#Maul discovered a whole new world

[leth-writes]

yandere Aemond Targaryen x reader

warnings: discussions of sex and violence!

So building off of the idea of a reader who’s a servant to Aemond. But, you’ve been working with another family, trying to overthrow the Targaryens and install new leaders onto the iron throne. You’ve pretended for years to be meek and less intelligent than you actually are, all in an attempt to get close enough to discover his weakness.

In this version of the story, you’re a lot more receptive to Aemond’s advances, being more willing to have a short fling. Maybe you even fake a demure demeanor, pretending to be shy, maybe even pretending to be a virgin just to entrap him even further. You’re blushing and asking him to teach you what to do, all the while you have a long-term partner at home, just waiting for you to return. Sure, it feels bad cheating on the love of your life, but at least you’re doing something for your kingdom.

This goes on for at least a couple of months, more likely even a year or two, all the while Aemond is slowly falling in love.

He’s revealing his deepest, darkest secrets and you’re pretending to care but then going straight to your servant’s quarters and sending a letter right away detailing the whole conversation.

He’s taking you on long walks throughout the gardens, trying to get a feel for your passions and hobbies, and you’re just glad the facade is working. All you care about is achieving your goal and making it out alive.

As he becomes more and more possessive, however, you begin to have the inkling that maybe you’ve made a mistake, maybe you shouldn’t have been the one to undertake this mission.

He relieves you of your duties, making it so that you can spend practically every moment of every day with him.

Maybe you even start to develop feelings, especially after the two of you are intimate for the first time. He’s hot enough to justify sleeping together for you, even if you aren’t in love just yet. Still, you develop a sense of fondness for him.

He begins following you and sending other servants to record everything you do. This is how he first becomes aware of your habit of sending letters. He intercepts one you’ve sent to your partner, and is convinced you’re essentially cheating on him. 

So he resolves to find your partner and… deal with them.

In the meantime you notice him being even more possessive; he isn’t even letting you leave to sleep in your room. You’re basically sharing his living quarters, locked in whenever he’s busy. Still, you convince one of your fellow servants to let you go send a letter.

He’s also a lot more… rough with you when the two of you are intimate.

You chalk this up to the growing sense of possession he has, but in reality it’s just him thinking about how he’s been unintentionally humiliated; who could be so great you care more about them than him, a prince of the most powerful family in the kingdom? He could kill you for this offense, but he finds himself certain he would miss you too much, so he resolves to cut you off from the outside world.

Next time you send a letter, he follows it with Vhagar. When it finds its way to a known insurrectionist compound, he knows you’ve been lying to him. He has Vhagar torch the whole place, paying particular attention to killing your partner, and brings along their head as a souvenir.

You’re just lying in his bed, reading a novel, relaxing by candle light, when he barges in. 

The first thing you notice is the sickly sweet smell following him, then you see the ash, then you see the charred remains of your partner’s horrified face.

You scream and you cry and you rage and you pound against his chest, but he’s completely silent, face absent of his constant smirk for practically the first time since you first met him.

That night, he’s the roughest he’s ever been, and he goes for hours until you’re absolutely incoherent.

Your neck looks like you’ve been mauled, face slack and mind completely empty. When you wake up, you’re chained in the corner, only a pillow in front of you.

He makes you sleep on the floor and stay in that corner until he knows he can trust you, and maybe a little while after that; after all, you had almost made a fool of a prince.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

The Moon's Lies

Summary: Kylo Ren x named!Reader. It was never going to be black or white, Light or Dark, friend or foe. Who wouldn't let the galaxy burn to keep their loved ones safe?

Warnings: 18+, Murder/"execution," graphic violence, unspoken threat of bodily harm, twisted morals, Kylo Ren being himself

Masterlist

Canon Divergence Notes: There is no Rey. Finn is the destined Jedi, and he leaves the scar on Ren’s face during the climactic fight on Starkiller Base. The only original canon kept after TFA is the destined Jedi (Finn) leaving to find Luke and Snoke pushing Kylo Ren to the breaking point, continuing the student-kills-the-master cycle. Summary: No Rey. Finn is training to be a Jedi. Kylo Ren takes the throne from Snoke.

This chapter is the only pre-TFA part of the story. Everything after that is in the AU as described.

A/N: Holy shit, I'm having so much fun with this. You all have no idea (but you will soon). Out here crafting whole-ass mythologies and cultures for this shit. Literally forgot to post this first chapter because I'm neck-deep in the next. Please, please, please do comment! I post for interactions with friends new and old. Otherwise I'd hoard all my embarrassing stories like the grouchy old dragon I really am.

