#post tcw

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

~~~Chapter 4 - Updated Tuesdays - Also on Ao3~~~

The Lars' speeder pulls up to Ben's cave with a recognizable whine. The jedi-in-exile looks up from idly watching the sand pile up from the wind blowing it in, curious about the visit. It's probably Beru, come to chat, or possibly Owen, come to make stilted small talk because all farmers knew that you kept in touch with everyone out here whether you liked each other or not. As a matter of practicality.

Either way, visitors were… nice.

Ben pushes himself up and moves toward the door to say hello. He doesn't get halfway before Owen is running inside and shoving a bundle of miniature chosen one at him.

"Here!" the man exclaims, dropping a shoulder bag on the floor, "We need you to watch Luke. The Roshan homestead is getting shot up by raiders and they need help! We can't take him with, damnit, time to pull your weight, wizard!"

Obi-Wan looks down at the eleven month old boy with a dawning sense of panic. Luke has the temerity to frown thoughtfully up at him, little forehead squinching up exactly like a fussy Anakin.

The jedi master swallows like he's been handed a live bomb. "Owen I-, I shouldn't-"

There's no reply. Ben looks up from the baby to explain that he can not, should not be trusted with the protection of children. Ever again. Or adults! He is a magnet for lethal levels of misfortune for beings of all ages. Guarding from afar is one thing, but Owen cannot expect-

Owen is gone.

He finishes the half complete walk to the entryway arch, and watches the speeder fling up a trail of sand and dust as it drives away.

"Blast," he curses, covering his mouth and watching it race for the horizon.

This is… not supposed to happen.

"Please, come back," he begs the dust cloud.

Owen does not. He is left holding the fate of the galaxy in his hands. Again.

His bloody, weathered hands.

"Bplbpbpplllll?" asks Luke, creating spit bubbles that go sliding off the side of his fat chin.

Obi-Wan takes a moment to get a grip on himself, eyes closed and face tilted up at the ceiling. Deep breaths. Luke is… not his father. He is just a cherubic little swaddle of pudgy baby. And he’s only going to be responsible for the child a few hours. Perhaps an afternoon. Overnight at a stretch. Unless the worst should happen and one or both of the Lars…

"This is a terrible idea," Obi-Wan states, forlorn. "I'm no good with children, you must understand."

"MnnpaH," the little one declares, then starts to make an angry face.

Obi-Wan shushes him automatically, tilting the bundle upright and patting his tiny back. "I'm going to need you to not listen to a word I say, alright? I've the wit of a brick when it comes to younglings."

"Mnnnpahpahpssss," Luke says, mood turning for the better at the discovery of 'sssss'. "Pahsss paasssss sssss!"

The jedi can't help the tight grin that tugs at his mouth. "See? Two minutes with me and you're already hissing like that horrible zabrak. I'm a terrible influence."

"Ssssuuussssuuuu Ssssshoooo. Heeee! Hsssss!"

"Come now, stop impersonating a sith lord," Obi-Wan insists, bending over carefully to pick up the shoulder bag Owen had dropped so unceremoniously. "Let's see if your papa has left you any toys, hmm?"

"Tee?!?" exclaims Luke.

"Toh ees. Toooyys." Ben repeats for him.

"Teys?!"

He snorts, "Better! You're rather good at this for being zero years old."

"GeeEeeeeEEE!" the baby squeals in delight, legs kicking in excitement.

Lunch time comes and an attempt is made to introduce Luke to black melon. Ben gives him a small sliver of rind to gum on. Luke sticks it in his mouth, makes a face, and then spits it up onto the stone floor.

“Really? Wasting food are we? Well. More for me then,” he replies to that, leaving the baby to his bantha milk and eating the rest of the melon himself.

Cleaning the spit in the middle of the floor turns into a mild tidying, which then becomes sweeping all the sand out of the cave. He has a broom of desert grasses bound to a long, gnarled bit of root. It’s more flexible than necessary, but it does the job.

The sand invades every nook and cranny of his house, as it does every day, beginning as soon as he finishes sweeping it all out. It especially likes to pile up in front of the raised bit of rock he sleeps on, and the wall by his food crate. It simply can’t be left to pile up, or it would bury the cave floor within a few days.

So he sweeps out the area by his bed, and sweeps out the corner by the wall.

Obi-Wan sweeps and sweeps and sweeps.

The rusk-rusk-rusk of the grasses on the stone floor as he works is almost meditative when combined with the faint creek of the root that makes up the handle.

Wait…

“Luke?”

He turns a circle, looking for the child.

“Luke? Sweetheart, where have you gone?”

There is a dreadful lack of baby in the middle of the floor, right where there was definitely supposed to be one.

“Luke Skywalker! Luke!”

When you are not connecting with the force, it is a great deal harder to find other people.

“Where did-!” Obi-Wan exclaims, hustling toward the nearest exit. “Where are- where are you?”

The front door and its window holes open to an empty spread of desert and stone, a bit of scrublands off to one side that surely couldn't hide a tooka nevermind an infant.

“How did-” he turns to go check the back door, heart thudding in his chest, “you’re barely crawling yet! How could you have even gotten this far??”

There is no precocious infant belly crawling to freedom behind his cave, either.

Dizzy. He feels dizzy. He's lost the chosen one. The chosen two? The second chosen… person. Baby.

Failed. Again.

Would the force even bring them a third chosen if he failed the first two this badly?

“Luke,” he calls out, struggling to breathe. “Please, don't go. Please, don't-”

“Gahhh?”

He spins around, wheezing, to find big blue eyes peeking out at him from under a spare cloak. Obi-Wan leans a hand on the wall and covers his eyes.

“Gahhh???” Luke asks again, chewing on the fabric.

Obi-Wan points at him, scowling. “So you are your father's son! Nearly giving me a heart attack over nothing!”

The baby looks at him dumbly for a moment, then his little face scrunches up in dire offense.

‘Oh…’ he thinks, ‘drat.’

Crocodile tears come pouring down, a serial offense in the desert.

“No, no, I didn't mean that, please don't cry-” he tries, shuffling over to unbury Luke from the dark brown cloak. “Come now, it's alright, everything is- it's fine. You're nothing like Anakin, I promise.”

He pulls the trailing edge of fabric from damp fingers, and the tears only work themselves up into operatic screams.

“I’m sorry, truly, that was unkind of me,” Obi-Wan offers, holding the child close and bouncing him a little.

