountered on Felucia. Maris Brood—the padawan who was so jealous of me being chosen as  Ti’s padawan. I saw her and sensed her, at least when I was close to her.”

He rolls his eyes as the Smirk starts on her face. “Jealous of you? From what  I’ve seen in your brain, she got over it real quickly.” She can tell that he’s waiting on further grief from her. “The Many Rides of Padawan Taliesin Croft.”

He snorts, then grows serious. “I think she’s still working for the Empire. That may be where some of, but not all the darkness is coming from. He looks into her eyes. “I think we should abort. Cut our losses and run.”

At that moment, Jillan Bykos walks in, knuckling sleep from her eyes. Ahsoka sees her silver eyes widen when they fall on Bryne, wrapped in her hunt-teacher’s arms.

“Go back to bed,” Ahsoka says quickly.

Jillan grins. “I don’t know. It suddenly seems more interesting out here. I didn’t know you had it in you, Tano.”

Ahsoka breaks free from Bryne—probably a little more forcefully than she’d meant to. She stamps her foot, wincing at the reversion to her youngling days, as she does, and points to the bedroom. “Go.”

She rolls her eyes as she sees the teenager appraising Bryne’s figure in his gardener’s outfit. Ahsoka feels Bryne’s laughter start to bubble up. 

Jillan obeys. Finally.

She shoves him, but grins sheepishly. “Great. Just what I need. A teenaged crush on you.” She grows serious, then reaches out and touches his cheek. “I can understand the feeling though.”

“That’s why you were about to tell me that we can’t leave yet. Her.”

“Or the other slaves, Bait,” she replies. 

He nods, then takes her in his arms. They are both quiet with their own thoughts. 

So many of them.

+=+=+=+=+=

[sunsetofdoom]

Give me that OC thing for Rora!

Rora!!!

If I could draw, I would do this better- those Dathomirian markings up there are natural and a very dark brown, but sort of blotchy with no straight lines. On top of them, she has traditional Iridonian tattoos in honor of her mother, who died in slavery.

Full Name: Ensign Aurora Spireau

Gender and Sexuality: Female, mostly attracted to other females

Pronouns: She/her

Ethnicity/Species: A half-Dathomirian half-Iridonian hybrid. This is extremely rare because of Zabrak genetics being stubborn bastards, but irritatingly enough almost nobody noticed until she got tattoos from Iridonia on top of her natural Datho markings.

Birthplace and Birthdate: The “Little Dathomir” neighborhood of one of Ziost’s larger cities. She has an accent that can peel paint.

Guilty Pleasures: Weirdly enough, embroidery. It’s the perfect hobby- she gets to stab things over and over and over and over and-

Phobias: Falling in love. She did it once, and it was the dumbest decision she ever made.

What They Would Be Famous For: As an alien in the Imperial army, she’s pretty notorious for how quickly she rose in the ranks... and how many death traps she’s survived getting sent into. Her commanding officers like to put her on the front lines hoping to make an example of her.

What They Would Get Arrested For: Nearly got court-martialed for desertion. They sent her into the front lines of the Corellian meat-grinder instead. Joke’s on them. She lived.

OC You Ship Them With: I keep deliberating between Sixer and Xiya.

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Vessey, her CO. Every time Rora does something stupid, Vessey nearly strangles her.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Racing movies. She would gladly have a marathon of Fast and Furious.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Historical anything, or period pieces. They’re so sloooooow.

Talents and/or Powers: Stubbornness, a good instinct for a fight, a vibrosword and a couple of hand grenades. She’s a Force-blind melee fighter in a world where Force-blinds use blasters and Sith and Jedi use lightsabers. The fact that she’s still alive is proof enough that she’s very good at what she does.

Why Someone Might Love Them: She’s funny, an excellent fighter and a survivor down to her bones. She’s got very strong faith, and will never, ever give up.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Her thick skin means she looks like she doesn’t care, like things just glance off of her. People think she’s stupid or doesn’t understand things. Her temper can be on something of a hair-trigger, and her accent means she can be difficult to understand. She sometimes uses that to be deliberately obtuse.

How They Change: Opens up to her team about her desertion attempt. Confronts her ex-fiancee at some point. Transitions from a grumpy low-ranking line soldier with a chip on her shoulder, to a commander and a leader who’s well-respected by both her officers and her troops.

Why You Love Them: Despite her upbringing as an only child, she slots PERFECTLY into the family dynamic of the squad- she and Broadwell, their tech boy, are the ‘younger siblings’ who get riffed on and play pranks. Did I mention that she talks like a Scottish Twitter compilation?

[shadowmaat]

Raze shows Issa through the Blackbirds photo album during a quiet night on the Nest. Introduces her to Rabbit, and Maul, Shiv and Tally via pictures, and the rest of them back when things were still okay, and maybe gets a cuddle?

Issa was meditating in the common area of the Nest. Part briefing room, part dining area, and where the Blackbirds tended to hang out when nothing else was happening. It was deep into the night; the only sound was the comforting hum of the engines as they made they way towards their next destination.

Something prickled at the edge of her senses and she heard footsteps approaching, only to halt as they reached the doorway.

“Hello, Raze.” Smiling, she opened her eyes. “Is everything alright?”

It hadn’t taken her long to recognize the Force signatures of the Blackbirds. Raze’s was particularly distinct, reminding her of the beehives in the Temple gardens.

“Sorry, General, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He toyed with the datapad in his hand. “Nothing’s wrong, I just couldn’t sleep and Tango’s writing so I didn’t wanna interrupt, so I thought I’d come here and…” He shrugged.

“Come in, then.” She stood, shaking out her ahwey. “Some company might be nice.”

“Oh. Really?” Looking a little brighter, he entered the common area, heading for the couch. “Well, in that case, did you wanna see some pictures?”

There were dark circles under his eyes, but she returned his smile and moved to sit next to him.

“What kind of pictures?”

“Just the squad and stuff,” he said, pulling up a file. “I figure you haven’t met the Lieu, or Tally or Shiv or… or anyway, this is the next best thing to actually meeting them, yeah?”

The first image he pulled up was Husker in white armor with chipped blue paint. Two younger clones were with him, their armor just as shiny as they were. While Husker looked troubled, the other two were grinning broadly for the camera, their arms flung around each other. The one on the right looked more familiar, which Raze confirmed as he identified them.

“That’s Husk with Rabbit and Rancor. ‘Cept they were just Six and Eight back then. Hadn’t even earned their names yet...”

He trailed off, and Issa’s ahwey prickled as they picked up on his grief. He swiped past. 

“This is on Big Murder Mountain,” he continued, showing a frozen scene with an enormous mountain as a backdrop. The whole squad was posing for this one, including a red-and-black zabrak who must have been Lieutenant Maul.

Issa studied him as Raze gave an overview of their “training mission,” which sounded like nothing short of a nightmare scenario from start to finish. The image had been snapped before their final run on the base, the details of which Raze glossed over other than assuring her that they won.

Next came a mix of shots: Tango blushing bright red as he tried to hide behind a datapad. Their medic, Tally, brandishing an impressive-looking needle with a vicious grin. A group shot on a beach with several of them wearing eye-searing shirts. Misty staring out at the ocean as the sun set. A shot of Lieutenant Maul brushing his teeth for some reason. A Jedi she didn’t recognized covered in blue paint. Raze himself dressed in skin-tight black leather pants and a shirt made of chains. Black marks on his face somewhat resembled Maul’s; Raze told her it was a Sith Lord costume. If real Sith Lords had worn outfits like that the Jedi would have lost simply because they wouldn’t be able to stop laughing. Raze managed to look fairly good in it, if excessive. But that part, at least, was accurate to what she knew of the Sith.

Another image showed Shiv and Maul standing with their foreheads pressed together, and finally, a low-light shot of Rabbit and Rancor, wrapped around each other and smiling in their sleep.

“He was so fast,” Raze said, under his breath. “I don’t understand how... I shoulda done something.”

Issa rested a hand on his arm.

“It never does any good to think like that,” she told him, her voice soft. “I went through something similar when my first Master died.” 

And like that, the sense of loss was back, as raw as ever and flavored now with Raze’s own loss. She took a deep breath.

“But instead of thinking about the things you could have done or should have done or worrying yourself ragged about ‘what ifs,’ what you need to do is remember the good times.” She pictured Master Numig, laughing as she failed a stealth run and getting coated with red powder as a result. It made her smile.

“The Jedi have a lot of platitudes about rejoining the Force, but a friend told me that no one is ever really gone as long as the memory of them lives on.”

“I- yeah,” Raze said, his voice rough. “We’ll always remember Rabbit. Ni partayli, gar darasuum.”

A tear plopped onto the screen. Issa carefully removed the datapad from his unresisting hands and set it aside.

“Would you like a hug?”

In response, Raze flung his arms around her, careful not to crush her ahwey as he sobbed against her shoulder.

Issa returned the hug, wondering how the Jedi had come to view comfort and attachment as things to avoid. Most species needed those things to survive, especially when they were hurting, as Raze was. As all the Blackbirds were.

“I’m here, Raze,” she murmured. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

“I should be over this,” Raze said, voice muffled by her robes. “I’m a soldier. We’re supposed to- to move on.”

“You’re also a person.” She reached up to pat his hair. “People are allowed to feel. And you’re allowed to miss those who’ve left us, too. It shows that they mattered.”

Raze sniffled. “You smell really good.”

Issa laughed. “It’s a special gel to help keep me hydrated in dry conditions. It does smell good, doesn’t it?”

Raze hummed in response, his head growing heavier on her shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She rubbed his back as he let out a heavy sigh, relaxing against her. She could remember times in the creche when she or one of the other younglings had had a nightmare. Without really thinking about it she started to sing the old Mon Cal lullaby that Crechemaster Vrik used to sing to them.

