#baby darth Maul

[ajdhbear]

My biggest pride and joy: Paul ❤️

He’s my interpretation of what Maul’s father could have been like. Learned the whole sacrificial lore is from Legends, so what’s stopping me?

(In my AU, Savage has a deadbeat father so Maul’s dad “adopts” him. I have yet to figure out how Feral will fit into this story)

[milkcioccolato]

Jedi Master Maul faces the greatest obstacle of his existence: being tiny

[sambrin]

i appreciate that savage always protected maul without a word. always there to grab some throats for his brother

[mabsart]

Finished reading Darth Plagueis and this was my one takeaway:

Baby!Maul is strong! 🥺✨✨

Original Meme under the cut

[the-senates-one-fear]

The attachment between a star wars fan and their silly lil evil mass murderer

Here's mine add yours

[adh-d2]

Lil' Obimaul fic snippet

Two Men and a Baby Zabrak AU

[Part 2 here]

Summary

In which a disastrous attempt at ambush and subterfuge on both sides leaves Obi-Wan and Maul trapped on the ruins of Dathomir. Maul needs Obi-Wan alive for his lightsaber and his intel. Obi-Wan needs Maul alive to teach him what the hell to feed this abandoned baby he's found...

Word count: 570 | WIP | SFW | Dividers by @xurengu0

Maul gives a sidelong glance to the bundle that hasn’t even stirred in Obi-Wan’s arms.

“Perhaps there is a reason it was left for dead. It has no survival instincts to have slept through all that.”

Obi-Wan bristles, torn between a twinge of shame at his own actions and the strangest instinct to defend the child’s honor.

“I told you, he’s hungry. He cries the entire time he’s conscious. I-I’m enlisting a little help from the Force to keep him asleep for now. I don’t want him to suffer unnecessarily.”

“Then you should smother it before it wakes.” Maul doesn’t even break his stride, his eyes still scanning their surroundings like the predator he is. “Even if we find something to feed it, it will hunger again. It will be cold. It will cry for its mother, and she will remain too dead to soothe it.” His voice is low, conversational, as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. “To live is to suffer.”

Obi-Wan is silent for a long moment. The wave of contempt he braces himself to feel, then release into the Force, never comes. Instead he simply observes Maul. He watches the way the zabrak’s body moves as if on autopilot; as if hunting for food with nothing but his wits and his bare hands was so mundane to him as to become instinct. His horned head shifts in response to a near-imperceptible sound, and as his eyes catch the light his pupils seem to disappear in a flash of refracted glow. ‘He can see in the dark’ Obi-Wan thinks, a dormant memory of his studies of zabrak physiology returning to him. There was a time, not long after Naboo, when he’d obsessively trawled the archives for any information he could find on Dathomirian zabraks. ‘Well, the adult ones at least’ his mind ruefully supplies, aware of the weight of the infant in his arms. He’d hidden those long nights of research from everyone at the temple, knowing the mind healers wouldn’t approve. Something about unhealthy coping strategies. Even now he couldn’t explain exactly why he did it beyond the fact that he’d needed to know. if he’d just had the information, was there any weakness he could have exploited, anything else he could have done…Obi-Wan wrenches his thoughts away from the past. The man before him looks every bit the nightmare that has haunted Obi-Wan’s dreams for the past decade. For all of the countless hours that Darth Maul had consumed his thoughts in the years since Qui-Gon’s death, for all of the agonizing and analyzing and ruminating, Obi-Wan still finds himself unprepared for the reality that the Sith is walking right beside him.

 ‘But he is,’ the whisper of a thought sounds just like his old master. Obi-Wan takes a steadying breath, relaxes his shoulders, and centers himself on the present. On the living force. For perhaps the first time since their fateful duel all those years ago, Obi-Wan looks at Maul and allows himself to simply be curious.

To live is to suffer, he’d said.

“You’ve fought awfully hard to stay alive, for someone who believes that.”

Maul’s head swivels to face him, the hunt forgotten, and Obi-Wan finds himself pinned by the intensity of his stare. It is impossible to focus on anything but the weight of the Sith’s undivided attention.

Maul opens his mouth to speak-

and the infant begins to wail.

[Link to Part 2]

Yo, I figured I'd put this at the bottom rather than the top, but this is the first piece of fanfic I've posted. Like, ever. Anywhere. I guess I'm a writing blog now? It feels weird to make any kind of fuss about it, but just as fucking weird to post it without context.