Nevermind Luke's tears, the jedi finds himself sweating. The dizziness of distress has faded, only to be replaced with a feeling of weakness. His arms tremble in the aftermath of adrenaline, a complete divergence from the man he used to be. Something, admittedly, of an adrenaline junkie.

Luke's feeble infant upset is… it is a lot. All things considered, Obi-Wan decides sitting down is the better way to go.

“My dear, I know you're upset but you can't be gumming on dirty cloaks and hiding from your caretakers.”

That solid worldly advice does… absolutely nothing.

“I'm sorry I yelled. The yelling was the terrible part, wasn't it?”

Apologies are equally useless.

Obi-Wan tries patting his back, soft little thumps and the occasional circle. It seems to be helping…

…he looks down, and finds that Luke has discovered that this cloak tastes just as good as that cloak.

The jedi master makes a face of true dismay as sobbing turns into whiney hiccups.

“You're going to start screaming again if I take that away, aren't you?”

Luke hiccups extra hard. It's a sign.

“Yes, of course. Why did I even ask.”

Luke makes a face, just then. An odd face. A satisfied face. Obi-Wan is immediately suspicious.

A sniff test near the low back confirms his suspicions.

It's been a good while since Obi-Wan has had to change diapers. Since a long lost era where he was just a knight, and had served for a time in one of the youngling creches.

He manages.

Fresh drawers as needed, a bottle of bantha milk to settle, and half the afternoon is gone. Neither Owen nor Beru have graced his door, both suns are still up, and he wants nothing more in all the stars than a nap.

“You're going to escape if I go to sleep, aren't you?”

The response is a yawn, so perfectly timed it could only be a trap.

It is not a trap. The little menace curls up on the pelts of Obi-Wan's bed, and dozes right off. The jedi watches it happen, then turns away with a sigh.

“Your father used to call your mother an angel. I rather think you might consider taking after her. A delightful woman,” his voice grows thin, “a very good person.”

Obi-Wan lets his eyes close as he tips his head up toward the ceiling. There’s no reply, of course. He doesn’t expect one either.

“She would have adored you. Chaos and all.”

Luke snores quietly, a little bubble of snot building on his nose.

The nap lasts long enough for Obi-Wan to collect his thoughts, if nothing else.

“Mplbbb?” Luke asks in a sleepy voice a half hour later, pushing himself up into a sit in the usual manner of a pudgy uncoordinated infant.

“Mplbbb, indeed my young friend. Feeling rested?”

Luke stares. Blinks. Stares some more.

Then tries to escape the cave.

“Ohhhh, no. None of that. Out there is hot and windy and terribly dry. You'll bake.”

Ungrateful for the advice, his charge tries to escape four more times, and Obi-Wan's back begins to complain about all the up and down. The heavy lifting. The hip carries and the odd way it makes him stand.

“Ooof. I sound like pebbles in a jar. Goodness. Let's do something on the floor shall we? Do you like shadow puppets? What about a sock puppet? I do have a spare pair of socks.”

As it turns out, a playmate who can levitate things and make funny voices seems to be all Luke needs to have a great time. The jedi-in-exile ends up making a whole stage production with floating toys, giving each one a different characterization. That the plot mostly consists of a grumpy red rancor with a snobby core accent and anger issues, and a dashing blue fish who just wants a good cup of tea, arguing about donuts and going on a quest across the dunes for baked goods is… pure coincidence.

Okay, so he isn't the most creative individual.

Obi-Wan and Luke have a grand time, all things considered. When night falls with no sign of parental relief, they curl up on his pelts together. He decides to risk a doze, rather than risk being exhausted tomorrow.

With a warm little bundle on his chest, the jedi sleeps better than he has in… quite a while, actually. What irony, that it is Anakin's son who soothes the nightmares born of his father.

When Owen shows up the next morning -thank the force no worse for the wear- Obi-Wan packs up the distractions and diapers and puts Luke back into the arms he belongs in.

It is such a relief.

Luke stares back at him over Owen’s shoulder. Too-blue eyes watching him stay behind as they walk back to the speeder, brows furrowed with an innocent sort of confusion.

“Bii?”

Obi-Wan waves. He smiles. Luke frowns. They go.

The jedi turns away from the dust cloud and heads back inside his cave, where it is quiet, and calm, and there is no destiny awaiting him. No duties to fail, and nothing to mess up.

Nothing to gain and no one to lose.

[secretly-a-trekkie]

they deserved a beach episode

[dragon-subway]

taking a moment to relax after a long day of being good at his job

[riachuelowii]

[rush-to-greatness]

[ KISSED ]  our muses are having sex for the first time which then reveals receiver’s scars to sender  - Fox <3

EXTENSIVE SCAR RELATED PROMPTS 

Not the first time, admittedly, but it was the first time in a long time. Certainly the first time since the traumatic fall which had left Rush with cybernetic implants in his spine, metal bars in his leg, and a map of scarring all along his back and left side.

The slow, uncertain release of his remaining clothing revealed the mess in all its gruesome detail to Fox for the first time, and he hoped the sight wouldn’t completely turn his partner off.

[bluemoonscape]

Big fan of characters who “kill” their younger selves. Characters who resent the past version of themselves for letting them get hurt, who look at that kid and feel revolted by the foreignness of it. Characters who feel they have to cut the child out of them like a tumor because it’s hurting them too much and if I don’t kill you you’ll kill me. Nearly nothing remaining of that past self but for the little connections and mannerisms they can’t kick, and when it shines through, it’s a terrible, tragic thing, because the child is still in there. It’s in there and it’s grotesque in its suffocation. But it’s there.

[galactic-rhea]

Based on this post https://www.tumblr.com/galactic-rhea/748939265180860416/you-know-what-would-have-fixed-anakintm-if?source=share by @stealingpotatoes because it was TOO FUNNY to not do something about it NKJLSDFSDF

Hold on here because now there's more

[ben-adryl]

Obsessed with this genre of pinterest comments

[byfulcrums]

imagine being ahsoka. you've survived order 66 and the siege of mandalore, and then 16 years later this teenage boy enthusiasticaly tells you "i brought help!". you wait to see who he found only for him to show up with fucking maul

[anxietyriddledsquid]

rotating them around in my head

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

[In-progress Obimaul, post TCW, updates tuesdays! New? Read the prequel "Desertification" on Ao3! 18+, Link at the end. ]