As she felt Raze drifting off to sleep she glanced up to see Tooka standing near the entryway. A small gesture had him shuffling over, yawning widely as he settled in on Raze’s other side, using him as a pillow. She kept singing, allowing her own eyes to close. Emotion, yet peace...

[cinlat]

Fictober18 - day 30

Prompt: “Do we really have to do this again?” Word Count: 576 Characters: Sadio/Torian Fandom: swtor A/N: This is in response to @kunoichi-ume drabble, that was in turn written in response to my drabble, that I wrote because of THIS drabble. Feel free to follow the rabbit trail. 

Sadio’s foot tapped out a rapid beat while she stared down at the newly painted defender droid. Phil didn’t appear bothered by his new markings, but judging by the way Sadio chewed on her cheek, Torian knew the inner tirade that would be playing out in her mind. When she huffed a sadistic laugh, Torian cringed.

“Phil, with me. You need a bath.” Sadio walked past Torian without glancing at him, which meant he wasn’t going to like her new plan. Curious, Torian followed only after Phil had passed to ensure his toes wouldn’t be in the droid’s path. Torian debated whether he really wanted to know what Sadio's plan was. Eventually, he decided that it would be best to see the shit storm coming, than be taken off guard.

By the time Torian reached the droid repair room, Sadio had already begun cursing under her breath. “What kind of paint did he use on you, boy?” Knowing Dubaku, the kind that would hold the longest.

Leaning against the door frame, Torian crossed his arms. “You know, they don’t look half bad.” Sadio’s golden eyes lifted slowly to glare are him. Torian held his hands up, then smirked. “You’ll scrub through his chassis before you get those lines off.”

Sadio threw the rag aside with a frustrated growl, then sat back on the balls of her feet while Phil hummed along. The little defender droid appeared oblivious to his masters’ will to destroy one another with ever evolving pranks.

After a few controlled breaths, Sadio ground her teeth. “This can not go unanswered.”

“How do you know it was aimed at you? Maybe Dubaku is sentimental.” Torian knew it was a stupid question as soon as the words left his mouth. One Sadio didn’t bother to answer as she ran her fingers over the black lines.

“Alright, fine," Torian conceded. "It probably was. But, painting Zabrak tattoos on a droid isn’t as bad as rewiring their water system. I’d run diagnostics on him to be sure Mako didn’t plant a new virus.”

Sadio waved a hand. “I knew Mako could fix their ship, and she’s too good natured to be mean to us through Phil.” Sadio paused, then grimaced. “I think.”

Torian huffed a laugh. “You didn’t live on the same ship as her for three years.”

Planting her hands on her thighs, Sadio pushed upright and paced with incoherent muttering. Finally, a slow grin spread over her face. “I’ve got just the thing.”

Torian thumped the back of his head against the door frame with a sigh. “Do we really have to do this again?”

“Of course.” Sadio’s incredulous response would have made Torian laugh were it not for the way his stomach tightened. “It’s what he expects.”

“Fine,” Torian surrendered. “What are you doing now?”

“That’s the beauty of it all.” Sadio’s grin widened. “I’m not going to do a damn thing.”

Torian’s brows furrowed. “Come again?”

“Dubaku expects me to up the game. His paranoia will be through the roof.” Sadio reached down to pat her droid on the head. “It’ll drive him nuts when they can’t figure out what nefarious thing we’ve done. Then, when he least expects it, I’ll hit him where it hurts.”

“You,” Torian corrected as he turned to leave the room. “What nefarious thing you’ve done. Leave me out of it.”

[taule]

Maul, part I: Broken Boys - early life trauma, survival & Ben Solo parallels

This is going to be an evolving meta that will be posted in a series of installments as I make my way through the various sources piecing the picture together and also attempt to tackle the various themes that pull at my heartstrings. I haven’t attempted to write anything in quite this way before, so there will be inevitable cross-referencing happening and it’s likely that I will come back to certain things later on.

There is something that stood out to me right away, as I started reading The Wrath of Darth Maul, and those are Ben Solo parallels. That doesn’t mean that I equate them in any way, but it does point to certain circumstantial factors that shaped their lives and I believe that what we know about them individually can inform us about the other. 

In both of them we see the effects of what it means to be a victim of the Dark side. The destruction of an innocent, impressionable mind being subjected to unimaginable, systematic cruelty with no protection and no hope of escape. Being taught that everything happening to them is their own doing, and a just punishment. They are the Lost Boys. Both their lives could have been very different and neither went down a path they laid for themselves through choice. And in Maul, especially, the connection to the Dark side is not an inherent one, and was about his environment and matter of birth, more so than something he manifested independently, in contrast to what we know of Ben, whose internal conflict had been apparent from the beginning. 

My interest and inspiration here is to look at how the loss, trauma, deprivation, enduring compassion and capacity for love come together and fit into place in the making of this man. I don’t plan to descend into proper psychoanalysis, but to try and open Maul’s path and mind through some of what we know about Ben, who has been presented as a much more sympathetic character. In fact, hardly as a villain at all. And although I already said that I don’t equate them, I hope to show that the patterns and psychology of it is very similar, even if circumstances differ.

A major difference between Maul and Ben though, is the age at which they began their training, and the fact that Maul was trained to use the Force as a darksider from the start. But the way that the Dark side methods and cruelty in his training contrast with his curious and accepting nature shows that while Darth Sidious took him for his strength in the Force, the same way that Snoke singled out Ben, the darkness wasn’t inherently dominating over the potential for Light in either of them. The question of age definitely plays into this matter, because Ben started training unusually late, and Maul on the other hand very early, and so he wasn’t old enough to have yet started manifesting the imbalance or struggle between Light and Dark the way Ben did.

Unfortunately a lot of the material that has provided information on Maul’s early life has been pushed to the Legends with the Disney acquisition. Which is a shame. Because that material was a source for a lot of insight. I’m not going to shy away from using it as a source here though, because it still shows the original intention in his depiction. And there is very little material that has come later that has overwritten any of what came before. It has mostly just left a hole.

But there are some inconsistencies that derive from the rebranding and restructuring because of later-established sources that no longer had to be consistent with published material. To me, one of the most important ones is the circumstance of his birth. 

The earlier information ( Darth Plagueis, 2012 ) reveals that Maul was born on Iridonia, as one of two male twins to Kycina, a human Nightsister mother from Talzin’s clan, and a Dathomirian Zabrak father that by Dathomirian tradition was killed soon after she became pregnant. Kycina was desperate to find a way to give at least one of her sons a life of freedom. Thinking Talzin was only aware of one of her twins, she offered Maul to Sidious to take as an apprentice, hoping that this would at least give her son a chance of a life free of the fate that awaited him on Dathomir.

The later version goes into no such detail of the circumstance of his birth that I have been able to discern, and it is merely established that Talzin was mother to all three boys (including Savage). And that Sidious had formed an alliance with Talzin, having promised to take her as his apprentice in return for her knowledge. It is when Sidious met Maul and sensed his strength in the Force that he not only broke his promise to Talzin, but also kidnapped her “son”. 

Personally, I remain loyal to the original version. Not only does it answer more questions, but I believe that it offers us valuable insight. I’m sure it was no small amount of consideration that went into giving such an iconic character a backstory. And for it to be imagined in this way tells us quite a bit about how the creators wanted him to be perceived, at least by those who would seek that understanding.

Not to mention the fact that there is no plausible child-parent relationship depicted between Maul and Talzin. And to insist that he’s her son would also mean to accept that this mother did nothing to aid this son of hers who was withering away on Lotho Minor... not before it became convenient and useful for her at least.

And as it is a certain development that Im trying to observe here, chronology is relevant to it. So in the following I’m going to look at the backstory that The Wrath of Darth Maul paints us, starting from his early years in captivity on Mustafar. 

Maul was only 3 or even two at the time, considering that he has already been on Mustafar for a while by the time the book starts. Page 1 of chapter I describes where, and importantly how he is being kept. In a small, featureless room, made of metal. With a single polarized viewport overlooking a river of lava leading to a sea of fire. He was completely isolated and left without any meaningful social interaction. A single droid looked after him, simultaneously serving the functions of his caretaker, teacher and punisher. The very second page in chapter I establishes how little Maul wishes he could escape this place.

He was left in complete emotional and social deprivation. Fed bits of raw meat through a slot in the door that remained shut. Then, forced to exercise until point of collapse. Let’snot forget that this is a toddler that we are talking about. Windham repeatedly emphasizes how small he is. For example, how his feet “only extend a few centimeters over the edge of a seat”.

We are introduced to the circumstance through a frightened child’s eyes. Trying to figure out how to behave in the right way that does not grant punishment. He is being actively conditioned in the most awful, cruel ways. Something that has been (with less written evidence) noted about Ben and the way in which it shaped his thinking for years to come, leaving behind marks that he may never entirely recover from.

“Maul hated the Man even more than he hated the droid. The Man frightened him.”

The book doesn’t describe the first few times that Maul met Sidious, but only that his fear of him was greater than that he felt for the droid that routinely hurt him. 

“Usually, the droid brought pain. Once, the droid had delivered a bright green and yellow snake that wasted no time in attacking Maul, sinking its venomous fangs deep into the boy’s arm.”

“One of the first things he learned was not to cry. Crying never made anything better. Crying only made things worse.”

So these two quotes above should give an adequate idea about what his early childhood boiled down to. Not that we can really call this a childhood. Mind you, this is only from the first pages of chapter one so far, and his training, which is in reality conditioning, only became crueler as he grew. The objective was quite clearly to break him down completely, so he could be put back together in ways that served the abuser’s intended purpose. But there’s nothing vague about all the abuse he’s been described to go through. I wont be including the most graphic depictions of abuse here, but let me tell you it wasn’t easy to read.

