#maul is impressed with that droid

[barmadumet]

I revamped my Halloween garland! Orange lights instead of glitter beads 🧡 There’s also new spooky droids! Here’s a few pics; I didn’t want to spam y’all here this year, but you can see all the pics on my insta: barmashomeworld 🎃

Last year’s Halloween garland:

Highlights for this year:

I think this is my favorite…

Vader: “What if he could be turned to the dark side? He could be a powerful ally.”

Dark Queen Padmé: (contemplating… Looking up & down and liking what she sees…)

[mrs-jamesbbarnes]

Some thoughts I had while watching The Phantom Menace in theater:

1. Obi-Wan met R2-D2 before he even met Anakin which makes the line in a New Hope about not owning a droid even funnier because of how long he’s known this particular droid

2. The Anakin/Padme relationship is even weirder than I remember

3. It is hilarious that both Ewan McGregor and Liam Neeson had to (or chose to?) speak in formal British accents for their roles. Give me Northern Irish Qui-Gon and Scottish Obi-Wan I dare you

4. The CGI it took to create Jar Jar/the Gungans/their cities is not great now but so impressive for 1999

5. Giggling at Richard Armitage as a Naboo fighter pilot

6. We don’t talk enough about Shmi Skywalker

7. How did I not realize how short Darth Maul/Ray Park is? (Only 5’9” which is super obvious as he walks with the Neiomoidians)

8. HOLY CRAP watch until the end of the credits. I’m sure it’s cool at home but in the THEATER with surround sound the screen goes black as the credits end and Darth Vader’s breathing fades in and I got CHILLS

9. We deserve more Padme/Obi Wan content

10. The Jedi Council refusing to train Anakin because of his fear just irritates me. If they had chosen not to train him and hadn’t let anyone train him things could have been even worse

11. Palpatine is so creepy and manipulative and uses Padme to get power and how did they not see it coming???

12. Anakin did bring balance to the Force. Not directly. But at the end of Rise of Skywalker there’s no one left except Rey. And she hasn’t chosen the path of the Jedi or of the Sith. She is the balance. She would have never become the person she did without Anakin Skywalker’s influence.

[anakiinhighwalker]

How they react when you’re injured please? Thank you!

evil laughter. i woll make a part 2 if asked….

— Obi Wan Kenobi

Poor Obi Wan. First it’s Anakin getting blasted and now it’s you in the medical bay getting patched up. He can’t help it at this point; he immediately assumes the worst. It’s second nature for him to worry about the people he cares about at this point. I don’t think there’s a day where Obi Wan doesn’t worry about something, which is both sad and kinda impressive for the old man (affectionately).

He has a bad habit of holding his breath before he sees you. It just adds to his feeling of being suffocated of hearing you get hurt. Is it melodramatic? A bit. But it just makes his love for you all that blatantly obvious; he literally can’t breathe if you’re not okay

Honestly, I don’t think it depends on the severity of the wound—Obi Wan will worry. He’s seen someone as powerful as his master get killed by a simple stab (although it was with a lightsaber). Obi Wan knows that any wound, regardless of how small or miniscule it can appear, can bring unseen consequences with it. Better safe than sorry is his motto, for anything really.

Constant testing, constant checking. I swear by the time Obi Wan’s done inspecting you himself, he’ll have a PhD.

It’s tough for Obi Wan to conceal his worry. He attempts to mask his worry with frustration towards the situation at hand but it can only convince so many people. You don’t know why, but Obi Wan always lets his professional Jedi mask slip when you’re any type of injured. He can’t ever seem not worried over you and there’s been too many close calls where Yoda raises an eyebrow at Obi Wan’s tenderness towards you.

He vents to Yoda that you shouldn’t be getting hurt and that it’s not fair. But he does it in his own, poised manner of venting. He’s very subtle when he’s venting because he doesn’t like to yell nor complain outright; It’s a quiet, seething type. Maybe there’s some untapped anger deep inside of him sitting about, piling up at the very fact someone had the opening to hurt you.

“This is ridiculous. How can the fleet expect to protect the capital if they can’t even protect them? They’re in the infirmary now and it’s because I was too distracted with droids.”

He’s just feeling too many things. Any anger he feels is stemming directly from the fact he wants to so desperately protect you from everything and anything bad. Don’t hold it against him if he’s moody or in a bad mood. Obi Wan loves you deeply—more than a man of his status should—so the aspect of harm coming to you unsettles him to a disturbing amount. That and mixed with his unresolved emotions towards his master’s death? The way the war has shaped and molded him? :(

Please please please reassure General Kenobi. He needs you to straighten him out so he can work properly.

— Anakin Skywalker (Deftones Liker)

It’s like Anakin adapted Obi Wan’s worrying but then added his little Ani twist to it and now it’s Anakin worrying AND being livid. This man has destroyed and mauled droids for blasting too close to you and I’m pretty sure if he could, he would’ve beat the shit out of the senator who messed with you. I don’t think Anakin has a chill button when it comes to you.

He’s too worried, in fact. He can become overbearing very quickly if you don’t check him. I’m talking Obi Wan’s checks but combine that with constant questioning and no chill at all. Anakin will very quickly overwhelm both the nurses and you with his frequent checking. So much so that you’re not sure if you’re secret relationship will be so secret afterwards (not that it was hidden that much in the first place tbh).

It’s even worse if Anakin can find the person or thing that hurt you. Whoever let Anakin roam free with his lightsaber and no therapy is the TRUE menace to society. Because the DAMAGE he will do if he’s unrestraint, oooh Lordy. I’m not even sure if I can say Anakin won’t kill a man for hurting you. You’re way too precious to him to care about someone else’s well-being, and especially if that person hurt you? Bye. They’re goners.

Obi Wan doesn’t panic, he silently worries. Anakin does panics and probably gets overwhelmed from how much he panics. He makes Ahsoka and Rex worry with him unknowingly with how he paces about. He, like his master, also has a habit of constantly checking your wounds and injuries to reassure himself that it’s not that grave. I honestly think Anakin puts a fairly decent amount of guilt on himself since he feels like he couldn’t protect you despite being such a highly regarded Jedi.

Would cry a little in all honesty. Anakins very emotional and he needs you to tell him to relax and to calm down because I really think Anakin can’t do that himself. He puts so much time, effort and love into your relationship that if you were to leave in any way, I don’t think it’s too far off to say Anakin would be shattered.

Angry venting to Obi Wan and Rex. If he doesn’t vent, he paces and overthinks and scowls. Honestly, at this stage is when Anakin could be really be tempted by the dark side if he’s not reassured your recovery. I think ROTS speaks for itself lol.

Once you’re safe and healthy, the way this man is so relieved and he always reminds you how much he loves you.

— Ahsoka Tano

Old trauma flares up. Ahsoka saw so much as a teenager during the Clone Wars and she’s still seen so much now as a leader for the Rebellion. The fact you’re harmed? What’s she suppose to do? Like her master, Ahsoka feels self pity and guilt at the fact she could not stop blaster fire from hurting you.

Ahsoka was never a crybaby when someone got hurt or died, she only has a faded memory of crying a little when Obi Wan was fatally ‘shot’ by a bounty hunter she doesn’t even remember the name of. So she won’t cry when she hears of your injury. But the way any Force sensitive person could feel her sorrow. I honestly believe Ahsoka’s guilt and deep melancholy would have a domino effect on people.

She’s learned to keep her cool and to be refined like a Jedi in combat because if she’s not, she could end up like him. Ahsoka, both with time and with becoming a leader, has learned to remain calm and quiet during tough times. Her quietness is both for good and bad. Good for others, who assume their leader is not afraid and unmoving at the Empire’s threat. But bad for herself—she becomes recluse and guards even the most deplorable, horrid feelings with mental guards.

Sort of pushes you to the back of her mind. She has to focus on the success of the Rebellion and how to undo everything the Empire has done; Ahsoka doesn’t have time to grieve or feel sorry for herself. She has to step up as the leading command of the biggest revolt against the Empire.

Silent over-thinker who really needs a break. She mimics Anakin’s nervous habits without even thinking. Pacing in her room, overthinking, scowling, it’s so ironic how she can be so similar to Anakin when she doesn’t paint herself as a wise, strong and sort of ethereal leader.

When you’re okay, Ahsoka asks everyone to leave you to be. And she finally lets her guard down and hugs you tight, so afraid she would have lost you to whatever battle you were fighting. She was so ready for the pain of the loss that it always gives her a happy surprise you’re always bouncing back better. It’s kinda sad to say, but Ahsoka has been surrounded by loss her entire life so the possibility of you leaving isn’t as frightening as it should be. She doesn’t know if thats healthy.

You kiss her cheek and she stops dissociating. You clear her blurry, rushed thoughts and soothe her sorrows and traumas. :)

— Luke Skywalker

This boy is human disaster Anakin Skywalker’s son. He’s practically BESTIES with worrying and overthinking! He doesn’t mean to worry, since Luke believes the Jedi way is one with mental stability and without struggle of overbearing emotions. But tuen again, Luke’s also a Skywalker. He attempts to appear this graceful Jedi who won’t freak out but we all know Luke is worrying his bowl cut off thinking about you.

I dont know if it’s a Skywalker family thing, but Luke really worries himself horribly thinking about the fact you might, even for a split second, die. That grave idea of death haunts him even if it doesn’t show behind his cool attitude and collected persona. He just deeply cares about you; he adores you beyond measure so the lingering thought in the back of his head of your demise is something that just—frightens the poor guy.

Although worried, he will put heavy amounts of trust and huge amounts of pressure (unknowingly) onto the doctors and medics doing everything they can to ensure you don’t pay an early visit to Luke’s hot dad. Like he’ll put a gloved hand onto the medic’s shoulder, tighten his grip a bit and go, “They’ll be okay, right? I don’t have to worry, right?” with his imposing stance and intense stare. I swear Luke sometimes scares people without meaning to.

Fighting himself a little bit. One side is like, ‘your feelings are valid, Luke. You have every right to be concerned over them—what if they pass like aunt and uncle?’ but the other side is like ‘No Luke, you need to be the Jedi that your dad and that Ben Kenobi wanted you to be.’ so often Luke is between the rift of wanting to feel as selfishly as a human feels but also feeling as selflessly as a Jedi would. What an unfair world, unfair circumstances too. Neither of you deserve this outcome.

He loves visiting you anytime he can, he loves having Han bug you to check up on you even if Han does tease you a little because your leg is broken. (Thank Luke for getting you stuck with Han Solo for the next few days. Fyi, Han is not the greatest bedside nurse. He’s probably the worst bedside nurse. He won’t even put on the hot nurse skirt, either!)

Not much else. If you get better, Luke recovers from his limbo of constant infighting in that noggin of his. If you don’t, well, we don’t have to go down the rabbithole that is Luke’s easy susceptibility into long periods of depression. Stares HARD at older Luke.

When you get back and moving, it’s just a relief for him. :)

— Padme Amidala

Eerily calm, like very eerily calm. I don’t know how she can stand to be so calm but it’s honestly very just Padme for her to not outright show so much explosive emotions; that’s not how she was raised, afterall. Even in her most dire moments, Padme can cry yes but I don’t feel as though she’s the type to have earth shattering outbursts although she does experience. She’s just never displayed them.

It eats at her though, no matter where she is. There she could be listening to some senator go on and on about their trade routes and how the Separatist scum have crested rifts in business and all Padme can think about is you. Just you. Your well-being and recovery is the only thing so very valuable to her in those moments.

She visits often and her aura of calm and poised position comforts you. At least one of you has the ability to remain so level-headed even during such difficult times. Her lessons and etiquettes in manners really kick in, her back sat straight and her gentle hand on yours everything but out of place. Padme is so gentle and softspoken with you that it shocks you she can be such, well, a princess even when shit hits the fan. She really is ready to be a professional senator, isn’t she?

Will argue with nurses and doctors to see you. I don’t care, that woman is doing everything in her power to constantly check up on you. Even if it’s getting Anakin to get up from his couch to check on you or getting 3po go make the journey into the medbay. You’ll either grow exasperated with her persistence to check up on you or you’ll find it incredibly attractive.

Her handmaidens make sure you’re okay too after you’re discharged from the hospital. Sabé stays with you throughout your whole recovery when Padme can’t be with you. And when she is with you, I dont think I can explain how caring she will be. How simply and utterly devoted Padme will become to taking care of you—it will probably make others jealous that such a beautiful woman loves you so much.

Chats with senator Organa about you. Discussing your situation and Organa being the amazing person he is, comforting Padme’s each and every worry. He also just kinda likes the gossip Padme tells him. Not to mention, you and Padme are cute together lol he loves to see y’all thrive.

Kisses. So many kisses. She sneaks in cheek and direct kisses whenever she can; Sneaky kisses, gentle kisses, adoring kisses and apologetic kisses. Padme will do all she can to see you smile, because your smile is the most precious thing to her.

— Mundi

idk but he’ll prolly hit the california girls dance on u lol for getting hurt

ditches u for one of his other wives (is that still canon???)

[o-wise-corvid]

In a Jedi! Maul AU, it just makes all the sense for his master to be Mace Windu. It just feels right.

Imagine a child being discovered running for his life on Mustafar without any protective gear. He’s wearing basically a cloth sack that is absolutely filthy with years of blood, sweat, and anything else you can think of. He’s so tiny. But ferocious to the point that he has to be restrained by whoever discovered him.

The little boy cringes at droids.

He will absolutely break into a trembling, hyperventilating meltdown if he sees someone in a hood.

The Jedi have to be extremely careful with trying to find out who he is. The first thing they have to do is feed him. He’s malnourished to the point of irreparable damage having already been done for the rest of his life. So they feed the little red Zabrak and he eats so much the first time that they have to take his food away before he makes himself sick. This happens several times.

The little one has no idea how to wear clothes. But he doesn’t want people touching him. He will scream if you try. So someone has to go down to where he’s being kept and put on clothes where he can watch them do it. Figure it out.

He holds himself on a punishing regimen. Every day, he runs in circles around his holding cell, which they had to use lest the little Zabrak run off, until he collapses. When he’s able to move, he immediately throws himself into relentless push-ups that keep going until his arms have cramped up so bad that he can’t continue.

This is impressive. And sickening. They’ve tested his blood. This little man… is four years old.

And then the little Zabrak attempts to escape. They knew he was force sensitive but they didn’t know he could use the Dark Side so easily and so well. He blasts his cell emitters to shrapnel and makes a wild run. Just anywhere. Out.

The food and rest and actual care have made the little Zabrak stronger, and his nimble feet manage to out maneuver and he veeeery nearly reaches the temple doors. But then a strong arm sweeps down and scoops him up. A wave of power and calm sweeps over the boy unlike anything he’s ever felt. There’s a hint of the Dark there. Something the little one recognizes. But it’s suddenly very clear that this person holding him means him no harm. There are feelings and meanings there that the little boy can’t identify. But he knows what “safe” is. And he knows what “lie” is.

Mace Windu will keep him the first one. And won’t tell him the second. He just looks into the amber eyes of the Zabrak, letting the panic subside, letting himself be perceived. And Maul just slumps against the big man’s shoulder.