~~~~Chapter 8: Research and Rest~~~~

Darth Maul does not sweat.

A feature of zabrak, Dryden had believed, or nightbrothers specifically, considering the fetid swamps that bore them. Neither humidity nor dry desert heat seemed to bother him. The efforts of battle, business, and pleasure alike failed to bring any telltale gleam to crimson skin. The sith didn't even sweat in a hot bath, whenever they’d shared such on First Light or when visiting the Black Sun’s impressive bathhouses.

Now, as he watches sweat bead across tattooed skin and green mist seep from between bared teeth, Dryden has to wonder at the power of these psychic attacks. In the wake of it Maul growls and shakes, and radiates that same luscious aura of darkness all sith artifacts do. Even from a distance the force boiled hard enough that with just a barely-there connection he had felt it twisting.

A shiver runs crisp and chill down his spine. How quaint Maul’s warning suddenly feels, about the beguiling dangers of the objects in this room. By far the most seductive thing here is the sith lord driven to his knees before him. Dryden murmurs a question, barely recalls the words even as he says them. It serves its purpose, calling Maul’s attention to him. Bloodshot eyes open and rise to his. Sulfurous and dilated, only a thin ring of color around two dark pools. From this angle the zabrak is just sharp horns and burning irises framed in furious black.

Lovely, really.

