#like i expected maul to be like ''you have beaten me for now but i shall have my revenge!'' or something else uninteresting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cosmicawg · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐆𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬

Chapter 2: "THERE'S SOMETHING OUT THERE!"

word count —(.) 2,971

read time —(.) 10 mins : 48 secs

There was something foul in the air, something thick and oppressive that clung to the senses. Whatever it was, it fucking stank—like rancid meat left to rot under the punishing sun. And it only grew worse the closer Emery got to the motel. The main road was lined with the decaying carcasses of roadkill, as if some unspoken curse had swept through. The smell was unbearable, forcing her off the beaten path and into the woods—a touristy spot for poor souls who thought they’d find peace, but instead found themselves mauled by bears or lost forever. The crunch of dead leaves underfoot was the only sound, the only sign she was still moving, alive.

Above her, the sky hung heavy with gloom, dark clouds pressing down as if the very heavens had forgotten to exhale. They twisted and contorted like a frown etched across the horizon, promising rain—cold and unforgiving. But rain or no rain, it wasn’t going to stop her from karaoke tonight. Unfortunately, that meant Julius had to cover for her. She smirked at the thought. He’d understand. At least, he damn well better. The least he could do was let her have a little fun, considering what a shitstorm this place was.

The motel loomed ahead, its peeling paint and flickering neon sign a testament to neglect. As Emery stepped inside, the first thing that greeted her wasn’t the musty air or the flicker of a dying light bulb—it was Julius, face down on the front desk, passed out cold. She snorted. Typical.

"I wasn’t sure if I should wake him or not." The smooth voice, accent, slid into her ears like melted butter, catching her off guard. She turned toward the sound and found a guest sprawled out on one of the threadbare sofas, the springs creaking beneath him. "I’ll admit, he’s kinda adorable like this." He gave a sheepish grin, eyes flickering. "Oh, uh… sorry. Name’s Remi. I'm staying here."

"Yeah, no worries, Emery." she giggled, the absurdity of it all bubbling up. "I work here, unfortunately. But, uh… I wouldn’t get too comfy. Those sofas? Bedbugs." She shot him a wink as she made her way behind the front desk.

At that, Remi shot up like he’d been electrocuted, dusting himself off with a grimace. His nose crinkled in disgust. "Of course. What was I expecting? A five-star experience." He shook his head, still swatting at invisible bugs. "Anyway, is there seriously no Wi-Fi here? I’ve got an important call, and all of a sudden, the service is just dead."

Emery opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a loud crash reverberated down the stairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of pure chaos.

"YOU ARE UNSERIOUS, ALEX!" Gloria, the fiery redhead guest, came storming down the stairs, her face twisted in rage. Behind her, Alex—her boyfriend, husband, whatever the hell he was—stumbled after her, looking equally flustered.

"Jesus Christ, Gloria, I wasn’t peeping at her, she's a teenager! Do you even hear yourself right now?" Alex barked, his voice tinged with desperation. "Do you always make shit up in your head like this?"

Their shouting echoed off the walls, amplifying the already suffocating tension in the room. Emery didn’t bother intervening; this had to be a normal thing between the two, it wasn’t worth her time.

As they went at it, another guest jogged down the stairs nothing but a sweatpants and a tank top. Bowie, if she recalled right, the blonde charmingly greeted everyone before likely heading out for an afternoon run. Jocks.

And yet! Another guest, Alia, came thundering down the stairs right after, her heavy footsteps shaking the old wooden banister. She was in a skimpy bathing suit, chewing gum with a disgusted sneer plastered on her face. She took one look around, her lips curling as if the very air offended her.

"Please tell me there's a pool at this dump," she spat, her eyes rolling.

Emery forced a smile through gritted teeth, rummaging through the drawers, cursing under her breath as she finally found the damn key. "Yeah, sure. Just go out the back, take a left, and you’ll find the gate." She tossed the key toward Alia, who caught it with a barely concealed look of disdain, her nostrils flaring in disgust.

"Do I look like I work here?" Alia snapped, as if the mere act of catching the key had insulted her dignity.

Before Emery could respond, the commotion had roused Julius from his uncomfortable slumber. He groaned, his hair a mess, dark circles heavy under his eyes, and a streak of drool shining on his cheek. He looked around in a daze before glancing at the clock. Noon. Shit. He should have been home hours ago.

He groaned louder, flinging a hand over his face. "I’m crashing in one of the guest rooms. I’m not dealing with any of this shit—not after last night."

Emery couldn’t help but roll her eyes as he stumbled away, leaving her alone to deal with the circus that was quickly unfolding.

"Uh, about the Wi-Fi?" Remi’s voice cut through the noise, a hint of frustration creeping in.

Emery sighed, massaging her temples, fighting the urge to scream. "Just… go into town," she muttered, the tension in her voice clear. "There’s gotta be Wi-Fi somewhere. Not here, though. Definitely not here."

And with that, she stepped out of the lobby, leaving the chaos behind—at least for a moment.

She guided a petulant Alia toward the pool, biting back the sharp retort bubbling on her tongue. The girl was already complaining, her voice grating and full of resentment. "This place is disgusting. I hate my father."

Emery's jaw clenched as she pushed the rusted gates open, forcing a smile to hide the rising irritation. “Ta-da! Your pool, Your Majesty,” she said with a mock bow, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Alia barely glanced at her, her eyes scanning the pool area with a look of pure disgust. The pool was far from the pristine, high-end resorts she was used to. The tiles were chipped, cracks spider-webbed across the edges, and old, deflated pool floaties lay scattered like forgotten toys. The sun loungers were stained and unkempt, the once-white fabric now a dull gray. Alia flinched, letting out a shriek when she saw something, dark and fast, dart across the pool deck—probably a rat.

"UGH!" Alia’s scream echoed, her frustration boiling over. "Next time, I should plan the vacation! My useless father can’t do anything right!" She kicked at the ground, a petulant grunt escaping her as she threw herself down by the water’s edge, her bare feet dangling into the pool. At least the water was clear, she noted with the barest flicker of relief. "While my mom is off in fucking Jamaica, I'm stuck here with a worthless parent."

With a huff, she clamped her oversized sunglasses onto her face, crossing her arms over her chest like a sulking child.

Emery's patience was wearing thin. She stared at Alia, inwardly seething. What a spoiled brat, she thought, resisting the urge to snap. Just as she turned to walk away, hoping for a moment of peace, Alia’s voice rang out again.

“Who's that?”

Emery let out a sigh, her annoyance palpable as she glanced at Alia, who was now pointing across the pool. With a resigned look, she followed Alia’s gesture, her eyes landing on a woman lounging in the distance. The woman was sunbathing—or at least pretending to. A glossy magazine obscured her face, while an obnoxiously large sun hat perched on her head, its wide brim angled just enough to cast a shadow over her entire figure.

Who the hell wears a sun hat when there’s barely any sun? Emery thought, squinting at the strange figure. The woman’s body was unnaturally still, her pale, almost ghostly skin gleaming under the overcast sky. She looked fragile, almost too slender, like she might disappear if the wind blew too hard.

“I don’t know,” muttered Emery, her tone indifferent.

“How do you not know? Don’t you work here?” Alia’s voice was filled with disbelief, as if Emery was personally responsible for knowing every single guest by name.

“I didn’t sign in guests last night, okay?” she snapped, her patience finally running dry. “Damn, you are so annoying. Just enjoy your swim.” With one last glance at the mysterious woman, Emery shook her head and walked off, leaving Alia to her sulking.

The workday dragged on, and the pool seemed even more decrepit under the cloudy sky. Emery busied herself with paperwork, her mind drifting now and then to the strange woman by the pool. Later, two other guests arrived at the front desk. Except this time, there was a hiccup—no room had been booked for them. Emery sighed, knowing the mountain of paperwork this would cause. Meanwhile, Julius, her co-worker, remained blissfully unaware of the chaos, dozing off somewhere like he always did.

LATER....

Nightfall crept in like a shadow, blending with the soft drizzle tapping against the windows, making the world outside blur with a melancholic haze. Inside one of the unoccupied guest rooms, Julius lay sprawled on a bed, his snoring heavy and unrelenting, the kind that shook the air like distant thunder. Drool pooled on the pillow beneath his face, a stain that no one would bother cleaning. Suddenly, he jerked awake, gasping like something cold had crawled through his dreams. His eyes shot open, wide and startled, as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Fuck… what time is it?” His voice was thick with sleep, and he rubbed at his face, groaning as he rolled over to glare at the window. The curtains were slightly ajar, revealing the deep darkness outside, the faint drizzle now pattering softly against the glass.

Did I really sleep here? God, I’m getting pathetic, he thought bitterly, pushing himself up from the bed. His head was foggy, and his limbs were stiff from sleeping in his clothes. Wiping the sleep from his face, he cursed under his breath and staggered toward the door. But as soon as he stepped out, he was face-to-face with a guest. Of course.

“Yes, may I help you?” Julius yawned, barely able to muster any enthusiasm.

The woman in front of him was short, with brunette hair that stuck up in every direction, her face contorted in panic. “Look, my friend and I checked in like around noon, and around three she went out, but she hasn’t come back yet!” Her voice trembled, fear thick in every word. “I tried calling the police, but there’s no service—no bars, nothing!”

Why couldn’t she go missing too? The cruel thought slithered into Julius’ mind before he could stop it, and he had to slap himself mentally. Get it together, he thought. “Sorry to hear that,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “I just got off break, and, honestly, I’m not even supposed to be working right now, so…”

His voice trailed off, and he awkwardly rubbed his forearm, staring at the floor. "Get Emery to help. The girl up front," he mumbled, already turning to leave, hoping to escape the situation.

But the woman wasn’t letting him off that easy. She followed, her voice rising in frustration. “What girl? There’s no one at the front desk! Please, did you even hear what I said? My friend is missing!” She was practically screaming now, the words buzzing in his ear like an angry wasp.

Julius barely registered her panic, though, because as they reached the top of the stairs, he could already hear the commotion below. The lobby was filled with noise, voices clashing against each other in an aggressive symphony. He cocked a brow, turning back to the woman. “Did you say no one’s at the front desk?” His voice was skeptical as he stomped down the stairs, bracing himself for the chaos.

The moment he entered the lobby, he could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. Voices were raised, arguments flaring.

"Fuck’s sake, Gloria! Hang up the damn phone!" Alex screamed, his frustration sharp and biting.

"Why would I listen to you?! And the damn landline is down! Thanks so fucking much for this GREAT vacation, Alex!" A woman’s voice shot back, dripping with sarcasm and anger.

And that’s its own mess, Julius thought, his annoyance growing as he tried to wade through the chaos.

He was immediately bombarded from all sides. In his left ear, old man Chester was complaining about a rancid smell in his room, his voice hoarse and furious. Meanwhile, a young girl, Violet, tugged at his sleeve, her wide eyes filled with worry as she begged to know when her father would arrive. On his right side, a father-daughter duo was screaming about the state of their rooms, their voices blending into a cacophony of complaints.

Through it all, there was no sign of Emery.

Julius felt his blood pressure rising. He squeezed behind the desk, his breath caught in his throat, his patience hanging by a thread. Finally, he snapped, his voice booming through the lobby like a thunderclap.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, ALL OF YOU!”

For a brief, glorious second, the room fell silent. Every face turned toward him, their mouths hanging open in shock. But it didn’t last. That firecrotch—Gloria—was the first to break the silence, her hands on her hips, her eyes burning with anger.

"Why the fuck is the landline down? I’d like to make a phone call!" she spat, her voice venomous.

“Yeah, my dad isn’t here, and I’m getting worried… the service is down, and…” Violet muttered, tugging anxiously at her black hair.

"And that smell!" Chester growled, his face turning red. "I’m damn near suffocating in my room. Fix it."

The room was on the verge of erupting into chaos again when Julius held up his hand, commanding their attention. His glare was cold, cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Where is the girl that’s supposed to be here?” he demanded, his patience worn thin.

Before anyone could answer, the woman from earlier—the one looking for her friend—spoke up again, her voice tight with anxiety. “She went out to the karaoke bar around the time my friend left and hasn’t come back.”

Julius pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration clawing at him. “When exactly was this?” He glanced at the clock. 6 PM.

“I don’t know… around 3 PM?”

Julius' eyes widened in shock. Three hours? His heart skipped a beat. Where the hell is Emery?

A low rumble of thunder cracked through the sky, ripping the night open with a violent roar. The ceiling lights flickered, casting the room into momentary darkness. Everyone flinched. The arguments that had been simmering reignited, but now in hushed, anxious tones, like they were afraid the storm itself might hear them. Julius stood frozen, his eyes scanning the room as the tension thickened like fog. His hand instinctively reached into his pocket for his phone. No bars. His breath caught in his throat. Shit.

Okay, he thought, swallowing the rising panic. Emery's fine. She's grown. She can handle herself.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, his mind racing, trying to keep the flood of anxious thoughts at bay. Turning back to the restless crowd, his usual sneer stretched across his face, but it felt hollow. "Look," he began, his voice more strained than he'd like, "I hear you guys, but what the hell am I supposed to do exactly?" His sarcasm was biting, but it was a flimsy mask for the dread crawling up his spine.

Chester, red-faced and puffed up with indignation, spat back at him, "Do your damn job! Is this how you people run an establishment?"

Julius shot him a cold glare, unmoved. Before he could retort, Wallace, a stiff man in a tailored suit, stepped forward, adjusting his tie with exaggerated calm. "I’d like to speak with the manager, if that’s alright," he said, his voice smooth but laced with impatience.

Julius clenched his jaw, suppressing the urge to tell them all to shove it. "He isn’t here. I’m in charge while he’s on vacation," he growled through gritted teeth. His frown deepened as he glared at Wallace. "You’ve got a problem with your room, right? Guess what, big daddy, you booked this place. So deal with it."

The room collectively gasped. A shocked silence fell, thick with disbelief.

Without missing a beat, Julius whirled toward Gloria, who stood with her arms crossed, her glare cutting through the tension like a knife. "And the landline? Yeah, it’s not working because my cheap-ass boss cut it off before leaving. Doesn’t want to pay the damn bills," he snapped, his irritation flaring.

The woman from earlier—the one who’d been asking about her missing friend—opened her mouth to speak again, but Julius cut her off before she could even get a word out. His voice, thick with frustration, cracked through the air like a whip. “Shut up about your friend! This is a small town! Nothing ever happens here—"

His words were sliced clean by a deafening crash, WHAM, at the front doors. The room exploded with screams as the guests scattered, their panic palpable, and the world seemed to tilt sideways. Julius felt his heart slam into his ribs, his breath stolen as he spun around toward the entrance.

Standing there, drenched in rain and blood, was Emery, clutching her side, her face twisted in agony. Blood soaked through her clothes, dripping onto the floor as she stumbled forward, carried by Remi, his wide eyes wild with terror. Julius’ stomach plummeted, cold dread crawling over his skin.

"Emery!" Julius choked out, his voice barely a whisper, his feet rooted to the ground in shock.

Remi’s frantic voice cut through the chaos, words tumbling out in a terrified rush. “There's—there’s something out there!” His voice cracked, his wide eyes locking onto Julius, pleading for understanding. "Something… it… it attacked us!"

The room erupted again, the guests shouting in fear, complete nonsense. Julius couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His eyes were glued to Emery, her bloodied form swaying as she gasped for breath, her face a mask of pain.

Something had followed them. Something that wasn’t supposed to exist in their quiet, forgotten little town. And it was still out there.

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andaniellight · 2 years ago

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Werewolf AU for Halloween but it’s Francis and Matthew because they both fucked up but what else is new. Okay, maybe this one is, aside from Frank not expecting there’s children almost being eaten to nothing, and he ran out of bullets amidst this God damn freakish attack (also, by the way, how the hell is that thing still moving even after I threw grenades at it many times? FUCK.) AND of course Mr. Martyr Complex kept insisting he’s faster and he’s wearing a thick full-body armor so he’s going to distract and hold back that- whatever that huge wolf-mutant thing, so take the kids and get the hell away, Frank! Go! GO!!!

Because the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is going to be fine. Melvin’s suit will protect him. Nothing will get through easily-

(He ended up getting mauled half to death, so he’s not fine, like, at all. Alas, but at least he found out that he can eat a whole farm - just the animals, by the way - without having to season and cook them first, and it’s enough to stifle this clawing irrational hunger inside of him whenever full moon arrives.)

His only problem now is probably that the punisher thinks he owes him his life, somehow. Which leads next to Frank tempting, coaxing, even begging at him (can you believe the punisher begging at him?) to eat at least a couple of these criminals he dragged back alive to their safe house, like a cat with a bird in between its teeth, because The Devil’s growing weak each passing time, and Frank believes it’s most likely because of Matt not actually eating like a werewolf (since that’s what he is now. Jfc.)

Anyways....... ID: An Illustration of Frank Castle and Matt Murdock standing close, chest to chest. Frank Castle is beaten up, looking tired, face mostly covered in blood, holding Matt’s wrist because Matt is about to turn into a werewolf and desperately wants to get away from him. Matt says, before he bites his bottom lip until it bleeds, “GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, FRANK!!!” to which Frank responds morosely with, “Listen. That guy is a piece of shit, Red. You gonna die if you keep being like this-” but Matt quickly cuts him off with, “Oh, I’d rather that than eating a living person, Frank.” End of ID.

#Fratt #FrankMatt #MattFrank #Daredevil #The Punisher #I have to make and upload this now because Halloween is on Monday right?#Marvel #Frank Castle #Matt Murdock #Matthew Murdock #Matt Murdock x Frank Castle #Frank Castle x Matt Murdock #PunishDevil #I'm probably going to reblog this in the future #Happy early Halloween!!!#might also edit this for typo and the likes #but later... or tomorrow....

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hitnran · 3 years ago

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OBSESSIVE EX (gender neutral! reader)

how they deal with you having an obsessive ex

includes: ran, rindou

CW: obsessive behavior, cursing, stalking (ran), phone harassment (rindou), the haitani brothers lowkey kinda scary here (not to the reader) 💀 but i’m just trying to make it fit within their character

— RAN HAITANI

Getting into a relationship with someone like Ran, half of the charismatic brother duo that ruled Roppongi, almost means guaranteed safety wherever you go. His title itself is one that is feared when murmured. Whenever you two leave, he always has an eye and a hand on you. Ran knows well that even if he is feared, he can also be challenged and the last thing he wants is for you to get involved — you would make an easy target for his enemies.

You two were out together on a stroll around the city. Although there was nothing neither of you needed, Ran’s favorite thing is showing you off. Sometimes you start to feel similar to his younger brother, thinking that you’re just a shadow and only known as ‘Ran’s partner.’ But Ran’s intentions were opposite. He wanted everyone to know that it was him that belonged to you and it is him that people would have to deal with if you were ever tested.

As you two are walking, Ran noticed your eyes consistently checking itself to the side. He took note of that and eventually brushed it off since you stopped. But then he noticed that you were being especially keen and scanning the whole area.

“Are you okay, love?” Ran slightly hunches down, getting your attention as your face turns his way. He lightly smiles at you. “Did you see something you liked?”

You swallowed down hard. You could’ve sworn you saw a familiar face, but after trying to scan the area numerous times for the past few minutes, you thought it was just you being paranoid. The last thing you wanted was to worry Ran and cause a scene.

“I’m okay,” You shook your head, returning a light smile. You grabbed on his arm, this time a little tighter. “Let’s turn into this corner.”

Ran knows when you’re lying. He knew something made you uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to force you to tell him. Instead, he’ll make it his own problem too and deal with it himself.

This area was his territory and everyone knew it. It was almost as if Roppongi, a city known for liveliness, calmed down ever so slightly if one or both of the brothers were out. Everyone’s gaze wound be kept low and their conversations would go mute as they walk by.

At that moment, Ran could feel a pair of eyes staring your way. He won’t make it obvious though.

“Love,” Ran called out to you. You looked up his direction and he placed a hand against your lower back. “Rindou’s gonna throw a fit if I don’t bring back food for him. How about you go into the restaurant and order first while I call him and ask what he wants?”

You felt at ease hearing that you two were finally going to be in somewhere indoors, but it made you nervous that he would be separated from you for just a little while.

“Don’t wanna bring something back he won’t like and have him complain,” Ran lightly laughed, trying to ease your clear discomfort. He placed a hand over your head. Taking out his phone to add to his act. “I’ll be quick.”

After some hesitation, you gave in. It was a public space after all, so it shouldn’t have been anything to worry too much about. He watched as you entered the place before turning around, sending chills to the person who had been following you two around this whole time.

“Would be a shame if I left them alone for too long, wouldn’t it?” Ran gave off a sinister grin, slowly walking towards the person. “Wouldn’t want anyone to take them away…especially someone like you.”

Ran knew who this person was. He was an obsessive ex of yours that just would not leave you alone and accept the separation despite it being years passed. He gulped hard, nervously stepping back, not thinking that he would get caught.

“You were so bold to even follow us in the first place, why so shy now?” Ran smirked, hiking up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “This is the first time you’ve heard of me or something? I should introduce myself to you well and hard then.”

Almost ten minutes had passed since you’ve been waiting for Ran. You sat patiently and waited. Your best guess as to what’s taking him so long revolves around Rindou. Maybe he was complaining about how he wanted food from a different place or being picky about menu opinions. Just as you were about to raise yourself from your seat to check up on Ran, you saw him enter.

“Did I make you wait too long?” Ran appeared, seating himself in front of you. The worse case scenario you had in mind was that he got into a fight, but in front of you, he looked just as how you last saw him. “You know how Rindou is.”

Your chest became relaxed and you gave a small smile, shaking your head, “What did he want from here?”

“I didn’t even listen to what he said,” Ran teased, opening up his menu and leaning back against the chair. You felt his legs sandwich your calves from beneath the table. “He can order it himself. All my money is going to you today.”

And that was how Ran liked it. Although Ran wanted everyone to know that he belonged to you, he knew how important it was for others to know that you belonged to him too. The image of the face of your ex is burned so clearly into his brain — face all bloodied up, mauled almost, as he failed to even whisper for forgiveness.

“I think there’s only one way I’m gonna let you outta here alive,” Ran kicked his body down with force, hearing something shift in his jaw. He couldn’t give half a damn about it. “Do you know what that is?”