He’s never been held before. But… it’s good. Very good.

[identityflawed]

the wrath of darth maul

yeah so... sidious is probably at his absolute worst in this novel. very blatant abuse, manipulation, etc.

i think it becomes impeccably clear why maul is such a horrible person in the clone wars. and yes, he is a horrible person. tragically so, but still quite terrible indeed.

i think the real tragedy of maul is that he is never what he wants to be. he never really gets to do what he wants to do. and if he does, it's through sidious twisting it into something entirely sickening and quite horrendous. case in point:

maul grew up in a small room on mustafar with a small viewport out to the planet. he had always wanted to go outside and see the world from outside the window, even going so far as to paint the view (with his own blood) onto the wall of his new, windowless bedroom (cell). sidious learns of this. he has maul sedated and chucks him out into mustafar with no supplies and no weapons. maul survives seventeen days. his reward? sidious kills his caretaker droid in front of him and then makes him eat a fish alive.

whether or not he knew it, maul always sought connection. it's a sentient thing to desire, and sidious was very, incredibly scant with it. maul grew up relating compliments to punishment because of it. at orsis academy, he finds friends -- kalindi and daleen (bless their souls). and they are good friends, even though they're all pretty tragic characters with shitty pasts and a bloody future. how lovely, how nice... until maul kills everyone at orsis academy, including his two friends, on sidious' orders.

there are other examples. can't remember them, but all the way up till tpm, he's been constantly restrained by sidious. that restraint starts as a way to keep him from being a good person -- moulding him into a brutal, paranoid, well-guarded monster -- to restraining him from actually being that monster. he isn't allowed to use the force up until naboo in order to keep the sith a secret.

and the tragedy is heralded by this. the one time he really gets to do what he wants; to kill jedi, to cement his superiority, to unleash himself entirely... he dies. well, not quite, but he dies in every way that matters. so desperately has he desired freedom that the moment he achieves it, he hardly knows what to do with himself.

pretty sickening. he got the shortest straw for sure. went batshit insane on lotho minor, tripled the amount of legs he had, nearly killed his brother. incoherently rageful. more sadly was the fact that he had to come to terms with the fact that he was a failure to sidious; the only person he wanted to impress (though i think some part of him knew he'd never be able to. sidious just doesn't care enough.). he would never be what he could've been. he will never be a true sith again.

and as horrible as being a sith is, it's all he ever knew. and only before he died, for real this time, did he really and truly understand what that meant.

[the-starry-seas]

okay so I realised that Kit didn't just spawn out of thin air, Minecraft style, so... he has a squad, now

Lucky, CT-7773, is horrendously afraid of droids 😔 Kit said they should call him Lucky due to this fear, because droids couldn't kill a guy named Lucky, that just wouldn't be fair. (It didn't help quite as much as Kit thought it would, but Lucky knew that Kit was trying and is very fond of him for it.) He was supposed to be decommissioned because of his autoimmune issues, but ended up being added to the support staff on Kamino. It's hard on him, physically, but he much prefers that over having to be a soldier and deal with droids. In addition to rheumatoid arthritis and hearing loss, he's semi-verbal and has social anxiety and rejection sensitivity. He got the scar on his face on his very first day of training against droids because he froze up and it stabbed him. Secretly, he wants to be a novelist, but he's never tried to write anything because he's convinced he wouldn't be any good at it, so he shouldn't even try. He fidgets with things when he's nervous and has a tangle toy that helps soothe him sometimes.

Shrike, CT-9382 is a medic, and a pretty good one. He's also very open about what his name means, and people tend to be a little unnerved about that. People also tend to mistake him for being callous because he doesn't beat himself up when he can't save a brother - they were made to be killed, so why freak out when one dies a little earlier than the rest? He does care, and he'll put himself in harm's way to save a brother he thinks actually has a shot at living, but he prefers to save expressions of care for when they'll actually do some good. He's an excellent shot with a sniper rifle and sometimes deployed to get a few shots off before the battle turns serious enough for a medic to be needed. He likes video games and enables a billion cheats and mods to be able to do whatever he wants. He's also an unexpectedly good fighter with a sword, not that that's generally a useful skill. He got his ears pierced at the same time as Carno but decided to keep his hair short for easy maintenance instead of going through the trouble of growing it out. He gets jaig eyes for cold-cocking a BX droid to protect an injured brother, and also breaks two fingers doing it.

Carno, CT-5042, is here for the thrill of the kill. He's highly armed, highly dangerous, and enjoying every minute of it. His preferred type of combat is sneaking around a battlefield to quietly take out most of his enemies before mauling the rest in a brute force assault. He was hand-picked for ARC training before he finished the basic courses but was reluctant to leave his batchmates out of concern that Lucky would be decommissioned. He was the first to leave their squad to be deployed elsewhere, with a squad of other ARCs. Loyal to his new squad, of course, but if his batchmates needed him, whether Lucky was in danger or not, he'd be back on Kamino before anyone realised he was gone. He promised that to them before he left, and he meant it. Being the star of his squad by far, he's a bit cocky, and is under the impression that nothing can pose a threat to him - and also that he doesn't have anything else to learn from the older clones in his squad because he's won every one of the many fights he's started. Outside of combat, he has a confident, casual, laid-back Han Solo sort of attitude that makes him a rather polarising figure. People either admire him, or really want to knock his block off. He's half an inch shorter than the others and braids his hair when wearing his helmet. His scar is from the only time an enemy got the drop on him. Medics were with him immediately, but he insisted on keeping it instead of letting them completely heal the injury.

[coveredinsun]

kanan jarrus isn’t even the best character in star wars he’s the best character in anything ever. he’s a shameless ponytail wearer. he’s got insane survivor’s guilt typical of order 66 survivors. he became an excellent master despite only being a padawan himself for maybe a year tops. he chooses to roll with a group of problematic gayasses. he was chosen to be a padawan because he saved his master from a bombing in the temple. he managed to win the favor of the greatest pilot in the galaxy who also happens to be really hot. he spends a whole episode trying to sheepishly impress his in-laws. he’s the kind of guy to say “let’s rock and roll” before embarking on a road trip. he’s part of mace windu’s lineage. he was knighted by the force itself. he’s the space dilf everyone wishes anakin would’ve been. he’s got neverending unreciprocated beef with his girlfriend’s astromech droid that’s got 50 thousand kills. he managed to beat darth maul in a fight despite getting blinded 5 seconds prior. he was reincarnated as a kickass force wolf. he’s the father that stepped up.

[ooops-i-arted]

Filoni has a tendency to create all these parallels between Luke and his special OCs (nowadays "like poetry it rhymes" is basically Filoni regurgitating his favorite moments from the original trilogy). Yet, cowboy hat man makes it so obvious how he's ensuring Luke and Leia don't participate in galactic events that 100% makes sense with their involvement, substituting them with Ahsoka when he decides to reference Thrawn trilogy.

I see people falling for this lack of creativity over and over "isn't it cool how Sabine is literally saying the same line as Luke in New Hope?" "Omg Din said that ship was a 'pile of junk' just like Luke did!" "Teehee Anakin reached out to Ahsoka just like Anakin did to Luke in Empire Strikes Back!" Filoni relies so much on easter eggs and references to bait people and I'm just not impressed with so much of the material he churns out nowadays. Shit is stale.

Omg I just saw the goddamn "it's like poetry it rhymes" caption on Insta on a picture of Blond Apprentice getting MacGuffin StarBall Whatever next to a picture of Darth Maul from TPM getting his spy droid and I'm like NO! NO IT IS NOT POETRY, THERE IS NO SIGNIFICANCE THERE, IT'S JUST A CHEAP COPY OF ONE SHOT WITH NO EMOTIONAL MEANING BEHIND IT. "It's like poetry it rhymes" is like for, how we see Padme unite with the native Gungans in TPM after we saw Leia unite with the native Ewoks in ROTJ, both to defeat a huge threat to both of them. It shows that Leia may not have known Padme but Padme's spirit still lives on in Leia, and signals to the audience that yes, this is Leia's future mother. It actually means something.

I s2g Filoni has made the entire Star Wars fandom just braindead about Easter eggs. Easter eggs are supposed to be a fun addition that enhances something for a viewer in the know, not be a blaring red flag saying LOOK THIS WAS IN ANOTHER STAR WARS FEATURE. A proper Easter egg - and one I loved - was the brief cameo of Threepio in Kenobi. A viewer who has never seen any other Star Wars media will just see a droid adding to the Space Futuristic Worldbuilding, but my sister and I squealed in delight and had a moment of enjoyment. If Filoni had written that, he'd have the camera linger on Threepio, he'd say one of his signature lines, and then say "Oh dear I do believe I've forgotten something" as a har har har wink wink nudge nudge about how he had his memory wiped. I'm so over it, and I say this as someone who LOVES a good Easter egg, or even things like saying "I have a bad feeling about this" in every piece of Star Wars media!

I suppose at least we don't have to see Luke butchered and Leia wasted anymore like in the sequel trilogy.... but it's a sour victory when this is all we get instead. (Also, if I can be a Bad Rude Elitist Fan for a moment.... so many people are gonna think this is all just Filoni's idea, and not realize that Timothy Zahn crafted an amazing book trilogy they can read instead, and just settle for Filoni's box mix cookies instead of a carefully crafted Zahn masterpiece.)

[airyairyaucontraire]

running thoughts about S3 E01 of The Mandalorian, "The Apostate"

jesus Christ of COURSE the Mandalorians have their child soldier investiture ceremonies RIGHT WHERE A FUCKING MOSASAUR CAN POP UP AND RUIN THINGS

oh my GOD you guys

simple FISH RADAR could've given you the early warning you needed to avoid this malarkey!

THIS IS WHY YOU'RE ALMOST EXTINCT

YES YOU'RE PERSECUTED BUT YOU'VE ALSO GOT NO SENSE

also okay wow

way to upstage Paz YET AGAIN Dindin

you slay the dragon when he can't AND you have A HOT NEW SPORTSCAR and you still have a CUTE BABY

also listen

THERE'S A SQUID IN THE WARP TUNNEL

or maybe it's one of those space whales that Ezra Bridger disappeared with?

ngl I was a little disappointed one of the street musicians on Nevarro wasn't Max Rebo

awwwww they put up a statue to droid Taika

Greef's clothes just keep getting bigger

"The belters are mining the asteroid fields at the edge of the system." Just like The Expanse! let us know how that works out for ya, you're already dressed a bit like Chrisjen Avasarala

absolutely no one is impressed by Grogu's weak sauce name

you know where else you could be apostate landed gentry? TATOOINE

WHERE YOU HAVE FRIENDS WHO LOVE YOU

I'm not saying Greef doesn't care about you but COME ON why move to a planet with one friend (since I don't expect we'll be seeing Cara again) when you could hang out with FOUR friends some of whom are VERY GOOD-LOOKING and talk with fun accents (Kiwi and Cowboy)

c'mon Greef they just wanna get drunk in a school

you know, for a pirate, you don't have a very good hat. Hondo Ohnaka's hat would take a shit on your hat.

GREEF HAS TWO LITTLE BRIDESMAID DROIDS CARRYING HIS CAPE

A GOLD STAR TO WHOSEVER IDEA THAT WAS

what do you mean you need him back

he EXPLODED in LAVA

what makes you think the brainy parts are even there?

I REALLY FEEL LIKE IG-11 WAS A LOT MORE BLOWN UP AT THE TIME THAN THIS MAKES IT LOOK

I mean always happy to have more Taika

assuming he still talks like Taika

maybe his voicebox is effed up

maybe now he sounds like Jemaine Clement

"now that's using your head" says Din

JESUS Din

oh okay it's the tiny cute mechanics from the sequels

HOW DID YOU CRAWL IN THERE

a new side quest begins

did Grogu want to cuddle the tiny mechanic or eat it

YOU KNOW WHO YOU COULD TAKE WITH YOU TO HELP YOU ON YOUR QUEST

COBB VANTH

JUST SAYING

I bet he's feeling a lot perkier by now! and would do basically anything for you if you bought him a drink and put your hand on his knee under the table

like you wouldn't even have to rub it

ohhhhhhhhhhhh he's starting to deliberately TEACH the baby

the pirate is suddenly talking MORE PIRATEY and saying things like Avast

I miss the Space Scotsman, remember him? "Tell that to Kanjiklub!"

CAPTAIN GREENBEARD

will not be appearing much in this episode, I suppose they're just introducing him so he can be a recurring and very moist foe

With Din talking to Grogu so much more, explaining things to him, do you think his little speech delay will start to come right?

say what you will about Bo-Katan Kryze, she certainly can strike a louche pose on a throne. She's no Darth Maul, mind you. Then again, who is? (blows a kiss towards hell for him)

If she's so depressed and all her plans are fucked, why is she still striking poses on thrones?

get a job Bo-Katan

you can always work private security

or be an aesthetician because given what we know about your age clearly you have SOME incredible skincare secret (and your hair always looks nice)

I mean... the planet was poisoned decades ago, that's why everyone was living under domes.

That felt pretty short, I have to say.

I like how you can see from the concept art over the end credits that both Bo-Katan's throne and her pose got fancier over time

[lothricknightgirl]

Mandalorian OC Questions

So. I've got one of these for skyrim and destiny, both of which gained some traction and actually helped people with their ocs, which I'm very surprised by.

But I checked out the mando oc tag, and noticed that. There aren't any of these. So, I figured I might as well try my hand. So, here's a handful of questions for an ask game, of sorts. Feel free to also answer via the re-blogs.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

In which era was your Mando born? Pre-Imperial? Imperial? Republic, any iteration?

Where was your Mando born, if not Mandalore?

If they were born in or near the Clone Wars era, or learned about them later, what were their opinions on the New Mandalorians and the True Mandalorians?

Mando's opinions on the Jedi?

Your Mando's opinions on the Resol'nare?

Mando's opinions on the old Creed?

Is your Mando part of a clan, or an individual family?

Mando's opinions on Death Watch?

Mando's race?

Mando's name?

What do they look like?

Were any of their ancestors well known for anything? Do they have a legcacy to uphold?

What is your Mando known for? Defining traits, personality or physical?

Mando's armor colors?

How does your Mando fight, if they do?

Is your Mando sneaky or "Sneaky"?

If they grew up in a covert, what was it like? What was their relationship with their covert?

Is your Mando force sensitive? If so, do they know they are? Does anybody else?

Has your Mando ever met a Jedi, or a Sith?

Does your Mando have any children or Foundlings?

Describe your Mandalorian's armor.

Mandalorian's favorite creature/animal?

Mandalorian's least favorite creature/animal?

Does your Mando have pets?

Were they there for the fall of Mandalore?

Did they witness Maul's takeover of Mandalore?

Describe your Mando's weapons?

Mando's favored fighting style?

Mando's preferred blaster type?

Does your Mando overprepare for every scenario they can imagine or do they just wing it?

What ship do they fly?

Has your Mando ever been to Tatooine, if they weren't born on it? If so, how did their visit go?