The impulse to touch drives his hands together, fingers laced and steepled before his mouth. Dryden entertains the idea of running his fingers down the marks of a damp brow only briefly, truthfully far too engaged in watching how gracefully the sith rises to his feet, so very… wraithlike. The motion is too smooth to be anything but force-assisted.

When the other man turns his back Dryden follows, riveted by the fine tremor in black-clothed shoulders. After nearly three years of working together, Lord Maul has finally brought him here, to Dathomir… and how illuminating this visit has been, in such a short bit of time too.

It was to Maul’s credit that Crimson Dawn had survived the birth of a new Empire. Thrived, despite the chaos swirling around a young regime eager to swallow all who could or would stand opposed to it. Dryden had come to respect, and at times even depend on, Maul’s power. His efficient, unrelenting drive. However, the sith’s occasional habit of, hmmm… disappearing was, in Dryden’s opinion, another matter.

Sometimes it was simply not answering comms, other times...

Visits to worlds in the unknown regions. Excursions into imperial occupied space. Days in a trance, speaking to -apparently- ghosts. He’d rather feared this event was yet another distraction when Maul had gone quiet some weeks ago. Ensconced on Dathomir, off in his own horned head, again, leaving Dryden to manage their organization alone.

So unutterably boring compared to having him around.

But Maul’s summons had ended that monotony in spectacular fashion. A mystery, an unknown assailant, a dark power… and an exclusive invitation. Dryden’s patience had paid off so very well.

For a second time he is forced to stop his fingers from touching.

He does wonder though, who else had his lord contacted for help, before him? No one useful it seemed. No one with answers. These Dryden would provide, through the Dawn’s network.

The other man begins drifting back the way they came and Dryden smirks as he follows, self-amused. That Darth Maul has no one else is a delightful little theory Dryden finds himself lending more credence to by the hour.

They return upstairs to the ichor lit living space, such as it is. Maul retrieves his two books and goes to curl up in a nook of the stone couch. Dryden settles in beside him, not quite touching, and smiles a belladonna smile. With a faint creek from ancient bindings, Maul opens one of the books. His fingers are the slightest bit unsteady, a tremor making the edge of a floating page quiver. Oh yes, delightful.

"My lord,“ he interrupts before the sith can really get to reading.

Maul is immediately tense, turning to glare, a black lip curled just enough to show a hint of teeth. Heat creeps up Dryden’s neck as his markings flush in kind. Irritability is par for the course with Lord Maul, but that’s a bit more aggression aimed his way than is warranted, really. He’s here to help after all.

Staring back, he rolls his wrists over to show open palms. When the sith puts his teeth away and blinks, Dryden softens his own expression into an indulgent pout, reaching out to rest his arm on the couch behind Maul’s back. “What else might I do for you?”

Sharp teeth flash again when Maul replies. “Find me more references."

Tsk.

“Of course.” Dryden replies smoothly, and sits back on the couch- more of a bench, considering the lack of padding… perhaps he could get away with gifting the sith a collection of cushions? The carved scrollwork everywhere is lovely, but the lack of finishing touches is rather unfortunate.

“I will contact the personnel out hunting for us, yes?” he asks rhetorically, and uses his datapad to remote access First Light's encrypted holonet connection. “Perhaps they’ve found something by now.”

Maul grunts, and turns to his reading.

Dryden does as promised, checking in with his auction hunters and archivists.

Nothing pending, unfortunately. He reports the state of things in an apologetic murmur, and turns to working on other matters for a time. It wouldn’t do to press the irritated man for more details so soon; these will come in time.

Beside him, Maul reads with dogged focus. This turns out to be an activity involving near-constant muttering, rifling back and forth through the pages, and frequent small noises made at the text. This amusing intensity of concentration is broken an hour or so in, when the world tilts and—

Dryden sways in his seat, faintly startled. There are… chimes? Strings? Floating unseen through the air and reaching, seeking not through the air, but in the force, some great, intangible spider weaving a silken web from the energy of the universe itself. Plucked threads hum in a resonance felt rather than heard, bell tones melting in the ears across dimensions as they call, beckoning, coiling in an oil slick embrace around—

Maul makes a noise like a speeder failing to start and drops his book. It flops to the floor, and the sith hunches over. Energy surges out to throw the strings back, tearing, rending, shredding.

Dryden braces his hands on the stone couch, fighting to keep hold of which way is up as the raging chill of the dark side rips the beguiling music into a discordant cacophony, filling the world with screaming noise, windchimes in a hurricane.

When he can focus past the sheer noise, Dryden finds Maul curled in on himself, entire body gone indistinct and hazy. The sith's form wavers like a mirage, the lines of him dissolving into grey, curling mist. It’s the only part of him that’s moving, whipped into tatters by the storm playing out in the force.