Your ex was visibly beaten and weak now, barely able to even blink or properly form a sentence. Though, with his adam’s apple slightly moving from fear, Ran took it as a response.

Grabbing him by his hair upward, Ran bent down, looking straight at him, “You’re gonna leave them alone and never show your goddamn face again. If it wasn’t fucked already before, it sure is now. I promise you I’ll know if you’re even barely visible or a mile away, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Ran thought it was so disgusting how someone like you could ever have your time wasted on someone low like this ex of yours. Even if Ran saw him and his brother above everyone else, he always put you above him.

“Maybe even after this, I’ll send one of my men to go and beat the shit out of you every day so you could suffer for as long as you’ve tried to bother Y/N.”

— RINDOU HAITANI

Rindou can’t even remember what it took for you two to even reach this state of your guys relationship. He convinced himself that it was Ran, his older brother who wouldn’t shut up about how he was going to take you if Rindou didn’t make a move.

It genuinely surprises himself even whenever he looks your way, observing every detail and soaking in the idea that you are someone he can call his.

You two were watching a movie, or rather, supposed to. Rindou was too focused on side-eyeing you every now and then. You caught him a few times, but he would brush it off with comments like “this movie is boring” or “I’m just checking to see if you fell asleep.”

He would snap himself out of a trance after hearing your phone ring beside you. You eyed it once, looking at the caller ID and ignoring it. It wasn’t enough to cause Rindou to worry - it’s not his problem if you just didn’t wanna answer a call, it was your guys’ time anyway.

But then it rang once more again. Your ringtone dragged itself out halfway through before Rindou slightly raised his hand from your hip, pointing to the phone on the side of the couch.

“You not gonna answer that?” He asked.

You shook your head, eyes focused on the TV, “It’s fine. It’s an unknown caller ID.”

Rindou shrugged, ignoring it once again, but after a few more calls and your phone receiving back to back text messages, it was starting to irk him. He was close to just grabbing your phone and answering the call himself, but you were quick to act before him, just shutting it off.

“It must be spam or something,” You sighed, sitting back down.

“Yeah, well whatever it is, good thing you shut that damn thing off. That shit was annoying,” Rindou sighed, curling his arms around you again. “Let’s change the movie too or something. This one is boring.”

One thing about dating Rindou is that he seems uninterested in absolutely everything he does. Although you avoid thinking like that when it comes to your relationship with him, you always remind yourself that Rindou is someone who deeply cares for you. He shows it very differently compared to others, but you know.

He can recall a memory from a few weeks ago where you kept getting calls in the middle of your guys’ date. It annoyed him, but not as much as it annoyed you. You’ve pressed the red decline button at least five times now, stressing over it and spilling out everything about your previous ex.

At the end of your rant, Rindou grabbed your phone, picking up the call and saying words as simple as “leave them alone.” It was so simple, but for the next few weeks, it was silent. You finally thought you were free of harassment thanks to your boyfriend, but recently, they’ve been coming back as unknown caller IDs and more frequent than before.

Halfway through the movie, Rindou felt your body become more loose and relaxed beneath him. Your breath became slower and more steady. You had fallen asleep. He thought it was ironic to have someone as angelic as you in the arms of someone like him - a gang member always involving himself in trouble, even just for fun.

He stared at your phone just a reach away and then back at you. The last thing Rindou wanted was for you to be uncomfortable, or really, anything that isn’t where you aren’t happy.

When you woke up, the TV was shut off and you felt a blanket drape over your body. You realized you had fallen asleep from earlier, but you were expecting to find your boyfriend with you as well. That was when the door swung open and you were greeted with Rindou.

“Rindou?” You slowly let out, still adjusting from waking up. “I didn’t know you left.”

He raised a bag up midway in the air, it’s a bag from a bakery you often bought from, “You kept murmuring about it in your sleep. Didn’t want you to wake up all grumpy.”

“I don’t wake up grumpy!” You protested, watching as he took his seat next to you and unpacking all of your favorites.

“Yeah, okay,” Rindou joked. He listened to you puffing out before wrapping yourself around his arm.

“Thank you though,” You murmured out of embarrassment - maybe he was half right.

“It’s nothing,” He replied, softening his face into a grin. “Must’ve been hungry though if it got you talking in your sleep and drooling on my arm.”

You didn’t even know about half of the things he does for you, but he didn’t mind it, because if you were happy, then that was all that mattered.

It made Rindou feel guilty to turn on your phone and look through it. It wasn’t something that he ever felt the need to do - he trusted you and it felt wrong if you weren’t aware that he was using it. Though, at this time, he felt like it was for the better.

While you were silently sleeping, he browsed through your texts. It’s that same person - your ex back again to bother you. Rindou scoffed, making sure it wasn’t loud enough to wake you up, but he was angry. He clicked his tongue whilst composing a message.

Rindou knew you would never be so stupid as to meet up with someone like this, especially not after already experiencing it once. It was a good thing that it was just Rindou posing as you though. How delighted your ex felt to have finally received a response to you - ‘Let’s meet up here.’

Rindou thought it was so pathetic. This guy had no idea what he looked like, let alone that you even had a boyfriend. So when Rindou’s immediate reaction upon seeing him was to throw a punch, he was shocked.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Your ex cried out, trying his best to dodge his attacks but failing in between his words and attempts.

“Me?!” Rindou snapped, pushing him to the ground and twisting his arms. “Speak for yourself.”

The man beneath him screamed in pain, “I-I’ll call the cops on you and have you arrested!”

“Yeah? You think they’ll give me less time if I tell them I was just trying to teach a creep a lesson?” Rindou pulled back on his arms a little harder, tendons and muscles stretching themselves out of place.

“T-The hell are you talking about?!” He stuttered out.

“Don’t bitch around. Might end yourself up in there if you keep this act of yours up - I’ve been once before,” Rindou smirked, pulling back more and more on his arms. “It was fine for me. My big bro and I even got some respect while in there, so what’s gonna happen when they hear about your name from me? You’re fresh meat to them.”

“W-Who even are you?!”

Rindou scoffed, “The same guy who warned you once to leave Y/N alone. I should’ve honestly went to find you myself personally and beat the shit out of you, but I hate wasting my time.”

Your boyfriend let the man go. If his arms weren’t all bent out of place and dislocated, he’d be crawling away by now. It was a sight that Rindou would laugh at. Upon seeing that his phone had fallen out of his pocket, the same phone used to consistently harass you, Rindou stomped down hard, breaking it into bits and pieces.

“Don’t waste my time again. Next time you do, call the cops, I promise you I won’t care if they catch me killing you,” Rindou turned his back around.

#tokyorev x reader #ran haitani #rindou haitani #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #ran haitani x reader #rindou haitani x reader

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

Text

Thoughts on “Auntie Soka and Little Leia” now that I’ve actually got it posted:

Call it a director’s cut! The process of actually writing the thing, and also jokes made along the way. Link to the actual fic.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the energy for image descriptions, even the text screenshots. Might come back that later. Most of this was DMs with @atagotiak.

This was an entire thing before I even started writing:

Before I decided on ages and stuff Ahsoka, to Jango, who has had zero contact with Kaminoans: Okay I know I'm a Jedi kid so you hate me but this toddler is your clone from the future. Jango, tired: What the FUCK are you talking about. Rex, barely able to talk: Don't you dare leave me with him, Commander! Ahsoka: I'm not going to leave you I just--I'm so tired I'm so fucking tired I haven't slept in five days and someone tried to kidnap Leia two days ago I am so fucking tired I need help

Ben: [twenty years of depression followed by a 'now I'm safe' breakdown over the course of weeks] Sokari: [whatever the FUCK this mess is]

When Ahsoka mentions there only being three other Jedi at the time of her death, I was thinking Kanan, Yoda, and Obi-Wan (Leia told her about the latter two living past her). She's not counting anyone that received training after the Temple fell, and she didn’t know about Cal.

When Leia says “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

Depa: I'm no therapist but I diagnose you with "incredibly fucked up." Ahsoka: yeah, that’s fair

"Why did you pick Depa for--" She's pretty and I'm gay. Also because of the Kanan thing But mostly I'm gay "It's not a visual medi--" GAY

Empty of context beyond general post-fic AU: "Hey Sokari, we need to engage in psychological warfare against this individual and--" "I'm going to break into his office and leave a threatening note on his desk and leave no other sign that I was there. He'll see that his security is nothing and the only reason he isn't dead is because I'm too nice to kill him." "...okay, not what we were planning, but that works. Why is that your first choice?" "I really like breaking and entering, it's soothing." Ben just standing there with a bland smile like This Is Normal.

"We need someone to infiltrate a highly guarded facility in hostile territory." "So we're sending the Torrent kids?" [sigh] "We're sending the Torrent kids."

Rex and Sokari insist on both going by "Torrent" even though Rex could be a Fett. Jango really wants him to be a Fett. Rex has too many grudges to agree to being a Fett for... a while.

I really hope it's blatantly obvious that Ahsoka's not a reliable narrator for some things Ahsoka: Fett could care less if I died Jango: jfc even if you are older than me I can see you're fucked up. Drink your hot chocolate. Hells. She's got good reason to expect him to hate her as a Jedi! BUT. THAT IS NOT REFLECTIVE OF REALITY

We don’t get a lot of actual characterization for Jango, but the way I played him out here is he has never really parsed that Jedi are people before all this. It's a lot harder to treat them as a monolith when the traumatized former child soldier is having regular breakdowns in your shitty little kitchen

Fett: I respect you Ahsoka: No, don't do that

Ahsoka’s vigilantism is something that, in my mind, she's associating heavily with Zygerria and then the clones.

I figured that she never bothered to learn Quinlan’s teacher’s name but in the process of looking up some basic facts (whether he had a surname), I found that Wookiepedia was forced to give us a VERY wide range of possible death in Legends.

Please take a moment to imagine Quinlan's FACE when Ahsoka initially dismisses him. Quinlan has put a lot of effort into being rogueishly charming! It's very useful for his line of work! He knows to expect either irritation or a return flirtation when he acts like this with people his own age! Ahsoka is not flustered OR rolling her eyes and insulting him, she's just ignoring him and it's a bit of a blow to the ego

This just makes me really happy:

This was the initial comment I made, as a joke What if Maul is just. There. On one of the planets they make a pitstop at. What if Maul exists as the walking problem he is, but fifteen, and Ahsoka immediately tries to kick his ass and drag him back to Coruscant. I do not have room for this plot but What If

Despite not having room for this plot, I proceeded to write this plot.

Maul is kidnapped and it’s the best thing that ever happened to him HE'S FIFTEEN HE'S DUMB AS SHIT AND HAS A BAD ATTITUDE AND YEAH HE'S A DARKSIDER BUT HE'S FIFTEEN

Ahsoka: I sense... Maul [takes off sprinting] Rex: [immediately takes Jango's blaster and runs after her] Jango: Wait who Tholme: Who Quinlan: Who Jango: [looks at Leia] Leia: I don't know who that is either! Ahsoka, already wrestling a teenager to the ground: Oh no, you're a child, REX STUN HIM AND GRAB THE CUFFS, I'M SURE FETT OR THOLME HAS SOME

Fighting him isn't even legal, they have NO evidence of criminal wrongdoing, so first she needs to yell until he admits to something she can fight him about

Ahsoka: When I see Maul, it's on SIGHT Maul: WHO ARE YOU

Ahsoka: The Force didn't give me hands just to NOT throw them when I run into That Crafty Son Of A Bitch

Ben, when they arrive, after the tearful reunion: You... you brought Maul. Ahsoka: Well, yeah, he's fifteen and kinda dumb. I figured we could drag him here and force him into therapy, see what happens. Ben: I can't quite tell through the gag, but I think he's threatening to feed you your own spleen. Ahsoka: Lol, yeah.

Ben is absolutely on team "get Maul therapy" and will fight the Council on rehabilitating the baby Sith But also it's like. Here's your daughter! And your niece! And your daughter's QPP! Also your best friend, but baby, and his teacher, and the biological origin of a number of people you cared for deeply! AND ALSO THE GUY WHO SPENT LITERAL DECADES CRAVING YOUR DEATH, FOR SOME REASON

I just really want Ahsoka lovingly bullying Maul She gives him noogies and the horns don't protect him because girl has reinforced gloves

Maul's only allowed a low-power training saber and his fights with Sokari involve Much Taunting by her and Eventual Screaming by him, and everyone pops by to see: 1. Sokari doing the most absurd flips, for fun. 2. The bullshit that is ataru-shien reverse-grip jar'kai in the hands of someone who makes it work 3. What a Sith lightsaber form looks like 4. Just the general nonsense that is the way these two fight

Tia said “Wrt ridiculous flips. I'm remembering that time she beheaded four Kryst'ad at once.” and I just Rex brings up the quadruple beheading at one point to get someone to stop asking questions and the awkward, horrified silence almost makes him regret it. And then Sokari just snorts and makes a joke about how Rex once speared a slaver point-blank and everyone's just like hello??? "are you two okay" "no"

Maul absolutely starts crushing on Sokari after a 'sword under chin' moment and she's just very "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh you're fifteen, bye" GO MAKE PUPPY EYES AT OBI-WAN OR SOMETHING

The crushes are the worst part of everything, really, she's an attractive young woman that can kick a lot of ass, and a lot of people are into that! Unfortunately, most of those people are a decade younger than she is, mentally, because all the people her actual age look at her and see a child on account of the 17yo body.

It’s almost a good thing she’s in no place mentally for a relationship.

I just want Ahsoka to wear beskar.... I think that would be Nice........

This AU is also what caused this post.

I'm deeply enamored by the idea that Ahsoka can win fights against "older" padawans pretty much unilaterally, even when they team up 2v1 And then she offers to fight 5v1 "But only if I have permission to fight dirty." Ben approves it, a horror show full of "I fought many wars and will scream in your face or kick you in the balls if that's what it takes" follows She wins. There are no permanent injuries, but her reputation certainly gets weirder. Nobody under the rank of Knight agrees to let her fight dirty again. She just lets that stand because, well, she's not actually a padawan, she's thirty-three.

I’m not going to write this but my brain was EVIL and suggested it:

IT WOULD BE REALLY SAD IDK maybe 9yo Anakin has nightmares about what's happening to baby Ahsoka because bullshit about time-traveling force bonds IDK ANYWAY he cries to Sokari about the nightmares and she's like "oh shit" and it's time to go rescue herself from motherfucker unlimited

It's either that or she's like, expecting to welcome mini-me aaaany day now, for like, several months, before she realizes Something Went Wrong. Anakin’s dreams could even start right as she’s starting to realize something’s off.

Obi-Wan has never had a padawan that doesn't at some point bite Even Luke will, when pushed

OH also once the twins get Baby's First Lightsaber (training sabers, not real kyber), Sokari begs to borrow them for a dumb joke and tells Rex to get on her shoulders for a "Grievous Greeting" and they do The Thing

Jango and Ahsoka wrt Quinlan is just “Do I need to beat him up for you” “You realize I’ve beaten up sith lords before?”

JANGO'S TRYING He's just. "Can we be friends? Can I--can I be the guy that just noticeably gets in the way of a creep on the subway so you can be more comfortable without someone making a scene? I'm fucking trying here, give me a hint."

We didn’t actually figure out Jango’s age until this point. The only reason Fett's age matters is for Quinlan making a Wild Oats quip after Jango says he didn't know about Rex until a few weeks ago, and Fett going "How old do you think I am? And how old do you think the kid is?" and Quinlan getting Very Awkward as he does the math. Rex overhears and lets Quinlan sweat for a bit before saying "I'm a genetically-modified clone someone grew in a tube, he didn't know or have reason to know until he saw me with Sokari." Which is like. Eight additional layers of WTF, obviously, but at least Jango gets to avoid awkward wild oats jokes

Like, you’d expect the rebuttal to be ‘he’s my brother just with a biiig age gap’ or ‘he’s my nephew’

I find it very unfortunate for Quinlan that I've decided his defining characteristic in this context is going to be repeatedly putting his foot in his mouth

He’s trying so hard but "That sounds like a cool thing, maybe I'll ask ab--and it's another fucking trauma."

I'm doing Ahsoka&Jango t w i c e (there’s another fic where I’m doing it)

It’s just a fun dynamic! So much resentful respect.

Like she's twenty seconds away from calling him a bitch at any given time and he's just there like "I don't like you but I do see you move like you're about to tell an entire building to get on their knees with their hands in the air and I can respect that" Also she's probably much less judgmental about using blasters than Obi-Wan is The Maul subplot actually started with me daydreaming about Ahsoka grabbing a blaster for Reasons

I like the idea of Jango just deciding the most Useful thing he can do is help teach the Smol how to fight. He's AWKWARD around Rex and Soka because he doesn't know if there's anything he CAN teach them.

I didn’t actually plan for Tholme to figure out the age thing, he just SAID it and I had to sit there like Wait.

Ahsoka, Rex & Leia: ahhh, children Tholme: you say that like you aren’t children

I liked getting to write Rex's little "I have worked with all of them, and they're all Terrible" He loves them But They once got stranded on a planet that didn’t exist and Ahsoka died and Anakin killed a god.

There was research and discussion as to whether Ahsoka could win against Tholme but seeing as she held her own against Vader, and fought Grievous at that physical age without dying, etc.... yeah, the only thing holding her back was her body not being what she was used to, and she’s had a few weeks go adjust.

“I miss being able to just jump off skyscrapers” is such a jedi thing

Jango: I'll take the gun back if he tries to leave, they can't get far before--WHAT THE FUCK He knows Jedi are scary but he’s still not really used to just how over the top ridiculous they are He knows how to deal with Jedi in battle, not Whatever The Fuck These People Are Doing

Rex isn't even a Jedi, he's just so used to working with them. “Oh yes time for free-falling without a parachute again, same shit as always.”

Tia: I’m imagining Jango freaking out and Quinlan and Tholme being like. Concerned but mostly exasperated Clearly if they’re jumping off buildings it must be serious? But jfc they could’ve maybe communicated a bit more?

Leia: I want to finish my juice Tholme: Quin, stay with her while we go figure out what those two are doing. Quinlan: Wait what

Jango: Oh now he’s jumping off a building too??? Tholme: Sokari, you are not registered! You can't legally jump out windows yet! Jango: What the hell is going on? Is this normal?

We don’t necessarily know how often Ahsoka and Maul ran into each other after Mandalore. There was the later thing on Malachor, but other than that I'm just going with the idea that they ran into each other every year or two and just went for the eyes like feral cats

Ahsoka: I need to kick ass and you're coming with me. Rex: Yeah, okay. [several minutes later] Rex: Whose ass are we kicking?

Ahsoka and Rex

Neloms aren’t a SW fruit to the best of my knowledge, I just wanted to mess around with lemons/melons

Jango: you didn’t think any of this through, did you? Rex: you were there, you know we didn’t "When the Jedi says to jump out a window, I jump out a window."

Tholme’s real composed about stalking the ancient nigh-mythical enemy of his people, very “Life is already so goddamn weird”

This fic has been so heavy on the trauma but then I introduce Maul and suddenly it's the worst kind of comedy Nobody is competent, everyone's a little dumb, the bad guy is just grocery shopping

My propensity for banter has turned this into a six-person buddy cop comedy about Maul buying grapes They spend a significant amount to time ineffectually stalking Maul before Quin suggests the sensible option Quinlan just "You remember this is my literal job and specialty right"

Ahsoka sees Maul and all her brain cells go out the window except "Fight good" Usually she doesn’t need to worry about doing things legally. Maybe she needs to worry about someone seeing her do illegal things but she spent the past 15 yrs in a place where her existing was illegal

I feel like he’s also maybe kinda wanting to reassert that yes he is competent. Bc like. Ahsoka’s been kinda condescending this whole time and also can beat everyone up so. It's not his fault that he's actually the youngest person there, but.

Jango is finding this whole being friendly to Jedi thing a lot more overwhelming than he thought it would be. And overwhelming in different ways.

Maul usually signifies things getting worse and more horrifyingly tragic but he's just a dumb teen that they needed to arrest for his own good.

Quinlan: Look, I'm useful! Ahsoka: I've been through hell, wanna hear? Quinlan: NO. I DON'T. WHY.

Quinlan: I understand the concept of joking about your traumas, I do it sometimes myself! But sith hells that’s a lot of trauma.

Quinlan just wanted her to treat him as a Competent Individual, and here she is whipping out stories about Dying and Gods and the Force insists it's the truth and he just???? And apparently emo darksider over there is a Sith. And just, sure. Why not

A lot of people’s interactions with the time travelling disaster lineage is just

Tholme and Fett arguing and Ahsoka's just waiting for a moment to pop in with "Hey, when's the last time either of you worked with the other's culture before this mess? Yeah, that's what I thought."

Much like Leia and Ahsoka hurting each other earlier, and Tholme figuring out the de-aging, we ALSO have Fett’s confrontation with Ahsoka being something the characters just did, rather than something I planned.

FTR the only time I managed to trigger myself while writing this fic was the “your behavior isn’t actually acceptable and we’ve all been trying really hard to give you room to recover but you have to at least make an effort to not be a bitch”

Writing about people having PTSD and symptoms of such: Yay! Writing about people having PTSD and engaging in toxic behavior to cope: Shit Ahsoka had... basically my exact reaction. It's "remind yourself that you're in the wrong, that they have a point, and then be overly formal in the apology because fuck if you accidentally make them feel sorry for you when they're the injured party"

Quinlan: Can we be friends? I mean, you're an asshole, but you're really cool. Let's be friends. (He MIGHT be nursing a crush) (Neat mysterious girl who can beat him up.)

Also he realises she's probably nicer when not having a slow-motion breakdown He's like "Huh, you'll probably be less of an asshole once you've gotten therapy."