Out of the Inner Rim, Middle Rim, and Outer Rim, which does your Mando prefer?

What's your Mando's occupation? Are they good at it?

Has your Mando ever mentored?

If your Mando has ever met other Mandalorians, what were their impressions of your Mando?

Does your Mando talk much? Are they outgoing, or withdrawn?

Mando's view on killing?

Does your Mando have a jetpack? Are they any good with it?

Is your Mando the type to play pranks or get pranked? Either? Neither?

Does your Mando use slugthrowers?

If your Mando has ever seen the force being used, what was their reaction?

Does your Mando know their history well?

Has your Mando ever stolen armor off of a dead Mandalorian? Do they know the significance of doing so?

Does your Mando believe in the Ka'ra, or the Manda? Are they particularly religious?

Mando's opinions on sand?

Does your Mando decorate their armor?

Mando's opinions on droids?

If your Mandalorian was born after the Night of Tears, have they ever seen Mandalore as it is now?

Would you call your Mando competent or, more of a flaming disaster?

[ahsokathegray]

I Bleed the Same || Twelve

Pairing: Rexsoka

Summary: Ahsoka and Rex try and make sense of who and what they are after Order 66 occurs. Figuring out what to do with themselves, they remain together for a period of time before parting in their own directions.

Warnings: slow burn, mentions of Order 66, ptsd, injury, death, and future nsfw situations

Word Count: 2,756

A/N: a shorter chapter than what I've been producing, but also the last slow one! things will be picking up and moving fast from here on out. also, rexsoka week 2022 starts this sunday 12/4 so keep an eye out for my one shots! (they're to blame for this week's short chapter lol). final note... would anyone like a playlist dedicated to this series??

read on ao3! / series masterlist

The things that went through his mind during her absence horrified him. Every worst case scenario he could imagine was running rampant in his head. His brothers, Maul, the citizens — anyone killing her and him having to leave without her. Rex struggled to keep his train of thought from derailing. 

He dug the plastoid he’d found on Jabiim out of his pocket and began mending the blaster shot in his pauldron. That shiny had hit him with pure luck. It was honestly an impressive shot. He’d be congratulating the rookie if he hadn’t been aiming to kill. It was about as perfect as he could get it, the color was close too. It was no 501st blue, but it would do the job. Once they had more proper materials, he’d focus on getting it more exact.

Rex's internal conflict had returned at full momentum. 

His nervous ticks began to set in. It started with the bouncing of his right leg, then rubbing the back of his neck. Rex then clasped his hands together to try and keep them still, only to rapidly tap his thumbs against one another. It wasn’t long after that he stood from his spot by the water and started pacing. 

R7 beeped at him. 

“I know how long it’s been… I’m just worried about her. I can’t be patient. You should power down R7, we don’t want to draw any attention.”

The droid gave a solemn beep and Rex felt bad for hushing him.

Waiting wouldn’t be so bad if he’d had something else to distract himself with; something to keep his hands busy. His usual solution to this problem would be to clean his blasters — take every small piece apart and scrub them all individually until he could see himself in them. This was neither the time or the place for that. It was, however, something he did need to do eventually. 

He wished for a distraction. Distractions had become a way for him to escape his worries. He’d nearly worried himself to death over Ahsoka when she left the Jedi Order. At this point, he’d spent most of his life worried over her. He figured he’d be doing just that for the remainder of it, too.

Focusing on negative outcomes didn’t benefit him in any way. What were the positives? He thought of the last good news he received. 

The day Skywalker told him she was coming back was the best news he’d received since finding Echo alive on Skako Minor. Good news had become scarce.

The General had trusted him with the box that housed her lightsabers. Besides her silka beads, they were the only other indication that she’d been real. Rex had longed to see them again after Anakin told him she’d left them with him. All he ever got were glimpses of her Padawan beads in her Master’s chest pocket. 

After the box had been handed over to him, Anakin rushed off to retrieve their Commander.  

While the boys nervously chatted and admired their paint jobs, Rex turned his back to them and started to lift the lid of the box. He hesitated at first… heart racing at something so small. A deep breath helped him regain some clarity and he opened it. Ahsoka’s lightsabers. Just as she left them. Just as he remembered. 

When he’d laid his eyes on her again after all that time, it took everything in him not to run up to her, pick her up, and lock her in the tightest embrace he could manage. His heart swelled three times its size at the sight of her. She’d grown and grown even more beautiful than before, if such a thing was possible. He noticed that her lekku were longer as well, more shapely, the chevrons in her pattern were starting to become complex.

Her anticipated reaction to the helmets had made him anxious. It was a rush job in truth, but she seemed to enjoy them nonetheless. He wished he’d come up with the idea himself, but it was actually Jesse who asked if they could paint their helmets in her honor. Jesse wanted to join in, but he and Rex agreed to keep their buckets as is. 

The irony stung.

Right when he thought all the excitement had died, she’d ignited her twin sabers. 501st blue. His blue. 

They were gone now, for good. Left behind on that moon, with the rest of the men and remnants of their now previous life. She’d parted with them for the final time. 

Rex left a defeated sigh loose and went to grab the datapad from the ship. He sat back down by the river, outstretching one leg. He needed to stop moving so much. If the situation were switched and it was Ahsoka who was waiting, she would have begun to meditate. It was either that or tinker with the ship and R7, but he thought he knew her well enough to know what she’d choose.

Although, she hasn’t meditated since everything went down. 

He gazed across the water. It was still and looked like glass. Small insects skated around the surface, creating the tiniest of ripples. Rex took a few breaths, trying to recall how she explained meditation to him.

“You just take deep, even breaths. Focus on that. Once you get it down, listen. Listen to everything around you. Don’t hone in on only one thing. You’ll notice everything humming and buzzing with life. Go past that. There is where you’ll find a center. When you’re still, and calm, and everything goes quiet then you’ve reached the destination. You can stay there as long as you like.”

She was much younger when she’d offered him that explanation. It was a lot of words with not much actual direction. His first attempt at meditation would not be tonight. Focusing on anything but not losing her was an impossible task. All he wanted was to see her climb back down the towering cliffs that she had effortlessly scaled earlier. 

When she returned to fight Mandalore’s battle for them, he didn’t think for a second that he’d be back in this position. Yet, here he was again, yearning for her safe return to him. 

He settled on scrounging the public online databanks for news on… Well, just about anything. 

The battle droids were being decommissioned effective immediately following the Declaration of New Order. Hah! So long clankers. Maybe not all good news was gone.

Decommissioning of the clone army was currently being determined by Admiral Tarkin. Rex knew the man left a bad taste in his mouth when they’d rescued him from the Citadel. The report stated that the Admiral was making regular trips to Kamino to oversee operations. Yeah, Rex had a feeling that Kamino would be under heavy surveillance. 

It was looking like something called chain codes were being enforced as well. Now everyone would have an assigned number, not just the clones. Rex couldn’t stop finding the irony in each of these situations. 

He then found the article on the Declaration of New Order he saw mentioned further up in the feed. Footage from the Senate was attached. He put the datapad on low volume and played the holo of Chancellor Palpatine’s speech. 

“Citizens of the civilized galaxy, on this day we mark a transition. For a thousand years, the Republic stood as the crowning achievement of civilized beings. But there were those who would set us against one another, and we took arms to defend our way of life against the Separatists. In doing so, we never suspected that the greatest threat came from within.

The Jedi, and some within our own Senate, had conspired to create the shadow of Separatism using one of their own as the enemy's leader. They had hoped to grind the Republic into ruin. But the hatred in their hearts could not be hidden forever. At last, there came a day when our enemies showed their true natures.

The Jedi hoped to unleash their destructive power against the Republic by assassinating the head of government and usurping control of the clone army. But the aims of the would-be tyrants were valiantly opposed by those without elitist, dangerous powers. Our loyal clone troopers contained the insurrection within the Jedi Temple and quelled uprisings on a thousand worlds.

The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated. Any collaborators will suffer the same fate. These have been trying times, but we have passed the test.

The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger. The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. We stand on the threshold of a new beginning.

In order to ensure the security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society, which I assure you will last for 10,000 years. An Empire that will continue to be ruled by this august body and a sovereign ruler chosen for life. An Empire ruled by the majority, ruled by a new constitution.

By bringing the entire galaxy under one law, one language, and the enlightened guidance of one individual, the corruption that plagued the Republic in its later years will never take root. Regional governors will eliminate the bureaucracy that allowed the Separatist movement to grow unchecked. A strong and growing military will ensure the rule of law.

Under the Empire's New Order, our most cherished beliefs will be safeguarded. We will defend our ideals by force of arms. We will give no ground to our enemies and we will stand together against attacks from with or within. Let the enemies of the Empire take heed: Those who challenge Imperial resolve will be crushed.

We have taken on a task that will be difficult, but the people of the Empire are ready for the challenge. Because of our efforts, the galaxy has traded war for peace and anarchy for stability. Billions of beings now look forward to a secure future. The Empire will grow as more planets feel the call, from the Rim to the wilds of unknown space.

Imperial citizens must do their part. Join our grand star fleet. Become the eyes of the Empire by reporting suspected insurrectionists. Travel to the corners of the galaxy to spread the principles of the New Order to barbarians. Build monuments and technical wonders that will speak of our glory for generations to come.

The clone troopers, and proudly wearing the name of Imperial stormtroopers, have tackled the dangerous work of fighting our enemies on the front lines. Many have died in their devotion to the Empire. Imperial citizens would do well to remember their example.

The New Order of peace has triumphed over the shadowy secrecy of shameful magicians. The direction of our course is clear. I will lead the Empire to glories beyond imagination.

We have been tested, but we have emerged stronger. We moved forward as one people — the Imperial citizens of the first Galactic Empire. We will prevail. Ten thousand years of peace begins today.”

Rex’s entire body burned. Every single word the man spoke was a lie. The Jedi would never start an uprising. They were not the enemy. 

He couldn’t speak for Krell, or Barriss, or any other Jedi turned Sith. To Rex, the Jedi were the epitome of peace. Sure, they had their faults, even Ahsoka saw the clarity of that. But they weren’t evil.

They’d but hunted down and defeated, along with their collaborators. Rex already knew he and Ahsoka were walking targets, this only confirmed it. She wasn’t even a Jedi, but his list was steadily growing. 

He was a deserter, an enemy of the Empire for refusing a direct order, and a Jedi conspirator. 

His brothers… The stormtroopers had all taken part in executing Order 66. They had all rendered the Jedi extinct. Rex felt sick. 