I feel it’s been somewhat acknowledged that Maul has a backstory, and that there’s certain tragedy to it. But I’m just not sure in what depth it’s been looked at. And there’s the inevitable difference between how the origin story of the hero vs the villain is looked upon. Regardless of whether the dichotomy is really carved into stone in such a way, as long as it is perceived, it is also applied. 

That also extends to the sympathy with which their lives are viewed. I think we have an interesting case in Ben, because people obviously can’t agree on it. We’ve been sent mixed signals, and we can see how that has changed our perception of his becoming, and our willingness to see him as a victim. Because on one hand there’s the way that he has been initially presented as a villain (even though not explicitly defining him that way) and then there’s his ever-expanding backstory that explains how things ended up that way. And it’s the how that has the power to change... everything. Because it has the power to bring understanding which in turn inspires sympathy, that enables a shift in responsibility. Which can change how we view something to the very core.

“More than ever, Maul wished he were the free-floating boy who appeared to exist beyond the window in his own room. He tried very hard not to tremble as he slowly turned and looked up to face the Man.”

His wish to escape has been mentioned multiple times. And it’s more than about setting the tone, the feeling. It’s confirming over and over that this child didn’t choose this path or fate. Depending on whether we follow the original or the later version, he was either given up by his mother in hopes that this would be better than what awaited on Dathomir, or he was kidnapped. In either case, not there by any choice of his own.

“But he survived.”

And I think this is quite clearly establishes that it’s mightily unfair to talk about choices here. What we’re talking about is survival. Once it becomes about survival, it’s what reframes everything else involved, because we’ve stopped talking about choices. I guess what I’m arguing here is that if we can agree that Ben Solo was a victim of the Dark side, of abuse, conditioning and manipulation, Maul most definitely is. Not only were his circumstances likely far more severe, but he had not known a life outside of it. He had no point of reference for what the alternative could even be and no moral framework outside of avoiding cruel punishment. 

[thewrithingtwilek]

The Writhing Twi’lek - Prequel

There is a lot of mention of past abuse in this bit here and a lot of Ben not caring about what happen to him because of the life he’s been forced into.  So if you’re not down for that, please move on.  :)

Maul is hungry.

It's not a hunger that food can solve.  It's a specific hunger.  Specifically it's the red head twirling artfully around the pole on stage, making it look easy, as if he's some double jointed Twi'lek instead of a skinny human who Maul shouldn't be finding attractive.

Sleek lines and barely enough fat on him to cover the lines of his ribs or the knobs of his spine.  Though Maul knows, not from any personal experience, that to be doing the kinds of moves the lithe, redheaded twink is pulling off, he's stronger than he looks.

Either that, or the tingle Maul has been feeling in his spine all night is the force at work.  But no one on this backwater moon knows that the force is, which is specifically why he comes here.  No one to fear him as a Sith lord, no one to care about his tattoos other than how attractive they make him.

Maul gets more ass on this little shitstain of a moon than a fresher seat and he's not ashamed of admitting it either.

He likes sex.  He likes the power of it. The control of it.  The way he can make his sexual partners write under him with lust and pleasure.  Sex out here, where no one knows his reputation is the only real time he can allow himself to be soft with another living creature.

And right now, he wants to be soft with the pretty fucking thing on stage who's going through his routine with an almost bored look to his face.  As if this is just another night to him.  As if he isn't about to meet the Zabrak who is about to change his entire life.

  Maul swallows the rest of his beer and sets the glass down on the stained and dirty table, getting up and making his way to the stage, a fifty credit stick set between his fingers like the cigarettes he likes to smoke when his master isn't around.  Blue-green eyes latch onto the credit stick, greedy and calculating as they flick up to Maul's.

"Haven't seen you around here before."  The pretty thing purrs and slides down to his knees in a practiced move that puts him on eye level with Maul.  "I'll give you a discount for a first time customer."  

"Yeah?"  Maul leans in and the pretty thing ghosts lips against Maul's before he slips away and out of touching range.  

"Two more of those and I'm all yours for the entire night."  He gives Maul a coy smile and rubs a palm over the shimmering fabric that's just barely covering his cock and balls.  He'd let the Zabrak have him for fifty credits, but if the Zabrak is stupid enough to be flashing that kind of wealth around, Ben is going to milk the idiot for all he's worth.

"Who do I pay for the pleasure of having you?"  The Zabrak purrs and Ben gives him a slow, pleased smile and moves in a slow circle, hips undulating against the air as he turns, showing off his body.  He's a fast healer, always has been, and the lessons he remembered from the temple about using the force to aid in healing injuries means any scars he might have carried are nothing but thin white lines against the paleness of his skin, almost invisible with the shimmer he'd painted on before he'd taken the stage.

Out here the folk are dusty and tanned-leather and there's more than one alien, like the Zabrak, who will pay more for a pure human who looks like Ben does, and he knows it.  He's learned that no one wants to pay more than they have to for sun-freckled skin when they can pretend to be lords for a night.

"You pay me, handsome."  Ben slides back down onto his knees and this time, he lets the Zabrak touch.  Tease them, draw them in, make them him enough they'll pay anything to get their hands on him for a few hours.  He's played this game long enough and well enough that he's almost got enough money saved up for a down payment and first months rent on an apartment near the market.  One hundred and fifty credits puts him that much closer to his goal.  "And then you get to do anything you want."  He leans in again, lets his mouth brush the Zabrak's plush lips.

"Anything?"  The Zabrak quirks a tattooed brow and Ben gives an artful shrug and nibbles over the Zabrak's lower lip, tugging gently.

"Throw in another fifty credits and you can put me in the medi-center."  Ben purrs.  He wouldn't be the first client to like the idea of putting marks on lily-pale skin, punishing the whore as it were.  

The Zabrak chuckles and flicks his tongue over Ben's mouth.  "You like it rough, little one?"

"I like whatever you want me to like."  Ben says with a smile and a flutter of his lashes.  For one hundred and fifty credits he'll let the Zabrak brand him and deal with Kau'an's temper in the morning.  The Zabrak will have to pay a fine of course, but Ben isn't about to tell him that when he's got the biggest payday in a month sitting right in front of him.

The Zabrak draws back and Ben angles his head, watching the Zabrak under his lashes, a move he's perfected in the mirror.  "You have a place?"  The Zabrak asks and Ben slides forward and down, slipping off the stage.

"Of course."  Ben smiles over his shoulder as he starts for the back room, where paying clients get to enjoy their purchases for the night.  Maul watches him walk for a moment, cataloguing the slight limp, the way the pretty thing moves on his toes.  He's got a dancer's way about him, but there's something else, something that Maul can't place.  It makes his eyes narrow and he follows the pretty dancer into the hallway that stinks like sex and then into a little room with a bed and a mirror on the wall.

Maul puts one hundred and fifty credits down on the small table by the door and watches, curious as the pretty thing moves around the room.  There's something *about* the way he moves that makes Maul's horns itch and it stands where he is, just watching as the pretty thin slips up onto the bed, arranging himself as if he's some sort of prize Maul has won.

"Soresu."  He says after a long few moments of watching and it's curious to see the pretty thing startle like a newborn fawn.  Those pretty blue eyes go wide and then dart around the room as if looking for an exit, and that pale skin goes nearly ash grey with a panicked sickness that shows on the pretty things face.

"I-"  He swallows, fighting against the nausea that threatens at the name of the fighting form and then the hot shame of someone *knowing* passes and he raises his chin.  "And?  What of it?"  The pretty thing arches a perfectly sculpted brow and sneers, taking on the perfect air of some Coruscanti courtesan that Maul has had the misfortune of fucking once or twice.  

Maul's face contorts into disgust and for a moment he thinks about taking his credits and finding some other pretty thing to sink his cock into for the night.  It must show on his face because the pretty thing goes from combative to demure and submissive in a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry.  I don't have many lovers who are so in tune with the fighting forms as to know them from the way I move."  Ben purrs the words and moves onto his knees.  "How about we forget about the last three minutes and you come over here and give me something to fill my mouth with."

Maul pushes his cloak off and starts to undress, showing off his body.  His tattoos and the scars almost invisible against the red and black that tangles together from his head down to his feet.  The pretty things breath hitches and Maul smirks.  "Like what you see?"

"You're beautiful."  The pretty thing whispers it and then seems to come out of his trance.  "You know, in a very rugged, handsome way."

"I'll accept beautiful if it's coming from your lips."  Maul says, enjoying the way the pretty thing flushes for him.  "Give me your name."

"Ben."  It's offered up with a smile and a hand held out for Maul.  "Come to bed, mas-"

"Do NOT call me Master."  Maul has to work to not snarl it and there's a carefulness in Ben's eyes.  

"Sorry.  I'm used to -a lot of my other.....they like it."  Ben shrugs and then gives Maul a curious look.  "What do you want me to call you?"  

“Sir.”  Maul says and kicks off his boots, shoving his trousers down to follow them, kicked into the corner.

“Yes sir.”  Ben sits back, knees folded while he waits to figure out what the Zabrak wants from him.  He thinks privately that the Zabrak doesn’t know what he wants, but he’s not stupid enough to voice it.

“Lay on your stomach.”  

“Yes sir.”  Ben gets himself settled, waiting for whatever is coming next.  He slows his breathing, following the old mediation lessons he once hated.  They’re the only reason he hasn’t killed himself yet.  He’s expecting the biting pain of a whip, the burning, lasting sting of the thin rattan stick in the corner, the bright flash of an open handed slap to his ass and thighs.

What he’s not expecting is the weight of a body over his and then a line of soft kisses trailing down his spine.  His entire body tenses up for a moment before he forces himself back into a relaxed state.