...also, she pretty and got Nice Biceps

I love writing a good mental breakdown

I was so close to including a "he tried to kill me" just early enough for Jango to wildly misinterpret as her thinking Quinlan tried to kill her. He'd have been very confused, considering Quinlan's the one that called them down in a panic and currently has Ahsoka having her massive breakdown in his lap But

Tia: I could see Jango interpreting it as idk, Quin resembling someone or for a moment acting like someone who tried to kill her and she had a flashback or something like that

There's absolutely room for a couple reasonable interpretations there And "trapped in a flashback about someone who tried to kill her" is absolutely what's happening! Just. You know. For a different reason. Jango probably wouldn’t assume Quin would hurt her, for one thing he seems to like her, for another even if he did he’s smart enough to pick a way that wouldn’t be so likely to get him caught

I had to step back and actually say “Also I'm just. Wow. I'm really just shoveling QPP Rex&Ahsoka at full speed”

Me, a few weeks ago, joking: Two halves of the same idiot black ops specialist Me, now, entirely seriously: Two halves of the same idiot black ops specialist

Me, belatedly: Oh, Ahsoka being joyfully mean to people was a form of mania she was unconsciously using to build a barrier between herself and her impending meltdown

She went from "just died" to "in charge of Rex and Leia" in like. Two minutes.

Confession: I've been delighting in the mental image of this whole Mess leading Jango to try to retake Mandalore, and Ahsoka loans him a saber for a 1v1 to get the darksaber.

“Can’t I just fight him barehanded? That’s how I did it on Galidraan.” "But the drama, Fett!"

Probably Rex has learned how to use a saber as well, because you never know when you have to borrow a weapon

I later changed my mind to Jango asking her to help, rather than her just sneak-teaching him, but it was funny.

Background nonsense to all this is Ahsoka and Rex, despite Rex being as force-sensitive as a lump of coal, having developed a process where she can extend her sensitivity to him mind-to-mind for weird symbiotic battle trance that scares everyone around them. It’s very similar to Battle meditation.

CONTEXT FOR LEIA BEING WORRIED ABOUT THOLME HIDING THINGS: Tholme is hiding the fact that the Council reached out and told him that the people he picked up might be connected to Ben and Luke, who showed up after the Depa thing but a solid week and change before Jango's ship makes it to the Temple. They asked that he not share that information to avoid getting anyone's hopes up in case the two situations aren't related. Ben and Luke haven't shared enough information for anyone to really be sure if the other three are connected Because the info Tholme has isn't quite the info Jango has, etc. And they can't just say Ben is a future Obi-Wan over comms

I just have a lot of feelings about people trying to do something right and just. Nobody's at fault! Not really! It's just complicated!

Tia: I like how when Ahsoka isn’t doing maladaptive trauma response stuff she’s very mature. And of course she’s had to be but it’s a good like, contrast. Where when she slows down to think about things she’s very sensible

Jango just spends most of this story lowkey wanting Ahsoka to Be His Friend but there's too much baggage that he's only metaphysically responsible for

Local aroace(?) has a squish

Ahsoka: He just wants to get on my good side because of Rex. Jango: I'm pretty sure you could kill an entire army without trying but you wouldn't because you have actual morals and stuff... and when I met you it was because you were killing yourself trying to keep (what appeared to be) children safe... you seem cool please be my friend.......

Ahsoka’s #1 weakness: mountains of trauma Ahsoka’s #2 weakness: she just doesn’t get why so many people think she’s cool and want her to be their (girl)friend

Jango, a 27yo massacre survivor who's killed Jedi masters with his bare hands: [gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly]

Ahsoka was raised in a religious meritocracy but developed all her opinions during a galactic war and then became a vigilante spy, Rex comes from a military cult, Leia is from an inherited monarchy that participates in democracy, Quinlan was originally from what appears to be a dynastic dictatorship, and IDK about Tholme other than that he is also from the religious meritocracy. And in legends Quinlan came to the religious meritocracy after his aunt sacrificed his parents to a vampire cult and then forced him to experience the psychometric echoes of that. There's just. A lot going on.

Leia at least has knowledge about structure and admin in theory that isn't based in either the military or populations under 10k

Jango: I want to be your friend. Ahsoka: Sounds fake.

I am unfairly fond of "Rex destroys a conversation by bringing up his own horrifying childhood and calling it a cult"

"Why does Sokari call you 'Rex'ika'?" "Because she's older than me." "...can I--?" "No."

Nickname privileges are extended ONLY to Ahsoka and older clones. There are no more older clones, so it's just Ahsoka.

Me joking about Star Wars AUs: Would you like a crackship? Me writing actual Star Wars fic: My favorite character type is apparently “too traumatized to have a relationship” so this is at least 90% gen.

I had to pull a scene opening at one point because Ahsoka's skill with not getting shot is actually much less useful than Tholme's clearance levels.

Now I really want a team-up of Ahsoka, Rex, and Jango where they do have to get in a dogfight of the "she flies, we shoot" variety and Fett just has to scream because the speeder thing to catch Maul was one thing, but this....

Ahsoka, before TCW: I know all the traffic rules but I'm not that great at flying! Ahsoka, after TCW: I'm great at flying but if you let me behind the wheel we are absolutely getting arrested.

She went from "knows the rules but doesn't have the skills" to "has the skills but primarily in the form of not getting shot" which! Is delightful! "Bet I can get us through that alley--" "DO NOT"

Jango and Ahsoka are both just very "Is this friendship? Is this camaraderie? My heart's been fried on platonic love by so many murders that I'm not sure anymore." "I've lost a lot of friends. I kind of forgot how to make those."

I have no idea if "hasn't been closer than Alderaan except that one trip to Chandrila" is canon-compliant but ehhhhhhhh It feels plausible enough?

Belatedly realized that I could just explain my optimal Rex&Ahsoka dynamic as just... drift compatible. It's vague enough on the specifics while still digging into the meat of what they mean to each other and how they work together. The terminology is already in existence. I can just use it.

Romantic? Platonic? Familial? Doesn't matter! They're drift compatible.

They are important to each other and that is what matters

I really like the Leia&Quinlan thing. He's just like "This small child needs a friend that isn't super depressed," and decided he's going to be her friend. I keep trying to toss in "Quinlan volunteers to 'baby'sit." She's not much older and she has a Baby Brain, it works out

There's a running bet as to whether Leia will leave the Order the second she turns thirteen, or if she'll let Sokari "train" her for a few years first. And... that’s how I came up with Leia Antilles, Senator of Serenno.

They'll be bullshitting Ben as her new master to "finish out the padawanship" since they can't tell everyone she's really in her thirties and he's conveniently there and already knows everything and was half her master anyway. Like Ben was planning on taking on Luke, but Luke is "six" and even he can't swing that as old enough to be a Padawan, and it's not like Sokari will take more than a handful of years to justify knighthood, sooooooooo

#Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Leia Organa #Jango Fett #Obi Wan Kenobi #time travel #de aging #Phoenix Babbles #Uncle Ben and Little Luke #Auntie Soka and Little Leia #I need to excise the bits that are actually funny on their own

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fictionplumis · 4 years ago

Text

An Old Guard AU for the Witcher, where like, instead of being witchers, they’re just immortal and badass but no one Knows that’s why they’re able to kill monsters so easily.

And then one winter they all have a dream of some poncy bard being murdered by a jealous troubadour in his sleep and they’re all like, “Fuck, alright, we have another one to add to our pack. Geralt, go get the kid. He’s probably scared and doesn’t know what’s going on.”

Only Jaskier isn’t in the slightest. He wakes up after having his throat slit and is like, “Whoa. Okay. That’s weird. But also glad I’m not dead. Also also, I’m going to make Valdo Marx’s life a living hell for daring to kill me.”

Geralt finds him stalking the poor troubadour, pretending to be dead to everyone else and only sometimes showing his face to Valdo at the worst times. Just a peek and a smile as he walks by in a tavern, once during a performance that had Valdo going pale as a ghost and cutting off mid-note, making an absolute fool of himself. Jaskier may have died but he came back to life and now he is LIVING dammit.

Geralt has to drag him out of Cidaris by his fancy silk collar.

It only gets worse from there, because no matter how many times Geralt tries to explain that they’re immortal up until they aren’t, Jaskier only hears “we’re immortal” so on the way to Kaer Morhen he’s mauled by a bear because he went running off into the woods saying something about exploring new territories, ate poisonous berries twice because he had always wanted to try nightshade and they looked good, was beaten to death for cheating some people out of a large sum of coins in Gwent, and has been murdered by no less than seven angry spouses. The pain of dying just... Doesn’t deter him.

The others are expecting to get this timid, trembling bard asking them all these questions, someone they have to gently coax into trusting them, and instead when Geralt and Jaskier arrive, Jaskier is chattering animatedly at a very Tired Geralt, who walks straight past Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir without a word so he can go to his room and fucking SLEEP while someone ELSE deals with the crazy bard.

They learn very quickly that they won’t be able to train Jaskier to be a witcher, mostly because Jaskier just flat out refuses on the grounds that, “While it would be quite impressive and I respect your trade highly, I am but a humble bard at heart and have every plan on continuing that. Thank you kindly for your offer but I’ll stick with this.” And when he’s forced into it he just... Doesn’t do anything. What’s the point in raising his sword to block when he’ll just come back to life after Lambert kills him? Whatever.

So they’re just forced to let him be a bard.

#the witcher #the old guard #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia

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gaiuswrites · 3 years ago

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Judgement

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | seven

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Things have changed, things have stayed the same.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: e m o (i can't stress this enough), illusions to mental health issues (?), emo, mature themes and language, EMO, family-trauma related angst, emo

Notes: I wanted to completely cut Din's perspective out of this chapter to emphasize the reader's pov. Hopefully it tracks? Big lovey-dovey shout out to @pedros-mustache for bonking me in the head with a proverbial pool noodle. ily friends. Be kind to yourself. Cheers x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

This is fine. You’re fine.

You’re okay with this.

You’re okay

You’re

You think, perhaps, the sting is made worse by the normalcy of it all.

You think, perhaps, that this stabbing—this splinter in your gut, prodding prodding prodding—would not be so sharp if it were different between you—if things were different; if it were clumsy and cumbersome and mauled. Ruined.

But it isn’t; it’s the same. You and Din and his boy, his adi’ka—it’s ordinary. Evergreen.

You suppose you should be grateful—grateful your dynamic hasn’t shifted, hasn’t sullied any. Grateful you still have your Mandalorian piloting you home. Grateful you have his foundling to keep you company, to keep you preoccupied.

But you feel false.

It’s as if you slipped into an alternate reality—one where you and Din touched each other, held each other; one where he buried his frustration to the hilt in your womb and you moaned his name like your tongue was formed for it—and then were snapped back to this one here—this nothing, this void—without anyone taking note of your absence. Because your routines—those domestic tableaus—remain unchanged. They are well-oiled and operate regardless— undeterred, succinct.

The days start the same.

You set aside a warm bowl of fruit and porridge, steam rising to greet him as it fans over his helm. Good morning.

Exiting the fresher, you find the dishes washed and dried—the towel folded neatly into a square beside them. Good morning.

You return the bowls to their shelf, nestling them right next to your unfulfilled expectations and embarrassing desires—butted against your silly, silly heart.

“Anything good?” he asks one night, passing through the galley as you thumb through the news on your holopad

You nearly choke on it—your throat closing up tight around the casual banality of the question. Because that’s what you two share now: you have things. You have quips and lines and normal and none of that disappeared after you’d made each other unravel not four paces away, pressed there against that wall—the wall that stands there even now, a tall and mocking reminder.

You wonder, if you sealed your ear to the bulkhead, could you still hear yourself? The symphonic reverb—your girlish pants, Din’s hoarse rasps— trapped there in the seams of the steel siding like the grooves of a record, to be played and played again.

“Never,” you say, like you’ve always said, and do your best to flash him a grin—the one you’ve worn before, the one, perhaps, you hope he likes. The one where you go dimpled and dove-like.

And then he makes for the cockpit and you are left

without.

The afternoons stretch familiar, too.

Din flies the ship and you watch the child—steering him clear of disasters and shenanigans the best you can. He tugs gentle at your hair; you nip at his little hand until he’s dissolved to giggles—the same the same the same, all of these acquainted patterns continuing to revolve on. Din lands and prepares for his hunt—banging around the belly of the ship, gathering weapons and ammunition and rations—and your eyes skitter along after him, following his hulking figure as he steps past where you and Munch are seated, heading towards the mouth of the Crest.

Din.

You’re half afraid of what it will sound like now— what it will feel like, bruised and jagged in your mouth. Like it doesn’t belong there, like it has no right laying claim to your tongue.

“Din,” you call hurriedly to the span of his broad back as he leaves the ship, your spine straightening out of the chair. You say it; you speak his name and to your surprise find it is none of those things—none of those ugly fears, none of those roughened gums. It’s worse.

Because scarier still, it comes out cotton soft; it comes out comfortable and true. It tastes like home maybe — like a version of home where people could come and go and laugh and not be frightened. Where they could hold little children in their arms and sleep and breathe and be and say I am here with you. Here we are. How special. I have chosen this. I have made this with you.

Din.

His shoulders tense and his feet stop short, just before the apex of the ramp. He turns to you, slow. Controlled.

“Good hunting.”

Din looks at you, the heavy umber of his eyes settling on your own, and he freezes—stock-still, his blood and muscles and bone thickened to paste, rendering him motionless. His dark gaze scans over you—the wisps of hair dancing around your face, the sag of your shirt lolling from your shoulder, his son in your lap. You bounce Munch on your knee and he gurgles out a quieted hum, glancing between his surrogate parent and you.

“Thank you,” Din replies, stilted, and you think you discern a subtle scrape of his modulator; you think you sense his lips part, pained and breathy, the cusp of another thought—of more, anything more— corralled by his sense of duty, hampered by the armor that plates him.

You untangle the boy’s claws from your hair and slip your fingers around his wrist, waving his green hand in a delicate to and fro.

Goodbye, it says. We’ll be right here when you get back.

He stays. For another glimmer of a millisecond he remains, sunlight pouring in through the opening of the Crest—shining off his beskar, off the gunmetal grey covering his body—focus trained on you both—before he pivots, cape whipping behind him as Din vanishes like he does without fail—away. Away.

To vapors.

Three days of this—three miserable days. Seventy-two suffocatingly mundane hours.

You figured this would be easy. You figured it could be as painless as you chose to make it. You were two consenting adults, after all—you both had needs, and you both met them—and you thought that this would be simple.

What you failed to take into consideration however, is that Din Djarin is anything but a simple man.

Because he is all these things, paradigms and paradoxes, coiled into one very tightly wound warrior—a warrior who can dismember a blaster just as effectively as he can sop up baby vomit from his foundling’s brown robes—one handed, no less. In flight. Din is all sharp edges and smooth silver, he’s cold and calculating and roguish and endearing and you can’t grapple with the dichotomy of him—with all these mismatched pieces at odds with themselves that somehow fit perfectly, inexplicably together.

You were naïve to assume you could go back—as if you could unremember the shape of his fingers as they filled you; as if you could make yourself forget how needy he bowed against you, how hot and thick his cock rested in your palm when he pitched his hips and released his desperation in white streaks along your skin.

And when your mind isn’t wholly consumed—smothered with the crushed velvet sin of that time-capsuled memory—it’s tortured in other ways, with crueler techniques. Pointed. Specified.

You watch him. You wish you could look away, but there isn't anywhere else to look. There isn’t a corner you can escape to, nor an inch of the Crest that isn’t him—isn’t an emblem of him, isn’t an extension of his personage.

You see him - day in, day out - interact with the child and Maker, it’s so precious and he’s so damn good. Two arms, cradling Munch snug to his chest—you know their strength now, you know their weight—and you observe as Din holds this boy with the same hands that unmade you—that molded you like clay and parted your wet heat. You see this man—so stoic, so reserved—dote on his child in a way that you never were, and bit by bit, it breaks you.

You caught them napping together once, compressed in that dingy of an alcove by the refresher. Your feet halted in their tracks at the sight and you held your breath—he’s a light sleeper, you didn’t dare wake them—Din’s helmet nodded to his chest and the kid, open-mouthed and adorable, nestled into the crook of his arm.

It made you want to sing. It made you want to cry.

You had to pry your boots from the floor and force yourself to move, to scram. You had to be anywhere else but there, ogling like a spectator at a zoo, nose smushed against the glass, watching the last of some great species simply be as nature intended—calm, drowsy, at peace.

You busied yourself then, scuttling preoccupied about the Crest but the image never evaporated, it never faded—it dogged you, tacking itself onto your psyche: the picture of him there, Din and his boy, holding on to one another like anchors while they slept, and you can't resist drawing the question.

Is that what it’s supposed to look like, to feel like—a father’s arms around your shoulders? Is that what safe looks like? Is that what family is?

You wouldn’t know. You cannot recollect the glow of it—the memory of such an embrace—on your own skin, and isn’t that what makes it all so achingly befitting, so inevitable. As if the Moirai—those weird sisters—spun this string of fate tailored to your being and plucked it like a harp, curating a melody for you and you alone.

Because you see Din give what you never got, and it makes you want. You want him. You curse yourself for it, but fuck you want him—every sordid part of you is tugged and pulled in his direction. You want him, magnetically, you want him you want him you wa—

And Din is fine. A Mandalorian pillar, undisturbed. He is bedrock. This is the Way.

And while he withstands the weathering, you crumble beneath it. It's eroding you. Like tides crashing monotonous against a beaten shore, you are in granules—and these morsels, ever-fine, they nick you - gritting - sanding you raw, abrading you rugged.

You thought you could ignore them at first. They were but lace whispers behind your ear—muted and tickling and just far off enough to deflect. But with each passing moment those feathered words grew loud—rude and vocal and you couldn’t keep them out. Round and round, they wriggled into your most tender swathes of skin. Skipless. Poison.

He regrets it.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t enjoy it.

He didn’t want me He doesn’t want me I’m not wanted

These thoughts, insistent and pervasive, they are sewn into the bed of your mind one ugly seed at a time. You water them. You don’t mean to, you don’t wish to cultivate these errs but you know they will fester and grow with or without you. So you tend them—watchful, you garden—and they push up through the soil, sprouting weeds, choking the dirt. Marring it fallow.

But you’re okay with this. You’re fine—look at you, you’re fine.

///

The planet of Jelucan is bustling.

It’s got a pulse of its own, energetic and thrumming; there’s an electric current charging the cool air. It’s alive. This place is alive. Towers and buildings are chiseled into the cliff faces of the mountains framing the city, reaching tall towards the pale blue sky overhead. The capital—Valentia, you learned—is almost offensively busy— far busier than any of the backwater territories you and Din had explored in the recent months. There’s so much noise, it’s cacophonous— speeders dodging pedestrians milling about the throughway, engines whirring and backfiring, merchants arguing, hawking foods and goods from their windowed shops and brightly colored stalls, politicians and well to-dos seemingly gliding above it all as the common rabble of varying species and origins mingle and mix.

You suppose it reminds you of Coruscant. You suppose that makes you nervous.

Because you’ve been holed up in his ship and flitting through the Outer Rim, seeing the stars and the moons and planets and there’s just so much life—everywhere, everywhere— this galaxy is chalked full of it; it’s spilling over the sides with it all. And Maker, these months have felt like an adventure; they’ve felt like a fantasy, like an escape. You’ve eloped, caught in the whirlwind romance of it all—shirking your duties, your career, absconding from your shitty, shoebox of an apartment back home.

But Valentia is all too quick to ground you, all too eager to remind you of that blissfully forgotten reality; it taps on its wristwatch, gutting you with a look:

your time, my dear, is up.

The cobbled pavement underfoot is stony and industrial, each step landing too hard, too hollow—like everyone can hear your chipped heart pounding through your boots—exposing you, coloring you a liar.

This is fine. You’re fine. You’re okay with this.

You’ve been telling yourself that—bargaining, pleading—attempting to manifest into fruition; speaking it to yourself like a chant in hopes it’ll stick—in hopes you’ll fall for the ruse.

But it’s as if each dulled footfall shakes the rust from your neglected truth, revealing all too plainly that no. No, you’re not. You aren’t.

You and Din do not walk in tandem—his gait is longer, and he’s a stride in front of you—but there isn't so much space between your bodies that his presence doesn’t distract you completely, doesn’t eat you up and make you fizz. Your gaze could latch anywhere in this packed, teeming city, and you would still see him. Still feel him—on the nape of your neck, in the wet pink of your cunt. Throbbing reminders of the man that has knotted himself so seamlessly into your world.

You shake your head, locks rustling— as if you could rock him loose from where he clings on to your mind— when you feel a spindled hand at the wing of your back. Startled, you spin towards the touch.

There’s a woman— she isn’t human, but judging by her general appearance she’s some species close to it. She’s old. Whittled. Her maroon eyes are clouded, her silvered hair swooped back into a low bun, wiry frizz haloing the crown of her head.

She’s petite, but it looks wrong— inorganic. Too knobby, she’s all elbows and boney angles where she shouldn’t be. It’s as if she’s shrinking, right there before you. Time, pressing her in— pressing her down.

She’s lived a life in the sun; she wears lines on her face, deep and haggard, and her skin is pulled taut around her skull like hide stretched over a tanning rack. She’s ancient, prehistoric.

She’ll probably outlive you all.

An alien language you don’t recognize comes spilling fast from her thin mouth. You can’t decipher the string of words rushing like river water, the current unstoppable, but you garner she’s insistent; there’s no misconstruing the earnest fervor in her voice. Something woolen is held tight in her grasp—a blanket, by the looks of it, intricate and pleated—and she’s handing it to you like her very existence depends on it.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, confusion evident on your brow, “I’m sorry I don’t—”

She continues speaking, urgent and desperate and pleading—gesticulating as she offers you the throw, the shiny golden thread needled into the patchwork winking in the afternoon sun. The child slung at your side chirps curiously, saucer-large eyes following the shimmer of the fabric.

“I’m sorry, it’s beautiful - really - but—”

You’re jobless and blowing through your savings at a blistering speed. You barely have two measly credits to rub together; getting supplies is tricky enough as is. Purchasing something as ornate and superfluous as a blanket was out of the question. Munch coos sadly, a twitter of his voice, and it ruptures your heart to say it, “I can’t afford something like this.”

The bell on the door to the adjacent shop grabs your attention, producing a Twi’lek as it opens. She’s younger, perhaps around your age, and her lilac lekku bob as she bounds over to you.

“Hi,” she breathes, lips pulling back to reveal a charming smile as she glances between you two. “Everything okay?”

Before you can get a word out the elder resumes chattering, incensed as she addresses the other store attendant—you think it might be Old Corellian, some archaic dialect you presumed died out eons ago, predating the Battle of Yavin by centuries.

Just how old is this woman?