This so-called New Order was not about peace. It was about control, complete control. This Empire, this Imperial rule would not go unchecked. Rex vowed to uncover the truth and get to the bottom of what had happened to them, to the galaxy as a whole. If anything, he would do it for her. Someone like Ahsoka deserved so much more. She deserved better cards than the ones she had been dealt. 

~~~

As promised, Ahsoka did return. He stood at attention. She said nothing. Rex’s shoulders dropped as she walked into his arms. He wrapped himself around her small form, holding her close and tight, convincing himself he could shield her from the galaxy if he wanted it badly enough. 

“He’s gone,” she choked out, hand gripping the armor on his bicep. 

He further enveloped her, “Was he with her?”

Ahsoka inhaled a shaky breath and pulled away, “No… Bail told me. He didn’t say how.” She held out her hand, revealing an oversized comlink. 

Rex took it from her outstretched palm, knowing there was no tracking element but checking the device anyway. 

“He said that it’s easy to get lost with everything that’s happened, that we have a duty… an obligation to uphold when we’re able. I tried to refuse it… He insisted I contact him if I needed anything at all,” she recounted slowly. 

Rex processed the information. They had at least one ally. One was better than none. He hoped that other Senators shared Bail Organa’s same philosophy. After what he heard on the holonet, surely there were others who knew how wrong this all was.

“We should get going,” she suggested and slipped away from him. Rex placed a hand to the middle of her back and guided her to the open hatch of their ship. 

He saw to it that she got in comfortably before following suit. The engines powered up, and he lifted them off of the ground and into Naboo’s indigo washed night sky. It’s a shame. For how beautiful the planet was, it now only looked haunting to him. The last time he’d been here, both he and Ahsoka had almost died. 

There was that irony again. Somehow the cold, emptiness of space was more welcoming than the planet itself. Rex moved to look at the forlorn Togruta behind him. She had a hand pressed to her cheek and was leaned up against the glass.

“We can’t go back to Jabiim… At least for the time being,” Rex stated. 

“No,” she agreed, “We cannot.”

Based upon the holo, he knew he needed to figure out everywhere that was no longer safe. Coruscant would be one planet and Kamino would be another. More would follow and soon.

Suddenly, Rex remembered one brother in particular, a brother that the Empire wouldn’t know about. The deserter. His mouth fell agape. She gave him a look, wondering what loop he’d just found for them to jump through. 

“The deserter, Cut Lawquane. Early in the war, we were sent to Saleucami. I was injured… He helped me. I have to warn him about the chips.”

Ahsoka didn’t have any idea what he was talking about, but nodded with fresh determination, “Let’s go find him, then.”

Rex returned her nod and began punching in Saleucami’s coordinates. Hope beat in his chest. He might still have a brother who didn’t want to kill him. Whether that was true or not, they’d find out soon enough. 

The ship hurtled into the route and they began back the way they came. Rex's mind was so scrambled when they’d been on Jabiim that he didn’t think about how Saleucami was so close. They’d been right there the entire time. Choosing to hide out on Jabiim had been the best choice they could’ve made.

“Look, Ahsoka… This may be difficult for you to hear right now,” Rex started, the blue of hyperspeed dancing across his facial features. 

She pressed her lips into a firm line, preparing for yet another blow. 

“You’re gonna want to watch the holo on that datapad.”

He motioned his head down to where he’d placed it back into her pack. The footage was still pulled up. Rex asked R7 to take over for them. 

Her features fell with every word the self-proclaimed Emperor uttered. 

Rex wished that their seats were not compartmentalized, he felt helpless with only a small piece of ship between them. There was nothing he could do except listen as she cried and watch as her tears fell onto the screen in front of her.

[44gamez]

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[scrumpledorph-writes]

Koben’s Second Date (stress induced breakdown)

I

18:00 hours. Standing outside Brayli’s apartment door. Spent the day productively; ordered a new lock, door, and shutters for the hovel, then replaced all the exhausted pieces of thermal weave on my armor. I’m freshly showered and in the best clothes I’ve ever owned, about to see the prettiest woman I’ve ever met – so why can’t I shake what happened this morning?

Is this how civilians feel when they have to kill someone? Like they’ve done something horrible that they can’t ever take back? I’ve lost count of all the kills I’ve confirmed over my career, were they all like him? Just people who got wrapped up in things over their head and paid for it with their lives? He was just a kid, why couldn’t he have picked someone else, anyone else, instead of an attack dog who ran off leash and can’t seem to stop mauling people? The kind of dog that needs to be euthanized. 18:02, I’m late.

I’ll feel better when I’m with her, I always do. Three firm knocks, not too impertinent, not too insistent. ‘Oh hey sugar! I’m a little surprised you didn’t wear your other suit, but this one looks a lot better on you. C’mon in.’ ‘Thank you.’ ‘You buy that thing just for tonight? Didn’t know caravan guards got paid so well.’ I should downplay the suit, not make it so obvious I’m trying to impress her. ‘I plan to wear it more than once. The armor was considered formal in the military, so I never needed nice clothes before.’ ‘Better keep it in a vacuum sealed bag, the dust’ll ruin that shine.’ That’s good advice, I hadn’t considered that – still not quite situated to desert living.

Kitchen sink full of unwashed dinnerware, sculptures made from spare speeder parts lining the walls, an unfinished project lying next to a half packed toolkit on the dining room table, and oil stains everywhere else. It’s an affront to Naval Domicile Code, but I can’t help but like it knowing that she made it this way.

‘I like your decor.’ ‘Oh thanks, I wind up with a lot of useless parts at the shop and it’s easier to just make something out of ‘em than haul ‘em off. Could leave ‘em around for the Jawas to pick up, but encouraging them is how you wind up with useful stuff missing.’ ‘Maybe you could hire me to take potshots at them.’ Easy to make her laugh, easy to laugh with her.

‘What are you working on in the kitchen?’ ‘Bought a perfectly refurbishable droid someone tossed out, plan to make it into a shop assistant, maybe even get it to help me clean up around here.’ ‘You know how to repair droids?’ ‘Sure. It’s not too far off from a speeder, and I’ve known those since before I could drive one.’ Highly versatile skill set, would have made a great Imperial Technician if they weren’t so strict about species requirements. ‘I learned how to do emergency repairs, maybe I could help you some time.’ ‘That’d be nice. Kind of left it sitting a while – been too tired after work to get much done on it.’

‘Not used to guests, you don’t mind eating on the couch, do ya?’ I’d share a meal in a latrine with her if it came to it. ‘Not at all. What are we having?’ ‘Got jerky, sweet bread, regular bread, should have enough blue milk left for two glasses, and these tatos have looked better but I don’t smell anything coming off of ‘em, so they should be fine. Haven’t had time to restock the conserve lately, probably should’ve planned that out a bit better. Sorry sugar.’ If nothing else, she certainly eats like a soldier. ‘We could go out to eat if you’d like, I can cover it.’ ‘Nah, want to keep you all to myself tonight.’

‘That sounds like fine sandwich material, and I know how to use a knife.’ ‘I’d hope they taught ya how to use a knife in the army. Go ahead.’ These knives are dull, won’t cut cleanly. ‘Do you have anything to sharpen a knife with?’ ‘Think I keep a whetstone around for some of my tools, lemme go get it real quick.’

This date is nice. I never realized how empty I keep my lodgings. Every centimeter of this place looks like it’s hers, and I might as well be a live in housekeeping droid for how barren and organized I keep mine. Maybe I could ask her to make one of those sculptures for me, put it in the corner. I have no idea what I’d want her to make, but I trust her judgment. There’s a knock at the door.

‘Hey sugar, could you get that? Got a couple boxes unpacked looking for that whetstone back here.’ ‘Okay.’ Who could that possibly be? She doesn’t sound concerned, but I can’t imagine she was expecting any guests. Didn’t want to be intimidating by bringing my blaster pistol along, so I suppose this knife will have to do. Maybe it’s nothing. Just a neighbour with an unusual lack of boundaries but a good nature who wants to say hello to the stranger he saw walk into an acquaintance’s apartment. ‘Hell-’ Neighbours don’t normally lead with a pistol bolt to the midsection.

II

‘Well, no shit. Looks like tailing that kid paid off. Evenin’ Miss Tarani.’ Situation analysis: I’m on the ground, her blaster’s trained on me, and her clothes are just reinforced enough to keep this knife from penetrating. Would have to go for the face or neck, next to impossible to spring up and reach her without taking another shot, and this suit doesn’t disperse blaster fire nearly well enough to fight through it. She sounds smug; get into cover and play for time.

Another shot to the leg. Hurts, but it’s an impact pain, not a penetrating burn. That tailor really knows his craft. ‘Aww c’mon now, don’t make me shoot this place up. Figured an ex Trooper’d have a bit more dignity than that. Course, if that were the case you wouldn’t have ditched ‘em, so I s’pose it makes sense.’ ‘How did you find me?’ ‘Just told ya. Tailed that kid who was blabbin’ askin’ around for ya. He was pretty sure you were on this planet, and lo and behold here you are.’ Two bounty hunters in one day is downright unlikely, but at least this one I don’t see myself being torn up over.

I’m pinned down, but she’s just standing around, waiting. That’s what I’d do, she’s good. ‘I was in the area, waiting for the heat to die down from another job – and figured I could do with a bit of supplemental income. No clue what an inquisitor is, but killing one must’ve made the Empire real mad atcha to rack up a six figure bounty.’ Just stop talking damn it.

‘Why did you wait so long to attack me?’ ‘What, you want me up at the ass crack of dawn trekking through the desert? Fat chance. Been keeping an eye out for you is all, paid a couple locals to give me a tip if they saw ya. That getup of yours sticks out pretty far around here, and nobody can forget that nasty scar you’ve got.’ Footsteps, shooting angle is changing. Guess she’s done talking. ‘Well, ain’t got all night to be jawing with ya, and ya took those blaster shots like a champ, so I’m just gonna have to go ahead and put this thing on kill. Just business; you get it, don’tcha?’ I do. One last shot ringing through the room.

No pain? She’s on the ground. Brayli’s holding a smoking blaster?! ‘Oh don’t give me that look sugar, you’ve seen how many people carry heat around here. Didn’t think I owned one?’ ‘I didn't think you’d be willing to kill for me.’ Wish I had a holo-recorder; Brayli blowing the smoke off a blaster barrel is worthy of being the first decoration I put up. ‘It’s on stun, and nobody’ll give me guff for defending my girlfriend in a break in.’

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. We’re girlfriends. Even though I brought a bounty hunter to her door, got one of her statues blasted apart, and left a body on her hands. Why? I’m a liability, a danger. She must have heard everything; she has to know I’m a wanted, oath breaking, backstabbing killer who’s outlived my usefulness—and she isn’t turning me away. ‘You alright, sugar? Looking a bit rattled, she didn’t hit anything important did she?’ ‘No, this suit is blaster resistant. The impact should be reduced to minor bruising, no medical attention required.’

‘That’s a relief. I’ll wipe up these scorch marks, you wanna go dump her outside? Got a feeling you’re stronger than me.’ ‘What’s the proper conduct for disposing of a body around here?’ Can’t report her to the local Imperial police. ‘Just dump her in the alley, she’ll dust herself off eventually. Maybe missing her credit pouch, but that’s what she gets.’ Simple enough disposal.

Everyone’s eyes are sliding off me once they realize what I’m carrying, it’s refreshing. A squadron of troopers make an intimidating united silhouette, but towering over the rest by a head always managed to attract mocking stares from normal looking women. Once you’re trained to constantly monitor your surroundings it’s hard to stop, even in civilian areas, so I could always feel their eyes crawling across me like tank treads.

It was worse when I had to talk to them. As soon as they saw my face and heard my voice – Tessa never gave me enough time to practice changing it, so instead of the crisp and clear authoritative voice I’d spent years honing, the most feminine thing I can muster is this low rasp—the cowed respect of talking to a soldier melted away and the barely contained revulsion underneath sprung up from an ambush position.

Their faces would always turn red with anger, they could only glance at me for a few seconds before needing to look away in disgust, and were always biting their lips to stop themselves from mocking me openly. Sometimes they’d even trace their finger along my breastplate, drawing a map of all the flaws and imperfections that lay underneath. If I’m too much of an eyesore not to stand out, being too frightening to look at is a sufficient substitute.

Glad to see a dumpster here, makes my job easier. Brayli said just leave her in the alley, but even if she doesn’t know where I live, she knows where Brayli does, and that’s even worse. I’ll be running from bounty hunters for the rest of my life, but if she’s kind enough to look past everything about me – the least I can do is keep her out of the line of fire. Killing to protect someone you love is okay, right? I used to hear that line a lot from the other side of the battlefield, I think it makes sense.

‘Cradling me in your arms now? What, this how you pick up chicks?’ Oh, she’s conscious, barely. That makes this more difficult. ‘I’m positioning you to snap your neck. If you resist it might not be clean.’ ‘Can’t feel my arms anyway. Putting me face first in a dumpster though, ain’t nothin’ clean about it. You’re a real freak y’know?’ I know, but somehow I’m still going. ‘I’ll rest the lid on the underside of your chin, then put the rest of my weight down on your collarbone. It should be a clean break, instant internal decapitation. No mess for whoever finds you.’ ‘Oh, how nice of ya. Hope whoever finally gets you takes you in alive so the Empire can make it slow, cunt.’ I’ve never done anything like this before, usually when I want to kill someone I just use a weapon – but from what I remember of my anatomical lessons this should work. Three, two- ‘So, these gonna be my last words? Guess I’ll go with the ol’ reliable then: fuck you.’ One.

Not certain why I’m laying her corpse in a dignified position. I have better things to spend my evening doing, but I guess treating someone you kill’s body with respect makes it a little less bad? It doesn’t make any sense to me – she’s still dead – but that’s what people seem to think, so I guess if I ever want to be normal I should start doing it. Hands over her chest, lying straight, eyes closed. I can kind of see it now actually, she looks almost serene. No, I can’t actually.

This is ridiculous. She’s dead, I killed her, she’s never coming back, just like that kid this morning. All of this ritual and fanfare is just a way that people ease their own pain. But I’ve been through way worse pain than this and come out just fine. Nobody ordered me to kill them, sure I made that call myself this time, but somebody told them to come kill me!I was just defending myself! Fuck them, they made their beds and they died in them because they were weak!

I went through hell and back in the Storm Corps, then jumped back into the thick of it to hunt down Jedi – the bastards who can chop you in half and scramble your brain on a whim - so Tessa could use me for her own gain, and then I killed her for it! I’m my own woman: no Empire, no Inquisitor; I might be a rabid dog, but now I’m holding the leash! I have the strength, I have the skills, I have the resolve: I’m going to live my life how I want to and everybody who tries to stand in my way will pay the price!

III

That felt good, really good. Feel like I could sprint across this whole planet if I wanted to. ‘Hey sugar, you were out there a while. Everything okay?’ ‘Oh I’m better than okay babe, I feel great; better than I have in years! Did a bit of thinking after I snapped that bounty hunter’s neck-’ ‘You killed her?’ ‘Of course I did, she knew where you live. What, did you want her to come back when I wasn’t around, get revenge on you?’ Civilians can be so frustrating sometimes. ‘I guess when you put it that way...Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You’re acting kinda strange.’ ‘Brayli, I’ve spent so long feeling like trash I forgot what it was like not to, but now I’m ready to be a woman – your woman.’ Not sure what she looks so shook up over, I took care of the bounty hunter already.

‘Well, that’s umm – nice. I got those blaster marks off, and found the whetstone.’ ‘Great, I’ll get that knife so sharp it’ll go clean through the next person to try breaking in.’ She’s not laughing as hard as usual, she must still rattled from the bounty hunter, makes sense. Guess I’ll just have to laugh extra hard to set her at ease.

Oh yeah these knives are looking great now, this cleaver could go through bone! Bread’s cut, tato’s cut, meat’s cut—easy peasy. ‘Food’s done, hope you’ve got an appetite, because I double stack them.’ ‘Yeah, I worked up a bit of one while you sharpened all my knives. Didn’t you just use the one?’ ‘Well yeah but they were all dull! The whetstone was already out, better to spend twenty minutes now and then not have to worry about it later than to keep pulling it out every time you need to use a knife you hadn’t already sharpened, right?’ ‘It’s just not very romantic watching you sharpen knives is all.’ Seriously? Nothing got me going like Tessa sharpening a knife while I waited in anticipation. Oh well, growing pains I guess; better to learn that now.

‘Not bad for bottom of the conservator leftovers, right?’ ‘Yeah.’ She’s been off for a while now. I figured a good meal would be enough to set her right, but now it’s time to be direct. ‘Hey Brayli, you alright? You’ve been a lot quieter than usual since the bounty hunter showed up.’ ‘Oh, have I? I guess I’m still just a bit nervous about it is all.’ She’s not as strong as me – she needs a firm, comforting hand on her shoulder.