“I have a very violent job.”  Maul explains, voice a quiet purr.  “The last thing I want tonight is violence.  Do you understand?”

“I understand, sir.”  

“Good.”  Maul nuzzles a nearly invisible scar just above the swell of Ben’s ass, smiling when Ben shivers.  “Now spread your legs for me.”

XxX  XxX

Ben wiggles his way out of under the Zabrak’s heavy arm as soon as he’s sure the Zabrak is sleeping.  It’s not often he has a gentle client for the night, and the Zabrak had been so gentle with him Ben hadn’t known what to do with himself.

He’s still not sure what to do with himself.

He takes a breath, rubs a hand over his face and gets up, moving quietly to the table by the door and grabbing the credits the Zabrak left for him, slipping out of the door and heading to the dancers lounge to shower and dress, thankful he doesn’t have any injuries to take of.

He’s halfway to the market to shop for food and whatever trinkets catch his eyes when a strong hand grabs his arm.  Ben has his hidden vibroblade out of it’s sleeve pocket before he spins around, holding it out in front of him.  

The Zabrak from last night stands in front of him, letting out a snort when he sees the vibroblade.  And most likely Ben’s stance.  

“Put that away.  You’re going to hurt yourself.”  The Zabrak drawls and Ben glares at him, taking a step back and putting himself in as much of a defensive stance as he can.  

“You got your credits worth last night.”  Ben says quietly, not wanting to draw attention to himself when he doesn’t have to.  Kau’an hates it when the dancers she employs get themselves into trouble and after Jatoba got herself in trouble with the local Weequay mob, Kau’an has a ‘you get yourself into shit you deal with it yourself’ policy.  

“I did.”  The Zabrak rolls his yellow and red eyes and then faster than Ben can keep up with, grabs the vibroblade from his hand.  “I told you to put that away.”

“Force save me.”  Ben huffs a disgusted breath.  “Please tell me you’re not here to save me from this life of sin.”  The Zabrak’s lips twitch and then he laughs, a low amused chuckle that makes every single ounce of Ben’s self preservation sit up and scream.

“Nothing like that.  I wanted to give you a tip for last night.”  He takes Ben’s hand, presses a thousand credits into his palm and closes his fingers around them.  “It should help with the down payment.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Ben spits out and the Zabrak gives him a smile that makes him feel like something small being hunted.  He leans in, draws his finger over Ben’s nose and then tips his chin up, stealing a soft kiss.

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.  And neither of us want that, little Jedi.”

“Don’t call me that.”  Ben wrenches himself out of the Zabrak’s grip.

“I’ll be back in two months.”  The Zabrak says and offers Ben’s vibroblade, hilt out.  “If you don’t have a place for yourself by then....”  He lets the sentence trail off and Ben understands whatever unspoken threat the Zabrak is making.

“I’ll have it.”  He promises and the Zabrak leans in again, grabbing Ben’s chin for another kiss, this one just as soft as the first.  

“Good boy.”

[criticalrolo]

Origins: Chapter Three - Grog Strongjaw, Zabrak (ex) Pirate

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a band of bounty hunters with hearts of gold formed to fight against the growing spread of evil in the Republic. But before they could do that, they each had to come from somewhere.

Based on this Star Wars AU

[ao3]

The stolen PB-950 patrol ship drifts silently through the vacuum of deep space, hovering just close enough to the nearby space lanes that it could easily snatch a malfunctioning ship, but far enough away to avoid detection from normal scanners.

Grog Strongjaw stares out the Titan’s Knuckles viewport window, hand resting lightly on the sturdy hilt of his vibro-ax. If he squints, he can just make out the snarling expression of the bear head painted onto the side of the ship’s double hull. He doesn’t know why, but the sight of his uncle’s symbol makes his stomach feel hollow. Usually the intense anger would inspire him, but for some reason… it hasn’t, recently.

They’ve been waiting in this sector for nearly two days. Maybe the hollowness means he’s hungry.

Grog’s gaze shifts beyond the ship and out further into the distance, where he can see nebulous green and blue clouds that must be light years long filled with distant stars that twinkle brilliantly. There aren’t many pretty things in Grog’s life. Mostly just blood. And gore. And waiting for more blood and gore.

The stars really are pretty. Grog’s thoughts drift off into nothing as he watches them, completely unaware of the figure behind him until a hand slams down on his shoulder.

Instantly Grog’s vision refocuses, and he can see his own reflection looking an almost greyish color in the glass. He turns around too quickly, and almost slams his horns into his uncle’s heavily tattooed chest.

Kevdak glowers at him, and shoves him a step away. Grog barely manages to stop himself from pushing Kevdak back. They’re supposed to be working together.

“Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve been saying, skulag?” Kevdak hisses in Zabraki. “One of the gravity mines detonated and I need you on the ion cannons when we move in.”

Grog, who hadn’t noticed Kevdak at all, considers snarling back his own insults, but bites his tongue.

“You’ve been acting strange for nearly a month now. It’s time for you to remember where your loyalties lie.” Kevdak points an accusing finger at Grog’s heart. “This is your chance to prove to me that you haven’t forgotten what you are – a ruthless, killing machine who runs with this crew to bring in as much profit as possible.”

A haze of red seems to descend over Grog’s vision. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t give a flying kriff what you want, uncle.”

“What did you say?” Kevdak’s hand flexes around the large blaster strapped across his chest.

A Trandoshan pokes his head around the corner. “Captain – we’ve caught up with the ship. Looks to be some sort of emergency transport.”

Kevdak’s eyes narrow at Grog, before he spins on his his heel to follow the Trandoshan back up to the bridge. “Get to the ion cannons, Grog.” And then in Zabraki – “I’ll deal with you later.”

Grog lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before almost reluctantly making his way towards the armaments in the back of the Titan’s Knuckles. He has just settled in behind the cannon when the stars outside blur into streaks and the ship shifts into hyperspace. The jump only lasts for a few moments before coming to an abrupt halt next to a half destroyed ship that was clearly blasted out of hyperspace only a few minutes before. Grog makes quick work of the turrets that try to put up a fight against the pirate ship, blasting them all to pieces before they can get off more than a single volley of shots.

The Titan’s Knuckles drifts in through the wreckage and attaches to the most intact docking port. Grog clambers out of his position behind the ion cannon and runs after the rest of Kevdak’s pirate crew as they start looting the ship for everything it’s worth.

The other ship is in very bad condition. The warning lights flash haphazardly, some of them smashed to pieces by the combined forces of the gravity mine and the bloodthirsty pirates. The spinning red lights almost seem to make the black markings decorating Grog’s body glow.

Picking his way through the debris and bodies that the pirate pack has left behind, Grog notices that the hollow feeling he felt before hasn’t gone away at all. In fact, as he stumbles over the slashed remains of a small body, the feeling seems to grow, until it reaches his heart and lungs as well. He can’t tell if the body belongs to a child, or if all these people were just really little to start. The feeling of his horns scraping across the low ceilings makes him think it was probably the latter.

The pit-like feeling doesn’t go away.

Grog doesn’t understand it – he’s wandered through more scenes of mayhem than he can count, which isn’t a lot, but it’s more than most people. He loves fighting, and battle, and swinging his axe hard enough to cleave his way through dozens of enemies. So why is he feeling so… so…

In the distance, he can hear Kevdak blasting his way through more little people to get to their cargo bay. To his immediate right, he can hear a boot kick a durasteel wall and a hurried “Shh!”

Grog grips his vibro-axe, and shoves aside the metal plating that had fallen in front of a closet door. If he focuses, he can hear two high pitched voices.

“Do you think he heard –?”

“I said quiet!”

He yanks the handle so hard, the hinges screech and rip out of the wall. Far below him, two tiny figures are huddled together. The female figure is wearing dented blue and white armor, while the male is dressed in a purple vest and a strange red hat, with a datapad shoved between his knees. They both look up in absolute horror at him, and they tighten their grips on each other.

Grog – Grog knows what he should be doing. The fact that these two small figures still have heads at all is a failing on his part that Kevdak would make sure he paid for in blood. He unclips his axe from his belt and twists his grip on the handle as it vibrates into life.

“Um…”

The female glares at him, but she can’t quite seem to keep the flicker of fear out of her eyes. Grog should just poke them out, he really really should…

“Well? What are you just standing there for?” she says. Her voice doesn’t waver except for the slightest crack at the end.

“I, uh… “

Grog is still trying to puzzle out why he hasn’t moved yet when a large hand clamps down on his shoulder for the second time that day. In the dim red lighting, Kevdak looks like a monster straight out of a child’s nightmares. His eyes are burning with reflected red light as he glares at Grog.

“The little gnome girl is right. What are you waiting for, Strongjaw?”

Grog will never know what came over him in that moment. He throws his axe on the ground and lands a solid punch square on Kevdak’s jaw.

The fight goes by in a flash. After the first surprise punch, Grog doesn’t get lucky again. Kevdak is spitting with rage and unleashes a flurry of blows on his nephew that land on his chest, his nose, his neck. A swift knee to the chest sends Grog to the ground, and the battering force of a durasteel-toed boot to his ribs make him spit up blood. Grog can’t tell if the red in his vision is the lighting, blood, or his own anger clouding his sight, but everything is spinning and he can’t tell which direction is up anymore.

Kevdak goes to town on him with his boots and his armored fists, and out of the periphery of his fading vision, Grog can see the two small ‘gnomes’ slip away from the fight and disappear into the bowels of the ship.

The crackling in his ribs and the feeling of blood forcing its way out of his throat combined nearly makes Grog miss Kevdak’s hissing in his ear. “Stay on this ship, and die like the rest of them, you useless, pathetic skug. ” Kevdak slams his foot into Grog’s nose, and his mind goes fuzzy for a while. He thinks he sees Kevdak and the rest of the pirates leave him behind as they return to the Titan’s Knuckles with all their spoils.