Dryden has a hand out before he can even stop himself, surprised when his fingers are met with solid warmth.

The heat of Maul’s body is like a furnace beneath the black, roughspun fabric, bones shifting subtly against Dryden’s palm as the sith breathes— hard, panting. A far more pleasant thing to focus on than the dizzying sensation of clattering bells reverberating through his entire being, strings plucking and catching at him as they whip past in the force.

Swallowing back nausea, Dryden dares to reach toward the sith with what little force presence he has, pressing himself toward the questionable shelter of the icy claws ripping the noise asunder. A chill burns down his spine, vertigo gives one last, hard twist, and suddenly he’s… numb. The chimes and strings and furious energy is replaced by buzzing, as though a door had been shut on it all. Maul’s back heaves against his palm, and he takes a deep breath of his own, looking down to see his arm beginning to blur.

"Remarkable," he manages, raising his other hand before his eyes. A laugh rises in his throat as he watches his fingers all but disappear into shadows. In a matter of seconds his body appears no more corporeal than Maul’s.

Buffered from the attack, he is free to watch the man fight. A delight in any context, truly. The sith’s energy- what he can perceive of it- lashes around them. A deadly whirlwind pushing and shredding and holding back the dizzying, frigid presence that tries to intrude. Grinning, he reaches out with his own pale command of the force, moonlight compared to the wrath of a sun, reveling in the burn and rush of true power.

By the time whatever it is eases away, the cloth under his palm is damp, and his sith is shuddering from the strain.

“What-?” Dryden says in a whisper, then stops.

He isn’t sure how to phrase what he wants to ask. Adrenaline has made him giddy, questions clamoring in his mind, but Maul is growling again. The vibration of it rolls up his arm. He takes his hand away, but the zabrak doesn’t seem focused on him, too busy retrieving the fallen book with shaky fingers. It sits unopened in Maul’s lap for a time, while Dryden puts his thoughts in order and the sith’s breathing returns to normal.

A wordless sigh, and Maul goes to his reading like nothing had happened.

Dryden doesn’t. Couldn't possibly. “Do you… have anything stronger than tea, my lord?”

"Mnh," the man replies, seeming to think it over before setting his book aside and disappearing down the hall. The zabrak returns with an ancient bottle of something golden, and one crystal tumbler.

“Oh ,” he says at the sight of it, and ends up pouring four fingers for himself.

Dryden whiles away the rest of their evening working on his datapad, comforted by a glass of something like whiskey, if it was made from distilled sunshine. Maul reads beside him, disappearing to the kitchen on occasion for food, or presumably to weather yet another of the psychic assaults far enough away to spare him the radiant effects.

He can’t quite decide if he’s grateful or disappointed by that.

When the other man has finished devouring both books, to no evident result, he sets them on the low table and rises.

"I am going to rest,” Maul informs him, apropos of nothing, “Are you returning to your ship?”

"Hmmmm," Dryden stalls, nibbling lightly on his lower lip and swirling the dregs in his glass, "What are the odds something dathomirian would kill me in my sleep?"

"Small, but not zero. Everything on this world wants to kill and eat everything else, always," Maul says, blunt as ever.

Dryden looks up at him from under his blonde eyelashes. "Does that include you, my lord?"

"Mm, naturally,” the man responds, hands behind his back, shoulders too straight, a bright gleam in those bloodshot yellow eyes.

He laughs, entertained. Such a mild threat was practically a warm welcome, wasn’t it?

“I shall stay then,” he purrs against the rim of his glass, “if it pleases you?"

“Mh,” Maul has to say about that, “come then.”

Evidently, it does. Dryden tosses back the last of his whiskey and rises, turning to his droid. “Tee-four, retrieve my day bag, yes? Oh, and my crane robe. The black silk one with yellow tips on the feathers, from Ziton.”

He turns to smile at his sithly host, gesturing toward the hall he presumes leads toward the bedrooms. “After you.”

Maul leads him through a roughly hewn archway and down a hallway leading off to several little cave-like rooms, most of them empty apart from what’s clearly an office, shockingly modern. Dryden’s brief glance gives him the impression of a room transplanted straight from an Imperial starship, repainted in black. Curious.

Down past the office, the carved stone corridor opens up into a sprawling room that he takes for another storage space but… no, this must be the bedroom. They had passed by nothing else that would fit the description, and this room does indeed have a bed in it. A very large one- ovoid, of modern design- placed two steps up on an elevated dais that fills the far left of the room.

After a long look he can t ell how the room’s design had begun. Black ashwood furniture and tiled floors, luxury fixtures in bronze. The redstone of the walls and ceiling have been worked smooth, then carved onto decorative moulding, pilasters, and arabesques.