‘Babe, don’t worry; she’s dead. We can even go look if you like, walk off dinner with a stroll down to the alley, check her vitals together. It’ll be nice, let’s go!’ ‘Koben, I don’t want to see a dead body! I – I get why you killed her, and I’m sorry for making you go through that for me-’ ‘Oh don’t sweat it, I would’ve had to anyway for my sake if not for yours.’ ‘That! That’s why I’ve been off tonight!’...What?

‘I don’t – babe what do you mean? I took care of it.’ ‘It’s you! Right now you’re nothing like you were in your holonet bio, or the bar, or when we stumbled into each other in that shuttle! You never made a secret of being in the army, sure, but you didn’t brag about killing people!’ ‘I’m not bragging, I’m just explaining why it had to happen-’ ‘And I’m asking you to stop! I knew you had some baggage, sure, nobody wears a suit of armor to a first date without something going on; but you were trying so hard to be gentle, and it was nice hearing you ramble about how much your gear meant to you, and watching the sunset with you was magical – but right now you’re-’ ‘I’m what?!’ Too assertive? Too proud of myself? Did she only like me when I was meek and bending over backwards, like Tessa; and everyone else who’s ever been in my life?! ‘You’re scaring me.’

Oh. Oh no. She’s right, what am I doing? I don’t want to be like this. I always hated the guys who did what I’m doing back in the corps, why am I doing this? What’s wrong with me? I don’t like killing people, it’s just the only thing I’m good at. ‘Brayli, you’re right, please, I’m-’ ‘You’re squeezing me.’ I’m so stressed my hands are clenching, and I was still holding her shoulder. I can see marks on her skin – that tender, delicate skin that I defiled with my hands that only know how to cause harm. I could take a hundred spa days and go on a diet and get rid of the scar and the muscles and the equipment and it wouldn’t change a thing. I’ll always be a killer.

‘I didn’t mean to, I didn’t even realize it was happening.’ Silence, too long, each of these seconds feels like hours. Please just say something. ‘It’s alright sugar. That bounty hunter had you rattled and you went a little overboard. Soon as I asked you to stop, you did, so I forgive you. Everyone gets a little carried away sometimes.’ She’s smiling at me. Even after all that; after I came into her home and acted like an occupying force and wounded her she’s still forgiving me. I don’t deserve that. I only hurt her a little this time, but what about next time?

What if I have another bad dream, one of the really bad ones: a botched op with my squad dying around me. What if I woke up attacking a Jedi but it was just her? No way she’s strong enough to push me off of her, or unwrap my hands from around her throat. I love her too much to accept this. She’s smart and sweet and funny and beautiful; she’ll find someone who deserves her.

‘Brayli, I love you too much to be willing to put you in danger like that again.’ ‘You can carry your blaster next time, it’s fine.’ ‘Not from the bounty hunter, from me. I’m a blaster with a hair trigger and no safety. I already hurt you once, and I can’t do it again.’ ‘What’re you saying sugar?’ ‘I open up too much around you, you make me feel too comfortable! I talk more, I make jokes, I show emotion, I let my guard down! I’ve spent most of my life killing people, or thinking about how I’d do it if I had to, or wanting to and only being restrained by the rigid hierarchy of the Imperial Navy! I can’t afford to get comfortable around anybody, ever.’

‘Seeing you relax and get comfy around me is one of the reasons I like you, do you have any idea how romantic that is? Watching that tough soldier shell chip away little by little? Please just stop this, come sit down, I’ve got a vid picked out and everything. Please.’ I feel like I’m drowning in tears, but they won’t come out. Hers don’t seem to be having that problem. ‘That shell is all there is. I’m sorry for making you think there was a real woman underneath.’

Even when I’m leaving I can’t help but hurt her. Those tears are the last pain I’m ever going to put her through. There’s nothing more to say, just walk away. Clear the dishes – that courtesy is the least I can do – close the door behind me, walk to the speeder, and go home. My home. Nothing delicate to break, nobody vulnerable to hurt: just an armory full of weapons.

[kingjasnah]

my brother is home for the holidays and though im still working everyday my crappy home office desk shares a wall with the room that he is Very Loudly Watching Rebels in so. i guess im watching rebels now watch this space for extended maulposting soon

[0pin0n-custard]

The Unofficial Star Wars Limb Olympics!

Who has chopped off the most limbs? Let’s find out (books and TV show dismemberments not included.)

Honorable Mentions:

While Mace Windu did not chop off any limbs, he did successfully decapitate one (1) Mandalorian.

Chewbacca never dismembered anyone onscreen, however he is a Wookiee. Wookiees are well known for ripping people’s arms out of their sockets. Lord only knows how many limbs were lost to his hand.

6th Place: Yan Dooku

Nothing too impressive. In Attack of the Clones, the Count was the first to cut off one (1) of Padawan Anakin Skywalker’s arms.

Total: One (1) Limb

5th Place: Yoda

In Revenge of the Sith, Jedi Grand Master Yoda cut off one (1) clone trooper’s arm at the ruins of the Jedi Temple. What gave him the edge over Yan Dooku was that Yoda also decapitated two (2) clone troopers initially after Order 66 was broadcasted.

Total: One (1) Limb

4th Place: Ben Solo

Following in his namesake’s footsteps, he cut a Sith in half. In The Last Jedi, Kylo Ren removed two (2) of Emperor Snoke’s legs.

Total: Two (2) Limbs

Bronze Medal: Luke Skywalker

In true Disaster Lineage fashion, Luke Skywalker was very successful at removing limbs. His first time occurred on Hoth in The Empire Strikes Back, when he cut off one (1) of a Wampa’s arms in self defense.

Obi Wan did teach Luke well, because in Return of the Jedi, he sliced one (1) of Darth Vader’s cybernetic arms off. The fact that these dismemberments occurred on separate occasions is what gave Luke a higher placement than Ben Solo.

Total: Two (2) Limbs

Silver Medal: Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader

After losing his arm to Yan Dooku [see 6th Place], Anakin must have realized what an effective battle strategy dismemberment was.

In Revenge of the Sith, he returned the favor to Dooku two-fold by cutting off both (2) of the Sith’s hands (followed promptly by beheading him.)

In an effort to save Sheev Palpatine, Anakin chopped one (1) of Mace Windu’s hands off.

Many years later, in The Empire Strikes Back, Darth Vader welcomed Luke Skywalker into the family by cutting off one (1) of his hands.

Total: Four (4) Limbs

Gold Medal: Obi Wan Kenobi

A surprise to no one, Jedi Master Obi Wan Kenobi has the highest limb count by a landslide.

He started his journey off in The Phantom Menace by foolishly believing that chopping a humanoid in half would kill them. He removed both (2) of Darth Maul’s legs.

Ten years later, following one of Padme Amidala’s many assassination attempts, Obi Wan disarmed the bounty hunter Zam Wessel by cutting off one (1) of her hands.

In the arena on Geonosis, he sliced two (2) of an ackley’s arms off.

In Revenge of the Sith, Obi Wan faced off against General Grevious and a droid army on Utapau. He decapitated one of Grievous’ guards and cut off two (2) of the General’s hands.

In the battle against his former Padawan on Mustafar, Kenobi set a limb record by cutting off both (2) of Anakin’s legs and his remaining (1) flesh arm.

His final dismemberment took place in A New Hope at the Mos Eisley Cantina. Once again, he disarmed someone in the literal sense; he cut off one (1) of Ponda Baba’s arms.

Total: Eleven (11) Fucking Limbs

[zeenmrala]

THE SHADOW BENEATH a darth maul x f/afab!reader fanfiction

Summary: You work as a technician on the lower levels of Coruscant. In the middle of the night, an angry Zabrak crime lord arrives, in need of transport parts and repairs. You both find a little bit more than you bargained for. Pairing: Female/AFAB!Reader x Darth Maul Rating: 18+, explicit. Pure smut ahead! Minors do not interact! Word Count: 12.4k (a big one) Warnings/Kinks/Tags: There are a lot of these. Female/AFAB!Reader with she/her pronouns, references to canon-typical poverty and violence, threat, force choking. Smut: thigh riding, inappropriate use of the force, inappropriate use of a lightsaber (Maker forgive me), cybernetic lower half!Maul, dominant!Maul, BDSM, vaginal fingering, controlled/delayed orgasm, female!receiving oral sex, male!recieving oral sex, PiV sex, rough sex, spitting, smacking, biting, praise kink. i am so sorry and also you’re welcome A/N: This is a bit different to my usual style - but I really had fun with this! Inspired by a few of these smut prompts sent in by anons. ♡ do you think this is a joke? / good girl / I’ve been holding back the things I wanna do to you right now / use your words ♡

The Shadow Beneath [Read on AO3]

Hooking up with one of those fancy Force lords from the surface was not how you expected to begin your week. Yet here you are, in the very early hours of Primeday morning, kissing on and feeling up the weirdest, meanest (and only) wizard you have ever come across.

Tonight was nothing out of the ordinary – well, it was pretty normal before he showed up. In the early evening you took a walk to collect a few old bits of junk that you thought you had swindled from a Rodian thief. You made friends with her at BG-RT’s cantina the other night, and after a couple of drinks you agreed to buy the crate of parts from her (though ‘friends’ now may be too strong a word – as it seems that you may have been the one that was duped). You negotiated what you believed at the time to be a steal of a price for the parts that she was offering – they were highly discounted of course, due to how they were illegally obtained. Though looking down into the crate of stolen goods once you had collected them, you thought that maybe you had been a bit too optimistic about it. Though it wasn’t a loss yet, you just had to work your mechanical magic and make your credits back. With this bunch of rubbish. Somehow.  

So you started sifting through it. It was a total mish-mash of stuff, parts from old droids, engines, speeders – a bunch of junk that’s been borrowed (stolen) from a couple hundred levels up, much nicer stuff than what you can usually get down here anyway. Could have been worse. With your glowrod in hand and your eyes sharp, you began the search for any working (or working looking) parts you could shiny up, use or sell on. You were able to salvage a small repulsor-lift engine, fully functional and sorta new. Though probably not worth much to the big wigs up on the surface, it was something you could peddle down here if you put on a pretty smile and tried. Folks were always breaking their antigrav tech – what with the shoot outs and such – or at least, their tech was always getting caught in the crossfire of said shoot outs. Everyone always had something needing fixing down here. And that’s where you would come in. It’s not much, but you get by – and it’s kind of an honest living (which is actually pretty impressive, considering the level you live on).

Your eyes started to hurt after hours spent squinting inside a protocol droid torso, so you eventually threw down your tools. After a depressing dinner of a stale Maize roll with an hour of Holotelevision, you decided to call it a night. But you just could not seem to doze off, no matter how much you tossed and turned on your sleep mat. There seemed to be no reason in particular for your insomnia, it was just one those nights where the unrelenting, blaring noises of Level 1313 alongside a strange feeling in your gut kept you from drifting off. It is not unusual around these parts to be a bit anxious, or to be kept awake by some trigger-happy chap or a hollering idiot. There was always some kind of shooting or foolery going on down here, the crime-ridden underbelly of your home-world.

You soon grew fed up of wasting your time, just staring at the ceiling of your home/bedroom/workshop, listening to the screeching shouts of drunks and thugs. So you thought kriff it and forced yourself up from your sleeping mat. There was no point in just lying there when you could make the most of a couple extra hours to clean up some scrap. You thought about maybe picking through a few wires from that protocol droid – though he was an ancient model, you could probably scrub up some of his veins, make them look nice. With a bit of sweet talk you were sure you could move them.

So you punched the top of your karkin’ useless caf machine to get it going. As a technician you could likely fix it up nice and easy, make it so it works without you needing to give it a solid thump – but your time was precious. An hour spent fiddling in the back of your caf machine wouldn’t make you any extra credits now would it? But shining up an old catalytic processor from one of them funny decon droids? Well, you could squeeze a couple meals out of that if you could flog it to the right sucker. Once you got the caf brewing, you threw on your coveralls and looked around with itching fingers, grabbing at bits and pieces of scrap from around the room. You then studied them under the warm light of your central lamp to see what you could best shiny up.

So there you were, singing to yourself between sips of caf, stripping the wires from the old proto-droid when everything went awry.

Because that was when a looming figure emerged from the darkness, and you did a startled double-take, in utter disbelief at first – then you jumped out of your skin when you realised it was a person and not a shadow, and that this mystery figure had somehow broken in to your home without you knowing. You reached for the blaster pistol you kept beneath your worktable for moments exactly like this. Though no one had broken in for a long while, your reflexes were and always will be as sharp as the claws of a tooka. They’ve got to be, living in these parts.

When the figure stepped properly into the light, you tried to see if it was someone you recognised. It wasn’t, which made it all the more confounding. It was a stranger, and a real scary looking one at that. A Zabrak man cloaked in all black, with striking black-on-crimson skin and glowing yellow eyes. His entire being oozed darkness, and as unnerving as this situation was, you couldn’t help the intense level of intrigue that mingled with your fear. He was…Maker, he was kind of fine. There was something about those intense eyes, the shrouding black of his tattoos, something about how that low cut tunic suited his hard body so kriffin’ elegantly. You suppressed a snicker, cursing yourself for finding your own home-invader attractive – what a damned fool you were acting. Yes, he may have been good looking, some may even say hot, but he also looked right scary and had broken in.

…But then again you are used to intimidating looking persons making their way through the underworld of your home. And you know that far-away folk can sometimes have different customs to you, maybe customs like silently encroaching on a technician’s business in the middle of the night? Who were you to judge? So what with his good looks and all, this stranger didn’t strike too much fear into your heart.

At least not at first.

You sat on your worktable with your legs crossed, your blaster in hand and pointed at his horned head. “Hey Mister, it’s mighty rude to sneak up on a girl in her own home,” you said, “especially when she’s all by her lonesome in the middle of the night.”

Your eyes ran over his strange markings, and after wracking your memory of all the faces you’ve seen in your time, you realised that you hadn’t ever seen someone who looked quite like him before. When he said nothing, you kept talking.

“What skughole did you crawl out of anyway? I ain’t never seen you round here.”

He still didn’t say anything in reply, and his lack of conversing was starting to feel more threatening than not. You both just stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then you demanded what you should probably have lead with.

“And what the kriff do you want?”

“My transport needs repairs,” he said quietly. He seemed annoyed. At you, specifically, for existing in your own home. Even though he was the one that had disturbed you at a stupid hour, even though he had snuck up on you alone in the middle of the night, he was the one that was cross. There was a passive violence to each word he spoke, as though his patience was already running thin.

“There is a part that I need. I was told here,” he flickers his eyes around your tiny workshop, thoroughly unimpressed, “was where I should go.”

“Grife,” you groaned, relieved.

He was just a customer. Albeit a grumpy one who had broken in way past closing time, but a customer nonetheless.

“Why didn’t you start with that? What’s with all the staring? Here’s me thinking you were some crinkin’ psycho-murderer, or some sleemo that was gonna rob me.”

You froze at your own words, then back-peddled with an awkward smile, “Not that I’ve got nothing worth robbing.” Your arm with the blaster had slightly relaxed, so you straightened it again, putting on your best I-don’t-take-no-kark face. “So don’t get cute with me.”

He just glared at you, and made no movement or sound. He had absolutely no reaction to having a blaster pointed at that handsome, tattooed face of his. This fellow was definitely one to keep an eye on.

“Okay,” you said, slowly lowering your hand. This guy hadn’t made any stupid moves yet, but you could already tell that he was at least a little bit barvy, so though you did lower it, you kept your blaster in hand as you jumped off of the worktable. You rested your free hand on your hip.

“You were told right. I may be able to help.”

He just kept silently glowering. So you carried on.

“It depends on what kinda transport you got. I don’t really do starships, though considering how deep down the levels you are, I don’t think that’s what you’ll be needing.”

You moved over to the corner of the workshop and pointed towards a pile of crates with your blaster. It’s where you keep the most commonly needed vehicle parts, on hand and ready to sell for the passer-by’s just like him. “I’m more of a droids gal. But I got a bunch of speeder parts and I am a great technician so I can give it a go. Whattaya need?”

You had swiftly switched into customer-service mode. You straightened your back and flashed a sweet grin, trying to get a read on how rich this good-looking goon was, how many credits you may be able to squeeze out of him.