And then two small pairs of hands are rolling him onto his back, and he thinks he can see two faces swimming in the space above him. The gnome with the red hat is holding his head up while the armored one is smoothing something cool and sticky across his chest and layering bandages across it.

“Don’t worry – I’ve dealt with much worse than this before,” he thinks he hears one of them say. “They didn’t get to us before we sent out an emergency beacon… should be someone on their way… just have to last a few more standard hours… “

Everything is spinning and getting grayer as the pain in his head and his chest swells. Grog tries to focus on the words he’s hearing, but it’s just too hard right now, so he closes his eyes and lets himself slip away.

[fallenrepublick]

Armor

A/N: Alright dudes instead of a headcanon today you get a new fic. Yaaayyyy... It’s with a dominant reader so all you tops out there can rejoice! Is it well written? No. Did I write this because I know you people are thirsty 24/7? Yes. Have fun or whatever

Warnings: Oral/fingering, blood?, Maul’s a bottom here so... sorry?, it’s not fluffy either, is kneeling in general a kink? I think it is

He had commissioned a new set of Mandalorian armor for you. A dark, ominous red painted the shields on your arms and legs. Black markings traced down the middles and sides, mirroring those on the body of your lover. At first glance, the piece seemed to blend you into the other members of Death Watch, albeit newer and most likely even stronger than theirs. However, further investigation showed golden accents on the edges, lining each piece of armor as a reminder to those around you of your supposed royal status now. Your helmet was no less extravagant. Detailed paint covered the face as well, with a tinted black eyepiece hiding your features. Before each battle, when you walked through the army of Mandalorians who had pledged their allegiance to Maul, and by extension to you, voices went silent. All heads turned to you in preparation for what was to come.

Maul had fought you at first about it, saying that allowing you into battle was absolutely out of the question. The thought, the risk that went into even considering anything happening to you was enough to rock him to his core. And yet, with persistent enough coddling and a painful amount of reassurance that you’d lead from behind, he relented and had a new set of armor created specifically for you, also insisting that he let everyone know that you getting hurt would result in everyone’s punishment.

But that set currently sat on the top of a dresser to the right of your alcove. The sun was setting on the city and enough clouds were rolling in on the horizon to merit concern over a potential storm. It was later than Maul said he’d be back and frequent glances at your new armor sent thoughts of seeking him out passing through your mind. A soft tremble in the atmosphere could be heard in the distance.

The door slid open to reveal your Zabrak, posture indicating a tense and frustrating meeting with the other Syndicate lords. He walked like a predator seeking out his prey for the day. Had you not known any better, you might have been concerned. Yet even as he stalked toward you, you barely turned, hoping maybe the silent treatment would make him feel guilty for leaving you behind.

“My Starlight,” he practically whispered, seating himself on the edge of your navy window cushion. You didn’t turn to him.

“You left me.” Your head remained turned out the window, hiding a scowl wiped across your face.

“I know, I didn’t mean-”

“I just don’t understand why I can’t stand by you. I mean,” you gestured towards the dresser. “You make it seem like I’m here ruling with you, but when it matters, and I mean really matters, I’m stuck in this room like a pet waiting for you to come back for me and tell me I can do something.”

Maul didn’t move, breath shaking and eyes scanning your face for a hint of what to say. If even possible, his voice went quieter. “Darling, these men are… criminals to say the least. If anything were to go wrong and their allegiance changes, then-”

“Then they’ll know who’s hunting them. That’s what you were going to say, right?” You stared, testing and daring him to bite back.

“That depends on whether or not they’re hunting you.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t that be something,” you scoffed, shaking your head slightly at the thought. He tried to reach over to hold your hand, but you yanked it away, snapping around to face him. “I’m not as weak as you think I am, you know. If you want me to be some sort of trophy wife, just tell me, but I’m not going to pretend like I’m doing anything that matters.”

“That is not,” he growled back, leaning closer towards you, “What you are. You are my queen, Starlight, with just as much power as I, if not more.”

“Yeah sure. Bow to me like one and then maybe we’ll talk.”

A smile tugged on Maul’s lips. His hand traveled slowly across the soft fabric of the cushion, landing on the backs of your calves, moving up to your thighs. Warm fingers made paths across your skin as you struggled to keep a straight face. He pushed himself in front of you, one of his mechanical legs kneeling between your own, the gentle traces turning into a firm grip.

“So that’s what you want?” His voice was a low rumble, lips dangerously close to your inner thighs. “You want to be worshiped?”

His horns brushed against you, moving further up, pressing you to answer his questions. Your head turned back to the window a moment, contemplating. The clouds had rolled in fully, thunder shaking the glass panels and strikes of lightning painting pictures of electricity in the distance. Your breath slowed and you faced him again, amber eyes glowing in the coming darkness, awaiting your command.

“Yes.”

He slid you down closer to him, leaving you on your back entirely. His hands moved up, spreading your legs further apart for him to gain access to, planting lazy kisses along your inner thigh. He traced bites up and down your leg, marking every inch of bare skin he could find. You held in any sounds of pleasure or desire that might have come from you on any other day, wishing to deprive him of any knowledge of what you wanted. One of your hands pressed up against the wall behind you, leaving you wishing for something to hold on to.

“Then, my queen,” He moved up, tugging at the seams of your already soaked underwear. “I will do as you command.”

Maul’s fingers went to work, pressing against your folds and moving further into you, curling as they moved. Your hand found his horns, gripping them and pressing him up against you, eliciting a growl from the back of his throat. You knew what he was doing and you knew the consequences that came with it, yet the anticipation pulled your legs in tight enough to draw blood against the horns on the sides of his head, dripping down and mixing with saliva and the juices already dripping down the sides of your legs.

His tongue slid in, stroking the inside hastily and desperately. Every movement he made sent shivers down your spine, stars dotting your peripherals and an overwhelming awareness of every place he touched taking hold of your mind. You couldn’t hold it back any longer as your gasps and moans escaped your throat, only causing him to want you more. His thumb rubbed your clit, causing your thighs to tighten around him and your legs to curl around his shoulders.

“Faster. Go faster,” you managed to call out louder than you had meant to. In your head, you knew that people could hear, knew that the walls of the palace were not nearly thick enough to contain your moans and commands. Yet, as it stood, you wanted them to hear it.

As if a switch had been flicked, the Zabrak obeyed almost immediately, adding yet another finger inside of you and setting the pace from that of a heartbeat to a race fast enough to make you crumble. The added pressure pushed you to your limit, back arching and cries of his name resounding off of the metal walls. The vibrations of his gentle purrs against you shook you to your core, a painful juxtaposition to his less-than-gentle movement otherwise, and you bucked your hips against him, forcing the sensations to only deepen.

The nipping and biting became more frequent, Maul sensing how close you were, the knot in your stomach becoming more and more difficult to contain. The control he gave you was like a drug. On any normal occasion, you’d be under him, begging, pleading for your release, and it was only after he told you to, that you came. But here, as desperate as you were, no commands or orders were uttered from your lover. He only worked as directed, as if driven entirely by your desire. Electricity shot through your vision when you came, a cry reverberating through the room as you soaked him in your cum. He took no time in relishing your taste, licking a sucking until there was nothing left.

Your breath still rushed, your heartbeat faster than ever. Maul rested his head on your knee.

“My queen,” he gasped, visibly exhausted as well. “Did I please you?”

You smiled at him, sliding your legs off of the cushion. Standing up, you took one of his hands, urging him to follow you.

“You did,” you hummed, looking back at him. Once he was standing, you placed your hand on his shoulder, pushing him down onto his knees. His eyes gazed at you, confused, yet obedient, as a pet does waiting for a treat from their master. You pressed your foot on top of his thigh, a hand lifting to stroke the tattoos on his cheek lightly. “But that does not mean we’re finished yet.”

[a-dorin]

lust | darth maul

word count: 1,576

warnings: cursing, lust, pet names (angel), an affair, mentions of sex

a/n: hi! so this is a song fic as well! the song is feelings by maroon 5! i felt that it fit the prompt and mood of this. again, this is a fic i wrote at 4 am, so i hope that it’s not too shabby. p.s. (y/m/n) = your middle name. p.ps. enjoy! :)  

prompt:  “I'd like to read about Maul secretly longing for someone else's wife. Like, Gar Saxon's, for example?”

not my gif

every guy that passes by, look at her, look at her oh...

“is that saxon’s wife? 

“i’m guessing so, she’s absolutely stunning.”

“no wonder saxon keeps her away from us. i can’t keep my eyes off of her.”

hushed murmurs flooded your ears, yet your eyes were trained on the armed warrior standing before the throne room, gleaming red as the sun filtered in through the viewports. his blonde hair glowed, his eyes crinkled as he laughed, your heart skipping a beat. there stood your husband, as handsome as ever, bathed in pure, radiant light. 

“saxon you have a visitor!” a fellow warrior called out, teasing. 

gar turned, eyes widening in surprise, a grin developing his features, “what a lovely surprise.”

you pressed your lips to his for a chaste kiss, giggling, “i figured i would stop by.”

“i appreciate it love,” gar’s voice was soft, endearing, “and you brought me some lunch as well.”

“i knew you wouldn’t mind that one bit,” you set the parcel in your lover’s hands, “it’s your favorite.”

“why thank you-” your husband chuckled, but was interrupted by a low rumble.

“how charming.”

swiveling on your heel, you eyes fell on the shadow as he sat on the throne. his skin was a rich crimson, intricate tattoos woven all over his body. his horns were an ivory tint, lining his skull. even though there was plenty of light in the throne room, his golden eyes glowed. his aura radiated sheer darkness and power as he sat on throne, your heart racing in your chest. he was a species you had never quite encountered before, a zabrak. from what you recalled, he was from dathomir, as most male zabraki descended from that planet. 