There’s a hushed exchange between them—the Twi’lek’s attempt at the language proving stiff. Her cadence is clunky, nowhere near as smooth and lilted as the other woman’s, but they must come to some sort of a conclusion, because they face you—two sets of eyes, burrowing blinkless into yours. The girl takes a small half step towards you, speaking - blessedly - in Basic.

“The blanket. It’s for you. She wants you to have it,” she explains, “for the little one.”

A twitch notches your eyebrow, gaze flickering back to the older woman, something akin to a crinkled smile worn into the grooves of her wizened face. She nods, fervent and solemn—a seriousness set in the desperate way she bores into you, urging you to understand. To see.

More foreign utterances pass between them— the younger woman listening to her soft vowels and gritting consonants for a beat, before continuing to translate.

“She says, you have a beautiful family. It makes her—” the Twi’lek pauses, choosing her next words, “yearn for the past, to reclaim time.”

Family. A beautiful family. A beautiful—

You consider telling them.

You consider correcting her, informing these kind souls that you’re only temporary. A fleeting thing— like the seasons, autumn dying cold into winter— you’ll leave when the time comes. You consider telling them that that’s the arrangement you agreed to, and that you’ll be delivered back to Coruscant and deposited off at your doorstep with nothing but a cheap, portable cot and an unused blaster the bounty hunter had unfathomably given to you once upon a time. That they’ve mistaken you for someone else—someone important to Din and his foundling. Someone relevant. Someone permanent.

But, you don’t.

You don’t rectify their assumption. Your silence betrays you, confirming the lie, and you grant yourself to revel in it. Like slipping into silk sheets, you roll in the luxury of the imaginary sentiment— letting it swaddle you, comfort you, kiss your skin.

And just for a moment, maybe you allow yourself to believe that this is real: the three of you, a perfect band of misfits; entwined together, fated and star-crossed.

A family.

“She hopes you know that what you have is special. She says, she hopes you hold onto them—never let go. Never.”

Fuck.

Can they hear it? Can they hear the way parts of you fracture like slate and quake to the asphalt in shards? Can they see the shiver in your knees—how your nails dig into the rough tweed of the satchel hung long beside you?

You steal a trepid glance back at Din who has since stopped and stands idle in wait—there in the middle of the lane, a single stone splitting the sea of people passing through. He’s unreadable, his visor illegible. He appears statuesque, arms immobilized in plaster by his sides—inhuman under all that effacing steel as life moves in flurries, eddying around him.

The kid babbles, snapping your focus off the Mandalorian and returning it to the two women. They adorn their sincerity openly, as one would a badge, extending the blanket to you—you, a perfect stranger.

Shit. Tears prickle the wells of your eyes. There’s something lodged in your throat— a canary in a cage, batting violent against its bars. You attempt to swallow it down with an ugly gulp, but it provides no relief. This emotion you’ve leveed—your joy, your pain and embarrassment, your desire and need—it swells in you, threatening to slosh over. You blink it back, keeping it confined safely behind your lash line.

“I—thank you,” you manage, looking between them. Awed and humbled, you accept their offering, handling it with the care of something holy—something sacred—and drawing it to your chest. Immediately, Munch latches a claw into a drooping corner of the woven material, a happy hum sounding from his droll grin. “Thank you,” you murmur again, reverent and breathy, reversing away from them—refusing to drop their gaze until you must—before finally righting yourself and walking on.

You’re shaken. You’re shaking.

And it is on shaky feet that you meet Din some steps later, pausing once you arrive next to him. His helm shifts; you register the sweep of his eyes roving over you—the burn of them along your shoulders, sloping down to the blanket folded against your breasts, slipping lower to his adi’ka sitting in the satchel at your hip. He’s clutching at the new token, dipping the edge of it into his tiny mouth to teethe.

And then,

he lifts at the wrist, orange glove tips raising - reaching - towards you. Din takes the hem of the quilt between his fingers experimentally, massaging the feel of the fabric—his knuckles brushing the exposed skin of your arm, searing into your flesh like a hot iron, lingering there mesmerizingly.

It’s the first he's touched you. It’s the first he’s touched you since, since—

His hand drops, hinging back to his side.

“Ready?”

His modulated voice crackles indiscernible and your stomach leaps to your neck. Are you breathing? Kriff, you’re not sure. You have to check—deliberately drawing in a gust of chilled air, the rush burning your lungs as you suck it down. With a nod of your head, a placid smile glosses over the shudder of your features, dousing the singe of your nerves.

“Ready.”

///

You think about that old woman later that day, and the many days that follow, her visage marked with centuries and regret and history. Life, evident in the spider’s web of wrinkles engraving her. But there was love too, clearly wormed into the lines of her face. So much of it— almost too much for a galaxy this hard and war-torn. The things she’s possibly witnessed: the atrocities, the devastation, the loss.

The wisdom she has gained while all of those she’s ever known succumb to the inevitability of age, as her past decays around her. The knowledge she absorbs while she withers—while time does nothing but skip by. Blameless. Forever onward.

In your dreams that night, she appears in front of you like mist rising off a lake, astral and ephemeral— there, but not. Haunting you, inescapable wherever you fix your eye. The woman nods silently. She’s mouthing something to you, but the words never come.

You understand.

tags:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @sammysdaisy @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x fem!reader #Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #star wars fandom #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x you #mando x you #din djarin x ofc #mando x ofc #king of cups

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jackyjango · 3 years ago

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AU-gust Day 7: Beekeeper Fantasy

Yeah… I have no idea about beekeepers either 🤷🏽‍♀️. A/O/B. Implied Mpreg. Where Erik’s a dragon and Charles is a dragon bearer.

‘Charles, is it?’ The dragon asks, voice deep and rumbling.

Charles nods, chin tilted up. He’d known that dragons had human forms, but Charles hadn’t expected it to be so human. The dragon walks towards him now, chest bare and loose pants billowing. Just like his lair, he smells strongly of smoke, metal, and something very rich. Something very Alpha.

‘Tell me, Charles,’ the Dragon says, stopping within Charles’ reach. ‘Those humans tied you, beat you, and threw you into a dragon’s lair. You’re willing to forgive them. Don’t you crave justice?’

Charles pulls his sleeves over his bruised and bloodied wrists. He may be beaten, but he won’t budge. ‘Hurting them in turn isn’t justice. Those villagers have lives and families and loved ones. How is punishing everyone for the mistakes of a few justice. Besides, I’m one of those humans you speak so lowly of.’

The dragon’s lips twitch in something akin to amusement. ‘And why exactly do you think they threw you to me?’

Charles had asked himself the same question repeatedly when the thick fog of fear had lifted, but hadn’t found any plausible answers. Shaw and his lackeys had gagged him, bound him in rope, and had left him to find his way through the forest to the dragon’s lair. The dragon had found him before he was mauled by a wolf or bear. Charles can’t decide which fate would be better.

The dragon takes another step closer when Charles doesn’t answer.

The fear that Charles had fought to keep at bay all this while comes clawing up his throat. Human form or not, the dragon is dangerous.

‘You’re wrong,’ the dragon says, voice soft and oddly gentle. ‘You’re wrong about everything. I don’t want to hurt the humans. I only want to hurt the man who took my family from me. My name is not Magneto. My name’s Erik. And you’re not just a human. You have fire in your veins.’ The dragon— Erik— comes closer, such that Charles has to crane his neck to meet his blazing gaze. Erik places a large palm on Charles’ stomach, and the contact burns like a brand over his tunic. ‘And dragon eggs in your womb.’

>>AU-gust Fills

#cherik #cherik fic #au gust #fantasy #dragon au #a/b/o mention #implied mpreg #au gust fill #jjcherik

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ace-oreos · 4 years ago

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I know its impossible for it to have happened but I would like to see some Alpha vs Darth Maul. Like Maul would be like 'oh your one of kenobi's' and Alpha would be like 'i just work for the man but i will absolutely fight you'

I’ve said it many times before and I’ll say it one last time here: anon, you were so very patient and I can’t thank you enough for waiting all these months for me to finish this.

I can safely say the funniest part of writing this was trying to figure out how to put together Maul’s Drama™ and... Alpha’s penchant for avoiding drama by any means necessary. It made writing the dialogue VERY fun XD

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added!): @dudewhynotthis @merspots @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @delta-the-mando @or-te-ka-ra @huitzilinthebudgie3 @a-lil-perspective

By all accounts, the Sith isn’t supposed to be here.

Just my luck, Alpha thinks, and sighs when he remembers Fordo offered to take this one off his hands. It wasn’t worth committing the full strength of Fordo’s squad to this assignment - or so he initially thought. They hadn’t gotten word of hostile Force-users until Alpha reported his findings.

He’d been unpleasantly surprised, to say the least.

Maul and Kenobi have history, if he remembers correctly. Kenobi hasn’t told him the half of it and Alpha really doesn’t care one way or another. He wouldn’t, if he had already devised his own method for killing someone who can very likely predict his every movement.

Really, the only way to get one over on Maul would be to cut off his connection to the Force. There’s no way of doing that, as far as Alpha knows, so this op will require a fair share of ingenuity and a healthy disregard for conventional means of warfare. Some more time wouldn’t go amiss either, but Alpha will have to work with what he has.

So he lets Maul find him. Draws him out now rather than exert energy that could very well be the deciding factor later. He can’t say for sure that Maul is surprised, exactly, but whatever flickers across his face doesn’t look like anger just yet.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” the Sith says slowly, all acid sibilants.

“I suppose you were hoping for Kenobi,” Alpha dismisses. “Tough luck.”

Alpha can put up just as much of a fight as any Jetii, but letting Maul underestimate him could work to his advantage if he plays his cards right. If Kenobi’s teachings are true, the Sith use their anger to guide them. Alpha intends to use that against him.

“So he sent you in his place, is that it?”

“The general couldn’t be bothered with the likes of you,” Alpha is more than happy to inform him. “He’s beaten you once already. Why waste energy proving it again?”

That strikes a nerve. The Force might not be part of Alpha’s arsenal, but he can read the rage in Maul’s expression all the same. Better to tread cautiously now; provoke Maul too soon, and the force of his anger will be too much for Alpha to redirect.

The Sith is examining him closely. “You must be one of Kenobi’s, then.”

Alpha shrugs. “Not exactly, but for our purposes - you could say so.”

“You feel no loyalty to him?” Maul asks slyly like that will get under Alpha’s skin.

“Depends on the day.” Alpha lets his hand drift casually to his blaster. “If you’re looking for a fight, I’d be happy to fill in. Like I said, Kenobi couldn’t care less about - ”

True to his intuition, Maul’s first attack isn’t based in the Force. He’s faster than Alpha anticipated, but he manages to dodge the headlong strike. Maul pivots, and a double-bladed lightsaber appears in his hands.

Maul is fast - Alpha just has to be faster.

Evasion isn’t Alpha’s usual style, but he recognizes the necessity given the threat he’s facing. It’s no use trying to get a round past Maul’s saber; it would likely be deflected back at him anyways.

And there’s no way Alpha can pull this off if he and the Sith are on equal footing. But if he can make the environment work to his advantage - if he can force Maul onto the wrong foot and seize that opportunity when it arises - he just might have a chance.

Still, Maul isn’t sloppy enough that an opening will appear without some coaxing on Alpha’s end. It’ll mean sacrificing discipline for whatever works in the moment, but he decides it’s justifiable given the payoff.

Even as he stays in motion he’s careful not to expend more energy than is strictly necessary. It’s just as well Jango was never one for fancy footwork; Alpha doesn’t get caught up in anything of the sort now. Eventually, however, Maul catches on and pulls back, eyeing him.

“Kenobi’s lessons weren’t lost on you, I see.”

Alpha lets him talk, mind racing all the while. The compound’s labyrinthine layout could give him an edge - he’ll just have to do what he can to avoid getting crossed up along the way. But there’ll be risks no matter what; it’s just a matter of choosing the approach that will leave him the most room to adapt.

Just as Maul begins another pass with his saber, Alpha sends a few well-placed shots towards the Sith's feet and makes a break for a doorway just off Maul’s left shoulder.

Something collides with the wall dangerously close to his head, aided by the Force. Alpha ducks away instinctively but doesn’t look back. The first corridor is narrow; the second opens up to a catwalk that overlooks a wide hangar several meters below.

He doesn’t have time to plant charges around the doorframe. It’s a shame, really - even the Force wouldn’t reveal detonators. But no use lamenting what he can’t have; Maul isn’t far behind.

Alpha doesn’t much like the thought of getting caught on the catwalk, either, but there’s no other route out of this section of the compound. At least it’s stable; he doesn’t like to think what could happen if he didn’t have secure footing.

He’s nearly halfway across, just starting to think he might’ve pulled this off when something slams into him from behind and he’s plunging towards the hangar floor in an uncontrolled fall, fighting blind panic.

It’s sheer dumb luck that his rappel line catches something solid. He clutches at the taut line, muscles shaking with exertion and a fresh wave of adrenaline. Regaining a clearheaded state of mind is a conscious effort made all the more difficult by the realization that for all the Sith underestimated him, it’s painfully clear that Alpha badly underestimated Maul.

With the catwalk no longer an option - he’ll only be walking straight into the onslaught - Alpha draws a steadying breath and lets himself fall. The breath is knocked from his lungs when he hits the ground, but he manages to roll with the impact.

One glance towards the catwalk confirms Maul intends to follow him. Before the Sith’s feet hit the floor, Alpha fires. Maul is nowhere near defenseless, but splitting his concentration between fending off Alpha’s attack and manipulating the Force is the closest he’ll get.

The first shot clips Maul’s shoulder; the second hits home center mass. Knocked back by the force of impact, Maul’s landing is graceless and uncoordinated. Alpha presses his advantage, aiming for vulnerable joints.

Another round sears Maul’s arm. He snarls and switches his blade to his other hand. Despite Alpha’s best efforts, a few more steps and he’ll be too close for comfort.

Alpha risks a glance at the catwalk. After Maul’s attack, it’s unlikely it’ll hold up under additional strain. He still has a few detonators on hand, and given their positioning…

The explosion rocks the hangar. Shards of metal pepper the hangar floor, and the catwalk begins to buckle. Sheets of metal tear away and plummet to the ground.

Alpha throws himself aside, narrowly avoiding being crushed. Maul isn’t so lucky. Another section of the catwalk crashes down, and the Sith disappears beneath the metal.

The hangar is oddly silent now; the ragged gasps seizing Alpha’s chest are suddenly deafening. He half expects Maul to explode out of the wreckage, enraged, but there’s no sign of movement.

Time to pull out.

Traveling to the nearest Republic outpost will take the better part of a day, but they’ve got reinforcements and his ride out of here. And if the rumors are to be believed, Fordo and his squad are just a star system away. Navigating through Separatist-infested territory will no doubt be slow going, but if he has to he can hold out until -

And suddenly a vice tightens around his throat and he claws at his neck instinctively, his free hand scrabbling for a hold on his knife, lungs aching as he struggles to breathe, and Maul proves to be very much alive, looming over Alpha, lightsaber in hand once again.

Even as Alpha’s vision threatens to fade - he can’t breathe - it registers distantly that Maul is within arm’s length. There’s a knife sheathed on Alpha’s belt - there’s a slim chance he can - if he could just -

Maul steps closer.

Alpha drives his knife up and in and doesn’t let go until it sinks to the hilt. Maul is howling, the hangar echoing with the animalistic scream, and the blur of red at the edge of Alpha’s vision streaks closer -

And then the pressure on his neck abruptly loosens. He curls into himself instinctively, coughing as he struggles to draw air into his lungs. The telltale hum of lightsabers drowns out Maul’s snarling; Alpha can’t help thinking that at least if he dies here, he’ll die on his feet. Not the death he’d have preferred, but -

“Easy, Captain.” A gentle pressure on his shoulder accompanies the familiar voice, and Kenobi’s face comes into view. He’s smiling, somehow, as though he couldn’t be bothered with the ongoing duel behind him. Of course Skywalker is here too; where his Master goes, he goes.

There’s a story behind that, no doubt, but Alpha has a feeling everything will be divulged in due time.

_____________

“Well, you certainly took your time, General,” Alpha grumbles with a halfhearted attempt at exasperation after Kenobi is done detailing exactly how he and his Padawan ended up here when they were expected at the Temple.

“We made a few detours along the way,” Kenobi answers, flashing his Padawan a wry look that suggests those detours were likely not by their design.

Skywalker decidedly ignores his Master’s remark and instead says, “So now what?”

Alpha sighs. “Maul escaped, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“And?”

“And you’re not going after him,” Kenobi declares, correctly interpreting the look on Skywalker’s face and the set of his shoulders.

“We don’t know what kind of reinforcements he might have,” Alpha points out. “Or where he is now, for that matter.”

“And some of us need medical attention,” Kenobi adds with a pointed look at Alpha.

“It’s nothing serious,” Alpha says, more out of habit than anything as he knows full well his protests fall on deaf ears.

“Alpha...”

“I’ve had worse,” he insists. “Sir.”

“Humor me,” Kenobi says with enough of an edge to his voice that Alpha understands the words are not open for interpretation. “I’m sure this won’t be the last we see of him.”

“Do me a favor, then, General.”

“Oh?”

“Next time you run into him, knock his shebs to haran and back.”

Kenobi smiles. “I’ll see what I can do, Captain.”

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #darth maul #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #the clone wars #star wars #thanks for the prompt!#i know it took me way too long to write this #but I'm open to more!

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firelord-frowny · 3 years ago

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Ok, so here’s my rant about ~critical race theory~ and Certain People’s gripe that all it does is Teach White Children To Feel Guilty, and there’s prolly like a 60% chance that i’m not going where you think i’m going with this. here we gooooo!

There is NO. WAY. to teach a fact-based curriculum on the history and legacy of race and racism in america (or anywhere, for that matter), without kids feeling hurt or embarrassed or ashamed or otherwise Unhappy. This goes for ALL kids. Not just the white ones.

Why??

Because when you learn about living, breathing human beings being brutalized and exploited and humiliated and treated like animals, you are SUPPOSED to feel bad. That feeling is called compassion. It’s empathy, and it’s a GOOD thing. If you can learn about the atrocities committed by humankind against other members of humankind, and NOT feel any degree of despair or shame or disgust, then there’s something wrong with you, tbh.

And if you happen to have some Major Traits in common with the demographics that were primarily responsible for whatever atrocity you’re learning about, you are GOING to have a negative emotional response to that, whether the source you’re learning from tells you to or not. It is NORMAL to feel uncomfortable with knowing what kinds of horrors your ancestors may have been responsible for, and that those acts continue to impact the present-day world. It is NORMAL to feel upset about the fact that even though you obviously didn’t Do Anything, you still have certain privileges thanks to those who did do everything. No, you can’t wave your arm and Fix It. Nobody expects you to.

You might think I’m talking specifically about white people, but I’m not. I’m talking about ANYONE who belongs to a demographic that, historically, has caused or participated in the mistreatment of a different demographic. Think: Christians who feel bad about the ways Christianity has been used as a weapon against certain groups of people. Straight people who feel badly that Other Straight People have made the lives of LGBTQ+ people so difficult for so long. Like, you don’t have to have ever called somebody a homophobic slur in order to still accept a moral obligation to do what you can to mitigate the effects of homophobia in your community. You don’t have to have ever personally forced an indigenous community to abandon their spirituality before you can go out of your way to do whatever small things you can do to support the interests of indigenous peoples.

So yes: when it comes to racism in america, you feel ashamed and sad when you learn about it BECAUSE IT WAS SHAMEFUL AND SAD. Literally, how is somebody NOT supposed to feel shame or sadness or disgust when they learn about all the many ways black people fucking died on the slave ships before even reaching their destinations? What, other than utter revulsion, should you feel when you see images of the torture devices that were used on black bodies? How should you feel when learning about slave “owners” raping enslaved black women? About how even toddlers were forced to do labor? How should you feel when you learn about black protestors being mauled by police dogs? assaulted with fire hoses? About people pouring acid into a swimming pool because black people are in it???

You feel sick BECAUSE IT’S SICKENING. And to try to avoid that discomfort is an act of cowardice, tbh.

Also??? The implication that ~critical race theory~ isn’t a difficult topic for black kids (and all kids of color, really)???? Ridiculous.

Trust me: We do NOT enjoy sitting in a classroom and having to take turns ~reading aloud~ passages about black people being chained and beaten and murdered and lynched and spit on and shat on and humiliated. But we fucking DEAL WITH IT because we know that if we let The World forget that shit, there are people out there who will do everything in their power to bring it all back.

You NEED to feel disgusted, and yes, you even need to feel a little bit ashamed. And you need to feel that way so that, inevitably, when someone in your day-to-day life does or says something repugnant about a race, you will EAGERLY shut them down, because you are incapable of stomaching that kind of hideous and dangerous attitude.

Which leads me to my final point: OBVIOUSLY the white people who are alive today are not responsible for what was done decades ago. Duh. Nobody thinks that. But these two things are also true:

1) White people today... ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE SHIT THAT WHITE PEOPLE ARE DOING TODAY OMFG

and,

2) White people today are not responsible for the past, duh, but they ARE responsible for the future.

We’re all responsible for the future.

And the reason why it’s critical for white people to play an active role in continuing to right the wrongs and heal wounds isn’t because they’re the ones who hurt anybody decades ago - it’s because they should CARE ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE. They should care about the future. When you see people suffering, whether it’s because of a natural disaster, or because of famine, or because of whatever, you are supposed to help. You just ARE. You help because it makes you sad to know that people are hurting when they don’t need to be. You help because the idea of being ABLE to change the world for the better and then just choosing not to do it is repulsive to you.

What do you do if you see somebody being robbed or beaten on the street in broad daylight? You help. You call 911. You do whatever you know how to do, whether it’s consoling the victim, or administering first aid, or staying with them until Actual Help arrives, or even just making sure that the situation is being handled and that you don’t have anything of further use to contribute before moving on. You don’t huff and balk and sneer that “I’M not the one who mugged them, so why should I have to do anything? The mugger should be the one calling 911 and helping to stop the bleeding, not me!”

THAT SOUNDS SO FUCKING STUPID! And it’s EXACTLY how people sound when they bitch about how They’re Not The Ones Who Were Racist 200 Years Ago.

but the REAL gag is that they are the ones being racist Right Fucking Now.