But he just huffed and barged straight past you, and began to quickly search through all of the boxes of parts on his own. You stuttered on your next words, a bit miffed at his abrupt rudeness. You were used to sleemos of all breeds, but at least the other ones you had done business with spoke more than a couple of words to you. Not even the pirates acted like this. This horned chap was not only scary-yet-sexy and strange, but also terribly impolite.

It didn’t take long before he was mumbling to himself in annoyance, rifling through all of your crates chaotically, no real sense to what he was doing. He clearly needed your guidance but you supposed he should probably figure that out for himself, so you chuckled in disbelief and leaned back on your worktable, watching the stranger willingly waste his own time. You took the opportunity to admire how he looked from the back, and to be a little bit brazen and maybe sneak a quick peak of his rear...

Wait, were those – were those cybernetic legs? They were, impressive ones at that, and your jaw dropped slightly.

“Well I’ll be Kesseled…” you whispered.

Where the kark did he get those kind of synthetics from? No-where around here you were sure. He was definitely not from these parts. Not at all. But either way, he looked good. You were smiling, enjoying the view of this attractive, angry man - that was until he started chucking your vehicle parts on the floor, and you stood up with a frown to scold him.

“Hey, don’t be so rough with those!”

He only grunted in response. “I told you, I can help!” You reminded him. You rolled your eyes as he ignored you again. You picked up your caf, taking a sip, continuing to watch him suffer in his own stubbornness.

But then…then he started throwing things around without touching them.

And that was just too damn much.

The first time he did it you thought it was a trick of the light. But then he did it again, and again, lifting parts out of the crates with a flick of his hand, then sending them flying across the room.

You gasped and your stomach dropped as you realised that he must be one of those wizard folk you hear so much about. Kriff! What’s one of them doing down here at this time of night? What’s one of them doing in your little workshop? And…Oh kark! All of those parts he’s rifling through…they’re stolen!

Is he here to arrest you? Is he looking for some specific part that was thieved from a rich old scummer up top? You knew that you needed to get him to stop rooting around in those crates, hell, you really needed to get him out of here. And more than that, he was throwing all of your belongings around the workshop hard, breaking them, making a ruckus and a mess, ruining your livelihood!

You snapped yourself out of your shock and said, “Excuse me!” to try and get his attention. He ignored you and continued using his odd magic to throw around the contents of the crates.

“Hey!” You objected louder, “What’s your problem? There is an order to this stuff, just tell me what you want and I can see if I got it!”

He ignored you, continuing his hunt for whatever it was he was looking for.

“Look mister, I don’t want no trouble…” you groaned desperately, “And if I ain’t got what it is that you are looking for – there is another repair shop I can point you to that -”

He interrupted you by pushing over one of your boxes, and it collapsed to the ground with a loud crash as engine and motor parts spilled across the floor. By this point, you had had quite enough of this strange man’s antics. You really had reached the end of your blasted tether with him. So you did what any sensible person would have done in this situation.

You shot a warning blast from your pistol.

However – it came real close to hitting him, and looked more like an attempt on his life than a warning blast. It was a total accident, you had never been a good shot. But of course, he didn’t know that, and so responded accordingly to your threat.

He immediately whirled around, fury and disbelief in his eyes as he brought his hand forward and clenched it into a fist. You felt your throat constrict as you were lifted into the air. You dropped the blaster and reached for your neck, gasping frantically as he choked you without touching you.

What the kriff? He’s not just a little bit barvy, he’s entirely barvy!

Confused, scared and completely overwhelmed, you forced yourself to try and say something, anything to get him to stop. “It…was…just…on…stun,” was all you could croak, trying your best to deescalate this situation.

He growled. “I don’t have time for this!” he shouted. He then dropped you to the ground.

You collapsed into the floor, and gasped in air desperately. “Oh,” you said once you got your breath back, “sir, you’re mighty scary.”

He paused and cocked his head, looking down on you curiously – and it was as if he was seeing you for the first time. The anger abated from his features for a moment, replaced with a puzzled look.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Me?!” you squeaked, “What’s wrong with me? Mister, with all due respect to someone of your…um…,” you stuttered, not knowing how to phrase it. He certainly didn’t seem like one of those Jedi wizards. So what was he? “Ugh, you broke into my place in the middle of the night and then started destroying my things without even touching them!”

“So you shot at me?”

“Yes! What else is a girl meant to do in such a situation?” You pulled yourself to your feet, running your hand over your throat. “What the kriff was that all about? What did you go and do that for?”

Karkin’ wizard. That really, really sucked.

“Don’t do that again,” you said. He blinked slowly, as if simultaneously amused and confused by your saying such a thing. He then smirked when he saw your hand caressing the skin of your own throat.

“Why not?” He asked.

You stuttered again. “W-Why not? Why not!?” You raised your voice in frustration. “You bastard, because I’ll shoot you for real next time!” You bent down to pick your blaster back up. But before you could grab it, he sent it to the other side of the room with the flick of a finger.

You scowled at him, and he smirked back at you. A bit better than glaring, you supposed – but then oh no, that didn’t last for long. Because he was soon glaring again. But not in the scary way he did before the wizard-choking.

He started checking you out.

With no shame and no subtlety. He just took the time to properly look you over. He ran his eyes over your body ever so slowly – his line of sight dipped beneath your face, down over your breasts, your stomach, hips and waist, down your legs. And then back up again. He used a languid yet purposeful gaze as he looked over you, assessing and admiring you – thoroughly drinking in the shape of your body. Yes, you thought, he had definitely only just really seen you. His rampage for the transport parts clearly clouded his vision because – well, it was as if he could not get enough of the sight of you now that he was looking.

And it was making you feel…hot.

Maker, yes, he was definitely checking you out. Which was a bit weird considering what had just happened. But what was weirder, was that even after his breaking in, his rudeness, his destruction of your property and his almost choking you to damn death – you liked that he was looking at you in this way. The way his eyes lingered a little too long on your curves caused heat to prick at your cheeks and to pool beneath your belly button. That was when something shifted, and the tension between the two of you morphed into a kind that you were not expecting – but you couldn’t deny that you weren’t mad about where this was heading.

Get it together, you thought to yourself. He may be a looker but he’s also kind of a nutjob. A dangerous one. You can’t go being seduced by someone like him…can you?  

“Ain’t never seen a girl in coveralls before?” you asked, as indifferent as you could manage.

He brought his eyes back up to yours. You took a moment to take him in too, his facial tattoos, his glowing eyes, his crown of horns – and oh Maker, those little diamond shaped markings on his nose? How did you not notice them before? Those are truly adorable. Kriff, you wanted to kiss them, you wanted to run your lips over all of his tattoos – to taste his bold, two-toned skin.

When your line of sight dipped down to his lips, and traced over those sharp patterns of black markings just above them, you had to bite your own bottom lip. Because you thought that despite how striking and somewhat frightening he appeared, his lips looked really soft.

And oh by the Galaxy, did you want to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him all over.

Your breath hitched when you pulled up your eyes to meet his again. You tried your best not to smile or smirk. You did not want him to know that he was having this effect on you – a man busts in to a girl’s home, destroys her wares and then uses sorcery to choke her, then she gets all hot and heavy with him? No way, that wouldn’t be a good precedent to set. Not at all. Even so…you did feel a sweet warmth begin to flutter between your thighs, and even though you did want him to sweep you into his weird, wizard arms – you were also still pissed off at him. And you tried to hold on to that. You didn’t really want him knowing the true extent of how badly you wanted him to bend you over your worktable and have his way with you.

Not yet, at least.

You crossed your arms against your chest and sighed, abruptly ending the odd sexually charged moment between the two of you.

He straightened, standing slightly taller. “Help me find this part,” he demanded.

“Pffft, no chance,” you scoffed. “After that little display? Absolutely not.”

He frowned. Then he sighed, and glared (in the scary way) again. “What?” You chuckled, “hasn’t anyone ever told you no before, stranger?”

You held his gaze and refused to budge. Staring him down as if you weren’t frightened and weirdly turned on by his threatening expression.

“I’m not helping you with a crinkin’ thing after that!” you touched your throat again.

“You are being dramatic,” he scoffed, “you shot me!”

He can’t be serious.

“I did not shoot you!” You huffed, in slight disbelief at the audacity of this crook. “I shot at you. And dramatic? Me? I’m not the one who literally emerges from the shadows and throws things around with invisible magic!”

He smirked, and appeared much less menacing with such a smile on his lips. He seemed amused by your reaction. By the Maker, was he teasing you?

“If you do not do what I say,” he shrugged, “then I will take my business elsewhere.”

Oh that karkin’ bastard. He said it as if that would be the most terrible thing in the galaxy for you. You ain’t that desperate! Credits ain’t everything! What, just because you’re poor means you have to put up with laser-brains like him? Absolutely not.

So you smiled as wide as you could. “Oh good! Finally,” you replied, “please leave.”

He didn’t move. He lingered, staring at you, wearing that slightly perplexed expression again.

“Go on then,” you shooed him with your hands. “Run along now, mister.”

Much less amused, he groans. “I don’t have time –”

“For this, yeah, you kriffing said that already.” You rolled your eyes and couldn’t help the smirk that painted your lips as you interrupted him. He flashed a brief smile then, clearly entertained. The sight was so sweet, yet also implied such depravity that it shot a searing flare of heat to your sex.

He stepped forward, bringing his face closer to yours. Oh kark, he really is so handsome. Dangerously so. And Maker, he smelled good. A woody, deeply masculine scent that made your heart and mind race.

“For such a pretty little thing,” he said, “you have a filthy mouth.”

A shock of white-hot desire drenched you between your legs. Oh. Now that is just damn unfair. His voice was rich, and it cut straight through to your loins. How could it not? The way he spoke was absolutely loaded with nefarious intentions. It was so bad, but it felt so good, and you grinned. You couldn’t help it. It’s been a while since someone ruffled your feathers like this.

“Honey,” you whispered, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

He released an approving sigh, the corner of his lips tugging into a hesitant smile.

“Yet?” He crooned, “are you promising something?”

You suddenly felt terribly brave. Kriff it, so what if you want to have your way with this deliciously dark stranger? He may be a no good criminal sorcerer who is particularly rude, but how can you expect any better of someone who has business so deep in the levels down here? And a girl wants what she wants. No helping that.

So you leaned into him, looking into his eyes as you softly spoke.

“Hmmm,” you hummed nonchalantly. “You choke every pretty thing you meet?”

“Just the ones I need to tame,” he replied huskily.

You laughed playfully. “Oh Mister, good luck with that,” and you stepped back, then turned around and away from him. You heard him utter one word, deep and explicit.

“Enough.”

That was when he reached forward with a gloved hand and grabbed the back of your neck harshly. You gasped as he pulled you back around in one swift and quick movement, returning you close to him. He positioned you so that his lips were mere centimetres from your own. You could feel the warmth of his breath of your face, and combined with the robust hold on the back of your neck and his rich, commanding voice – Maker, it made your cunt ache with desire, and you wanted to beg him for his touch there and then.

This was happening.

“My name is Maul,” he stated clearly. “Lord Maul. That is how you will address me.”  

He was gorgeously domineering. So much so that you immediately wanted to please him, you already craved his praise more than your own climax. But you weren’t just going to grovel, not yet. This was much too fun.

“Is that so,” you snickered back, looking into his eyes. “What’s a fancy Lord like you, doing in parts like these, hm?” As you asked, your gaze flickered down, so mesmerised by those lips of his.

He didn’t answer your question. He was clearly as magnetised to your lips as you were to his, because he just kissed you instead. A hard and wet kiss, his tongue snaking into your mouth as soon as you pushed up into him and kissed him back. He groaned, one of his hands on your waist, another in your hair.

And so here you are now – kissing him, his hands pulling at your hair and your coveralls. Your own fingers having already thrown his robe to floor, and now tugging at the neckline of his tunic, your palms running over the hot red-black of his chest. Kriff. This feels both crazy and irresponsible, but also entirely perfect and necessary. You twirl the both of you around and push him back onto your worktable so that can straddle one of his legs. You are suddenly desperate for friction, the wild, yearnful ache between your thighs utterly unbearable –  and so you grind down onto the hardness of his metal synthetic limb. He groans his approval into your mouth, and his touch becomes harder, his grasp tighter.

“I thought you didn’t have time for this my Lord,” you whisper into the kiss. He bites your lip in response, and you snicker a soft tut.

“Mmm,” he hums, his hands running down your shoulders, around to your back and then he reaches down and squeezes hard at your ass. You hiss and arch into the touch, and he raises his leg, rubbing the firmness of it into the growing wetness of your sex. “You really are a wicked little thing.”

You purr at his observation, deepening your kiss and sucking on his tongue. You pull his tunic off and claw at the newly revealed flesh. His skin is so hot, and all you can think about is licking him, biting him, grinding your slickness all over him. You pull your lips from his to trail them across his jaw and up to his ear.

“Yes,” you agree with him, “Though I’m not usually like this – I swear.” He groans, one of his hands now grasping tightly on your hip, pulling your body down roughly onto his leg. You rub into him automatically, frantic for his touch. “You put a spell on me or something?” you whisper.

He moves your face to bring your lips back to his, and his kiss becomes lethargic and gentle, as if you are suddenly the most breakable little lady in the galaxy. “What should I call you?” he asks.

“Oh cut the kark,” you chide him harshly. “I know you’re from one of those no good crime gangs. Don’t act like you’re some kind of gentleman kissing me all soft like that, asking for my name like you care who I am.”

He grunts, and grasps your face, and then brings his lips to your ear. “So you like gangsters, is that it? You like criminals? Bad men?”

Oh Maker. Now this feels a bit dangerous. But it also feels so good. Your core is burning up real nice now, and you think that you might not be able to hang on much too longer before you really do melt into a puddle at his feet.

“Depends,” you reply in a hoarse voice. “Are you a gangster? A criminal?”

He bucks his leg up into you then, and a sharp moan falls from your lips as he rubs against that sweet bundle of nerves through the material of your coveralls.

“Are you a bad man, Lord Maul?” you coo as you grind down on to him.

He groans, kissing at your throat, running his teeth over the sensitive skin. You gasp at the sharp scraping pain it causes, but lean into it, allowing him to mark you.

Your hands explore his body and roam lower, down his torso and to his hips. Then your fingers graze over something cold, a long cylinder of metal. A weapon? Two of them. You find on the opposing side of him that there is another, a shorter one, and less smooth, more –

He snatches your wrist at once, and pulls on your arm hard. “Do not even think about it,” he commands.

You tut and giggle at his seriousness. “Whatever.”

He whirls on you then, switching your positions so that you are now against the worktable, pulling back from you yet holding tightly on to your wrist with a strong hand.

“What’s so funny, girl?” he questions you.

And then there is suddenly a cold pressure beneath your face. Your eyes meet his, and a shock of numbness washes over you as you understand the threat of what he is doing. He is using the hilt of the weapon you just touched to tilt your head up, to make you look at him. The weapon, that you now understand, is a lightsaber. Of course. The chosen weapon of sorcerers everywhere. You haven’t ever seen one this close up before, you haven’t had the misfortune of crossing the kind that uses them. But of course, you have caught a glimpse of the glowing blades in your lifetime, as they never fail to cause a scene. They always make quite the ruckus – especially when wielded by the types of people down here, thugs who end up with them from the black market...or more rarely, from slaying a wizard themselves.

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“N-not anymore, I suppose…” you squeak in reply, your voice wobbling at having such a weapon against your skin.

He slowly drags the hilt of his blade down your throat, a cruel ghost of a smile on his lips. He is clearly enjoying rattling you in this way. He is gentle though, the touch has basically no pressure now. It is a delicate caress of cold danger as it grazes your flushed, kiss bruised skin. His eyes dip and follow the hilt as it trails lower, down to the collar of your coveralls.