1.

He needed to maul something.

His lightsaber practically vibrated on his belt, answering the pull of itching hands as Kylo Ren stormed into the planet-side depot. Civilians scattered from their orderly lines in front of the First Order’s regional bureaucratic office, startled like so many kaadus. The system had so little to offer, the Order couldn’t even justify a separate complex for the port authority and notary.

A shabby little base on a barren little world. If he could, he’d sink his saber to the planet’s core and kill it all in one, fell stroke.

What a waste of his time.

The rebel insurgent had nothing. They hunted him to the edge of the First Order’s territory only to discover a dead end whose handful of contacts met the heat of Kylo’s blade long ago. They’d missed something. He’d missed something. Instead of fresh leads into the Resistance’s plans, he would leave empty handed. This detour took weeks, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that their enemies were planning something. But in the end, the only thing the dead Rodian had been good at was hiding. Any trooper could’ve shot the scum and been done with it. No need for the Knights of Ren.

He looked like a fool.

Rage tipped over the edge of reason, flooding logic, and plans, and anything but the dark urge to destroy.

He marched through the door, well ahead of his knights. The stormtroopers were nearly as eager to avoid his wrath as the civilians, and he burst into an empty hall. The faintest conversation reached him, a hum of living Force further inside. He followed it. Down the hall. Around the corner. Gathering fuel to further spark his hate for this place and all the people in it as he approached.

A crisp, core world accent he had no doubt belonged to an officer carried farthest.

“I’m afraid it just won’t do. If you want clearance to leave for Gan Moradir, I’ll need those credits in my hand. Today.”

“You already have them.”

The second voice almost surprised Ren. He could barely feel the speaker’s signature, and he rested his hand on his saber, ready for a battle. No one unskilled in the Force could veil themselves like that.

From the sound of things, he had two valid targets to suffer for his humiliation. With new focus, he prepared to take the last corner, the heat in his blood ready to burn through the traitors and fools ahead.

Just out of sight, the officer tsked. “Not enough, I’m afraid.”

“Do you plan on demanding more every time we visit your system?”

“I could.”

“I’m afraid that will be very bad for trade.”

Ren saw the pair before they saw him. A First Order corporal with his hands clasped behind his back and a sneer on his face stood opposite a civilian girl, both oblivious to their approaching doom.

“Corporal.”

The man practically jumped out of his uniform, eyes bugging wide. The girl barely even flinched, following the officer’s panicked gaze with guarded curiosity. Ren would deal with her after he thinned the ranks. It was important to cut out rot before it spread, after all.

“Lord Ren!” The officer’s voice wavered, nearly breaking like a teenager’s as he took two steps away from the civilian and bowed to his superior. “My apologies. We’d heard your knights may be in the system, but we had no idea you’d actually –”

“What is the First Order’s standing on bribery?” He asked like he didn’t know simply so the criminal would recite his own conviction. Let him know how he’d failed. Let the fear string out his last moment.

The corporal’s mind couldn’t keep pace with his spiking adrenaline. He shifted, eyes darting for an escape, an excuse, as he tried to drag an explanation through his dry mouth.

“Well, I…”

Ren had no mercy. And no patience. His hand clenched over his blade’s hilt, and he imagined he could already feel the subtle vibration as it came to life to end another’s.

“Well?”

The corporal swallowed, and Ren watched the confidence roll away down the man’s throat.

“Soliciting or accepting bribes in any form, be it credits or goods, is a class three offense, sir.” He spoke clearly. Responding to a clear order with clear rules he would’ve learned by rote in training. He knew the consequences for disguising this theft behind the First Order’s banner, and now Ren would reveal a new part of the corporal. Blood. Bone. The messy things he wrapped out of sight beneath his skin.

Ren hummed. A mockery of consideration as he swayed nearer, forcing the smaller man to stare up at a painful angle. Decapitation was too neat for such a selfish little traitor. Maybe he’d sheer away half the man’s chest. Or leave him in a dozen pieces for his command to discover.

“I see.” He stalked forward another step, savoring the building dread like a cool wind beneath his mask. “And what is the punishment for class three offenses?”

The officer’s lingering hopes to put off his superior with a lie – Blame the girl, his mind screamed – finally crumbled. The dread Force-wielder had caught him. He knew enough to damn him. He’d been judged. He’d been sentenced. Only one step remained. Kylo Ren loomed, a Loth cat playing with vermin caught raiding the larder, and his uniform was an invitation to deal justice, not the shield the corporal once believed. He backpedaled, nearly foaming at the mouth as he spluttered a final plea for mercy.

“Lord Ren, please! I merely –!”