“lord maul,” your husband cleared his throat, “this is my wife, (y/n) (y/m/n) saxon.”

“your wife?” the zabrak narrowed his eyes, licking his lips, “i was not aware you had a wife.”

“i am honored to meet you,” you curtsied, demonstrating your respect, “i was not aware that i was standing before the ruler of mandalore.”

a smirk crept onto the zabrak’s lips, “and it is a pleasure to meet the wife of gar saxon.” 

gar narrowed his eyes, “(y/n), perhaps i should escort you out, hmm? i don’t want to distract my superior from his duties.”

your breath hitched in your throat as you realized how the zabrak was admiring you. his amber eyes floated over you, practically drinking you in. he locked eyes with you, your throat tightening as his incisors poked against his lower lip as he grinned. maker, did this being hold a power over you, and you had only just met. thoughts buzzed in your mind, clouding your ability to remain focused, 

admiring me from afar gets you nowhere, angel. the zarbrak’s voice entered your mind. gar’s hand gripped yours, pulling you away from the throne, his fingers lacing with yours. the action snapped you out of your trance, your attention shifting from the zabrak to your husband as he escorted you out of the throne room, grumbling to himself.

turning your head, you glanced back, noticing that the zabrak’s eyes followed the swing of your hips, a satisfied look enveloping his features. however, his eyes were focused on one particular aspect of your body as you walked away. 

and you say that it’s not right... 

his eyes focused on your left hand, on our wedding band, the diamond glittering. his eyes hardened, lips curling into a scowl. swallowing thickly, you shook your head in desperate attempts to shake away the thoughts consuming your mind. filthy, horrid thoughts. thoughts that no wife should possess as her husband stood by her side. 

the zabrak was by far the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. 

hours later, maul sat on the throne, his mind wandering as the sun began to dip over the horizon, an orange glow cascading over the throne room. his chin rested on his hand, his eyes watching the the sky transition from cyan to navy, the sun slipping away, stars painting the sky. 

his thoughts were filled of nothing but her. how she entered the throne room so elegantly, her aura exuding confidence. how she curtsied in front of him, her lashes fluttering, her soft lips parted so slightly. the way her robes complemented the color of her hair, along with her eyes. maker, how maul longed to fall into their depths once more. her eyes were gorgeous, a pure, brilliant color. they were the window to her true emotions, glittering with admiration as she glanced at him. 

never had maul witnessed such raw, devine, beauty. the zabrak craved to see her once more. to watch her lips curl into that radiant smile. to hear her sweet, melodic voice fill his ears. 

yet, there was one thing standing in the zabrak’s way, a growl of frustration tumbling from his lips. 

gar saxon stood in maul’s way, and maul was more than determined to make (y/n) his. a fire was kindled inside of the zabrak as he rose from his throne, burning within him, consuming him whole. this was a task that was not going to be easy, but maul wanted her, more than anything in his life. he wanted more than his desire to watch the jedi to fall. he wanted her more than to his destiny to rule over the galaxy.

darth maul wanted (y/n) (y/m/n) saxon. 

three months after

“i lost my inhibitions tonight angel,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion, “you’re going to have to hide those.”

“it’s nothing i haven’t done before,” you exhaled, feeling his arms wrap around your frame, pulling you closer to him. 

but where does he think you are tonight..

“are you sure you want to keep meeting like this?” his lips were soft as they grazed your temple, “do you think he knows? or even has the slightest premonition about us? we’ve been sneaking away like this often, (y/n). does he ever ask where you disappear to?”

you frowned, shrugging, “he’s too preoccupied with his work to even notice, really.”

“what an insolent bastard,” a growl rose in his throat, vibrating against your shoulder blade, “he’s a terrible man. an even more awful husband.”

you rolled over, your eyes falling on the zabrak, his crimson and black skin glowing in the moonlight, “and what makes you say that?”

does he know you're nasty inside...

“i mean, he doesn’t have the slightest bit of intelligence to notice that his wife slips away almost every night. he can’t even see how terribly he’s treating his wife. he can’t see that his superior is fucking his wife’s brains out, the marks plastering her collarbone and thighs. it’s ridiculous, (y/n).”

your eyes narrowed, “are you saying that i’m wrong for this? wrong for having this affair?”

i know he doesn't satisfy you like i do...

he shook his head, “no. that’s not what i meant what i said that.”

“then what do you mean?”

“there’s so much more to you than just being his wife, (y/n). i know that he just views you as his arm candy, as some woman he can sex with, potentially have some children with. but’s all selfish. it’s all of his own benefit. it’s quite transparent that you’re not satisfied with him. that he cannot please you or provide you all of your basic needs and wants,” his voice was soft, eyes glowing amber in the dim light. 

“you sound like you’re jealous,” you teased, your tone lighthearted, “you’re just jealous that i’m not your wife. that you can’t give me what i want.”

so let me tell you all the things he never told you...

the zabrak paused, formulating a response, “i will admit it, i am jealous. every single damn time i see you with that imbecile, pure rage fills me to the brim. i have to remind myself that i can’t express that fury. i have to remind myself that we are not together. that we are simply no strings attached, meeting in the night to fulfill our fantasies. but it pains me, (y/n). i can’t help but feel remorse that you’re not mine. i want to give you everything you could dream of. you could tell me to give you the stars and i would in a heartbeat. i want you to be mine so badly, but you made a promise with him. you made a vow.”

“every time i see you,” you murmured, your voice so low the zabrak could barely distinguish the words, “every time i see you, i break those vows. i feel this connection with you, maul. there’s this bond between us that i cannot break, no matter how hard i try. i know we haven’t know one another long, but i am attracted to you, in more ways than just lust.”

“well,” a hand slipped under your chin, tilting it so that your eyes connected with his. your heart skipped a beat as you glimpsed a twinkle in his eye, as if he was seeing the beauty of the stars for the first time. as if the most wonderful thing in the universe was in his grasp. 

i got these feelings for you, and i can't help myself no more

“i-i’m not sure how to say this (y/n), but i’m falling in love with you.”

[snootysith]

The Mark of a Good Sith (1/?)

@fluffynexu This is way overdue. So overdue. 

Title: The Mark of a Good Sith Words: 4269 Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters/(Pairings): Darth Vowrawn/Lord Cytharat, Darth Vowrawn/Darth Gravus, Lord Haresh, Overseer Harkun  Rating: Mature (for now) Warning: Age Difference (it’s huge), Power Imbalance (also huge), Vowrawn’s Ego (astronomical)  Summary: Darth Vowrawn spies promise in young Cytharat.  A/N: I haven’t dedicated this much effort in writing in actual years lmao but Vowrawn is worth it. I’m trying to pace myself and drop lines here and there to expand in future fics. Hopefully. Story under the cut.

Korriban was exceptionally frigid today.

Darth Vowrawn would call it bracing.

After having spent the last few hours rattling off the annual budget plan, he needed something to lift his spirits. The attendance of Dark Councilors tended to flounder this time of year. It was practically a holiday and he would have been happy to treat it as one himself if Darth Marr wasn’t so insufferably diligent.  

Always present, always punctual, and never asleep behind that mask. Definitely not. Never the great Darth Marr.

Vowrawn gave a snort, startling an acolyte who hadn’t noticed him standing in the shadow of the statue. Amused, he watched her bow her head and quicken her pace. Fifty years and the novelty still hadn’t rubbed off. He enjoyed the attention. It came with being a social magnet and not a terror like Ravage whose temper evoked hysteria more than deference.

Unseemly. Where was the panache?      

Vowrawn spotted sleek, silver hair bobbing up the steps. Why, here he was.

Vowrawn pressed himself closer to the statue and carefully blanketed his presence, waiting until his quarry passed him. He propelled forward. “Surprise!”

Darth Gravus didn’t so much as bat an eyelash as he latched to his arm. “Still beating that dead horse?”

“If it worked once…”

Gravus raised his eyes upwards praying for strength as Vowrawn cheerfully rattled on about their academy days-- how Gravus nearly gutted him like a fish the first time they crossed, how the overseers had to keep them in separate dorms following the incident, how the two of them had been rivals until a compromise was made inside a second-floor utility closet, and how the overseers had to keep them in separate dorms again for all the racket they made—

“Are you proposing we recreate our first time?” Gravus interrupted. “I’ll have to disappoint you. I can’t lift you up without killing my back.”

“Nothing so pedestrian,” Vowrawn huffed. “You could at least try to play along. I’ve had a dreadful day as is.”

“Ah, Darth Marr was in attendance again?”

“He’s doing it to spite me,” Vowrawn said peevishly. “He thinks I’m up to no good in my free time.”

It was truly a mark of their bond that Gravus made no attempt to take the bait. Disappointing.

“You never relax,” he replied. “Even when you sleep. Business is your pleasure. You capitalize your time and effort. Which begs the question: why else are you here?”

“Can’t a man spend time with his oldest and dearest friend?” Vowrawn asked innocently.  

Gravus gave him a long-suffering look.

Vowrawn chuckled and leaned heavily on his companion. “I’m in the market for a new apprentice if you must know,” he said.

Gravus’s mouth twitched. “As am I.”

“What are the chances! I hear there’s a promising batch of acolytes this month. I wanted a sneak peek.”

“What are the chances, indeed…” Gravus said, narrowing his eyes. “You still have Qet, don’t you? He could just as easily do this for you. There’s no reason to get your hands dirty.”

“I might as well stamp my name on his forehead,” Vowrawn drawled. “They all know who he serves. It’s counterproductive. Besides, I thought you could use the company.”

Gravus raised an eyebrow. “I should be so lucky.”