“You like what you see?” You whimper, any bite that you intended with the comment does not translate. Surprisingly, you are far too turned on at this point for any of your sass to cut through.

He nods apathetically, as if he does not really care one way or another. Karkin’ bastard, you think. His eyes have now dipped beneath your clothing, pulling your neckline down with his saber hilt to admire your breasts. What a day to not wear your chest wrap.

“Hmm,” he groans, pulling the hilt away from you, releasing your wrist from his grasp. You whimper at the loss, and he looks at you in surprise.

“Why…” you start, “why’d you stop?”

“You want me to carry on?”

You nod.

“Tell me,” he says.

You bring your hands to your neckline, then swiftly undo the front of your coveralls, pulling the upper half free from your shoulders so that your naked chest is now exposed to him. Then you push the garment lower, exposing your stomach. You push it down until it hangs off of your hips, not yet revealing anything below your lower abdomen.

“Keep going,” you say softly. You lean back on the worktop on your hands, shaking your hair out of your face and behind yourself, then arch your back so you push your chest forward for him.

“Please,” you add, for good measure.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his yellow eyes hungrily taking in the sight of your newly exposed skin, glazing greedily across your breasts and nipples. And then he moves, he moves so fast, returning the hilt of his blade to your throat.

And then – then he also has the hilt of his second blade in his hand, the longer one. He rests it gently against your sternum, just under and between your breasts. You release a sharp hiss, the threat of two of these weapons on your body now almost too much for you. Almost.

He keeps the first hilt hard at your throat, keeping your head up and your eyes on his. The touch of the other is much lighter. The metal of the long, cylindrical hilt is cold, and he drags it down, ever so slowly. Until it meets and passes your belly button. Then lower and lower, until it hitches on your clothing. He tuts, dragging the hilt down harder, pulling it over the material and continuing the leisurely journey down your body.

Then he slides it between your legs.

You gasp gently as you feel the cold metal press against the blazing heat of your sex through the material that separates it from you. The hardness of it feels good but - dare you grind down on to it? You do not know how these things work, how they are powered.

He smirks, as if he can sense what you want, and your hesitation in doing so. “How badly do you need my touch?” He asks. “And be honest with me,” he insists.

You take a long, deep breath. You do not dare lie to him.

“Mister, I’ve wanted you to bend me over this here table since I first saw that handsome face of yours.”

He pushes the hilt up into your cunt hard – both your fear and desire surge, and a flustered moan is torn from your throat. He warns you, “I told you how to address me.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, “Yes, Lord Maul.”

“Good girl,” he praises you quietly, leaning forward and planting a peck on your lips.

Then he pulls his weapons away from your body, and returns them to their place on his hips. You release a tortured breath, whining pathetically at the loss. Then you reach forward, wanting to touch him, wanting him to touch you. You run your fingers down his arms, and then you take one of his hands in your own. You peel his glove off and throw it to the ground. You do the same to his other hand, then you bring them both to your lips to kiss them. His hands are rough and marked by those black tattoos – they extend up his fingers, bleeding into his long black nails. The markings are not as bold on his hands and fingers as the rest of his body, his palms especially, faded from years of friction with his choice of weapon, you assume. You squeeze at his wrists, and then bring his hands to your chest, encouraging him to feel you.

“Please,” you say, “please touch me.”

You close your eyes and throw your head back as a clawed finger scratches down your left breast, then he takes the bud of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You shudder, and your breath hitches as his touch sends shivers of hot desire through your core.

He cups your right breast in his other hand. “I have been holding back…” he whispers, and then squeezes you, hard. “Holding back, all of the things that I want to do to you...”

“Why?” you ask, slightly surprised. You open your eyes, keeping them trained on his face. He is looking down at the bare skin of your breasts, watching his own long nails scratch and pinch the soft flesh of them.

“I did not know if you were truly willing,” he says.

You noted his use of the past tense. “Did not? Do you know now?”

His eyes dance across your erect nipples, how you are keening into his fingers. Then they flicker down to witness the way that you wantonly try to grind your clothed sex into his cybernetic leg.

“Hmm. I have an idea,” he replies. “Though I would prefer you to use your words.”

“Yes,” you say, “Yes, I am willing.”

He tilts his head very gently.

“I want you, Lord Maul,” you whine, and addressing him in this way causes a sly smile to tug at his lips. One of his hands is suddenly around your throat, and your face is intimately close to his again.

“If you change your mind, you will tell me immediately,” he insists.

“Yes,” you whimper, “of course.”

“Good,” he says. Then, much huskier in tone, “you will do as I say?”

“Yes,” you confirm, that carnal ache between your thighs becoming almost too much to bear. “Yes, anything.”

“Then strip naked,” he demands, pulling you off of the table and stepping back.

You obey him without hesitation, hooking your fingers into the material at your hips and pulling the remainder of your clothing down. You then step out of the coveralls, now wearing only your panties.

You simper at him, leaning back against the table.

“I said naked,” he reaffirms, scowling at your accidental insolence.

Before you get the opportunity to fix your mistake, he is on you. He picks you up easily, and effortlessly places you on to the workstation. He then throws everything that is on the table to the ground with an indifferent wave of his hand. The loud clatter of metal smashing on the floor makes you groan in annoyance – but you do not feel anything more than mild irritation at his apathy towards your work and your tools, towards your personal belongings. It should probably make you much more furious. It should probably make you want to slap the bastard to the other side of the galaxy. You should care, you should be mad, you should tell him to kriff himself and to get the kark out of here – but you can’t.

Because you don’t want to. You are now consumed only by lust. In fact – Maker, you want the table cleared and ready for you, you want him to disregard absolutely everything that isn’t your body. And by the Planets – there is something about his destructive nature that is utterly bewitching. How his touch, no matter how violent, makes your body only yearn more for him. How his words, no matter how threatening, makes you want to naturally submit to whatever he says. How you crave only to obey him as if it is what you were created to do.

He throws you down on to your back and pulls your legs apart, then positions himself between them. He is now standing up straight, each of your legs on either of his shoulders. He runs his hard, callused hands down them, feeling the softness of your bare skin. He starts at your ankles, and moves insufferably slow down the length of them towards your cunt. When he reaches your lower thighs, he dips his hands inwards and spreads his fingers, squeezing at the flesh of the inside of them before roughly spreading you open. You let out a loud, shocked moan, but then it bleeds into a needy whimper as he begins to lightly touch the edge of your panties. You start to needily arch your back, impatiently trying to push your cunt forward into his touch. Before you are able to fully do so, a hand pushes down on your lower torso, returning you flat against the surface of the table.

“Stay still,” he demands.

You whimper into submission, your fists clenched in anticipation as he ever so slowly runs his fingers across the thin material above your sex, teasing you with his featherlight touch. You are lust-stricken as you look up at him looming above you. His toned chest moves calmly with steady breaths, the shadow of his crown of horns appears so regal in the low-light, and his glowing eyes are fixated solely on how his tattooed fingers taunt your dripping cunt. He hums a moan as he reaches your entrance, lingering on the damp material of your underwear. “So wet already,” he says with a tut. “And I haven’t even begun.”   

And then he is cupping your cunt with his palm, and the heat of his hand feels so good that it is too much to bear, so you go to sit up, to shove yourself forward and rub into him – but you are swiftly thrown back by an unseeable Force, struck down into the hard metal of your worktable, as if he had heaved a great weight on top of you. But there is nothing there; one of his hands squeezes your inner thigh, the fingers of the other making light circles over your underwear. But you now lie there unmoving, as if strapped to the table with invisible bindings, and no matter how hard you try to thrash around, you cannot budge an inch.

“I am in control,” he says. “If you will not stay down, then I will make you stay down.”

You can only groan in retaliation, a mix of frustration and pure heat coursing through your veins. “Do you understand?” he asks. You feel a slight slackening on your ghostly chains, just enough for you to nod at him. “Good. Now tell me, you filthy, wicked little whore,” he smirks, “do you enjoy being subjected to my power in this way?”

“Yes,” you reply instantly, “yes.” He must also enjoy holding you down like this, because you immediately return to being unable to move at all. You cry out a broken “please,” practically begging him to strip you down, to please keep going – and he hums a cruel chuckle as you continue to whine for his touch.

He must take pity on you then, because he permits you the small mercy of finally being bare for him. The fingers of both of his hands skirt up to the top of your underwear, his nails slip beneath them and he pulls them down. He tugs them past your rear, then uses one of his hands to raise up your legs, the other he uses to pull your panties off of you. He throws them aside, then ever so slowly, painfully slowly, spreads your thighs again.

He sharply inhales as he finally takes pleasure in the sight of your soaked cunt. “Oh,” he groans huskily, “you are simply desperate for this, are you not?” He brings his eyes back to yours, and you groan in agreement. Yes, yes, Maker damn him, you are entirely in despair, so utterly teeming with desire that you cannot think. When you see his fingers dip out of view between your legs, you flutter your eyes shut and take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the sweet relief of his touch, for a reprieve from his torment.  

As his fingers circle your clitoris and he finally exerts some pressure onto you, you cry out in relief. Now that he is finally touching you, the noises he coaxes from you cannot be silenced. They never could be, even if he gagged you or forced your mouth shut with his wizardry, you would find a way to moan his name, to purr your high-pitched, gratified whines. It feels much too good. His fingers glide down the slickness of your slit, and you want nothing more than to move closer to him, for him to rub into you harder – but you are still held down to the table with his power. It is an addictive, dizzying frustration, being authorised only micro-doses of his touch. Not yet satisfied, so desperate for more – yet overwhelmingly grateful for more when it inevitably arrives.

“Good,” he praises you, “let me hear you.” You do not need to be told twice. Unable to physically react or squirm beneath him, all you are able to do is sob your approval in hearty, raw moans as he begins to work your aching cunt with his hands. He moves harder, then faster, listening to your whimpers to determine the specific spots that will most exploit your pleasure. Then he teases at your entrance, and pushes into you slowly. Kriff. His fingers dance the sweetest rhythm between your thighs, and the welcome intrusion is dazzling. He slips in a second finger, crooning them both deep inside of you – and then Maker, a third. As he stretches you out, you already feel the hot coil of climax stir in your lower abdomen. It will not be long now – but you wish you could move, that you could sit up and watch him plunge his fingers in and out of you as you come all over them.

At that exact moment, you are released from your invisible bondage, movement returned to your body. “Writhe for me, pretty girl,” he commands. And you do, as he works his fingers in and out of you with one hand, the fingers of his other dancing circles on your clit – you contort in pleasure beneath his touch, your back arching, your hands gripping the sides of the table with tense knuckles. This stranger, this terrifying and intoxicating man – kark, with such simple movements he is making you feel a way that no one else has ever been able to before. You rock down into his hands, and he groans at your shamelessness, at your unabashed desperation. “Please,” you whine, “please, I’m going to – ”

“No,” he says sternly. “Not yet.”

His commanding voice does not help his cause, as it cuts deep into your blossoming orgasm, flaming it further onwards. You ignore his instruction and groan as you begin to clamp down on to his fingers, throwing your head back and awaiting that glorious tide of satisfaction to wash over you. But it never comes, you never come. Because he growls and pulls himself out of you. Depriving you of your climax, leaving you empty and whimpering pathetically beneath him. 

“I said not yet,” he reiterates harshly. Then you sit up and raise your eyes to his face. He releases an irritated tsk, then says, “such insolence will not go unpunished.”

You are sitting up now, looking at him with bewilderment and disbelief painted across your features. You watch as the bastard spits at your cunt, which sends a surprising hot jolt of pleasure up your body. What the Galaxy? Why was that so kriffing hot? You find yourself wanting him to do it again. He then gives your sex a sharp smack, and you cry out a startled whine. He grins, pulling your legs forward so you are now perching at the end of the table, so very close to him again.

Then he is taking the hilt of the longer lightsaber from his hip and bringing it to your face.

You curse under your breath as he places the tip of it against your cheek. The thrill of having such a dangerous weapon on your body again surges through you, and you go to grind on to him, his leg, his fingers, anything – you just want to rub down onto something. He smirks callously, his eye line flickering down as you clench on nothing, empty and destitute of satisfaction.

“Patience,” he says, pushing the saber hilt against your lips, his eyes darken as he senses both the lust and fear it stirs inside of you. You take a deep breath through your nose, and then boldly, you look into his eyes and purse your lips, kissing the hilt of his weapon.

“Brave girl,” he observes, then catches your chin in his free hand. He pulls down on your lower jaw, and you let him open your mouth. He glares at you, and you know what he wants. So you push out your tongue and he places the hilt on to it, holding your face still as he pushes it deeper into your mouth.

You have a sharp, jarring moment of fear-based clarity – where you think, what the kriff are you doing? This is a lightsaber. Not any old metal blade or a karking blaster with the safety on, a saber, which could ignite at any moment and tear your face in half. Again, you consider – that logically, you should be terrified, if you were sensible you would be pulling away and telling this man where he can shove his blasted laser sword. But you don’t. Because in this moment, you aren’t logical or sensible. You don’t want to be. You want to take his weapon in your mouth, you want to let him discipline you for you indiscretions, to spit and smack and hurt you. Maker, why does this feel so good? It does not seem to make any sense, how absolutely depraved you are feeling, how much you yearn for his dominance. But it doesn’t have to make sense. Because the newness of such a craving is exciting, this brazen dalliance is so dreamlike. You know more than anything that you want this, that you want it to be this way. And you know that you will do anything for him, to please and pleasure him, to gain his permission for your orgasm.

“There she is,” he purrs, watching your face relax around the blade’s hilt as you fully give in to his control, submitting fully to his will. “There’s my obedient little slut.” He chuckles, a powerful and cold sound – “Oh, I knew you had it in you.”

He pulls the saber out of your mouth quickly, and it makes you jump. He hushes you and cups your cheek in his palm, then plants a gentle kiss on your lips. “Good girl,” he praises you. You whimper into his mouth, your cunt now blazing for the return of his touch, of any touch – and so you automatically go to move your hands so that you can play with yourself. He catches your wrist with a tut. “Oh, I am not done yet,” he warns.

He steps back and places the both of his weapons to the side. Then he pulls away the material that covers his upper legs. You blink rapidly as you take in the sight of his cybernetics, not only at how impressive they are – but in awe at the fact that he has a cybernetic cock. Your mouth waters in pleasant surprise. You did not expect this, you did not know such a thing existed. “Kriff,” you mutter, running your eyes over the hard length of him – solid and thick, the colour as dark as the black ink of his tattoos, and though you recognise that it is synth-skin that coats the outer layer of it, you do not know synthetics of this kind well enough to say with certainty how he will feel inside of you.

Making you all the more exhilarated to find out.

“So vulgar,” he scolds you, and swiftly his hands are on you, pulling you down to the ground by the back of your neck, and pushing you on to your knees before him. “Now,” he says, grabbing the back of your hair with a strong fist, “shall we put that filthy mouth of yours to good use?” You are already salivating, so ready to take him in your mouth, to taste him. He tugs on your hair to make your eyes meet his, and his expression is expectant.

“When I ask you a question,” he growls, “you answer me.”

“Yes,” you reply. “Yes, Lord Maul.”

“Better,” he says. “So?”

You nod, “yes, please, let me – ”

He cuts you off. “Open.”