Whereas the rest of Maul’s apartments look half-done, this sanctuary stands as the example of what they all might become. Rough stone and eclectic styles, smoothed and harmonized into something… elevated. Dathomir’s wild sensibilities intertwined with sharp civil luxury, all bathed in the red gleam of the sunset pouring in through a wall of windows.

At some point, however, it seems the room’s thread had been lost. Countless candles, scattered about, substitute where electric fixtures seem to be inoperable. Their unsteady magelight reveals an odd and extensive collection of extra furnishings and storage crates, shoved and packed at random into the darkened edges of the room. Their surfaces are covered in… things. Partially disassembled electronics lay alongside priceless artifacts and sporadic clutter. Books, datapads, scrolls, tablets, and dripping candles. He spots the geometry of no less than three holocrons within the mess, edges shining in red and gold.

Maul’s dimly-lit hoard reduces the floorspace of what should be a grand room to perhaps half its useful potential.

He allows himself a long count of five to be overwhelmed by it all, then forces his mind toward relevant questions. Meanwhile, Maul has gone ahead, winding his way across the room.

"...my lord?" he asks, seeking direction.

The sith stops at the large bed and reaches to unlatch something at his middle, sounding distracted when he replies. Or… perhaps that’s tired? He’s never heard lord Maul sound tired before.

“Sleep where you please. Though I warn you, the attacks will continue through the night."

Well. That explains some things, including the bloodshot look his sith is sporting. Granted, his eyes were always somewhat rimmed in red, but not usually quite this much.

Dryden surveys the space, considering. There's a canapé à confidante style sofa with a long plush section that would do, if he cleared it off. What looks like a daybed is tucked up next to the windows, covered with more pillows than Iego has moons. Perhaps some of those might be migrated to the living room couch? Anyway, these two options may prove far enough away from Maul to avoid interrupting Dryden’s sleep with further assaults from those awful strings… but the sith had proven quite capable of shielding them both, and why invite him here in the first place, if not for company?

His shoes click on the tile as Dryden crosses the room to test those waters, moving up the two steps to join Maul on the dais. There’s more tiled redstone here, softened near the bed by a collection of dark pelts. He walks up to the edge of the mattress, mindful of the zabrak’s personal space -or more accurately the reach of his claws- and sits. No reaction comes.

Hm!

He looks over to find the sith tossing his robes onto the back of a chair. The last gasp of sunset highlights his lord’s skin with orange and gold. Taking off his cape, Dryden reclines on his elbows, tipping his head back to keep Maul in sight. “Tell me you’ve been able to get some sleep, hm? I know you can survive without, but that seems dreadfully unpleasant.”

The zabrak climbs into his bed, rolling over to fall back into the pillows. "Mnh."

When that’s all the answer he gets, Dryden lets his eyes wander over the view left bare to him, the rise and fall of a tattooed chest already slowing toward sleep. They’d shared beds before but never had the sith actually slept in his presence, so far as he knew. What a day of firsts it’s turning out to be, all thanks to this odd affliction.

Really though, what could be powerful enough to do this to his lord? Who could be daring and motivated enough to risk such advances?

PA-LT4 trundles in, balancing an oversized suitcase, and the crime lord turns these questions over idly as he stands to retrieve it. He’s imagined no truly realistic answers even in the time it takes to complete his nightly twelve-step hygiene routine, the droid kept busy fetching water. Its comings and goings don’t seem to bother Maul, who hasn’t stirred once since collapsing on top of the bedclothes in nothing but the pants he likely didn’t want to bother getting off over his cybernetic knees.

Dryden considers his motionless form briefly, and decides a pair of shorts are indeed enough. What was that saying? 'When in Onderon, do as they do'? Besides, Maul has never once cared about his state of dress, and the air here is a hint warm for his tastes.

He folds his crane robe and sets it aside on a small leather ottoman, then finds his way under the duvet Maul had ignored entirely. Black shimmersilk sheets await him, and he comments on them quietly, in case the man is still awake to hear him.

"My thanks for your hospitality, my lord, in these difficult times."

"Mnnnn," the sith hums softly. Not asleep quite yet then.

Dryden smiles as he makes himself comfortable. A night or two of poor sleep, presumably to be interrupted by the strange attacks, is an exceedingly small price to pay for everything he is gaining from this venture. He pillows his head on an arm and watches Maul’s pulse beat in the hollows of his neck, wondering what new things tomorrow will bring.

…and if he’ll get to take a longer look at that storage space.

Tag List: (comment to be added)

@savageopressbignaturals

[secretly-a-trekkie]

pov its 4AM and your marshal commander refuses to sleep

[sanshinexx]

The 501st boys

[inquisitor-apologist]

The first time we see Yoda, leader of the Council, in tcw, he’s explicitly affirming the individuality and importance of the clones. He then teaches them how to connect to the Force, the most sacred tenet of the religion he’s dedicated his life to.