Anyway, I'm hoping to keep writing this and turn it into a properly fleshed out AU, but just in case the mice in my brain move on to other things, I wanted to put this snippet out in the universe.

[dathomirafterdark]

Zabrak boyfriend dropping the carcass of his latest kill on your doorstep is a courting ritual.

[bikananjarrus]

can’t believe 30 (40???) something darth maul got his ass kicked by ahsoka and her little baby face. like what a loser <3

[kittypersonal]

you lack conviction

cr: foles.ae

[justalittletomato]

The Night 🌙 Lights (dad!maul and Cressie )

@pixiestookourstardust @mando-cyare @eyecandyeoz @id-rather-be-a-druid @patchiefrog @skippyhopperwisdom @storm89 @gran-maul-seizure @stardustbee @art-hoe-world @apocalypticwafflekitten @dukeoftheblackstar let me know if anyone wants a tag!

Little Cress loves the night lights about his nursery . Maul ensures his little star is never left in the dark

[milkcioccolato]

Big Brother Maul is back!

Big Brother Maul is, probably, the worst role model you could have. But lil ‘Soka still thinks he’s the coolest!

[cyanshootingstar]

[jaguarys]

Do you ever think about Maul when he was first taken in by Palpatine. Do you think he was scared. Do you think he knew it was over before it had begun. Do you think he used to wait for someone to save him. Do you ever think about how he was just a little kid

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Something is hunting Darth Maul across the stars.

A presence he cannot touch, whispers that chase him from sleep. Answers seem to lay in a place he cannot go... at least, not alone. Before the Jedi and the Sith, before the Republic or the Empire, before the ancient Je'daii even, there were force users building temples and communing with the cosmic energies.

Somehow, even back then, there was a rule of two.

For Ben Kenobi, getting up each day is difficult enough, nevermind facing the past. He has one singular goal left to him: to be a guardian. A very distant guardian. Between the echoing emptiness of his cave and the war-torn memories that haunt him, he really just wants to be left alone.

Too bad for him that sleep-deprived sith lords aren't likely to take no for an answer.

[The long awaited sequel to Desertification is here!]

🔥🔥🔥 Read chapter 1 on Ao3, or scroll below the cut! Updates on Tuesdays.🔥🔥🔥

Bridges are a beautiful weakness. 

This one is massive. Natural stone that reaches across a wide span between stronghold and barren cliff. The architecture is sharp, angular, and modern, with little in the way of ornamentation. It is simply a functional pathway, the sole point of access for a utilitarian facility. The forces garrisoned here would have little trouble defending this chokepoint, under typical circumstances. 

A zygerrian guard rises off the ground, clawing at their neck, while the next shoots wildly, hollering for backup. Blaster bolts curve off unnaturally into empty air. The first alien loses consciousness and slumps, still airborne. Their rifle clatters to the stone. The second turns and manages to flee two steps before they are swept sideways off the bridge like a leaf in a storm. They plummet, screaming, twenty stories down and into the lava below. With a lazy gesture, Darth Maul sends their strangulated comrade tumbling after them. 

Lords of the Sith truly cannot qualify as ‘typical circumstances.’ 

He begins forward again as the next defenders rise to stop him. The formation they take is practiced, but he can see their quaking knees, feel their fear in the air. 

If these fools truly wished to challenge him, they would be far better served by calling their forces back and turning the compound’s anti-ship cannons on its own infrastructure. Burying him alive might actually slow him down… but the cannons remain fixed on the sky, and figures in golden armor pour out onto the wide, windy bridge. 

The price of such short sighted arrogance will be their lives. 

Maul finishes churning through the first of the stronghold’s defense forces. He scatters a forward line of pikemen, shielding himself from blaster fire using stones torn from the structure itself. The occasional bolt slips past these rocks, but he simply bats those away with his saber. 

The slaughter of their frontline gives the next group time to prepare. He is met with a more cohesive unit, backed by snipers. The cover fire does them little good. Maul ruins their formation by blitzing carelessly into the middle of it. His red blades lay into the panicking bodies around him and parry the long range shots back to their origins with impeccable soresu. 

While he picks off the remaining snipers in their nests with a few force-propelled rocks, a new line of troops with energy bows come forward, firing in rapid sequence. It is… quaint, he thinks. Few have the dedication to make such a weapon into a formidable challenge, and these guards could not have matched the skill or power of a dathomirian archer on their worst day. Perhaps it is because these soldiers lack an edge of desperation -for food or survival- whenever they practice their aim?