Anyway, I guess I lied lmao bc here is my ACTUAL final point:

Children will survive the unpleasant emotions that inherently come with learning about unpleasant parts of human history - especially ones that continue to have deeply damaging and GLARINGLY obvious impacts on all of our daily lives. And the BEST way to ensure that they survive it is for the adults in their lives to learn to stop being such fucking cowards and start taking responsibility for the future instead of bitching about who’s to blame for the past.

#ok to reblog

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doorsclosingslowly · 4 years ago

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Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (11/16)

In which Death Watch enter the enemy ship, and Asajj gets her shot at freedom.

Zombie Savage AU | 2.5k | warning for body horror

For the first time in weeks, Asajj feels light. It’s almost offensive, how quickly she slipped from world-devouring grief and heartburn and eternal nightmares into mission planning and execution mode, but then again: she enjoys bounty hunting. Pursuit and infiltration are basically her comfort zone, and even the present company cannot spoil her thrill.

She finally has solid ground under her feet again. The swamp that broils and laps at her with every dream and with every wriggling fleshworm that fucking Savage Opress sends her way is receding, and soon enough, when she gets her chance, she’ll kill it off—kill him—for good.

Asajj’s sisters and Mother Talzin may have accidentally landed her in a malignant trap when they tried to help her fight Dooku, but Asajj will chew her way free.

That’s why she volunteered to be ground troop today. She needs to rescue herself. She needs to cut off this bond, cut off the mate, cut off the drowning boulder. She’d been prepared to argue and fight for the opportunity, since it’s not like anybody trusts her here, but it was surprisingly easy. Not even a doubtful look—no, the only response she’d received was appreciation for her fearlessness in the face of certain death. Well, maybe it is. Maul keeps insisting that Savage’s torture is a trap laid by Sidious, his past shadowy Sith Master, and that setting a foot on Entralla means getting fried and disappeared and tortured. He himself is going down still, obviously—by now it doesn’t even appear to be bravado or tending to his image before his following but genuine mushy affection for that dumb creature, and if Asajj wasn’t busy she might almost be curious—Maul is coming down with her, as are Kast and Saxon and three dozen other supercommandos. That’s what they’d settled on, once their advance droid surveillance footage yesterday had revealed their target to be a small spaceship surrounded by a hundred medium-sized tents.

Maul, Kast and Saxon at once, who as far as she’s observed are the three highest-ranking members of Death Watch, and on what all of them believe is a suicide mission—Asajj would call them brain-dead, but actually, she doesn’t care. Either Maul is every inch the scared wretch of a cast-off Sith plaything he appears and is making mountains out of skrant-hills, or she’ll, most likely, be dead too. Looks like that gamorrean sow Kast likes to suck face with will soon inherit the whole sorry rest of their terrorist crew.

Most of Death Watch, though, is inside three hundred small Kom’rk-class fighters or the two stolen Separatist dreadnaughts, standing by to intercept any fleeing ship with gravity wells or sheer violence. Well. That’s one of the reasons. Every ground Mando is in periodic radio contact with one of their motherships, and should they go silent when Sidious gets them… if the mission goes sour, dead man’s switch. Asajj doesn’t know about the exact logistics of how many have to miss check-in before the omnicidal aerial bombardment begins… but she’s starting to understand Maul’s paranoia regarding this ‘Sidious’ well enough to know they’re going to risk killing their Mand’alor sooner rather than later. It’s reassuring, almost. They’ll kill Sidious no matter what.

Well. And her, too.

But Asajj knew when she allowed that Mando to think she’d captured her that this wasn’t going to be easy. Up until know she’s always found a way to make it out alive. She’ll manage. And Sidious killed her sisters. Killed Talzin. Killed Dathomir.

Sidious will die, and so will Opress. Anything else is secondary.

She’s wearing a set of scavenged armor over her clothes and a jetpack and a gas mask, nothing more. Most of the ground team have massive tanks mounted on their back, too, full of some quick heavyweight airborne soporific Death Watch managed to procure on short notice.

(“If it’s taking this long to cook something up, we could just use poison,” Asajj had suggested, entirely not for selfless reasons. “We’re using the weedkiller tanks you Mandos use for farming, after all. We could just keep the weedkiller.”

“This is still a rescue mission,” Kast had replied severely. Unfortunately, despite being a fanatic terrorist and obeying Maul of all people and a habit of throwing tantrums about the horrible plight of Savage Opress, she wasn’t entirely braindead. “Damage is acceptable, but we won’t kill our brother.”

Maul had looked on, silent.)

Maul and Asajj are going to enter the ship first. That makes sense—both of them are assassins more than soldiers, they’re better than the Mandos at keeping quiet—and even if Maul will be a hindrance when they find Savage, she can use him as a distraction before that.

It feels weird, somehow, touching ground in front of the enemy’s ship. The unconscious guards on the ground are wearing clone trooper armor, which means that—yes, it means Death Watch got the drop on them and it means the soporific gas is effective, which is great, but Asajj didn’t expect this mission against Sidious to include a Grand Army of the Republic protection detail, and neither did Maul, though he appears far less perturbed by this information than Asajj is. Nothing before has linked Sidious to the Republic. She trusts the magicks she used to find this location, though. This is where the bondmate is being held.

Maul opens a control panel next to the ship’s door and plays around with a couple of screwdrivers, while Mando supercommandos direct their sedative gas into the ship’s pried-open air vents.

And… they’re in.

Too easy.

This was far too easy for a secret prison of the illusive Sith Lord, and Maul, apparently, thinks so too. He keeps glancing sideways at her while the supercommandos tie up the sedated soldiers outside and while they enter the ship’s galley, and he insists they shouldn’t split up.

“This location does not appear my Master’s—my former Master’s style,” he whispers in his clipped accent. “It’s neither desolate, nor are there plush red carpets. It’s not a torture dungeon.” Maul looks at Asajj, and his eyes gleam with suspicion. “If you have lied to me, you are dead. If this hurts my brother, you’ll wish you were.”

“This is the place. My sisters’ magicks are never wrong,” Asajj replies haughtily. It won’t do any good if both of them admit to their unease.

(Maul’s been vibrating faintly ever since Asajj broke into his brain to find Opress. It’s probably fear and anticipation, and most of all the superfluous awareness of him that she’s gained ever since exploiting both their bonds. Maybe he was always this high-strung.

“Someone’s attacking him,” he’d whispered to her just minutes before they reached Entralla, as if by joining their minds she had proven she cared. His eyes had been dark, agonized. In a movement that appeared entirely involuntary, he’d gripped at his neck as if looking for a pendant, and then he’d hugged himself, holding onto his torso and stomach as if his slippery entrails were ready to leak out.

Asajj had looked down and realized she was mirroring him.

When she slid her eyes half-shut, she could see the shadows of undulating metal cables.)

The ship, on the inside, just appears a standard Republic cruiser. It has a single long hallway that Asajj is pulled down by the worms in her gut, and Maul, frowning and broadcasting dread, follows.

They pass unconscious Republic clones at uneven intervals.

It’s so—ordinary. Asajj knows these ships. And there are no traps at all, just that pulsing connection drawing her forwards, shading and twisting, the memory of desolation and grief and that orange boy getting chocked (Kast’s eyes were so hard when she said, “He tried to give me his lightsaber, too, so I would have an easy time of killing him, if—when, he said, when he was used again to hurt his little brother,” that Asajj almost felt guilty) and everyone on Dathomir is dead and—

There.

She stops, and Maul comes to a halt behind her, ‘saber raised.

An open doorway, half-blocked by an armored redhead that seems vaguely familiar, and the beckoning hand of her sisters, and if Sidious doesn’t have the heart to provide a distraction for Maul then Asajj will just improvise.

“Back there, I think,” Asajj whispers, pointing at a random closed door to her left. “I can feel your brother in there.”

Maul’s eyes are wide. “I do not feel—are you sure?” he whispers, and he looks so young and hopeful bathed in the green glow he doesn’t understand and never had a right to wear that Asajj almost dares to believe her plan will work.

“I know these magicks,” Asajj drawls. “I don’t mind double-checking, but I thought you wanted him as alive as possible. He’s not doing well. Might get deep-fried at any moment, that’s not healthy for such a weak brain.”

It works. Maul bites back whatever kind of response he might have had, and he starts frantically working on slicing the door that was—her sisters are smiling upon Asajj—thankfully locked.

Asajj, meanwhile, tiptoes hurriedly forward and past the redhead—almost a decent glimpse of his head, why does she feel she knows him and—and inside the room she looks at a monster. The scene is arranged as if to mock her, a single bare cot in the middle of the room approximating a stone slab and the dimmed red electric lights a stand-in for the fire on the day she was tied to the boulder that tries to drown her. On the cot, as he was supine on the slab back then, lies unconscious Savage Opress.

Well. The used dog toy formerly known as Opress.

He’s always made her uncomfortable, even when they met. First, it was his silent bruised obsequiousness and the glances he’d shoot her after that arena fight, like he expected her to ravish him then and there just because she’d beaten him up. The sense that she’d stumbled into a world she didn’t understand drawn in silent rules and violence and sex—and Asajj has never liked that anxiety born of ignorance though she can and will tough it out and persevere, and only with the bond strangling her did she realize her stupid mistake—the sense that there was something hiding below her feet ready to devour her. He only got more obsequious and annoying after the ritual that tied Asajj to him, with his empty brainless eyes that somehow simultaneously said do whatever you want with me and I’ll kill you. She was happy to use him, if it got her traitorous ex-Master Dooku off her back, but she was at least as happy that the plan included Opress staying at Dooku’s side, not hers. Well, in the end, he was as useless as he was stupid and creepy, and Asajj had to fight Dooku on her own while Opress escaped his leash and used the power gifted to him by Talzin to harass innocent villagers and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He doesn’t have the body that Mother Talzin gave him anymore. Not that he ever deserved it.

Savage Opress, who is bound by ancient magicks to Asajj, looks like someone took his corpse and stuffed it full of a crashed spaceship debris in a desperately poor attempt at covering up an accident. The body Mother Talzin’s Dathomiri magicks gave him was stout, forceful, architected and executed with a keen eye and deep control, while whoever did this was a careless butcher. Asajj has seen carnage and pain, she’s fought and killed and maimed, and yet she has never seen anything as bestial as the body before her.

Savage Opress, who is making her share his torture through a telepathic bond, looks like a gutted carcass. This is what became of one of the three last survivors of Dathomir: worms writhe in and out of him, the things she’s been feeling like phantom maggots burrowing into her heart made real and she can see them feasting and seaming up his raw mottled shoulders and lap at the empty spots where someone tore out his hearts. He’s still conscious, though, just asleep. She can feel him feeling the worms. She can see him breathing, though he doesn’t need to, not without an intact torso. Not without hearts. She feels sick. So this is what has been calling out to her. What has been sliding into her mind, unstoppable and unwanted. This has violated her dreams.

Savage Opress, the bondmate Asajj came here to covertly murder, looks like death would be a mercy.

“Ventress, what are you playing at? The room was empty and Kenobi is here,” Maul hisses from somewhere behind her. “I told you. You’ll die for your betrayal—Savage…”

Asajj turns, expecting a fight, but Maul looks like the air was punched out of him, and he’s rooted to the doorway. The air around him tastes of abhorrence and dawning dread. He could have reached Savage before her, in her stupor—he could have jammed his ‘saber into her back—but now she’s jolted loose and ready to take her one chance at freedom.

To take mercy on Savage, for once in her life.

She drives her lightsaber into his right eye socket.

Maul’s scream behind her is vile, deeply inhuman and guttural and echoing over and over and over in the small room. It’s so loud her eye starts to hurt. His howl is the storm and the cave and the first drink in a lifetime. It’s green. It’s gentleness and sympathy he thought his Master had long driven out of the apprentice, but in teaching Savage he can’t help but refrain from using the techniques he once had endured himself. He doesn’t understand the reason—he is Sith and if he does not teach his apprentice to draw power from pain, he will have failed him. He doesn’t understand, but he feels something quake when he is called brother and when he notices he turned his back to Savage and never even expected to get hurt—he doesn’t understand, but somehow, he does. He loves Savage. Savage loves him. Maul was never meant for love, was made a weapon to be used and abused and discarded by a Master wielding power he’ll never attain, but somehow, Maul found this one person who loves him. Maul lost the person who loves him. Maul just lost him again. Maul won’t lose the person who loves him. He won’t. He can’t. He refuses. He loves—

And desperate love paints the room acid green. Greedy love tears the cot to tiny metal shreds. Unconditional love presses hot and painful into Asajj’s right eye, and she’s taking tiny measured steps toward Savage, in rhythmic unison with Maul and unstoppable no matter how hard she tries to take back her body.

Love, no matter what it takes, and both their green-bathed hands touch Savage.

All goes black.

#asajj ventress #darth maul #savage opress #savage oppress #dimtraces makes things #zombie savage au

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sp00kworm · 4 years ago

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H,,hi is it possible for you to do a darth maul with a male s/o sfw and/or nsfw imagine? Love your content!! UwU

Pairing: Darth Maul x Male Reader

A/N: I’m glad you enjoy reading anon! Due to the nature of events on tumblr at the moment, I don’t think its wise for me to write adult content for anonymous asks since there has been a big issue with underage users consuming this content. However!!!!!! I adore Maul and I would die for some content with him so I have written this to rot your teeth.

---

Fathier Race

Raising Fathiers was perhaps the hardest thing you knew of in the Galaxy. Sure, Republic fighters were out and around constantly, the Jedi helping in wars and disputes everywhere, but you could show them bruises and aches beyond anything like that half the time. Fathiers were needy and required hours of hard training to keep them in shape. You’d spent numerous years on Naboo, looking after the beasts for the races that used to occur. Rich Senators and other such Nobles liked to race them, and had done for years before the race courses were set up across the Galaxy. Highly prized and known for their ability to run amazingly fast across any terrain, you’d grown to love Fathiers more than anything. That aside, you grew to hate the Stable Master, and that had quickly made you leave. Even the money you had stashed wasn’t enough for even one of the Fathiers in your care.

All that had changed when you’d encountered the silent Zabrak.

You’d been in the stables late. Far too late. Late enough that you would be undoubtedly questioned roughly by the guards or the Master if he was still around. Golden eyes glowed underneath a shadowy hood. A fist clenched by his side as he caught sight of you, teeth clenched with a snarl as he stalked away, out of the ring of stables, and towards the door. With a last look at the door, you dared to breathe again, feeling the tension in your entire body dissipate as you glanced back and remembered the red skin and black, thick tattoos. The golden eyes glared at you behind your eyelids as you tried to sleep that night.

The memory of the Zabrak haunted you often after that but it wasn’t until many months later that the city exploded with violence, the thunder of rifle fire bouncing from the walls as the military moved in to take Naboo’s trading federation back by force. There was the hissing of lightsabers being drawn as you reached for the stable doors of the Fathiers. They bucked and brayed unhappily even as you undid the doors and got them running. They would be safer running in the greens rather than in here when the roof caved in. You grabbed a saddle and pushed it over the back of your favourite mare. She tottered unhappily with the noise but let you on top of her with minimal fuss.

The hum of a lightsaber made you freeze, sat atop the Fathier with your bags clutched close and a rope for catching some of the stray beasts.

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked as you turned in the saddle, holding your breath at the sight of the burning red saber and golden eyes.

The Zabrak reached for his hood and tilted his head as he pulled the black hood away from his head, revealling the crown of horns on top of his head, golden eyes boring into you. The man hummed as he took three, slow steps forward, prowling closer, looking at the quivering muscles of the beast underneath you. It was ready to bolt, nostrils flaring at the smell of him.

“Run, little stable boy. Take those beasts with you...” He turned back to the door, stalking away, stance low as he readied to fight, “They stink of spices.” He was gone in an instant, the sound of his saber cutting through flesh deafening. Your Fathier bucked underneath you. With a snap of your heels she bolted, howling to the wind as you clutched your belongings close, trying to escape from the war zone behind you.

Years later, you were set up with your own farm. Fathiers were happier with space to be free and roam, and although you didn’t race them, a few were selected as studs or mares for breeding sometimes. Most of your visitors were childrens groups. The farm was, however, often silent. Just you and your rescued Fathiers. Getting them from Naboo had been a task, and your favourite mare was living her final years out now in pasture. Ten long years had passed, and life was finally good. Sicemon was a long way from Naboo. The bribery of two of your Fathiers had been the price to get the rest here to the planet of vast grasslands. Still, the cargo ship’s crew had promised they were for the youngsters more than anything. One went to live on one of the crew’s own farms.

With a smile you watched two young Fathiers prance around each other in the paddock, kicking powerful legs up in the air as they darted underneath the adults and around their legs. Holding your tea close you watched them play for a little while more, breathing in the fresh air. That was until a figure appeared out of the trees, clad in black. The Fathiers startled as the figure stepped into the pasture, swathed in tattered cloaks, dragging their feet as they came close. The Fathiers brayed and scattered, leaving a clear path for the person as they stumbled in some of the longer grass before righting themself again.

With a growl you reached for the blaster tucked at your back and pointed the muzzle dead at the person’s chest, “State your business!” You hollered over the field.

The figure stopped and seemed to take heed of the weapon pointed at their chest. Gloved hands reached upwards slowly, careful of making sure that you weren’t going to shoot them my accident. They pulled back the black hood and scarfs to reveal a familiar crown of horns on top of red skin and inked black tattoos. Golden eyes looked at you from a gaunt looking face. This was not the man that had once scoffed at you before telling you to take the Fathiers. This man was the leftovers from that creature you had watched prowl to the slaughter.

“I mean you no harm.” He growled, teeth grinding as he looked upon your farm, a small home with miles of land around it. A little something in the middle of nothing, “I am...looking to inquire about your beasts.”

You glared, holding the blaster tight, “Liar. You look like you’ve been beaten up pretty bad. The least you can do is admit you need help. Plus, my Fathiers aren’t for sale.” He grumbled again with that and and directed his eyes at the blaster once more.

“I need food, water and maybe a bed.” He ground out, “If you would be so kind.”

“No I won’t.” You snapped, “Get on your way. I don’t want your trouble. Not after what I’ve heard.”

The Zabrak growled, “And just what have you heard.” He sneered at you.

“That a Zabrak swathed in black leads a criminal underworld gang.” You offered peering at his feet, “Something about him being half robot.” With a flick of the safety you looked at the man and sighed, “But I also know you have nothing left.” With a gentle curl of your fingers you let him come closer, “I’ll let you rest a while. You look like you need some food...” You pinched your nose at the stench emanating from him, “And a very hot bath.”

The Zabrak snarled at you once more as you turned towards the house and offered him a smile. He didn’t return the grin as he ducked inside of your home, pushing away dried herbs and vegetables away from his horns as he entered.

“Here. I have some breakfast. Its just porridge but its better than nothing.” You spooned a heap of it into a wooden bowl, placing a spoon alongside it before taking the pot from the fire and replacing it with one for water. You drew over the metal basin and took the hook along with some buckets, “I’ll be back soon.” The Zabrak nodded as he sat at the table, peering around the room with tired, sunken eyes.

It took three days to coax his name from him. Maul. Just Maul. He said nothing about it for three more days before you both drank rice wine and told each other about the brutality of your childhoods. He told you of his home planet and the Nightsisters. His brother. You watched a tear drip from the Zabrak’s cheek before gently reaching out to wipe it away.

“This is weakness.” He hissed, snatching himself back, pressing his fingers together tightly around the wine.

You smiled and swallowed the last of your own wine, “This is normal. There’s no weakness in expressing yourself.” You grinned at the other male before leaving him to look at the dozing Fathiers and to contemplate your words. Maul felt a cynical smile turn his lips upwards, stretching the tattoos on his face as he poured himself another long drink of alcohol.

“So, Maul, when can I expect you to actually ride one of these Fathiers?” You asked, perched on top of a young stallion, riding in tight, quick circles.

Maul scoffed from the fence, searing eyes watching every movement closely, “I would rather wrestle a fabled demon than sit on top of one of those.” He commented as he watched the male Fathier spin and buck, prancing with energy despite the exercise.

“They’re not scary.” You laughed before leading the stallion close and pointing over at your old mare, “She would be easy to learn on, I promise.” You leaned over in the saddle and grinned at the Zabrak before sticking your tongue out at him.

“You are not a child.” He snapped before pinching your tongue between his thumb and finger, tugging harshly before he rolled his eyes, “I will not learn to ride. Accept that and find another thing to pester me about.” He stretched his arms over his head and turned before you caught him by the sleeve and tugged him back.

“What?” Maul snapped before going silent, eyes wide.

You kissed the Zabrak harshly before letting him go, cantering away with a great laugh.

Maul snarled behind you, “You are the single worst human male I have ever met.”

“Then get off my farm!” You teased from across the paddock.

#darth maul x reader #darth maul x male reader #maul x reader #star wars #darth maul #maul #star wars the phantom menace #star wars the clone war #the clone wars #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #request #sw #star wars the clone wars #star wars: the clone wars #the phantom menace

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fanficsforheartandsoul · 4 years ago

Text

Enemies | Darth Maul x Fem!Reader | Part I

Note: Maul is a little OOC in this story but I hope this is fine. Since this is the first part there’s a big part who’s basically just explaining and the rest is some action. I hope I brought out the feelings well :)

Also, I implemented one of my headcanons, that the horns of Zabrak grow a little when they’re happy/excited.

And whoops Reader is a Jedi Shadow again. People might have realized by now but I love them. No one can stop me ok.

Fandoms: Star Wars, The Clone Wars

Warnings: Non-Canon Story, Angst, Fighting, Death, Slight OOC, Original Characters

Summary of this series: Y/N mourns for something she can never have but Maul won’t let her.

Word Count: 7′034

Taglist: @princessayveke @pinkiemme

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name! Or comment on the fic :)

Masterlist

Part II

_______

They were children when they first met. He was so young. Only four years old. She was young too. Although 2 years older. He was a born nightbrother, but she didn't belong to the nightsisters.

In fact, her presence on Dathomir had been an accident. The ship that should have brought her to Coruscant crashed after they had been hunted by pirates. When she woke up, she was alone. There was no sign of the Jedi who took her from her parents or anyone else of the ship's crew. Only two curious yellow eyes that watched her from a safe distance.