The first time we see Plo Koon, a Jedi Master, in tcw, he clearly tells his clone troopers that they are not expendable to him, and then proceeds to do his absolute best to save as many clones as possible.

The first time we see Anakin in tcw he has his clones fly an unnecessary suicide mission because he wants the glory of killing Grievous. He doesn’t even stop when he hears them all dying—his Padawan, a 14-year-old, has to yell at him that no one else will survive what he’s doing before he changes his plan.

And people STILL say that Anakin is the Jedi who cared about the clones the most. Seriously?

[nimata-beroya]

Note: Since my old masterlist is getting notes again (and I'm hosting @tbb-appreciation-week this year), I thought it's a good time to release a new version with a lot more resources. If any of you know another site or thing that it's missing from the list, let me know and I'll include it!! [Altho, I'm getting this close 🤏 to the hyperlinks limit on this thing 😆]

Note 2: To avoid tagging the 3 people from whom I got multiple resources repeatedly, I've placed 1-3 asterisks between square brackets after the links, depending on the OP. I give the respective credit to them in a legend at the end of the post.

PLACES / TIME

Interactive Galaxy Map by Henry Bernberg

Map of the Galaxy

List of planets and moons [Wikipedia /needs expanding]

Planet Name Generator 1 [SciFi Ideas]

Planetary System Generator [Donjon]

Tatooine Location References [*]

Various locations Cross-Sections (Jedi Temple, Palp's office, Tipoca City & more) [**]

Republic - Separatist - Hutt space during the Clone Wars

Hyperspace Travel Times (to calculate how much time would take to go from point A to point B within the GFFA)

Standard Calendar and Holidays [including month names!]

Galactic Standard Calendar [wookiepedia // including week day names]

Date converter according to SWTOR [Google sheet]

Dated Star Wars Chronological Order (Movies + live-action shows + animation)

TCW Chronological Timeline by @mauvrix

Estimated date for: shared by @spectres-fulcrum

Partisans' attack on Onderon

Siege of Lasan

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

General

Star Wars Name Generator 1 [Donjon]

Star Wars OC flow chart by @thefoodwiththedood

Star Wars Name Generator 2 [FantasyNames]

Star Wars Name Generator 3 [FantasyNames]

MetaHuman [Unreal Engine]

The character creator

Droid Name Generator

Star Wars Randomizer by @aureutr

Character Picrew [Twi-leks, Zabraks, Torgutas and Nautolans] @/megaramikaeli

Jedi

Taking a Closer Look at the Jedi Order in Star Wars Canon [Meta/Reference Guide] [**]

Jedi Order Structure Flowchart by @rileys-nest

Mandalorians

Mandalorian Armor design by MandoCreator

Keepers of the Way (Mandalorian Lore) [*]

Clones

Complete List Of Named Clone Troopers shared by @propheticfire (Organized by Unit)

Clone Creator [MandoCreator]

Clone Picrew

Star Wars Character Templates by SmacksArt [the ULTIMATE battery of template for any human/humanoid original character in any era. From troopers to droids, from Jedi to Sith, from KOTOR to the sequel Trilogy. 100% RECOMMENDED]

Basic Guide to Clone Trooper Armour by @odekiisu

GAR structure summary by @intermundia

The Clone Wars Republic Military Hierarchy Flowcharts [***]

Clone Trooper Lore [*] [Ranks, Culture, Training, Organization, etc.]

Clones and Kamino [*]

The Bad Batch Characters Concept Art shared by @shadowthestoryteller

MISCELLANEOUS

Star Wars Character Age Comparison Chart by @the-yearning-astronaut

Tusken Raiders lore by @snarwor

Materials (fabrics, leathers, silks, plastics, construction, metal composites, etc.)

Materials in Star Wars by marvel_dc_heart_throbs

Star Wars Fashion [*]

Leisure, Art, Musical Instruments, Ethnography [*]

Political and Criminal Organizations in the GFFA [**]

Financial reference about credits by @thecoffeelorian

List of TCW Opening Quotes

Transcripts of all the TCW episodes shared by @book-of-baba-fett

Star Wars Crawl Creator [not exactly writing-related, but just for fun]

HEALTH AND MEDICINE

Canon Medical Lore [*]

Real World reference for Field organizational structure for corpsman (medics) [*]

Kaliida Shoals Medical Center (Republic Haven-class medical station) shared by @clonewarsarchives

GAR Battalion Aid Station [*]

GAR Clone Medic Q/A [*]

More combat medicine, shipboard medicine, veteran issues, and military culture [*]

SHIPS AND VEHICLES

Ship Generator 3D

Ship Name Generator

All Terrain Tactical Enforcer (AT-TE) shared by @stairset

Republic Vessels Reference [*]