Regardless, their skill or lack thereof is ultimately irrelevant against a man who can predict where they will fire.

Maul reaches the halfway point unimpeded, and the zygerrians finally switch tactics to something more innovative. The remaining guards part, and a set of twins emerge to close with him instead.

Each wields a halberd tipped by shining blue energy blades. They fight together, resplendent in fanged grins and fine armor. Their movements, obfuscated by swirls of shimmering gold cloth, complement each other with the skill born of what must have been decades spent training in tandem. 

Facing such talent is the highlight of his efforts thus far, but even these warriors cannot match a sith. He tears their blades from them, and stabs each twin through the chest with their siblings' match. They die propped up on the hafts, slouching toward each other. 

Blaster fire starts back up, and Maul returns to working through the rest of the chaff. The air begins to reek of desperation so strong it can be smelt over the sulfur. Acetone-bright and cloyingly sweet. 

Quick as a lightning strike, an electro-whip cracks near his head with a sharp snap-fizz . A waft of ozone fills his nose, and the sith's forward momentum stutters to a halt. Resentful yellow eyes lock on the offender and he bares sharp, iron-stained teeth at them. The tall zygerrian only snarls in return.

Hatred rolls off Maul’s shoulders like heat waves in the force. That energy coalesces, and entropy descends on the whip-wielder. Their fur begins to dissolve as if they were being nibbled on by acid that simply does not stop, and the muscular form falls to the ground, writhing and screaming. They melt into naught but blackened ash under Maul’s baneful stare.

He turns to continue on, sunk too deep in the flow and lust of combat to examine the demise any further. 

Slaves are thrown at him next, driven out onto the bridge as his assault nears the stronghold's three-story double doors. An effort he hesitates to call a 'tactic'. Half of the scrawny chattel fall to their bellies before he has even reached them, quivering and silent as they choose the potential wrath of their masters over certain death upon his blades. 

Those who fight he kills as quickly as they come. Living and dead alike are left on the ground behind him, forgotten as soon as they pass out of sight. 

More guards, with flashier armor and even finer weapons are next. Insignia and marks of esteem decorate their shoulders; the royal guard, here to die for their liege. 

A sai cha strike with his saberstaff, and a head hits the ground before the body knows it is dead. Cho mok and cho mai, double-disarmed at the wrist. Their owner stumbles and falls off the bridge in shock, fixated on the remaining stumps. An angled shiak, down through the ribs just far enough to boil the blood in their lungs. Mou kei to the left leg, and another trips off the side to join the rest in immolation. Maul spins in a flourish of beautiful juyo at the gate.

Sai cha. Sai cha. Sai cha. 

Then there are no more guards. 

He pushes the double doors open with the force, and smiles to behold the reason he came here.

"Prince Trifenra," his croon echoes in the silence of the throne room, "I warned you not to cross me."

The lone zygerrian slams a button on the podium beside them, and the floor falls away with them on it. Maul gets to the edge in time to be stymied by a bulkhead closing the hole over. He sneers at it in annoyance, and starts cutting through with his lightsaber. 

Twenty seconds, and he completes a circle of molten metal. A kick with his cybernetic foot sends the cutout falling, revealing a web of catwalks over a field of lava. He jumps. 

The sith searches the platforms as he freefalls, but Trifenra is nowhere to be seen. 

Maul lands on a catwalk with a heave of force to lessen the impact. His eyes drift closed, chest expanding as he breathes in, swaying in whichever direction feels right, focusing… focusing…

The force whispers to him that his prey is that way .

Maul jumps the rail and bounces between causeways, reaching the correct one and pelting down it. The feeling ends at an arch built into the rough stone walls. Thick metal doors, locked tight.

He snarls and starts cutting again, a small circle just large enough to admit him. The sith punches this cutout, and somersaults through without touching the cherry-red edges. 

On the other side are holding cells. Row after row, multiple levels of hexagonal doors stretch out from the entry, each sealed by lambent red. Some are empty, some not. All the prisoners are exotic in some way. 

Maul glances over the occupants as he passes, walking deeper into the facility. Trifenra is here, he can sense it.

The chamber widens into a large, multilevel room around a center platform. A dead end. The prince's possible hiding places have multiplied yet become limited at the same time. Maul's mouth quirks at the corner.

"Come out, come out. Wherever you are~," he sings in a sardonic drawl, like this is a game of hunter and prey between younglings.