"Who are you?!"

The first thing she wielded in her life wasn't a lightsaber, no, that would come later. It was a pathetic dry stick from a dead tree. Dathomir didn't have much to offer at the crashsite of her ship, unfortunately.

She held the stick with both hands and proceeded to lie her head off:

"I am the princess from Coruscant, and my knights will kill you if you do anything to me! So come out!"

There was a short silence until a timid voice spoke:

"You're really a princess?"

That's when he first stepped before her, and they met eye to eye. He was a midget. A red midget with the roundest eyes she had ever seen and horns, which made him look like the bounty hunter in her hometown. But unlike that old man, he had strange black marks in his face.

"Of course, I am! Do I not look like one?!"

She never forgot his reply. "No, you look like one. You're beautiful!" Even then, he was already able to sweet talk.

His answer satisfied her and the arrogant child she was, she lowered her weapon and let him approach her. He did eventually, but he froze when she suddenly touched his head and small horns.

"Does your brain not hurt?"

It shouldn't have been possible, but the red skin colored boy turned red some more. Having her hands touching his head everywhere caused his cheeks to heat up.

"E-Everyone has these here!"

He grabbed her hands, and both of them paused. E/C met yellow. His innocent eyes showed her reflection and her dirty state.

Suddenly she had to cry. Sir Jedi was probably dead after all. She left her parents behind, and she really missed her home. And her plushie. Mr. Grog might also be gone after the explosion of their spaceship.

Her tears surprised him and made him panic, something that happened even when they met years later. He tugged at her hands, and she got pulled into his arms. But unfortunately, he really was a squirt, and both of them tumbled to the ground.

His breath got taken away by her, laying on top of him, but he didn't mind. She was so different than the nightsisters he had met. Not disgusted of touching him. He fell in love right there and then. Though he would strongly deny it in the future.

"Why are you crying?"

He put his hand on her hair, and the softness stunned him. She really must be a princess. He petted her slowly, something he saw the older nightsisters do to the younger ones. He could feel her tears wetting his clothes, and her loneliness made his heart clench.

"I'm all alone now!"

But she wasn't, He was there. His hands were like magic. Her tears stopped soon after he began to draw things on her back.

"Y-You have me."

"But I don't know you!"

"My name is ... What's yours?"

"Y-Y/N."

And that's how they got to know each other. He had another name back then but he got rid of it. Maul was his new name. The boy took her to the village, told his mother that he found her all alone. He didn't give away that he had seen another person from the shipwreck.

The nightsisters were suspicious first, but when they found out that she was force sensitive like them, they decided to take her in. For two years, she lived on Dathomir and learned the ways of the nightsisters with Maul as her best friend.

"In the future, I will be your soulmate!"

When she had told her that he almost began to cry. Not a reaction you would expect from someone who really, really liked Y/N.

"NEVER! If you give birth to a child, I'll get killed!"

"Then we just never kiss! We can still be soulmates if we don't kiss, right?"

The fact that they didn't really know anything about love made them say weird things.

Maul wasn't too sure, but they made a promise that they would be soulmates in the future and marry. Although Y/N had to explain to Maul what marrying actually meant - obviously through a child’s eyes - since the customs on Dathomir were different to the ones on her home planet.

He never told her that but when she had explained that marrying basically meant always eating together, sleeping in the same bed and holding hands, he had really liked the idea of such a future. Of course, the young girl only knew the things she had seen from the marriage of her parents.

The whole not kissing aspect was eventually broken, though. Obviously not by him, because he was shy and seriously believed that she would get pregnant if he gave her even just a peck on the lips.��

But he really liked her. And she really liked him. So much that she understood that her way of liking him was the same as the way some fallen nightsisters had liked their mates. It was love.

And then one day, when Maul came beaten and bruised from his training as a nightbrother and he laid next to her, Y/N leaned over him and gave him a kiss.

It was short, nothing more than a light peck, but when their lips touched, butterflies burst in her chest and it was as if the whole world lit up.

Maul’s yellow eyes widened and the Zabrak pushed her away out of reflex. She looked at him with a shocked expression.

“NO! What are you doing?!”

Panic was laced in his voice and he grabbed her arms with a little too much strength. Y/N winced and her eyes began to water. The giddy feeling disappeared immediately.

“Wha-What?”, she stammered and he shook her.

“I- I’m not ready! My traini- the baby- we have to leave!”

She just sat there, not understanding why he was so startled. She was more intrigued by the fact that his horns seemed to have grown a little. He suddenly grabbed her hand and dragged her on her feet.

“Hu-hurry, Y/N! Before they find out! Let’s talk with my mother, she’ll help us!”

“Find out what?”

“About the baby!”

And then it blanked on her.

“Oh no.”

And then they hurried back to his home, where Y/N, Maul, his two brothers and his mother resided. A long talk followed and the two children eventually went to bed with different thoughts.

The young girl was somewhat disappointed that she couldn’t have another playmate besides Maul and his brothers but she was also relieved because she now knew that kissing Maul would not make her pregnant. That meant she could do it again. The thought made her grin.

Maul on the other hand was embarrassed, mainly because he had almost cried when they ran into his mother and he had yelled at her to “save Y/N and their baby” but also because he really liked the kiss. But he was also slightly annoyed. I wanted to kiss her first.

“Maul?”

He turned his head to see the other side of the room, where Y/N laid in her small bed. He could see her glistening eyes.

“Ye-Yes?”

“I think I love you.”

A blush crept across his cheeks.

“Okay.”

He couldn’t say it out loud but he said it in his head.

Unknown to both of them, Y/N’s words had been heard by his mother.

When they woke up again the next morning some things had changed. There was the giddy atmosphere between the two, while Maul’s mother looked at them with a rather dark expression. The two would soon find out why.

Their closeness was something the nightsisters didn't like because it spoke against their ideas of mates and they decided to separate them. Both cried and cried for days.

Their bond was strong, after all, and they not only had they lived together for two years but they also played together every day. Since Y/N was taken from her family, Maul had become a replacement and they were close. Really close.

But it was no use. They didn't see each other for a month. And when they finally met again, it was the last time in their childhood.

A republic ship had landed on Dathomir. And they were looking for the girl that was supposed to become a Jedi youngling. The person Maul had seen leaving the space ship was the Jedi Master, who took Y/N from her family. The man had survived for two years alone in the swamps and somehow contacted the Jedi Order to save him and the girl.

According to him, the nightsisters captured her and brainwashed her to join the dark side. Which was bullshit. She realized that later. The things she had learned on Dathomir had saved her life on more than one occasion.

But they arrived and forcefully took her back. 5 Jedi came to her apparent rescue, but the peacekeepers of the galaxy ignored her wails and cries when they dragged her to the ship. She screamed Maul's name and found his face in the crowd who was held back by some soldiers. Don't leave me! pleaded his eyes.

But she did. She had no choice. They didn't even ask if she wanted to go with them. When the ramp of the ship closed, she freed herself from the Jedi's grip and bit him. Hard. The man reacted poorly, unlike a Jedi was supposed to.

He pushed her away, and she fell on the floor. Hateful tears streamed down her cheeks, and she channeled her powers to slam the 5 men against the wall. The force was strong in her, and her emotions boosted it, that's why she succeeded. Three of them got pressed to the wall, the other two who where Jedi masters only slid back a bit. Using the force was tiring, and she slumped. The padawans got released.

"Let me go! I want to go back! I want to go home! Maul! Maul!!"

Her voice was shrill and full of desperation, but they didn't react. Ignored her tantrum and whispered something between themselves.

"Her emotions are way too strong! What is Master Yoda thinking? The dark side has already engulfed her!"

Only one of them didn't say anything. The Jedi watched her with a neutral expression, and she returned the eye contact with a piercing gaze.

I hate you!

As if he had read her thoughts, he snorted and turned to face the others.

"I believe Master Yoda knows what to do with her."

And the Jedi grandmaster did.

He turned her into a Jedi. Made her a youngling, later a padawan - although not his - and then when the High Council thought she was ready, they knighted her.

Over the course of many years, the small girl learned about her special abilities, about the force, about the Jedi, the Dark Side of the force, the responsibility they had to shoulder, and why attachments were forbidden.

Although she had questioned the principles secretly, she never voiced any hesitation or critical questions. When she got separated from Maul she had racked her brains to find out why, although she only realized why when the nightsisters ordered her to read the stories about the Fallen sisters again. After that lesson, she knew well enough when something wasn’t supposed to be said. So she left her doubts unsaid.

When she had arrived at the temple she was unbelievably sad and her heart was hurting. When the Jedi took her from her family, she didn’t really realize what that meant. But being taken from Dathomir after she was a little older and formed such a close bond with Maul, she understood that they had parted and would probably never meet again.

This left her devastated and it took half a year for her to adapt.

Her sadness and arrogant side vanished with time, but her determined character trait stayed and it made her into an extraordinary Jedi.

Y/N was powerful, the secret pride of the grandmaster. Her patience and knowledge were as vast and deep as the seas of Kamino. Her lightsaber skills were unmatched by many of her fellow padawans, and she could even stand her ground against some of the Jedi knights.

Her Master, the guy who had ignored her tantrum, was impressed by her natural affinity for the force. And so he had asked Master Yoda if he could take her as his padawan.

The grandmaster was hesitant at first. Because the man wasn't a Jedi Knight. He was a sentinel, a shadow, to be exact. A path that would undoubtedly be difficult for Y/N, especially since she was found on Dathomir. But he accepted, and she became the padawan of a renowned Jedi Shadow. Yoda was proud, but deep down, also worried. Although he didn't tell her that.

Every youngling had heard about Y/N. Before the rumors of a Chosen One started, there were many about a Prodigy. Her name was whispered during classes, and there were bets and dares in the circles of the younger generations.

"I dare you to confess your love to Y/N L/N!"

"But I don't even like her! Attachment is forbidden, Mia!"

"It's just a game, and we all wanna see if her face will blush! Come on."

But there was one flaw about the prodigy.

One thing that she could not erase. The padawan Y/N L/N ached for something. Someone. And her yearning - she wasn't the only one who knew it - would be her downfall. But she tried to hide it, built walls around that part of her heart and succeeded- until that one day.

[16:00, 32 BBY, Coruscant, Jedi Temple]

"...my only conclusion can be that it was a Sith Lord."

The air in the chamber changed immediately. Qui Gon Jinn, the Jedi reporting the things that happened on Tatooine, held his head up high, his expression was neutral, but the weight of his words was visible in his eyes.

Master Ki turned his head to face Master Yoda and said with a disbelieving undertone:

"Impossible! The Sith have been extinct for a millennium."

"I do not believe they could have returned without us knowing," added Master Windu, and Jinn's padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi furrowed his brows.

Yoda hummed in response, he sighed and then stated:

"Hard to see, the dark side is. Discover who this assassin is, we must."

The other council members nodded, their faces were grim.

"I sense he will reveal himself again," meant Master Ki.

Master Yaddle, who had listened to Jinn's report, silently began to speak up, and when she did, everyone turned. The Jedi all tensed when they heard her words:

"For that, a shadow we should send. Someone in mind, I have. Of help, Leon Ra'eli and his padawan Y/N L/N could be."

The people in the room all had different reactions to the names that were mentioned. Plo Koon and Qui Gon Jinn raised a brow, the padawan of the latter blinked surprised, and Ki-Adi-Mundi, Mace Windu, and Yoda showed a worried expression.

"We must discuss this with the Council of First Knowledge, Master Yaddle," remarked Saesee Tiin and shared a look with the Jedi grandmaster. Yoda nodded slightly.

"I believe Leon would certainly be of help."

Obi-Wan turned to his Master. His eyes clearly asking why the Jedi would speak this freely in front of the council just for another Jedi. He was aware that he was acquainted with the Jedi shadow but the padawan was confused anyway.

Qui Gon hid his hands in his sleeves and bowed slightly when Master Windu frowned at him. Although he was looked at with intimidating stares, he didn't back down and continued:

"I heard he has been training an extraordinary padawan. Both of them would be a great aid if another attack like the one on Tatooine would happen."

Obi-Wan smiled a little, when his Master talked about Y/N. He knew her from his youngling days. And according to the rumors going around, she had truly turned into an exceptional padawan, a proud feeling spread in his chest.

The dark-skinned Jedi Master huffed and then leaned back in his seat.

"This attack on Tatooine was with purpose, that is clear, and I agree the Queen is the target. If a Jedi Shadow and Qui Gon Jinn would remain at her side..."

Yoda nodded slowly.

"With this Naboo queen, you must stay, Qui-Gon. Protect her."

The Jedi bowed.

"Yes, Master."

And that was the beginning of Y/N's doom. That goddamn mission. Something entirely different for the Jedi Shadow in training.

Until now, she had to research old Sith artifacts, go on missions to find lost holocrons, and look for secret Dark Side places with her Master. But that was it. Of course, there was always a certain degree of danger coming with those missions but it was nothing truly worrying, the Dark Side she encountered left her uninterested and funnily she wasn’t scared.

She spent two years on Dathomir, a planet which - according to the Jedi archives - was a space for evil powers. The feeling from those places was familiar and to a certain degree even calming but she didn’t tell her master.

In other words, she never actually came in contact with a Dark Side user much less a Sith. But now she and Leon were assigned to investigate an assassin who could possibly be a Sith, a Sith lord, to be exact.

The tightness in her chest was definitely from her nervousness, but there was also something else to it. She wasn’t scared, the feeling was more like curiosity but Y/N also had a bad premonition about the upcoming task. But she kept her concerns to herself. Like always.

It was night when they left the Jedi temple. Both wore long black robes, and their faces were hidden under their hoods. Master Ra'eli had told her that although they were escorting Queen Amidala, they would not focus on keeping her safe. Both the High Council and the Council of First Knowledge agreed on the priority to catch the potential Sith. Protecting the queen laid in the hands of the two other Jedi.

When Y/N first heard that they would accompany to Jedi knights, Master Qui Gon Jinn and his padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, she was relieved.

She and Obi-Wan were friends when she was a youngling. He was only one year older than her, and although they chose entirely different paths, they parted with good and happy memories.

Obi-Wan had been a pillar in Y/N's life when she had to learn how to accept that she would probably never meet Maul and her parents again. He dried her tears, let her meditate with him and calmed her down when she had a nightmare.

Although they hadn't seen each other in a few years, the padawan believed that they would click again, and everything would be like in their youngling years.

But when she and her Master arrived at the Senate landing platform and everyone was already there, and Leon greeted his fellow Jedi, something happened.

As soon as Y/N laid eyes on Obi-Wan's Master, a sudden pain bolted through her head, and she staggered.

Her hand shot to her forehead, and the padawan grabbed her Master's robe for support. He turned alarmed and watched her with concerned brown eyes when she winced in pain.

A vision flashed before her eyes: black robes, a red and green lightsaber clashing, yellow eyes, and a screaming Obi-Wan.

What...?

"Y/N?"

Her Master's voice took her back to her senses. She looked up to see his and Master Jinn's worried faces. Obi-Wan looked just as disturbed as them.

"I-I think I just had a vision," she whispered weakly and let go of Leon's sleeves.

However, she hadn't regained her balance yet, her legs faltered, and if her Master hadn't grabbed her arm in time, she would have tumbled to the ground.

"A vision?", asked Obi-Wan and the young man shared a look with Qui Gon.

"What did you see, padawan?" he asked, and all three of the Jedi watched her expectantly. She gulped. The feeling in her chest from before became stronger. The eyes in her vision seemed faintly familiar.

"I..." she began hesitantly, "There will be a fight. I think the assassin will show up again. And..." She turned to her Master, her expression grim, "I'm certain he's a Sith. I could feel the wrath and hatred Master. Stronger than in any artifact we ever found."

This revelation was shocking, but only the queen's followers all visibly paled. The three Jedi showed dark expressions. Her Master helped Y/N back on her feet, and she bit her lip.

He looked at her, and she could read in his eyes that the situation was dire.

Trust in your abilities and the force.

Words from her training lessons with Leon resounded in her mind, and she straightened her back. Although she was intimidated now, she would not falter. A Jedi Shadow’s mission was to extinguish the evil that Sith brought into this world. She could not hesitate.

"We will make sure that that Sith will not harm anyone," declared her Master, and the queen nodded. His words seemed to calm her entourage, but Y/N smiled bitterly. If her vision would come true...

No, let’s not worry.

They finally began to board the ship, she gave her Master a tap on the shoulder, and he slightly turned his head. She only formed one word with her lips, but he understood. She had more to tell, but only to him.

While the two other Jedi discussed some political matter with the queen, Leon and Y/N stayed in a separate room to talk about her vision.

“I sense you have something else to say.”

"Master... I worry that one of us will be hurt."

Her confession was difficult to admit for her, after all it was against the emotional walls she had built, but she had to tell him anyway. It concerned the well being of a Jedi.

She expected her Master to be shocked or at least concerned, but his expression remained neutral, as usual. This fact calmed her a little. In all those years she had known her Master, there was never a moment, where the other didn’t control his emotions.

"Did you see that in your vision?"

She nodded and wrung with her hands. Only in her Master's presence could she let her walls down to a certain degree. The force in the room swirled from her uneasiness.

"I think Master Jinn will get injured..."

Leon breathed in slowly and sat down on one of the cots. His face stayed emotionless, but his eyes betrayed him. For a second deep worry glistened in them, and the way he bit his lip also showed how her words got to him. But it was gone when she blinked. She frowned.

Did I imagine that?

"We must trust in the force."

Y/N expected him to add more, but he stayed silent, looking like he was deep in thought. The force in the room rippled, and she knew that he would meditate for the next few hours.

"You can rest if you want to, Y/N," murmured her Master and slipped to the floor, where he sat cross-legged. She shook her head and sat down too. "Let me join you, Master." He looked at her and smiled slightly.

"Okay."

They both began to meditate, and soon the force around them changed again. The change spread through the whole ship, and the two other Jedi got distracted from their discussions.

Obi-Wan and Qui Gon exchanged a glance, and both thought the same. The Jedi Master voiced their thoughts: "Don't worry, your Majesty. You are in good hands, and with Master Ra'eli and his padawan here, the Sith will not have a chance."

But he was wrong. Horribly wrong.

And then they met.

It was as if the earth stopped spinning.

The corner of her lips lifted, her face displayed many emotions. Worry turned into shock, shock turned into surprise, and surprise turned into joy. Her heart began to beat faster and it was so loud and strong that she believed that it could shake the whole planet.

He had grown up. Some more tattoos got added in his face and he now resembled the look of other nightbrothers who lived on Dathomir, it gave him a domineering appearance and her heart skipped a beat. It was familiar but at the same time, it wasn’t.

His eyes had also changed, the color was slightly different. The beautiful yellow that had reminded Y/N of the sun now held traces of red, and they were burning with a fire that she couldn’t quite place.

But the force seemed to cry out in pain and the luring darkness in his force presence alarmed her. Something was wrong.

Although she recognized him immediately, this was not the boy she had met on Dathomir, this wasn't the friend she had longed for, not the kid she had dreamt about, not the boy who promised to marry her and whom she kissed. This person before her was a Sith, her enemy.

And it broke her heart.

While the queen's guards scattered and left, her grip around her lightsaber faded, and a second later, she dropped it. The impact resounded loudly in her head as if a bomb had detonated. She couldn’t hear anything else. Not the leaving footsteps of the security forces, not her Master calling out her name, nor how the queen asked Qui Gon Jinn how to proceed.

His name rushed over her lips, and he frowned and looked at her.

Then his eyes widened, and the tattoos in his face twisted in realization. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

His focus moved, and she noticed how her Master had activated his lightsaber beside her.

"You know him, padawan?" asked Master Ra'eli calmly, and she could only nod.

Maul stiffened from their interaction and grabbed his lightsaber. Her Master stepped forward, and suddenly her lightsaber was once again in her hand. She gripped it so hard, her knuckles turned white.

"So, this is him? From 16 years ago? Oh, Y/N."

Leon's words hit her right in the gut. She had confessed how dearly she missed Maul when she became his padawan - although leaving out the part about their promise and kiss - and her Master had reacted as any other Jedi would have.

Attachments are forbidden, padawan. You will forget these feelings soon.

When she first had heard those words, she felt crushed.

Was her connection to Maul really something bad? Somehow she couldn't believe that emotions were able to come without attachments. Weren't Jedi supposed to keep the people of the galaxy safe? Wouldn't her bond with Maul motivate her to make sure he's alright?

And it wasn't like she obsessively loved him, like all those fallen Jedi she had to read about in the archives after she told her Master about her feelings. The Zabrak was her best friend. Nothing more. Or nothing more came out of their friendship. Or that's at least what she had told herself, completely disregarding that they had kissed and she was the one who initiated it. She was in denial.

But now that they finally met again, it turned out that he was the Sith Lord, and her heart was literally being torn apart. In the end, there was no mistake, Y/N did love Maul. But not this version of him in front of her.

The padawan felt torn. The Zabrak before her eyes was her old best friend and they had sworn to be there for each other until the day they died. They had promised to marry. They kissed. She told him she loved him. But on the other hand, he appeared to be the enemy of the principles she had been taught for years. Two years against sixteen. The winner was obvious.

"You... I remember you."

The Zabrak clenched his fists tighter around his lightsaber and activated it. The red blades flared, and they seemed to represent the force around them, which was churning from the Sith's anger.

The padawan didn't know if he was addressing her because he didn't waste another second to look at her. But that was fine because she was sure that another eye contact with him would break down the walls she had built for the last decade. Also, she wasn’t sure if she would do something against the Jedi code if he addressed her directly.

Qui Gon and Obi-Wan seemed to have realized that something was going on between Y/N and the Sith because they sent the queen with the security forces and stayed, ready to assist Leon and his padawan.

It was against their plan but the man before them apparently was dangerous enough for them to change it.

Obi-Wan stepped up to her, his lightsaber activated and he held it up defensively. His hand touched her back, and he whispered:

"Y/N? Get a hold of yourself."

Her head snapped in his direction, and he gave her a reassuring smile, although he appeared nervous.

"Jedi!", snarled Maul and his eyes burned with rage when he dropped his robe and then suddenly leaped forward to attack.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat and she flinched. She couldn't tell if it was because he seemed to run towards her or because his overbearing aura intimidated her, but it didn't matter because the Zabrak couldn’t reach her.