“How is dear Thana?” Vowrawn simpered. He gave Gravus’s hand a brief squeeze before those brown eyes could harden. “I’m only teasing.”

“She’ll be back,” Gravus said dismissively. “Until then, an extra pair of hands would not go amiss. I don’t have time or the appropriate people to run other operations.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“Really?”

They stopped short in front of the ancient obelisk that dwarfed the room but they might as well have been standing beside rubble for all the attention they drew. Overseers and acolytes alike stared at them as they passed. Whether it was out of curiosity, awe, or fear it mattered not. No one, not even a fresh initiate, could be heedless of their power.

“You’ve always spoke so highly of Qet,” Gravus continued. “I thought he was more than capable.”

“He’ll never lack in enthusiasm,” Vowrawn said. “But I want someone with more finesse. More guile. Someone able to move about without riding any coattails. Chiefly, mine.”

“An assassin.”

“Of sorts.”

“A glorified errand boy.”

“You’re so sure it’s going to be a boy.”

“You have a track record. And a predisposition.”

Vowrawn pulled a face. “Sith in glass houses should not throw lightning.” With that, he broke away to head down the lower hallways.

“And just where are you going?” Gravus caught up to him and grabbed him by the elbow. “The acolytes are upstairs with Cestus.”

Vowrawn shook off his hand. “The academy has more than one room, you know.”

“There aren’t any ‘rooms’ where you’re going. Only slave pens.”

“Semantics.” “Slaves, aliens, and Harkun’s ilk.” Gravus sneered as though the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “They are not worthy of your time. You shouldn’t be seen with them.”

Ah, there it was. Rearing its ugly head again. Always so quick to discard diamonds in the rough.

Vowrawn made a dismissive noise. “By all means, head upstairs if the muck scares you. I have other robes and a strong stomach.”

He really ought to stop baiting the man but he wanted his company and a second opinion once they got around to reaching the training room.

Good student that he was, Vowrawn had done his homework before coming to the academy. The subject had changed but the principle was relatively the same. Analyzing class rosters, weighing each potential’s strengths and weaknesses, predicting the likelihood of improvement—he had done so in his youth to help cull his competition early. Now, it would help in preserving where it mattered.  

But numbers and secondhand information only painted broad strokes. Something like this required a deft hand, a critical eye, and—

Vowrawn paused briefly as he was hit with a potent smell of battle and musk.

— apparently, his nose too.

His interest only intensified when he slipped into the training room amidst the fracas of clashing vibroblades and curses. He leaned against the doorjamb right beside a ragged training dummy while Gravus lurked just out of sight near the doorway, clearly too proud to step further inside but apprehensive about letting Vowrawn out of his sight.

Darling man.

There was suddenly a ferocious snarl and Vowrawn was immediately drawn back to the other occupants in the room.  

A Zabrak with dusky orange skin and a web of black facial tattoos had launched himself at another acolyte, nearly toppling them both. The strength of his attack belayed his lanky form. There was no technique in his attacks just raw instinct. This clearly wasn’t his first fight though. His response to the other acolyte’s flurry of swings was almost immediate, weaving side to side, managing to dodge all attacks— save one.

The Zabrak stumbled back with another curse as the vibroblade landed a blow on his upper arm. Tricked by a clever little feint by a surprisingly proficient swordsman.

And, hello, what a dashing swordsman it was.  

Vowrawn’s nose twitched as he scented the air again. There was no missing a fellow Sith pureblood, especially one battered, bruised, and drenched in sweat. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and long training hours but in the heat of the duel, those yellow eyes shone bright as gold.

His steps were more certain than the Zabrak’s, more practiced and quick, but there was a pattern to his movement. His eyes kept darting to the position of his blade, he constantly corrected his posture, and his lips moved soundlessly to form… encouragement? Or was he reciting instructions? Right foot forward, lunge, disengage, parry, advance, retreat, advance, advance.

The footwork did look pretty if one ignored how much ground he lost for it.    

“What is he doing here?” Gravus muttered. “Blood as blue as he is red… what is he trying to prove pitting himself against slaves?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Vowrawn said absently. His gaze remained fixed on the young Sith pureblood, admiring his lean but strong figure as he pressed another attack.

“Beg—oh.” Comprehension flickered in Gravus’s eyes as he reexamined the young Sith pureblood more closely. Tailored robes. Perfect posture. A fondness for jewelry.

Vowrawn’s eyes crinkled in amusement when Gravus gave him a sidelong look. Why, yes darling, the similarity was uncanny. It tickled his interest and, admittedly, his vanity too.

“A boy like that doesn’t accidentally find himself in a slave pen,” Gravus said slowly. “A fall from grace?”

“Oh, most certainly.”

“How far up?”

“Very.”

Gravus clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Politics.”

Vowrawn stifled a laugh and crossed his arms. “Politics,” he agreed. Such was the capricious life of the Sith aristocracy. Hosts of houses could be made and unmade over mere trifles. The pretense, the promises, the scandal—it always upset Gravus’s nouveau riche sensibilities. Ho hum.

It was disappointing but perhaps it was for the best. Politics, while entertaining, demanded the highest stakes for the greatest rewards and he was not ready to surrender his favorite just yet. He’d invested so much in him, after all. He had aged so well and was clever enough to keep him amused after all these years. Losing him would be a terrible waste.

The duel carried on a great deal longer. Neither acolytes would yield despite the toll it was taking on them. Their footwork became less steady, every swing seemed to shave a week off their very lifespan, and drawing breath was its own labor. So wrapped up in wearing each other down, they still had yet to even notice their audience. Incredible.

“That boy.” Gravus indicated the Sith pureblood with a raised chin. “Caught your eye, has he?”

Vowrawn raised his brow. “Perhaps.”

“I heard Malgus has designs on him already.”

Vowrawn finally tore his gaze away to give him an odd look. Darth “Gossip is For Spinsters” Gravus?

“You aren’t the only one who likes to know things,” Gravus said dryly. “Besides, do you really want to make an enemy of that man?”

Vowrawn smiled. “I love it when you fuss over me,” he said. “Have no fear. I know what I’m doing.”

He waited until the Zabrak pressed an advantage over the Sith pureblood, virtually throwing all his weight behind one last desperate attack. The Sith pureblood stumbled down to one knee, chest heaving, arms trembling, and he seemed to brace for a blow that would knock him clean out.

Which, no doubt, would have been his fate if Vowrawn hadn’t chosen that precise moment to loudly clear his throat.

The Zabrak gave a start and whirled around—only to trip on his opponent’s vibroblade and land face-first into the sweat soaked mat.

Gravus wrinkled his nose.

Vowrawn smothered his chuckle with a cough and scampered out the room, shoving lightly at Gravus to pick up the pace before the young Sith pureblood could catch sight of them.

It wasn’t until they were both entrenched in the second-floor library that Vowrawn allowed himself to laugh. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“The boy.”

Gravus rubbed his chin as he mulled over this. “He’s pretty,” he said at length. He suddenly glanced at Vowrawn. “He looks like you when you were his age.”

Vowrawn’s lips quirked up into a playful smile. “You thought I was pretty?”

“There were other things that came to mind when I thought of you.”

“Disgusting,” Vowrawn crooned.  

Gravus smirked. “Truthfully,” he went on. “His pedigree is plain. He must have come out of preparatory school with high marks. If not, I wonder how he hasn’t choked on the silver spoon in his mouth yet. It must be small then if he’s still sorted with aliens. Politics. Everything to lose and little to gain. But then…” He gave Vowrawn a sidelong look. “You already know all this, don’t you?”

Vowrawn only smiled.

“Is this you testing my good sense again?” There was a touch of annoyance in his voice. “Or do you really intend to make the boy your apprentice?”

“Perhaps.” If anything, the demonstration today also kindled an interest in the Zabrak but Vowrawn kept that thought safely to himself. Gravus had a limit in tolerating his eccentricities.

“What is his name? The boy.”

“Cytharat.” More a title than a name. Much like Vowrawn had inherited his from his own father.

Gravus wrinkled his nose. “My condolences.”

“It’s from the Old Tongue. It’s lovely.”

“As I’m sure you’ll describe ‘it’ once you’re through with him.”

“Cestus is calling,” Vowrawn huffed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Gravus answered with a knowing smirk before departing. Vowrawn chalked this up as a tie.

Despite all the unsavory rumors of his private life, he seldom dabbled with men as young as Cytharat. Youth had its advantages but when it came to romance, they tended to fall in love too easily and it was more trouble than it was worth disentangling from them. Qet was evidence enough of that.

But that wasn’t to say he couldn’t indulge himself once in awhile.

With a little skip in his step, Darth Vowrawn made his way back downstairs, acolytes scattering in his wake.

--

Cytharat held Harkun’s stare in the thundering silence that followed.

He had already taken a sound beating in the training room. His pride could withstand a little more.

After dragging themselves to the nearest refreshers to scrub off the worse of the grime, he and Haresh were immediately summoned to Harkun’s office. More acolytes had huddled in the closed space before but their numbers had dwindled in a matter of weeks. Now it had come down to just four of them.

Haresh was a formidable rival, more so because he prevailed despite the deck stacked against him, and Cytharat respected him for it. The feeling was not mutual. Harkun had seen fit to drive a wedge between them at every turn. He was intent upon driving Haresh into the ground and considered Cytharat’s predicament with little more than a sneer.

There was no honor in being handed someone else’s accolades but Harkun had done so time and time again. It wasn’t even out of favoritism so much as ease. Cytharat just happened to be the nearest receptacle. He had tried to explain it to Haresh once the Zabrak had dragged himself out of the lower wilds.

Haresh had glowered at him. “You never turned them down.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Haresh’s laugh was devoid of humor. “Right, because you know how that feels more than me.”