The airscrubbers hum through the walls, creating a deep resonance just on the edge of hearing. Despite what must be a robust air recycling system, this room remains steeped in the scents of the enslaved; bitterness and despondency, melancholia and hate. A multispecies cacophony of emotions that make his sinuses itch. 

He hears wheezing laughter, like the rattle of dry grass. 

"Ssssweet, ssssweet, ssssinger…" calls a hoarse voice from one of the cells. The force twinges, a plucked string.

The source is… across the room, on a higher level. Maul can sense the force warping in on itself somewhere nearby. Curious, he leaps closer to it, up a story and over.

The cell on the left is marked as 214, and it contains a nautolan in a rare carmine color. She is heavily pregnant, and pressed as far to the left side of her cage as she can be. 

The cell on the right is marked as 216. It holds a crab-like species he does not know, with a shell that looks like molten, living gold. It is quivering in the back of its container, in the rightmost corner.

In the center cell is a woman with wide pink eyes and an abundance of platinum hair. Her skin is white, like a palliduvan, but with an oily, iridescent sheen. She sits in the center of the room, naked, hugging her knees and shaking with that dry, rattling laugh. 

Her pink gaze zeroes in on him, and her smile grows…and grows… and- 

Lips spread like split meat as she grins from ear to ear, her teeth needle sharp. Conversely, her eyes are kind above the unnatural-looking maw. 

"Blesssssed sssssinger~" she croons sweetly, "the lit-tle king plays a trick  on you. Deceitful. Rude. Give him t-to me and I will blesss your path!" 

She shouldn’t be able to move her jaw like she is, with those facial muscles severed. The force perhaps, magic or alchemy of some sort. He considers her, and the offer, mildly. "I am not easily tricked.” 

She smiles still, and says nothing. Her presence feels like a tangle of razorwire, writhing and clingy. 

"Hm.”

Maul walks away, stalking the metal floors and surveying the open room with thoughtful eyes. The prince is here somewhere, but there are enough strange projections from the prison's myriad occupants that it feels… cloudy.

A mirialan glares at him as he walks past their cage. The man floats a foot above his bed, rail-thin and cross legged.

A dry-looking quarren ignores him in turn, crying weakly into their hands.

He laps the room, and finds himself at the center of this fusion of zygerrian and modern architecture. A control panel sits on a dias, with a map of the cell block and various monitoring systems running. 

"Hm!" he comments, "How convenient." 

He taps the icon for cell 216 and tells it to open. 

The sound of a ray shield powering down is shortly followed by more dry, wheezing laughter. He turns to see the woman step into freedom and launch herself across the room, trailing yards of platinum hair. 

She lands in front of 107, and presses herself as close to the ray shield as one could be without burning. 

"Knoc-kk knnnock!" she croaks. 

The cell's occupant shrieks, falling back in their terror, but then scrambles to the shield again to yell up at him. They appear to be a salenga, but something… something is off. Maul squints, trying to pinpoint-

"I will pay you whatever you want! Anything!"

He cocks his head. Curious. How would a slave pay- 

Oh. Interesting. 

"Put her back in her cell and I will make you royalty! I swear it!"

The unnaturally white creature hisses, no longer laughing.

It is Maul who chuckles, walking to the edge of the center platform and clasping his hands behind his back. "A marriage proposal is it, Prince Trifenra? Now that is a… curious bribe."

He waits for the hope to glimmer in their eyes, then waves a hand in a grand gesture. The console registers a command from a finger press that is not there, and obeys it.

All of the cells open. 

The salenga shrieks again, and melts into a clawdite changeling as they zip out and go streaking away. They make it all of three strides before disappearing under shimmering hair and vengeful pink eyes. 

The next few minutes involve teeth, tearing, and unhinged sobbing. Maul watches for a moment as dozens of aliens flee on either side of him for the exit, then grows bored and turns to his comm. Dryden's secretary answers for him, a softly spoken pantoran with a penchant for ancient art. 

"Hello sir. My apologies, Mr. Vos is in a meeting at the moment. Should I get him for you, or can I take a message?" Sochu asks.

Maul waves off the first. "Simply inform him that the treachery has been dealt with, and he has my permission to begin renegotiating with the other offer."

"Very good, sir. Anything else I can do for you?" 

"Mmno," Maul says and hangs up.

His timing is good. The room has cleared and the strange woman is levitating up to the central platform, slathered in blood all down her front. Something wet and purple is cupped in her palms. She lands daintily, and he raises a brow. 