Her Master stepped before her, and his yellow dual lightsaber skillfully parried Maul's attack.

"You are outnumbered, Sith."

Qui Gon didn't waste a second and also jumped into the fight, their lightsabers clashed, and sparks flew. Obi-Wan gave her a glance and then joined in. The strange look he gave her took Y/N back to her senses, and she activated her own lightsaber.

It was also dual-bladed and yellow, although her hilt was from Orichalc material and wrapped with leather for a better grip. The yellow glow calmed her down to a certain degree, and the familiarity of the blade in her hand cleared her head temporarily.

I need to talk with him! There must be a misunderstanding!

Her eyes focused on the Sith and the three other Jedi who had already gained a certain distance from her. She ran after them and noticed that they passed into the Theed power generator facility.

"Master, wait!"

The fighting Jedi ignored her shout and performed a series of fierce attacks, which all got fended off by Maul. Qui Gon aimed for the Sith's legs, but the Zabrak avoided his lightsaber and somersaulted backward on the bridge.

Y/N's heart pounded loudly in her ears, worry filled her chest, worry for her fellow Jedi and also Maul. In the end, she couldn't ignore her heart.

She used the force to jump forward a considerable distance and now stood next to Obi-Wan. She felt light-headed, partly because of the adrenaline rush from the whole situation but also because she was slightly scared of heights.

"I know him, Master Jinn, stop attacking!" she turned her head to the Sith, calling out his name: "let's talk, please! Do you not remember m-"

Before she could finish, the Zabrak pushed his hands forward, and she was sent flying by the force. Everything she had been taught, all the techniques and rules for a fight. It was as if she had forgotten them when her eyes laid on Maul. The prodigy acted like a youngling and she had to pay the price for it.

Her back hit the wall of the room, and something broke. Black dots flooded her vision, and pain burst through her whole body.

She couldn't hear clearly because her head was ringing, but she believed that someone had shouted her name. Although she couldn't be sure because before she could open her eyes again, she temporarily fell unconscious.

It felt like a long time but was indeed only a minute later, that she woke up. Her thought process was slow when she stirred.

It hurts.

It hurts!!

A groan escaped her lips, and something warm dampened the back of her head.

Is this how you feel in the Trial of the Flesh? If so, then I don't want to become a full Jedi... I can't believe he attacked me, Maker...

Her thoughts were all over the place, dizziness caused her vision to blur, and her mind wandered from the pain to the Jedi Trials, the archives, her time on Dathomir, and to Maul. Her injuries hurt like hell but she was almost crying from the pain in her heart.

What happened to him? How could he... Has he really fallen to the Dark Side?

She tried to move upright and used the force to calm her fluttering nerves.

Focus.

Focus!

The blurriness of her vision vanished, and she finally saw clearly again, right on time for her to catch a glimpse of Obi-Wan running past some laser doors at the other end of the gigantic room.

I must stop them!

Her legs felt like jelly when she tried to stand up, and although her balance was undoubtedly off, she was still able to stand. Not without feeling immense pain, though. Y/N was sure that she had at least three broken ribs.

Let go of the pain.

She remembered her training and breathed in and out slowly. She closed her eyes for a second to concentrate on the force, and she was able to feel the fierce battle that took place at the other end of the bridge. Anxiety welled up again but she ignored it with gritted teeth.

The padawan began to move forward, slowly at first, then she picked up the pace and limped over the bridge towards the laser doors, ignoring the fact that she had lost her lightsaber somewhere.

When she crossed the bridge her legs almost gave out. She had tried not to look down, her fear of heights couldn’t stop her in this crucial moment, but now she felt the adrenaline rush and it almost made her fall over.

It was then when she reached the first laser door when she felt the cry in the force.

A life got critically injured. And guessing from Obi-Wan's scream, it was his Master's.

Y/N stumbled. The pain in the force was breathtaking. Emotions that didn't belong to her filled her chest and grief caused her eyes to prick.

What shocked her, even more, was that her Master seemed to hurt as much as Qui Gon's padawan. The Jedi Shadow had shouted the other man's name when he got impaled, and now through the flaring red doors, she could see Leon swinging his sword wildly to attack Maul and the Zabrak defending himself.

Why...?

The force presence of her Master seemed off, and his erratic movements void from any specific form proved that he lost himself to his emotions.

The fact that the usually composed Leon Ra'eli now fought like that caused her fists to clench.

Why is he acting like that?! This contradicts everything he ever taught me!

This scared her more than the potential death of Qui Gon Jinn.

Obi-Wan seemed to burn with rage too. His shoulders lifted with every breath he took, and she could sense his anger mixed with grief and anguish.

Y/N heaved with all the sudden emotions she had to experience. Her guts twisted when she sensed pleasure, and it took her a second to realize that Maul was the one who was very pleased about the injury of the Jedi Master.

This was the ultimate proof that the Zabrak who fought against Leon wasn't the midget from Dathomir. But before she could spill even one tear over that fact, the laser doors got deactivated, and Obi-Wan jumped forward to attack the Sith.

She began to run, but she wasn't fast enough, her wounds slowed her down. The pain was almost unbearable and the whole situation seemed to test her entire being. The doors activated before her nose, and she staggered.

Right, when she caught her balance again, Obi-Wan slashed Maul's lightsaber in two, and her Master pushed the Sith towards the edge with the force.

The Zabrak was able to catch himself in time and jumped forward, his lightsaber only one blade now. He snarled and swung his weapon at the two Jedi, but they seemed to finally have the high ground and attacked him mercilessly.

Y/N watched with sweaty hands how the Zabrak got pushed into defense, and although she should root for her fellow Jedi, although it was obvious that he wanted to kill them all, although he clearly engulfed the Dark Side, she couldn't stop herself from worrying for Maul.

Please stop fighting! Just stop!

She feared for all of them, which didn't make sense for her head, but her heart ignored all her rational thoughts. It almost leaped out of her chest when Obi-Wan got force pushed into the melting pit, but from the way the other two men acted, he was still alive. Immense relief washed over her and her knees buckled.

Y/N felt dizzy from all the feelings she had to deal with, and the fact that she hit her head and even bled to some extent gave her body one more reason why to falter. She had to hold her head because it felt like a bullet was shot through it.

The pain distracted her from the fight, and when she looked up again, her and Maul's eyes suddenly met.

He looked at her, over Obi-Wan's shoulder, who had suddenly appeared, his face full of shock and... regret?

It took her a second to notice the lack of fighting between the two men. They just stood there, Obi-Wan held the lightsaber of his Master in his hand and his pose looked like he had just taken a large swing.

Was it over? Did they finally calm down and listen?

Y/N opened her mouth to say something when time seemed to slow down, Maul’s lightsaber deactivated, and he slowly fell backward.

His and her eyes found themselves again, and while hers widened in panic, his slightly closed as if the Zabrak was smiling at her. His lips formed something but she was too panicked to focus on it.

Before a scream could erupt from her throat, he was gone.

He was gone.

The laser doors opened again. Obi-Wan didn't waste a second glance and rushed to his Master's side, where her own Master already knelt. He laid Qui Gon's head in his lap.

"Master! Master!"

The pain in Obi-Wan's voice reflected the one the female padawan was feeling. Some words were whispered between the dying Jedi and his student, but Y/N didn't hear any of it.

No, no. No, NO!

She slowly stood up, her legs shaking, and she made her way into the room. Her eyes solely focused on the cooling pit. A wail escaped her lips, and she tried to form his name, although she failed. She couldn’t form a single word. She couldn’t bring herself to look over the edge. Her breath quickened and she panted as if she just ran for her life.

Hey.

Y/N.

You changed. Not so small anymore, huh?

Things happened after you left. And you have no right to say anything, you would barely reach my chin with your height.

A small smile formed on her lips. Her eyes were strangely empty.

Why did you become...?

A Sith? I'm not. This is all a misunderstanding.

Right? I knew it. You would never turn to the Dark Side. You would never.

The padawan sank to her knees at the edge, eyes still trained on the hole before her. Her hands were violently shaking and she gripped her robes with such a force that her knuckles turned white.

...?

Hmmm?

Where did you go?

What do you mean? I'm right here with you.

Of course. There's no way you're...

Y/N turned her head slightly, and a grey object on the ground near the wall caught her eye. With a flick of her wrist, she absently minded caught the severed lightsaber half and traced it with trembling fingers.

There's no way you're dead.

There were a thousand thoughts in her mind right now, but the one that stood out the most was the fact that Obi-Wan had cut Maul in half.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, her friend from the Jedi had killed her best friend from Dathomir.

"Let me carry him, Obi-Wan."

The weak voice of her Master invaded her thoughts, and she slowly turned to the two other Jedi and the corpse.

We Jedi do not kill, Y/N. Only if it’s absolutely necessary. Preserving a life is more important, even if they are tainted by the Dark Side. Sith can be saved too. Darth Revan is proof of that. Never forget this.

Liar.

In the end, 2 years appeared to be stronger than 16.

The killer held his Master's dead body, and the shaking of his shoulders gave his sadness away. She felt nothing for him, neither pity, nor worry. She was completely numb.

There is no death, there is the force, do you not know your own code?

"We must report back to the temple," was all she said. Her voice was unnaturally cold.

Her Master looked at her, his expression was heartbroken, and she had to turn her gaze away. Or else he would have seen her hateful stare.

For the first time in her life, Y/N truly despised the Jedi and their hypocrisy.

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bibliocratic · 5 years ago

Note

Ooo jonmartin prompts ya say? 👀 If you're still taking requests, I'm really feeling some Supportive Monster Boyfriends angst rn. Either jon being Very Eye and martin calming him down, or martin being Very Lonely and Jon pulling him back, whichever....😁 --@screaming-introvertedly

Here you are! Supportive Martin and the Eye-based horror his boyfriend sometimes turns into like some sort of shitty superpower

(some content warnings for violent imagery and graphic hurt/comfort, I’ll add more detail to the tags.

Jon rocks him awake violently, his nails leaving reddened half-moons in the skin of Martin’s arm, clamping his other hand vice-tight over his mouth. He is panicked and panicking and Martin’s pulling his beaten, aching body up out of muddy awakening, dredging together the scraps of energy he has left.

Jon releases him, and makes sloppy gestures, their meaning imperfectly delivered with how rushed he’s being; Up. Leave. Corruption. Now. Leave. Now. Now.

His mouth and hands make a terrified picture of desperation, and Martin’s staggering to standing, steadying himself on the rust-mossed bannister of the car park stairwell they’ve been sheltering in, trying to shuck exhaustion from his limbs to paw around for his backpack.

It’s too late anyway.

Martin can hear the skittering, scraping tumult approaching up the floors below, and Jon must know something he doesn’t, because he’s grabbing Martin’s hand and tugging him manically up, pushing him when he thinks Martin’s going too slow, and their feet are tripping on the concrete stairwell and still Jon is trying to pull them both upwards with nothing but his will and shaky legs. Their thumping, irregular steps echo in the boxy space, and still they aren’t fast enough.

They come as a mass. A roiling, compacted sea of matted, boil-plagued fur and knotted tails. Mouths frothing rapid cry out a hideous rending song that scampers and squeals, and they pour up the steps like a wave and break against them as they run.

Martin fights hard as they’re blocked in at a higher landing. He’s getting good at fighting these days. He scythes with a home-made weapon of brute force and nails while Jon burrows into their backpack, and then he’s being handed a flare as Jon casts down a glugging spill of petrol, and that when illuminates in a fetid barbecue stench takes out a good few of them. Yet they are legion and there are only two of them, and they were shattered and wasting before even this assault, and Martin is not fast enough.

He remembers hearing Jon holler in agony, his body turning in a pirouette of violent motion and intended impact and private terror, and he doesn’t even manage to complete his turn. A rat-king, made of up dozens of writhing furry bodies latches into his leg, using the leverage to claw savagely at his chest with a dozen back legs, a mauling amalgamation of impossible, flesh-rot limbs.

Something chomps into the meat of his arm and dangles there. He screams himself, the sound too big in the stairwell, a return cry of a dozen distant howling Martins, and his body shudders felled as he’s pulled down, and he keeps on screaming. He’s lost sight of Jon. There’s blood and matted fur over his eyes. His lungs expanding with a breathless terror, he tries to batter them away like midges in a summer heat as they swarm over him and take him for food.

The patter of their nailed feet over his cheeks, the paper-cut, dig-drag sensation of the onslaught, the decisive and brutal splitting bite and rip of the skin of his throat.

“Stop.”

The rats stop. So does Martin. The scream bubbles un-made and unvoiced in his chest and he can’t blink the blood out of his eyes. He can’t see Jon, but he doesn’t expect to. It’s not Jon that’s here with them any more.

“Tell me,” whisper-demands-croons-sings the thing that is no longer Jon, voice crashing on the rocks of them with with a wave-foam aftertaste of static and Martin’s mouth fills with the saliva of every shameful story he’s ever kept secret, every unkind thought, every mistake, every evidence of his fragile humanity laid bare.

“Tell me your story, Tangled Hoarde of Many Claws,” compells the voice of the Archive. “Let me rip your song from your spines.”

Martin pays hideous witnessing to the rats’ screaming. He sees when they start rocking their mismatched, desecrated bodies, moaning and keening, when they start dying with all the violent grace that was probably afforded to Peter Lukas. The infected bodies that survive turn delirious, wailing in confusion, lost from their hive, dragging their broken-backed, broken-brained bodies from the battleground, and the Watcher drinks it all in.

Martin feels the compulsion flicker and falter like a loss of pressure. His mouth remembers the agony of his body.

The thing that is not Jon watches him for a steady moment. The edging of its eyes stretches, retracts like the bodies of jellyfish, and pupils bloom into existence like opening flowers with a sucking, popping sound. Still the thing stares and Martin wails at the torn places of his skin, and the flayed torn places in his head that the thing is calmly perusing through as his movements get weaker.

He wants Jon here. He is trembling, and blood-loss woozy and he wants Jon to tell him it’ll be ok.

It is a body in all the ways something can be technically a body, and it moves in all the ways something can mechanically move. The hands that touch him are not the thin-spindle fingers that are deceptively calloused, they are not hands he knows, hands that have held him with a cherishing softness. There is nothing soft in this gaze, like being the only thing in the sights of some predator on a desolate, wind-scoured moor, nothing soft in its hold as it observes the violence done to Martin’s body.

Martin gasps and thrashes faintly, gargles blood through the weeping gash in his throat, and the thing makes a sound like a snarl of tape being wound back.

“Breathe,” his body is commanded. It doesn’t even have a mouth any more. It sounds its demand in the fibres of his skin, in the tendrils of his slipping-away consciousness, and Martin almost weeps at the meat-hook immoveable yank of it as he’s made to persist.

It is unendurable to continue. And the thing, that flexes the outline of a face that could have been Jon’s, whose eyes have lost all colour, replaced by the shock-wide black of pupils like the unblinking gaze of owls, will not permit him to drop into unconsciousness. Martin is instructed to live and breathe and survive in this blood-soaked, echoing stairwell, and his abused body does as instructed. It is efficient, this brutality of meatball surgery, but there is nothing human in it, and Martin’s throat gags on a wail as a tourniquet is applied to his leg.

Finally, eyes that could be eyes he knows boil down to the front of the thing’s face.

“Sleep. Long and dreamless,” comes the final command. Martin has no choice in the matter.

He awakes in a different place. There was a multi-level shopping centre running off one of the floors of the car park, and he opens his eyes in the plush-carpeted, desolate foyer of a multiscreen cinema. His body an anguish, aching and bruised to the bones of him. He blearily looks at the patch on his arm, the neatly sewn stitches and tape marking his skin, manages to move his arm with a pained wince to touch at the padding of gauze at his throat, his upper leg.

Around him like the elements of a summoning circle; medical gear, antiseptic and needle driver, tissue forceps, blood-heavy bindings discarded along with make-shift compressions. Martin wonders how much of his body needed mending. How much of it was commanded to.

Jon is there. His face ashen and smeared with Martin’s blood, the horrifying vista of his face returned to almost normal. Martin watches an eyeball roll back and into the scar tissue of Jon’s throat. He has his back against a circular plinth, body collapsed and folded uncomfortably like he’s lying where he fell.

He’s not looking at Martin. His eyes – his own dark pupils returned to him – staring off at a distance Martin cannot reach, a horizon he cannot venture to.

There are the drying trails of tears down Jon’s cheeks. His mouth is moving but it is not his voice that spools out but a testament of horror bestowed by some other poor soul using a mimicry of their voice.

Jon has the expression on his face of a man who has spent a long time drowning.

Martin wonders if he’s too late to bring him back to shore.

Martin reaches out, fumbling, his motions jerky, imprecise. His reach limited by the bindings of his wounds, he flails his hand to touch Jon’s leg, the bare skin revealed below the line of the trouser leg, the only part of him he can reach.

“Jon, come back,” he pleads hoarsely, and stares at him as if hoping to snag his gaze away. “Come on, you can do it, come back to me.”

Jon’s eyes blink slowly, like a lizard. His mouth doesn’t stop moving. His body has started shivering, though it’s warm enough here.

Martin wets his lips and wishes for water.

“I broke my wrist when I was six,” he says, the words scraping up the side of his throat. Jon’s eyes flick to him, and there are still the embers of a hungry light there. He has stopped talking. He is paying attention. “I used to play rugby, though I was never any good at it. There was a fight in the changing rooms when I was thirteen, and I stopped playing after that.” Martin sucks in more air and Jon’s gaze doesn’t leave him. He’s stopped shivering.

The Eye likes the tales of minor tragedies, of fears and hurts and heartaches and so Martin feeds it like a praying man might light votive candles to try and lead his loved ones home.

“The first boy I loved, it-it was, we were at uni, but he was so ashamed of who he was he kept me a secret too,” he continues. “I am frightened that one day I’ll become my dad. I miss Tim and Sasha. I knew I had a crush on you when you told me I could stay in the Archives, and even then, I wished it gone because I didn’t want to be hurt again and I thought you’d be the sort of man who’d tear me down to build himself up.” He clenches his fingers around Jon’s ankle. “I am scared that one day you’ll drown. Come back, Jon. It can’t have you, come back to me.”

Jon sways and blinks woozy. He looks at Martin, seeing again, and his gaze is thready and human and terrified.

He’s stumbling, crawling on hands and knees to Martin’s side. Stuffed in his mouth are all the sorries and regrets and pains Martin can see writ large over his face; his hands span bird-flighty over Martin’s healing, shattered places.

“Jon, I’m ok, you saved me, Jon, we’re alive.”

Martin uses his arm to pull him close. Jon’s hands are beginning to scatter in explanation, in apology, but Martin shushes him with a croaky, relieved sound and holds him, a known quantity cradled in his hands, rocking his creaking, bruised painfully human body as tight as his battered limbs can bear.

#tma #the magnus archives #prompt fill #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #cw hurt/comfort #cw violence #cw bloody imagery #cw compulsion

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

Text

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 11

Forget putting a bell on Maul, Maul was going to put a leash on Kenobi.

The foolish boy had made the executive decision to leave before dawn with no more than a note.

Maul handed the piece of flimsi to Jango, his jaw set tight.

Dear Mr. Fett and Maul,

I went back to the Agri-Corps dome to get another look at the secret room in case I saw something I missed before that might help Master Jinn. I will return with lunch around midday planet time. Thank you for last night, and I apologize for the inconvenience.

Sincerely, Jedi Initiate Obi Wan Kenobi

Jango didn’t look any happier to see the note than Maul felt. He knew Kenobi was impulsive and foolish but this was truly ridiculous.

How was it possible that this was the same man who had consistently beaten Maul through his lifetime?

Maul paused.

Well. Kenobi had charged a Sith head on after his vaunted master had fallen to his hand. He’d taken only a single other Jedi to confront that same Sith when he had back up. He’d left the Jedi with no help at all to try to rescue Satine. Maul had seen him fight on full battlefields and loose his lightsaber. And, he was also the one who had raised Skywalker and Tano.

What was that saying about Neti falling from their branches?

Maul realized with no small degree of horror that Kenobi had mellowed with age, and this one was twice as rash as the one he’d known.

Well fuck.

Maul had been busy in his room in the morning after breakfast, and Jango had been off talking to someone on a private comm that he wasn’t allowed to eavesdrop on, and in the middle of all that Kenobi had just. Vanished.

“I should have kept a better eye on him,” Maul scowled at the flimsi, quietly willing it to light on fire. He’d never gotten the hang of spontaneous combustion, and it didn’t work now either.

Jango shot him an unimpressed look over the edge of the parchment. It was small, hotel issued.

“I’m pretty sure you’re younger than him,” Jango said patiently, “so if anything he should have been watching you.”

He didn’t even bother with Maul’s bristling pride this time. Jango wouldn’t snap at him, of that Maul was certain, but he was clearly irritated by Kenobi’s lack of forethought.

It didn’t help that a moment later the door swung open and Clat’Ha strode in, her eyes white around the edges, with Jinn in tow.

Maul blinked at the white bandages plastered to the normally dignified Jedi’s nose. Was Jinn getting in bar fights now? At this point it wouldn’t surprise Maul.

“What-”

Jango was cut off by Clat’Ha, who had gone pale.

“It’s Obi Wan. He’s gone missing.”

Maul’s blood went cold. His face blanched to grey-pink. “What?”

Missing? Truly missing?

Maul’s mind went to Xanatos. He was the only other threat they had encountered on this journey. Well, the only one that still lived. The draigons were gone, the pirates were space dust, only the washed out Padawan was left.

“He went to the AgriCorps dome this morning,” Jango said, showing them the note. Jinn’s mouth thinned into a line and his brows pinched together.

“Si Treemba said he saw him there, but he vanished. They heard shouting and fighting near the annex they found the other day, but when they got there Obi Wan was gone,” Clat’Ha shook her head mournfully.

“We have to find him,” Jango spoke for all of them.

Jinn held up his hand.

“We must be patient,” he counselled, and Maul knew he wasn’t the only one who wanted to strike the Jedi in the face. “If we rush in with haste, we run the risk of putting him in further danger.”

“Funny to hear that from the Jedi,” Jango snapped.