No. They’d never be friends.

The Sith Academy was a treacherous path to navigate alone. Cytharat endured but he had his limits.

Haresh was stone-faced as Harkun’s hurled insults at him, while Cytharat stood to the side watching with a tired detachment.

“—any wonder why I have to suffer when you can’t amount to anything more than an animal,” Harkun snapped. “Even against the lowest Sith, you fail. What good is being an animal if you can’t even hold your own against a few swats—”

“No.” Cytharat could not stomach the indignity.

A terrible hush fell upon the room.

Haresh was giving him an odd look. Harkun had gone tightlipped with anger as he suddenly turned to glare at him.

“No,” Cytharat said in a low voice. “Haresh would have won.”

Harkun’s eyes narrowed. “Modesty will get you nowhere.”

“It is a fact.”

“Then it is a wretched lie. Are you a liar, boy, or just a fool?”

An insult sat heavily on Cytharat’s tongue. It pressed tight behind his teeth. He need only open his mouth.

Harkun stared into his face expectantly. “Well?”

Cytharat stared back at his overseer and felt his disapproval bake on his skin. Foolish. One step to completing his trials. One step to breaking free of the humiliation. He had inherited a legacy of soul crushing shame, what was a little more? It was only temporary and—and mother. To disappoint her would… to have come so far, to have sacrificed what favors they had left for nothing—  

Cytharat lowered his eyes and swallowed.

Harkun’s smugness was almost palpable. “I thought so.” He turned his back to him. “Spineless like your old man.”

Oh no.

Bile rose in his throat. “And are you spineless, overseer, or just a fool?”

Harkun went ramrod straight as though he were hit with a bolt of lightning. He turned back ever so slowly, his eyes brimming with murder. “What did you say to me?” he whispered.

Mother was going to skin him alive. “Haresh would have won,” Cytharat said. “He is strong, he has potential to be Sith, he is an asset. We stand to gain nothing from squandering power.”

“You dare tell me how to do my own job, acolyte?”

“Someone must.”

Harkun reddened. His knuckles audibly popped as his hands curled into fists.

Cytharat resolutely held his gaze and braced for the brunt of his rage. He was only distantly aware of Haresh stepping to the side. Out of firing range.

Smart.

His tongue swiped out to wet his cracked lips. He wondered if his punishment would be greater if he threw up his own protective barrier.

The tension was thick and crackled with energy—or perhaps that was just the lightning between Harkun’s fingers.

There was suddenly a smattering of applause.

Harkun glanced towards the doorway and his face fell. The tension bled from his body and he seemed to curl inwards. He was as pale as a sheet, looking for all the world like a lost child.  

There was no time to relish the moment. Not when Cytharat’s own mind stalled when he turned around to look at their visitor.

“D… Darth…” Harkun seemed only capable of wheezing.

“Darth Vowrawn…” Cytharat breathed.

The elderly Sith leaned against the doorway with a crooked smile. He wiggled a few fingers at them in a half-hearted wave. “Have you considered being an actor?” He smiled at Cytharat. “Playing martyr wins you many hearts.”

--

No. The novelty had definitely not worn off.

Harkun’s face alone could cheer him up for several rainy days.

The Zabrak—Haresh— looked at him warily but uncomprehendingly. An fresh, off-world slave, no doubt, if his name invoked such little reaction.

Ah, but Cytharat recognized him in an instant. Interesting.

“So sorry for the intrusion,” Vowrawn said. “All the excitement piqued my curiosity. It is always a pleasure to see an acolyte take his education so seriously, no?”

“As you say, my lord,” Harkun said weakly.

“Might I borrow him?”

Harkun’s mouth audibly clicked shut and he glanced back and forth between Vowrawn and Cytharat. Did the man have the stomach to swallow all that pride and answer a smile with a smile?

A grin—a grimace really—split Harkun’s face. Close enough. “He is yours, Dark Lord. May you find him as agreeable as I do.” Well, well. Bold move, overseer.

Vowrawn’s gaze drifted to Cytharat’s bald faced astonishment and then briefly on Haresh.

Resentment bled from the Zabrak like an open, festering wound but he wore his mask well enough. Such potential there, too. Quiet and insidious and familiar to Vowrawn as his own limb.

“This won’t take long,” Vowrawn said once Cytharat fell into step. “As I’m sure you’re eager to join the fray again. I take it introductions are unnecessary?”

“I… yes, Darth Vowrawn. It is an honor.”

“The honor is entirely mine, dear boy,” Vowrawn purred. “I am rarely afforded the time to mingle with acolytes but it is always refreshing to find one with such passion and avant-garde. Between you and me…” He lowered his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “The empire could stand to have more of you.”

The young Sith cracked a smile and Vowrawn counted it a victory.

He led them further down the hall and into to the academy’s cantina—empty, always curiously empty— where they settled comfortably on a couch. Or he did anyway.

Cytharat carefully put distance between them and kept his spine perfectly straight. He kept his eyes lowered, deferential and attentive, while Vowrawn’s mouth started running on autopilot.

Such a dutiful, well-mannered son of the empire.

A dime a dozen. How droll.

Where was the initiative he saw?

Cytharat chuckled softly at something he said and—

What was he saying? “—cient history, of course. You should thank your stars Overseer Ragate only administers the rite. The mortality rate of Sith purebloods increased under her tutelage no thanks to me.” Gossip. Hmph. Gravus was right. He could write an entire series of holomagazines.

“You know, it’s positively criminal that we haven’t been acquainted yet,” Vowrawn said abruptly.

Cytharat blinked the glaze from his eyes. “We have met before. Once.”

“Oh? I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

“I was only a boy then,” Cytharat said. “It was at a party celebrating Darth Ananta’s sixtieth birthday.”

Vowrawn stifled a laugh. His dear aunt had been celebrating her sixtieth birthday for almost four decades now. He’d be hard pressed to pick one face from swarming partygoers—not least because he’d been blind drunk more often than not.

“Cytharat, Cytharat, Cytharat…” Vowrawn hummed as he racked his brain. The name had come attached to someone that was certainly not a child then. Someone of note. Someone he had bothered to remember, fuzzy outline notwithstanding.

His eyes drew to the intricate gold bar clamped to the bridge of his nose. There were stories in the bits and baubles a Sith pureblood wore and it was a mark of pride that Cytharat stubbornly kept his.

Trying his best not to ogle, Vowrawn managed to translate bits of the High Sith he could decipher—something, something, valor and honor and… “to live is to serve”… the empire? No, that term represented a more abstract concept—ah! “the greater good”.

Yes… he’d heard that before. Not spoken at him precisely but… whispered against his skin. He remembered the brandy fogging up the air between two bodies. Hands clumsily navigating through robes while he laughed, head full of fluff, at how clever this man was calling him his greater good while he sank to his knees, pulled down his trousers, and—  

Oh. Oh.

“Yes…” Vowrawn dragged the word out into two syllables. His eyes flicked away from Cytharat’s jewelry. “That’s right. Your… father was there.” Doing very unfatherly things in dark corners.

“You knew my father well?” Cytharat asked, giving a start.

Vowrawn regarded him with a tight smile. “We were well-acquainted, he and I.”

“I see.”

“Surprised?”

Cytharat’s eyes dimmed. “My father was dedicated to his work. He was a man of solitude who lived as he died in glorious servitude to the Empire. I am honored to carry on his legacy. Acquaintances were… rare.” There was as much passion and candor in his voice as a loaf of bread. He might as well have been reciting a dictionary. His father must have been a complete stranger to him.

A terrible shame. Such raw intellect and strength deserved to be honed by the best. Cytharat should never be left wanting.

“Socializing with the unsociable happens to be a gift of mine,” Vowrawn said. “Perks of being an extrovert.”

“As you say, my lord.”

Oh dear. He hit a nerve.

“Forgive me but I should return to my training.” Cytharat suddenly rising to his feet. “My trials…”

“Of course, of course. You’ve more important business than listening to an old man natter the day away.”

Cytharat looked utterly thunderstruck. “My lord, you more than that. You stand amongst the greatest Sith. You are a pillar of the empire. It is wisdom you speak and it is honor that I feel in attending to you. I am yours. I am—”

Vowrawn pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him before he could draw breath.

Mmph. He could stand to hear that in a more private setting.  

“I think I can squeeze you in somewhere,” the older Sith purred and pressed a kiss to the corner of Cytharat’s mouth.

Cytharat’s eyes went comically wide and his mouth moved soundlessly for a minute.

Vowrawn watched him carefully, patiently waiting to see how his message would be received.

Another minute passed and Cytharat remained unresponsive.

With a heavy sigh, Vowrawn rose to his feet to leave but a hand suddenly closed around his wrist.

Bemused, he looked at Cytharat who immediately let go of him and clasped his arms behind his back.

“If… if you will have me, my lord,” he mumbled.

Vowrawn chuckled.

The young man beat a hasty retreat to the door and Vowrawn waited until he was out of sight before he followed, a skip in his step. He was pass the door when someone behind him spoke.

“‘Well-acquainted’? Is that what you call it now?”

Vowrawn tipped his head down with a smirk. “It’s poor etiquette to tell someone you’ve fornicated with their father,” he said without turning.

“I would have told him.”

Vowrawn laughed and faced his companion. "Of course you would. You’re beastly.”

Gravus’s lip curled and he pushed away from the wall. “Going to send him a dinner invitation?”

“You’re not invited,” Vowrawn retorted.

“Yet.”

Vowrawn held his knowing look for all of five seconds before he relented with a smile. “Yet,” he amended. For now, Cytharat was his and his alone to enjoy. Nothing stimulated intellect like a generously spiced meal.

And if the night took them out of the dining room and into his bedchamber…

Well.

It wouldn’t be the first time he served dessert there.