"Ssssinger, c-c-clever son~ You figurrrred out the trick-k, denied the trick-ksster. Gave him to us ," she smiles sweetly, too many teeth in her mouth. 

Maul hums, watchful.

"A gift!" she declares, and holds out… it’s a liver, or part of one. 

He accepts it, amused, with the smallest of bows. “My thanks.” 

The woman giggles like rotten wind chimes and turns to leap off the platform. She lands below and goes padding toward the lava flows, leaving a trail of red footprints smeared by passing hair in her wake. 

Maul considers the slick bulk of the organ in his hand. Dense, warm, and evenly toned purple. He holds it up and gives it a sniff. It smells healthy- clean blooded and rich, and the fight did have him feeling peckish.

"Mm… waste not, I suppose.”

He chooses a corner and slides his teeth in. The woman’s sharp, clinging darkness in the force gives a final twist and melts away. Maul chews thoughtfully on his way out of the compound, disregarding the blood that drips off his chin. His robes are already too stained for a bit more to matter. 

[figures4fun]

When the child you’re babysitting has clearly taken over the situation

[adh-d2]

Lil' Obimaul fic snippet

Two Men and a Baby Zabrak AU

[Part 1 here]

Summary

In which a disastrous attempt at ambush and subterfuge on both sides leaves Obi-Wan and Maul trapped on the ruins of Dathomir. Maul needs Obi-Wan alive for his lightsaber and his intel. Obi-Wan needs Maul alive to teach him what the hell to feed this abandoned baby he's found...

Word count: 537 | WIP | SFW | Dividers by @xurengu0

It is sometime in the night, deep in those unknowable hours after most nocturnal hunting species have settled, but before the first rays of dawn. Kenobi is asleep on his back atop a makeshift bed of his own cloak and outer robes. He sleeps the still and silent sleep of a field soldier – that particular mix of exhaustion and discipline which allows one to lay their head wherever and simply shut down, knowing that the time until their next rest is never guaranteed. Maul does not wonder how long into the Clone Wars it took Kenobi to learn this particular skill, or whether he has always had it. Maul is meditating. 

There is a scuffling noise to his right, then the sound of tiny hands smashing two pebbles against each other in the dirt. 

Maul is trying to meditate. 

With a deep sigh he cracks his eyes open to observe the little zabrak lift a pebble and attempt to stuff the whole thing in its mouth. Passively, his mind still drifting, Maul wonders if it will choke. But the pebble is rather large, and there is only the soft grinding noises of the infant’s sharp teeth against stone as it gnaws and drools ineffectually. More’s the pity. 

Maul closes his eyes again. 

The grinding noises continue, quickly setting his own teeth on edge. 

Maul opens his eyes, properly this time, and with a tug of the Force rips the pebble out of the child’s mouth. For a moment the creature just sits there stupefied, like a droid with a lagging processor, and Maul’s entire body tenses in anticipatory rage at the incoming shrill cry. The infant’s fat orange face scrunches up...and it growls. It’s the tiniest, most pathetic growl Maul has ever heard.  

Still growling, the infant wobbles forward and tries to snatch the offending pebble back into its mouth. Its stubby little arms miss the thing completely. It tries again with marginally better aim, and just before it manages to swipe its prey into one clumsy fist, Maul uses the Force to twitch the rock an inch to the left.  

That pathetic growl intensifies and the infant topples forward to rest its weight on its arms. Maul twitches the pebble again, and a chubby palm is slapped down on top of it before it can go any further. The rock is rapidly shoved back into the child’s mouth and the infuriating grinding noises resume, now with an unsettling overlay of victorious growls and wet suckling. 

It’s revolting.  

Resigning himself to the fact that any attempt at stopping the sound will likely result in worse (and louder) ones, Maul settles back into his meditation. He centers his focus on the noise before turning it inwards to his own disgust, allowing the feeling to suffuse through his torso and into each limb. He feels the familiar cold, coiled, barely-contained stillness settle into each muscle group as he scans upwards from his feet; noticing the weight of his body against the ground beneath his thighs, the way his hands clench as if strangling open air, the knotted tension of his shoulders. When his awareness reaches his face, however, he is unnerved to realize that his lips are still twisted into a slight smile.

[Link to Part 1]

Once again I am here to throw a random chunk of this fic into the void like chum into the ocean. Which is imagery my little OC baby zabrak would enjoy, given I headcanon the species as carnivorous ambush predators.