Jinn narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect a man like yourself to understand the subtleties of bidding ones time and gathering information-”

“It’s hard to gather information when you hoard cards to your chest like a hutt on a losing streak-”

“If you needed to know I would tell you-”

“Like you told Obi Wan? Listen you-”

“Enough!” Clat’Ha snapped, stepping between the bickering men. It was enough to get them to cut it out, at least momentarily. “Arguing helps no one, now shut up. Our first priority needs to be looking for Obi Wan. I’m going out to the dome to see if I can find any leads. And you two are not going to go after eachother the second I’m gone, got it?”

She looked pointedly from one man to the other, until both were bowed to her will.

Maul would have been impressed in any other situation.

“Kenobi isn’t dead,” Maul said with certainty. All three looked at him, startled. Maul met their eyes defiantly. “He’s not weak enough as to roll over and die just like that.”

“...The kids right,” Clat’Ha’s shoulders relaxed and she slowly eased into a smile. “We’ll find him. I’m off, I’ll comm you if I find anything new.”

“I’m going to go to the dockmaster,” Jango said finally. “I’ll find out if there’s a ship that’s left Bandomeer that might have him on it. Maul, you should come with me. It’ll be dangerous.”

Maul shook his head. “I’ll find you later. I wanna check on a rumor I heard first.”

Jango eyed him suspiciously, but Maul had proven himself resourceful and dangerous. Reluctantly, the Mandalorian agreed.

“Just keep your head down, okay? I’ll be very upset if I don’t get the chance to adopt you properly.”

Maul kicked his boot. “Cut the sentimental Banthashit,” he scolded. “You’re supposed to be a Mandalorian, a fearsome warrior!”

“And there’s nothing Mandalorian’s value more than our ade, Maul’ika. Children are our future, and you are mine.” Jango patted his head lightly, minding his horns. “Meet back here tonight, or I’m coming to find you.”

Maul rolled his eyes. As it he hadn’t noticed the tracer Jango had slipped into his poncho pocket. He would leave it be for now. If he went somewhere he didn’t want Jango following he would take it out and attach it a tooka for Jango to follow after.

For the time being, he left the apartments and headed to the Offworld admin building in Bando.

It wasn’t hard to sneak in through the vents. It was one of the only good things about being this small again, was how easy it was to slide through buildings and ships. He had to carefully rerout a few cleaning droids, but besides that he didn’t have any trouble finding Xanatos’ office. He did, however, notice that the door was hidden behind the same opaque wall that Kenobi had found in the dome.

Certainly Xanatos’ work.

Maul briefly considered kicking out the grate and ripping Kenobi’s location from Xanatos’ screaming throat, but the building was situated between an actual mine and a smelting facility. There would be guards, miners, and a hundred other workers in the building, and if it went into lock down Maul had seen laser grid generators in the vents on his way in. He didn’t fancy fighting an army of disgruntled Offworlders or getting cut in half again, thank you.

There was always window, he supposed…

But Maul was patient. He had to be.

He hated it.

It went against his very nature. Still, he was rather good at lying in wait.

He watched Xanatos work. It was hard to see from this angle, but in the reflection of the window Maul caught his fingers moving, and the input of codes. He watched the pattern that formed. The computer showed only a code, and while Maul didn’t have the key he had enough to work it out.

He even got the password.

Crion.

When Xanatos made for the door Maul carefully lifted a familiar lightsaber off of his hip and set it gently aside. As soon as Xanatos left Maul slowly eased his way out of his hiding place. He grabbed the lightsaber, one he had once thrown into the plasma generators in Theed, and searched Xanatos’ correspondences for any mention of Obi Wan in his little code. He found a few, but they were vague and brief.

It told Maul just enough to know that Obi Wan was alive, and had been sent a mine in the seas.

Maul copied as many files as he could and saved them a data stick in the desk drawer before he made off for the vents and the outside world.

By then it was nearing dark. The miners had traded shifts, and the office workers had gone home.

Maul was sneaking around the side of the building when he heard something very interesting.

Jinn.

The master was sneaking around the shadows like a common thief. Like Sith. Maul nearly laughed. The Jedi hypocrisy would never cease to amaze him.

"If you have plans for Bandomeer, you should know I am here to stop you," he said, his voice low but full of Force. It really was his intention to put a stop to his former Padawan’s ploy here.

Xanatos flung one side of his cloak behind him dramatically, and Maul could see the lines of lineage. Kenobi had a habit of stripping himself of his own cloaks, as did Tano. His hand rested casually on the hilt of a lightsaber. A familiar lightsaber.

Xanatos patted the lightsaber. "Yes, I still have it. After all, I trained for all those years. Why should I give it up like a thief, when I deserve to carry it?"

Maul was beginning to think he was going to have to write down when he knew about Jedi traditions and cross check it. He had been raised to kill them, which meant he needed to learn how they fought and how their sentimentality made them weak.

He didn’t know there were rules about keeping lightsabers after leaving an order.

To be fair, a sith never would have been given the chance.

"Because you deserve it no longer," Jinn answered. "You shame it."

A flush spread over Xanatos' face. Jinn’s comment had hit him. Xanatos still cared what Jinn thought of him.

Good.

Maul could use that.

He was stiff, and angry, then he relaxed, smiling. Maul tracked his emotions carefully. Weaknesses. Everyone had weaknesses.

"I see you are still a hard man, Qui-Gon. Once that bothered me. Now it amuses me." Xanatos began to circle around him. "We were friends at the end, more than Master and apprentice."

"Yes," Jinn said, taking careful steps to keep up with Xanatos. Maul tensed when he turned so he could have seen him if he were looking. He didn’t.

"We were."

"All the more reason for you to betray me. To you, friendship is nothing. You enjoyed my suffering."

"The betrayal was yours. As was the enjoyment of suffering. That is what you discovered on Telos. Yoda had already seen it. And that is why he knew you would fail."

"Yoda!" Xanatos spat the word. "That knee-high troll! He thinks he has power. He hasn't dreamed of a tenth of the power I know!"

"You know?" Qui-Gon asked mildly. "How do you know such power, Xanatos? A mid-level manager of a corporation, sent to do the board's bidding?"

"I do no one's bidding but my own."

"Is that why you're here? Is Bandomeer a test of your abilities?"

"I don't take tests," Xanatos snapped. "I make the rules. Bandomeer is mine. All I have to do is reach out my hand and take it."

He circled closer, his cloak swirling and brushing against Jinn. He was a viper waiting to strike, but his fangs weren’t out. Maul knew Xanatos’ words. He had heard the same himself.

A Sith does not wait for opportunity. He makes opportunity, and then he reaches out and takes what is rightfully his!

The lesson, like many, was accompanied by pain. Maul had limped for a week afterwards, but only where Sidious could not see it.

Power. What did this wash out know of power? He hadn’t even made it to Jedi Knight.

"It's a tiny planet. Galactically insignificant. Yet it pours forth wealth into my hands. If you would only lose the tiresome rules of the Jedi, it would do the same for you. But no, Qui-Gon is too good. He is not tempted. He is never tempted."

"Bandomeer is not yours to own! You were always overconfident. You have gone too far

this time."

"No." Xanatos drew his lightsaber. "Now I have gone too far."

Maul cocked his head. He could feel the Darkside swirling around him, brushing his skin, searching for its place inside him. His body was too small to house much of it yet, but it was not he who called it, merely he who had a true hold of it. He who was its child.

“Those who accept the power of the dark side must also accept the challenge of holding on to it.” Maul startled. He didn’t recognize the voice of his memories. “By its very nature the dark side invites rivalry and strife. This is the greatest strength of the Sith: it culls the weak from our order. Yet this rivalry can also be our greatest weakness.”

Xanatos laughed again, breaking Maul away from his thoughts and the voice.

"You destroyed everything I loved," he accused, his lightsaber barely missing Jinn’s shoulder, so close it singed the fabric of his tunic. "You destroyed me that day, Qui-Gon. Yet I was reborn. Stronger, wiser. I have surpassed you."

Maul snorted, and started to leave. He decided he didn’t care about the rest of the fight. He needed to find Kenobi and he actually had a lead. He would come back and finish cleaning up Xanatos’ mess later.

Kill him, maybe. Offer Kenobi his head for recompense.

Well.

Maybe not that exactly. Kenobi could be squeamish,

"And where is your new apprentice?" Xanatos sneered.

Maul didn’t stick around to hear the rest of it. He knew the answers already. A deep sea mine. There were only a few close enough to the shore for a control freak like Xanatos to send Obi Wa- Kenobi to.

Maul did stop long enough to send the information to Jango. He figured he might like to know where he was going, and where Xanatos and Jinn currently were duking it out.

Meanwhile Maul found a small transport to take him out to see. He knocked the owner out cold, stashed his body, and stole the ship. He kept it low to the waves. In the darkness of the night any guards would be hard pressed to see him approach.

He wasn’t met with blasterfire when he stopped the transport underneath one of the high legs of the rig. Maul secured it and spidered up the sides until he was sneaking on board. His come flashed with an incoming message from Jango, one that he soundly ignored.

When he reached the top of his rig Maul pulled out his (finally finished) weapon.

Maul held what looked like a S-195 blaster pistol, with slightly longer than average barrels.

They made a perfectly functional blaster, with only slightly weaker bolts than a regular one would have.

Maul was still working on that.

It would work for this.

Carefully, he snuck into the mine.

He had to ride on top of the turbolift, out of sight of the hulking, but stupid guards. They would be easy to mind trick, but tricks only lasted so long and he had seen slave collars like the ones on the sentients he passed. Those would be rigged with explosives. He rather liked Kenobi with his head on his shoulders, thank you.

Once he was further down he could feel it.

Kenobi’s light.

Something was keeping it dim, but still there. A suppressant?

Xanatos was really getting annoying. Maul was killing him when they got back to the mainland.

If Jango didn’t beat him to it.

Maul should have answered him comm so he could call dibs.

Too late now.

He hopped off the turbolift when he reached the floor where Kenobi’s presence was the strongest. It was till a phantom thing compared to what it had been before, nevermind what it would be.

Maul kept his hood drawn firmly and made his way further inside.

Deep in the undersea caves the slaves were kept in bunks. There were no bars to keep them in place, for their collars and their emaciated state did that just fine by itself. Maul could tell at a glance that most of them were half starved, or more, and beaten on the regular.

The collars around their throats stood out over standard, tattered jumpsuits. The guards were lax beings, and with a simple command the two playing dice outside the bunks fell asleep.

Maul picked his way through the slaves.

It reeked of unwashed beings, blood, and sickness.

Maul found his way to Obi- Kenobi, who was resting uneasily beside a spindly limbed being. Phindian. Weak joints, and a particularly pronounced jugular. Maul considered fourteen ways to kill him before he turned to his target.

Maul tapped Kenobi lightly on the shoulder with his boot, startling the little Jedi awake. Maul touched his mind lightly, minding the darkness inside of him and keeping it careful. Just enough that Kenobi recognized him in his frightened, sleep addled state.

Blue eyes stared up at him, Kenobi’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Maul?” he asked quietly. Hope trembled in his voice and Maul’s stomach twisted unpleasantly.

People weren’t supposed to feel hope around him. They were supposed to fear him! Maul scowled down at him and tossed his lightsaber at Kenobi’s gaping face.

Kenobi caught it on reflex alone, the weapon calling to him. It had felt utterly wrong in Maul’s calloused hands, his anger not mixing with the righteous light and the burning hope that lived inside Kenobi’s crystal.

Kenobi cradled it to his chest.

“This weapon is my life…” he whispered, a sentiment that was shared between Jedi and Sith alike.

“Then you can owe me twice,” Maul said derisively. “Let’s go. “

“I can’t!” Kenobi touched his collar. It was buzzing faintly with electricity. Maul scowled.

“Can’t you use the Force to turn it off?” Maul asked irritably.

Kenobi shook his head miserably. He was a sorry sight, his clothes tattered and, now that Maul was close enough to see, his back burned with familiar marks of electric whips.

Maul had a veritable tapestry of those same scars across his own back.

“They’ve cut me off. I can barely feel it anymore,” Kenobi’s voice cracked.

Maul winced in unwanted sympathy. He knew the feeling well. It was one of his masters favorite punishments.

Maul knelt before Kenobi and reached for his throat. The little Jedi twitched but didn’t fight against him. He tilted his chin to give Maul better access.

The metal was sturdy, it would be hard to cut through without killing Kenobi along with it, and the electric charge was near to the tiny explosive. Not small enough to blow through a wall, but it would do plenty of damage to soft human skin.

It would be easy to turn it off. Getting it off was another matter.

Not to mention the rest of the slaves that lay around them.

Maul looked down to find the phindian watching him through slitted eyes.

“...You’re not going to let me leave the rest of them here, are you?” Maul asked, exasperated.

Kenobi startled. “What?”

Maul pulled his hands away and stood up to brush off his cloak.

“Show me where they keep the spare parts for the equipment,” Maul ordered shortly. Kenobi frowned.

“I don’t know where those are.”

Maul gave him an unimpressed look. “Haven’t you ever escaped from a prison before?”

Kenobi frowned at him. “Why would I have had to do that?”

“... Jedi really don’t teach anything useful, do they?”

“Hey!”

“Obawan,” the phindian finally gave up his ruse and sat up. “Your friend will free us.”

Maul quirked a brow.

“Not so!” The phindian waved his long arms. “He will cause us trouble.”

“I’ll definitely cause you trouble if you don’t quiet down. Who knows here where the spare parts are kept?” Maul demanded shortly. He pulled his hand back to reveal the blaster holstered at his side. The phindian paled and Kenobi smacked Maul on the leg.

“Don’t threaten him! He’s my friend, Guerra!”

Maul rolled his eyes. “Then he should be helping. I won’t ask again.”

The phindian, Guerra, stood up reluctantly. He looked dead in the eyes. Yet, in the furthest depth, there was hope.

Maul bit back the urge to stomp it out. He needed this being’s help, for the time.

Guerra looked to the sleeping guards warily. Maul rolled his eyes. “They aren’t waking up soon. Get going.”

Other slaves stirred around them. Eyes watched them through hooded darkness. Maul breathed in the despair and fortified himself. It was going to be a long night.

Guerra lead him into the tunnels, down the hall to locked room of spare parts. It took Maul less than a minute to pick the locks. They were old school and not very advance to begin with.

Once inside he found a power pack for one of the big drills they used in lower levels, a wire coil, and disemboweled the locking mechanism for the doors. The circuit boards were kept carefully intact while he fetched a small tool box, conveniently equipped with a soldering iron, and set to work.He attached his wire coil to the capacitor for the door, and connected that to the big battery. While he was at it he found a heavy magnetic coupling splitter. He wished for Daleen. She’d already have the whole place turned on its head electronically.

With his girls, and his brothers, Maul could have done anything.

He would get to them soon enough.

“What are you doing?” Guerra asked nervously. “This is fun! Not so. I do not trust your friend, Obawan.”

“I’m making an EMP generator,” Maul said shortly.

Kenobi’s face split into a startled, hopeful smile. “You can do that? Where did you learn? Did Jango teach you?”

“Hmm? No. Now hold still. The collar’s going to tingle and then all the lights will go out. Stay close to me. Humans have terrible vision.”

“Hey!”

Maul ignored Kenobi’s indignation and pushed the ‘lock’ button. The door fizzled, the battering flickered faintly with electricity, and everything went dark.

Maul relished it.

“Let’s go get your friends, Kenobi.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Obi Wan stayed close to Maul as they prowled through the darkness.

He couldn’t understand how he could see so well, his gold eyes glowing faintly in the darkness like embers to an unseen fire. Maul was one mystery after another.

Obi Wan had thought him to be a Mandalorian, like Jango, but he wore no armor and he didn’t speak with the same accent. He fought viciously and without mercy when it was needed. Kenobi could not forget the grim comfort he had taken during their fight with the draigon’s to have someone as skilled and determined at Maul at his back while they battled off their death. His every shot was perfect.

Even before that, he’d felled two hutts in the span of a breath.

Maul was unlike anyone Obi Wan had ever met before.

Admittedly, he had mostly met Jedi. Obi Wan had never been out of the temple, and it showed sometimes now. In the temple he had never been hungry. In the temple he had never hurt so badly for so long.

Obi Wan swallowed those thoughts and followed Maul in the darkness. He could sense him through the Force, his presence dense and heavy. There was a gravity to Maul, in his sharp teeth and gleaming gaze. His ferocity was frightening, but as Maul had said, he did not allow his anger to control him.

He controlled it.

Obi Wan could not say the same thing.

It was his own temper that had resulted in him being sent away from the order, and his own impulsiveness that had lead him to leave behind the safety of Jango and Maul to investigate on his own. He just wanted so badly to impress Master Jinn he thought-

They would have come with him, he realized now.

Fett was a good man. Even if he was Mandalorian, and Obi Wan had only hear horror stories about them, he had held Obi Wan’s shoulder when he’d felt like he was drowning in his despair and spoke kindly to him when he didn’t have to. He offered to help with no chance of recompense.

And here Maul was, guiding him through darkness. Saving him.

Saving all of them.

Shame welled up in Obi Wan’s chest.

How could Obi Wan tell Maul that when he’d come to free him he’d been so relieved he barely thought of the other prisoners? He had thought only of the weight being lifted off himself, in the scant seconds before Maul brought up the idea of freeing everyone. How could he call himself a jedi when he was so self centered?

When he’d opened his eyes and found his friend looking down at him, half hidden in his familiar poncho, he’d been confused. But the Force whispered of Maul, of bright eyes and vicious determination, and he hadn’t been afraid for even a moment.

Maul was comfortable, in the same way a nexu would be to those familiar with it. He was dangerous to be certain, but he’d never hurt Obi Wan. He’d only ever helped him, from the moment they had met on the Monument, when he’d been thrown into Mauls arms.

Obi Wan grasped Maul’s poncho as he trailed after him. His other hand held his lightsaber.

“If you throw up, I don’t have anything to clean your mouth with,” was the only warning Obi Wan got when they returned to the slave bunks. Maul pulled a knife from his boot, the movement something Obi Wan felt more than saw, and slit the guads throats.

Obi Wan should have mourned their loss. Any good jedi would have.

But his back stung, and Guerra’s haunted words whispered through his mind, and the pain of the miners and the death that permeated the air choked down any grief he would have for the slavers. Obi Wan was sickened to realize he would have killed them too if he could have.

“The light, Little Jedi.”

Obi Wan, somewhere between grief-sick and warm whenever Maul called his that, lifted his saber and ignited it.

In the pale blue glow hallowed faces watched the three of them.

“We’re leaving,” was all he said.

“The collars,” started one slave, a human who had lost his eye fighting the other day.

“They’re off,” Maul said shortly. “And if you’re that worried, here,” he held up something shaped vaguely like a wrench. Obi Wan stayed still when Maul reached for his collar again. The soft leather of his gloves ran across Obi Wan’s throat before the wrench found its way across a seam he hadn’t noticed. There was a click and the collar fell off in two pieces.

Silence fell. Then, one by one, starting with Guerra, the rest of the slaves approached. Maul unlocked their collars. He set them all free.

“What is your name?” One of them asked at last, their voice hoarse and rough.

Obi Wan’s companion regarded him carefully.

“...Maul,” he said at length.

The word spread through the slaves in the whisper. Maul hunched his shoulders and shoved the wrench into a togruta’s hands.

“It’s a magnet lock,” he said gruffly. “Fit it around the edges.”

He stalked away, and was followed by the rest of the newly freed slaves.

A young twi’lek women, one scarred across her face, stopped them. There were tears in her eyes. A single one fell from the left and she wiped it away before touching it to Maul’s cheek. Maul twitched away from her, his hand flying to his blaster, but he didn’t draw.

“You have broken our chains,” she said quietly. “May water find you in the desert, and the sun find you in the snow.”

Obi Wan didn’t understand, and the look on Maul’s shadowed face said that he didn’t either, but he inclined his head all the same. For someone who boiled with anger all the time he was remarkably patient.

Obi Wan had never seen him take his temper out on someone who hadn’t wronged him first.

They make their way through the darkness. More than once did Maul had Obi Wan extinguish his saber before guards rounded the corner. In the shadows he draw his knife and snuffed their lives out. He didn’t fire his blaster once. It would have made too much noise, and given away his position.

Where had Maul come from, if Jango had not taught him these things?

The finally reached the surface. The clear air of the night blanketed the newly freed sentients.

There was no way to call for a ship to pick them up, but within an hour one came to investigate the silence from the mine. The Offworld insignia blazed on the side.

Obi Wan helped Maul take the ship by force. Together he guarded Maul with his ‘saber while Maul blasted through their attackers.

The climbed on boards.

It was a good sized ship, and once they were further in Obi Wan understood why.

The ship wasn’t just sent to investigate. It was sent to reinforce them. New slaves took up cages in the cargo hold, and across from them were exotic animals. There were monkey-lizards and glittering vulptex. He saw colorful kiros birds fluttering around one cage. Obi Wan found a tiny varactyl in a cage that squeaked at him when he came closer. It was no bigger than a tooka, and it payed through its cages, as if sensing safety from him.

Obi Wan broke the lock and took out the little lizard to cradle in his palm. He turn to ask Maul when he thought and paused.

Maul had stopped in front of a small crate where shadows moved within.

It took Obi Wan a minute to realize that the shadows were three slim, young creatures that hummed with the Force. Tails lashed through the crate and tiny clawed paws lashed out. Maul growled, something low in the back of his throat. Obi Wan felt it then. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with anger, hurt, sorrow and grief. It swelled the room before reached a crescendo and falling again.

The fighting from the animals was over.

Maul opened the crate and three small vornskr, two males and female with a chopped ear and a crooked tail, went tumbling out.

They circled Maul, rubbing their cheeks along his legs and chirping up at the startled looking boy.

The moment was ruined when a human woman came back from the front of the ship. The togruta with the locking device followed after her.

“We’re going back to the mainland,” the human said. “You should buckled in.”

“Thank you,” Obi Wan said with a short bow.

She nodded once at him and left.

Obi Wan looked Maul, who finally gave him a crooked, gap toothed grin.

“Through victory our chains are broken,” he said, the words slow and solemn despite his smile. There was something familiar to them, and the Force hummed its agreement.

Maul had set him free.

#Darth Maul #Maul #darth maul time travel #time travel #star wars time travel #obi wan kenobi #jango fett #qui gon jinn

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