Low Altitude Assault Transport/Infantry (LAAT/i) [*]

List of GAR Flagships in the Clone Wars by @meandmyechoes

Layout of the Havoc Marauder

Dimensions of various ships from the Clone Wars [**]

FOOD AND DRINKS

Star Wars Menu Generator

In-Universe Alcoholic beverages

Canon Cocktails (recipes) [*]

Another In-Universe Drinks list shared by @systemic-dreams

Teas in Star Wars by marvel_dc_heart_throbs

Foodstuff [*]

Canon Star Wars Holiday Recipes [*]

Trask Chowder Recipe (from The Mandalorian) [*]

LANGUAGES; PHRASES AND SLANG; VOCABULARY

Languages of the Galaxy [*]

Script of different languages in the GFFA by @lucif-hare-blog

In-Universe phrases and slang [Google sheet]

List of phrases and slang [wookiepedia]

List of equivalents to real-world objects [wookiepidia]

Talk Like a Clone Trooper shared by @archeo-starwars

Aurebesh Translator [Aurebesh.org]

Learning Aurebesh Tools [Aurebesh.org] Reading - Writing.

Mando'a Database [Mando.org]

Mando'a Transcripticon [MandoCreator] (Create your own text in the Mando'a script.)

@project-shereshoy (Blog that collects and posts sources for Mando'a from all over the internet.)

Mando’a Categorized Spreadsheet

Learning Mando'a Tools [MandoCreator] Reading - Writing.

Setting Thesaurus Entry: Spaceport [Writers helping writers]

Fan-created Conlangs

@dai-bendu-conlang (Jedi Culture Explored) (This blog is the home of the Dai Bendu Conlang, invented by the Archive of Our Own Users aroacejoot, @ghostwriterofthemachine, and loosingletters for the Jedi Order in Star Wars.)

Lasana Lexicon by Anath_Tsurugi (fandom lexicon of the Lasat Language)

HELPFUL BLOGS & SITES

The amazing @fox-trot, who not only makes astonishing art and write an amazing fic, she also responds to medical questions and gives all kinds of references for writing medic characters. Check her #medicposting tag and you'll find tons of information. Also check #star wars reference and her art tag while you're at it.

@writebetterstarwars, which seems to be inactive, but there are a bunch of references there.

@howtofightwrite The place to find out how to write a good fight scene.

@scriptmedic no longer active, but it has a great deal of useful information.

@scripttorture for your whump needs. Major trigger warning for all its content.

@sw-anthrobiology A blog dedicated to collecting headcanons about the biology and cultures of Star Wars species.

@archeo-starwars In-universe sources on culture and history.

@clonewarsarchives Resources & Concept Art Blog for The Clone Wars animated series.

Wookiepedia If you don't find something in here, it's probably because it doesn't exist, neither as a canon nor legends reference.

Star Wars Databank: The official Star Wars website's reference guide. All canon.

WRITING IN GENERAL (For those who don't want to die like Stormtroopers)

SlickWrite: Completely free; online. Checks grammar, punctuation, flow, and writing style according to different settings (including fiction writing).

ProWritingAid: [RECOMMENDED] One of the most thorough online proofreader I've ever used. Although when using a free account gives extremely thorough feedback, with +20 different in-depth reports, for only the first 500 words. However, you can earn a premium account license (for a year or for life) if you get 10 or 20 new users signing up for free; (if you wouldn't mind doing so using the link above and help me earn mine, please). The settings allow you to check your writing according to your needs, from general to formal to creative. It has a bonus that you can check depending on the genre you're writing. For example, in creative, you can choose romance or sci-fiction (there are 14 sub-genre in total). And just like google docs, you can share a document, and people can view, comment or edit it too.

LanguageTool: [RECOMMENDED] Another excellent proofreader. It also has a word limit in free accounts, but if you use the add-on for Google Docs, it counts each page as a new document, so hitting the word limit is nearly impossible. It helps you to rewrite a sentence (3 a day), even if it doesn't raise any flags; it's very useful for when your sentence is grammatically correct, but it doesn't feel quite right.

Grammarly, Hemingway Editor: No so great, but they do the basic job.

Legend

[*] Shared by @fox-trot [**] Shared by @gffa [***] Shared by @cacodaemonia.

[rush-to-greatness]

❝  you don’t have to tell me how you got it.  i just wanted to see.  ❞ - Fox

EXTENSIVE SCAR RELATED PROMPTS 

“Well…” he sighed; it was difficult enough for him to look at his own scars, showing them to someone who had known his body before it was broken felt like greater struggle. Still, if anyone would understand what extensive injuries could do to a person, surely a soldier would.

“It’s not nice to look at…” he warned. “But I’ll show you.”