You obey him. Then he slides his pointer and middle finger into your mouth, still so slick with your own wetness. You suck him in further, and with a groan he pushes deeper, teasing your throat, your tongue brazenly lapping at the taste of yourself on his fingers. You close your eyes and moan as he reaches further in, and his knuckles knock into your teeth. He hums a moan, then he is pulling out quickly with a wet popping noise. He curses in language you cannot quite place, but the sound is rich and laced with a sensual hunger.

“I cannot resist you anymore,” he confesses. You suck in a greedy breath, your eyes fluttering open, looking forward to the length of his cock. “Look up, look at me,” he commands, “let me see those eyes.”

You do as he says, and though you cannot see him do it, you know that he takes his cock in his hand. “Put your hands on my legs,” he says. You rest them just above his metal knees, on the synth-skin of his thighs. “They stay there,” he says. “If you want me to stop, you tap me. Twice. Do it now.” You do. “I can feel that. If you do that I will stop. Do you understand?”

You nod, and a moaning hum slips from your lips in anticipation of what is to come.

“Good girl. Now open your mouth for me.”

You obey. “Do not dare be careless,” he warns, “I can feel everything.” Then he brings the tip of his cock to your lips, and pushes inside. You lick at his shaft, working on getting him wet, tasting the hardness of him. He tastes and feels like real skin, though his cock is really firm, harder than an organic one – but he is not as tough as durasteel or metal. As you work on taking him further into your mouth, you moan around his cock, imagining the feel of him deep inside of your cunt, dreaming about how hot and full you would feel. Will feel – with any luck, soon. Both of his hands are in your hair now, and he tugs you forward, encouraging himself deeper.

“That’s it,” he purrs, “you are already doing so well.”

Your nipples keen into hard buds at his praise, your aching cunt clenching on to nothing. You want to touch yourself – you even think about it. But you do not dare move your hands, you no longer want to disobey him. You want to please him, this cold, dangerous stranger, you want to prove yourself to him. And more selfishly, you cannot possibly risk depriving yourself of the bliss that you will earn once you have followed his instructions. You focus on breathing through your nose, and you squeeze on his legs as he begins a steady thrust in and out of your mouth. He moves faster, and you begin to choke, making raspy, wet and ragged noises. He pulls out with a loud groan, and you gasp, a thread of spittle still connecting you to his shaft.

“Good,” he groans, letting you get your breath back. “Now deeper.”

And then he shoves himself back inside. You work on swallowing him down, switching between holding your breath and breathing through your nose, trying to determine what works best. Once you get the hang of it, he holds on to your head tightly, then buries his cock deep in your throat. Then he pulls back, and you gasp, steadying your breathing. He does this several times, a chaotic, hard set of thrusts – then holds himself in as deep as you can take him, then he releases you, and you gasp for air, your eyes streaming and lips dribbling with your own spit.

“You messy little whore,” he mutters, running a finger down your cheek, now stained with tears. You heave in deep breaths, looking up at him. You feel a deep resentment for him, still holding a grudge for his rudeness and his entitlement – but at the same time, those same qualities make you feel so hot, so attracted to him. They make you want to please him, and as you look up at him with wide, wet eyes, you are find you are hoping for some kind of praise. He obliges. “Don’t worry,” he reassures you, “you look prettier than ever.” You smile and squeeze his legs.

“Again,” he says. You take him back in your mouth. On instinct and without really noticing, you slide one of your hands down his leg, your cunt desperate for your own fingers. He notices though, of course – and loosens a hand from your hair to catch your wrist and put your hand back.

“No,” he insists. “You want to touch yourself so badly? Then you need to earn it,” he says. “Prove you deserve it.”

So you do. You begin to bob your head, working the length of him in and out of your mouth. “Try harder. Lean on me,” he says. You do so, putting your weight forward against him via your hands as you desperately work your mouth over his length, focusing only on pushing him deep into your throat and out again, over and over, breathing sporadically through your nose, choking on him and your own saliva, making a complete and utter mess of yourself. You have no idea how long you are on your knees for him, but you enjoy every second. You love being told what to do, you find great satisfaction in making him moan, and the longer you take his cock in this way, the better you get at it. His growls and groans of pleasure are each more guttural than the last. You are so lost in the moment that you do not realise he has had his fill of your mouth until you are being lifted from the ground.

“Up,” he says, taking your elbow in his hand and heaving you to your feet. You settle on unsteady legs, weak from being down on the floor for so long, and from the intensity of your carnal appetite – Maker, your cunt is absolutely dripping. You cannot remember a time ever being so wet.

He snakes a hand through your hair, clearing your face and taking the opportunity to look at you. He growls softly, “pretty, filthy girl. I am going to ravish you,” he promises. Before you get a chance to respond, he lifts you back on to the table, and with a grin pushes you down into it with his sorcery – though he does not hold you down once you are there.

He drops to his knees before you - and positions himself so that the only part of you he can see is your sodden cunt. You lean up to watch him, and his hands grasp on tightly to your hips. He pulls you forward, your legs over his shoulders, and your weight onto him – then buries his face between your thighs.

It is instantly the most incredible, dizzying pleasure you have ever experienced. He laps at your clitoris with excessive devotion, and the determined swirl of his tongue is pure bliss – it sends sweet surges of hot satisfaction through your body, and oh Maker, he is relentless – he doesn’t stop, he hardly breathes, he just focuses entirely on your pleasure, on the wet, sultry deliciousness of your sex. It is so euphoric that you begin to believe you have fallen into an entirely different state of being.

His strong voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to come?” he asks into your slickness, his hot breath as gorgeous a feeling as the caress of his tongue. “Would you like that?”

You reply with a string of pathetic whines, crying out “yes, yes, yes” over and over again. He chuckles, a deep booming laugh of pity that vibrates into your lower half. “Then come, you beautiful girl,” he says, “I want you to come.”

Then his tongue is back on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you fast and hard, both hitting those wonderful parts of you exactly where you need them to – and it is so incredibly perfect. You squeeze your thighs around his head, and the horns at his temples dig into your soft flesh. You throw yourself back to the worktable with abandon, your hands grasp at your own breasts, your lips release frenzied moans. And then you are coming – a scorching orgasm, profound and consuming, it washes across the entirety of your body. Your cunt clenches on to his thrusting fingers, and he doesn’t stop his movements, not one bit. He keeps pumping and licking, working you with the utmost dedication, dragging out your peak as long as he can. Your legs begin to shake, and when your climax finally abates and your muscles relax – your mind is scattered and clouded in an orgasm-stricken haze.

You moan in contentment, unable to speak. He hums into your cunt, teasing and smug. “Are you quite ready for me?” He asks, “are you ready to take my cock now? Do you think that you deserve it?” He plants a final, gentle kiss on your slit as he pulls back and stands up.

You cannot seem to form what you want to say, still so speechless from your peak. You can only bring yourself to spread your thighs in response, opening yourself up to him and hoping he understands. “Mmm,” he moans. “I do like to see you in this way. But use your words,” he demands. “Tell me what I know you want.”

“P-please,” you whine, and he looms over you, settling himself between your legs which are opened up so wide for him. He stares down at your cunt, so perfectly soaked and stretched, just begging to be used by him. His hands run up your body, and then he is leaning over you and his lips are at your neck, his tongue hot and wet lapping at your skin, as if he can encourage the words out of you with his kisses. It works. “Yes,” you whimper, as he drags his teeth down, sharp and wild as he bites at the soft flesh of your breasts. “Yes, please.”

He catches your wrist as he moves back, pulling you to your feet. Then he whirls you around and bends you over the table, crossing your arms behind your back, gripping on to them tightly.

“Take me,” you moan, “take me, please, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says, aligning his cock at your entrance. You try and move back into him, but his grasp on you is rock solid. “We have already practiced this, sweet, filthy girl,” he says. “Stay still.”

You stop moving, doing as he says. With a sigh of approval, he uses the cold metal of his lower synthetic leg to spread your thighs open further, and then he pushes his cock into you. He groans as he easily slips inside, your cunt so wet from all of his previous attention. You cry out enthused, whimpering moans as he then begins to move in and out of you, slow at first as you adjust to the length of him. But then he rocks into you hard, and he is soon in to the hilt – and Maker, the feeling of fullness is even better than you first imagined. He thrusts hard, over and over again, smacking the full weight of himself into you with each pound of his cock. One of his hands still holds your wrists tightly behind your back, the other he uses to grab the back of your neck, pushing you down firmly into the table.

He moves so rapidly, his cock drumming into you at a deliciously quick pace, his weight so heavy and severe against your backside. You groan through gritted teeth, and his hand slips to your throat, pulling your head up so that when he leans forwards, his lips are at your ear.

“You can take it,” he says, then slides two fingers into your mouth, and you moan around them as he pounds into you, again and again and again. He eventually lets go of you, throwing you down without concern – and you can tell from that gesture alone that he has been holding back, and that such weakness ends here. He is about to give you his all.

And by the Galaxy, are you ready for it.

He moves his hands to your ass and grips at you hard, his long nails claw at your soft flesh, using you as leverage to truly tame you, using the drumming rhythm of his cock to ride you into total submission. He does not relent, he just keeps going and going. He is merciless as he has his way with you, growling deep, harsh noises as he uses you and your body for his own gratification. It is so intoxicating, and you lie there unmoving, limp and pliant for the taking. He keeps going and going, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, each moan he growls stoking that carnal fire within – until there it is, and another roaring orgasm tears through you, and it is such a thundering ecstasy that you scream his name again and again and again. He praises you with brash and filthy words, telling you how good and tight you are as your walls clamp around him.

You pant, breathing through the frenzy with deep, desperate gasps. He pulls out of you and grabs your body, throwing you to the floor. You laugh as he catches you just before you hit the ground. “My hero,” you say sarcastically. He lowers you down gently on to your back and falls between your legs. “I thought that I actually shut you up,” he says with a smirk. You lean up to catch that smug smile of his in a passionate kiss. He sucks on your tongue, then he sheathes himself back inside of you. You moan into his mouth, and he kisses you over and over again as he restarts that beautiful, hard rhythm.

“Tell me your name,” he groans between kisses, “tell me.” You gasp as he thrusts his cock inside of you deeply, holding your frame tightly in his arms as he does so. You reveal to him your name, pecking the corner of his mouth after you say it. Then he repeats it back to you, and the way he says it – kriff, it is such a gorgeous, addictive sound coming from his lips, such music when it is said in his rich and commanding voice.

“Look at me,” he demands into your lips. You pull away from the kiss to do as he says. “Keep your eyes on my face now. I want you to watch me as I ravish you.”

You lie back and hook your legs around his hips, gazing up at him as he takes you harshly into the ground. His handsome, tattooed face is no longer hard and unmoving like when you first saw him. He is thoroughly enjoying you, his expression softened with pure delight and satisfaction, his bright eyes burning into yours – until he stutters in his movements, until his moans become a decadent mix of curses, until his grasp on you tightens and he shuts his eyes as your heat and your obedience coax him into his own climax.

He groans through it, slowing his movements and breathing heavily, until his hold on you becomes lax and he slowly slumps forward on top of you. You pant beneath him, your heart racing. Maker. That was incredible, of course but – but it was also absolutely the most barvy and unexpected thing you have experienced in a long time. And by the Planets - you are shattered. You are certain now that you will finally be able to get some sleep tonight. You wrap your arms around Maul’s neck, planting a kiss on his cheek.

He hums a “mmm”, softly removing himself from within you and then lying beside you, so that you are both on your backs, looking up at the ceiling. You are both silent for a few moments. You tilt your head towards him to look at him, taking in the sight of his side profile. He is so striking, even when he is at ease like this, when he is calm and truly relaxed. His eyes are closed now, and he is clearly still basking in the euphoria of his own orgasm. You don’t actually know how it works, how his cybernetics allow him to experience such a thing – but it must feel damn good, considering how serene this once terrifying, severe man appears now. His fingers find their way to your hand and he traces small, gentle circles into your palm.  

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“I’ve been better,” you reply.

He opens his eyes and tilts his head towards you with a glare, and you grin.

“Nah, I’m just playing with you,” you say, rolling onto your side. “I feel great.”

He smirks, doing the same, moving to lie on his side. He bends his arm and leans his head on to his hand. “This was unexpected,” he says.

You roll your eyes and shoot him a look. He smirks again, taking a deep breath. “A pleasant surprise, nonetheless.”

You nod in agreement, curling your body into yourself. He runs his free hand up your arm, watching as you smile at his touch. There is a moment of raw fondness between you, and it is strange – but also nice.

“Well…” he says, then his eyes glaze past your face and he stares behind you, and then he squints, that puzzled expression returning. “What?” you say curiously. He smirks, raising his hand from your arm, up into the air. A piece of metal shoots past your head and into his hand. “That’s just what I was looking for.”

You stutter, “you bastard, that almost hit me!”

He rolls his eyes and then sits up, groaning as he eventually stands. You stay on the floor, trying to summon the energy to crawl over to your sleep mat.

“You’re gonna have to pay me for that,” you say.

He slowly turns his head, raking his eyes over you and flashes an amused smile.

Then you understand how that sounded. “No not for that, no the – ” you groan. “For the part, laser-brains.” You sit up and reference the multitude of broken scrap around you. “And for all of this mess too, actually.”

He dresses himself, grabbing his weapons with a self-satisfied expression as he hooks them to his hips.

“I’m good for it,” he says.

“Yeah, sure, I’ve heard that before.”

“I’ll wire it over,” he mutters, “where is your – ”

“Fine,” you point to the other side of the room, where your datapad is. “You better.”

“What?” He says, picking it up and tapping at the thing – presumably, hopefully actually sorting the payment. “Don’t you trust me?”

“You are so lucky you’re a looker,” you say, rolling over, heaving yourself on to your sleep mat, and pulling your blanket over you to cover your nakedness. He throws the datapad down, then picks up his robe from the floor.

“Hey – I didn’t tell you how much you owe me!”

“It’s covered,” he says.  

“Good,” you laugh, “Now get out of here. You rudely broke in here, and now I’m rudely kicking you out. I need to sleep, even more so now that I have to deal with the ruckus you’ve caused in here tomorrow. And I know that you don't have time for this. You are clearly a very busy man, you've got some crimes to commit I’m sure.”

“Something like that,” he says.

“Who told you to come here anyway?” You ask, “you said someone told you this was the place to come get your parts?”

“Some Rodian in the tavern down there,” he replies indifferently, pointing in the direction he means, then pulling on his robe.

Ah. So maybe she was your friend after all. Or maybe she just felt bad for swindling you for the box of trash. Or maybe she really hated you and sent a murderous wizard your way, hoping for your demise. Either way, you were mighty grateful she did send him on his way to you. You just had the best sex of your life, and now you were about to finally get some decent shut eye. Maybe you’d even buy her a drink.

Maybe. Depends on what you can sell those damn parts for.

“By the way,” you say before he leaves, “I’m sorry for shooting at you.” Then you blow him a kiss in an exaggerated gesture. “I’m sure glad I missed.”

He scowls, then takes one last look at you, orgasm-dazed and relaxed on your sleep mat – and he smirks.

“Mmmm,” he says. “Also, I did not break in, as you put it so many times. I walked in. You left the door unlocked.”

“Awh, hell,” you say. “Get that for me on the way out, will you?”

“As long as you leave it open next Primeday,” he shoots you that sultry glare that you have grown to like so much.

You huff a laugh. “If I don’t, be sure to break in anyway.”

Then he disappears into the shadows, and when you hear the click of the door’s lock, you close your eyes. Karkin’ wizard, you think, finally exhausted enough to fall asleep.

The usual racket of Level 1313 does not wake you for the rest of the night and into the late morning, not even once.  

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