Red light and a crackling hum cut him off.

Ren speared the traitor through the belly, letting the fool totter backwards, wheezing for a breath that would never come. The corrupt officer groped over his exposed diaphragm as he tumbled to the floor, and his head met the polished floor with a crack as he continued pointlessly gasping.

It wouldn’t be a quick death.

Satisfied, Ren looked at the second actor in this little scene. She’d barely flinched when he struck down the corporal, but her attention remained fixed on the dying criminal. Ren waited for the inevitable wave of panic, ready to toy with a fresh target, but the life ending at her feet held her gaze. Something about her blunted his senses, and he struggled to pry into her mind beyond what she projected: caution and studied calm.

Maybe it was shock. Or maybe she needed reminding of her own mortality.

Ren cut off the corporal’s death rattle with a stroke of his saber, and as the head rolled across the hall, the girl finally looked up to meet his gaze. He glowered back through his visor, itching for her reaction.

She bowed. Maintaining the poise of a diplomat who hadn’t just witnessed a brutal execution, she dipped at the knees, dropping her eyes in polite deference before rising to meet him all over again. Still as a lake.

His lightsaber hissed, twisting in his grip. He pointed it under her chin, demanding she answer every question he hadn’t asked.

“You.” He didn’t bother with the show he’d put on for the corporal. Her careful placidity irritated him, and it felt like her very presence muted his senses when he hunted for her fear.

He looked again, noting the grey stone pendant and loops of beads she wore. A memory teased the edge of his lingering rage, dragging his focus away from his quest for bloodshed. He’d seen that material before. He recognized the numbing sensation in the Force from a failed project to build better restraints for Force sensitive prisoners. “What is that?”

Her fingers rose to the pendant, brushing over an unfamiliar pattern of engraved stars.

“It’s Selenubis, sir.” She paused, flicking her gaze over his mask like she might find a clue to his expression. When he didn’t answer, she pushed ahead. “A traditional protection charm from Lethe. If it’s offensive to the First Order I can come again with out it…?”

Behind his mask, he ground his teeth, clawing against the foggy wall so few of her thoughts penetrated. Selenubis proved useless to the First Order when it became clear the stone did as much to shield a prisoner from other Force users as it did to shackle the target.

She wanted to return without her shield? She wouldn’t leave with it. He’d hack it off her neck, and if he didn’t like what he found in her head, she wouldn’t leave with that, either.

His flickering saber reflected in her eyes as he angled it up, forcing her to expose her throat as red lightning reflected in bottomless reservoirs of control. He didn’t believe for a second she was ignorant of the power in her little trinkets and beads.

Just as he prepared to cleave through her jewelry – and likely leave a deep burn to remember him by – one of his knights burst into the hall.

“Commander. The Supreme Leader requests your presence. Immediately, sir.”

His foiled rage rebounded, arcing like a current through his bones and burning him with his own intent as he growled in frustration. The sound hissed through his modulator.

This would have to wait.

Deactivating his saber, he stepped back, pivoted on his heel, and marched back the way he came. He would have to relive his humiliation at his master’s feet, and there was no time to vent his frustrations.

He left no orders in his rush to answer his master’s summons. No one held the girl or even took special note of her name and business as he knelt before Snoke’s projected image, and by the time he returned to the hall, she was gone.

The documentation the dead corporal had been withholding, a pile on the floor by his headless corpse, had gone with her.

[redux-iterum]

do dogs know Fang?

Some do, mostly strays and the occasional far-ranging pet who learned it from another passing dog or, extremely rarely, a wild animal that could speak canine. But on the whole, it's very rare, and dog scholars are even rarer.

It's not for lack of desire - dogs really love to learn new things that could help them make friends and allies, and most of them are sharp enough to retain a lot of information quickly, so they've got the stuff to learn it. I'm sure you could approach any random dog and ask if they'd like to talk to those funny-looking red dogs with cat-eyes, or ask that black-and-white-faced fellow what his humans are like, and they'd most likely eagerly respond that they'd love to, please, where do we start!

The problem is that the average feral/wild animal's interactions with dogs consist of being chased, barked at, mauled, or losing territory to them and their masters. They're all too closely associated with humans, the most hated creature in the world, and often are the tools used by those humans to eradicate populations of animals just minding their own business. On top of that, they're loud, lumbering (or scuttling, if they're small), and too often thinking with their nose and tongues, not their minds. This leads to poor impressions when a large year-old pup bumbles into a rabbit's nest and excitedly sticks his nose between the kits, trying to discover what they are, and leading some of the kits to die of fright. You wouldn't invite a dog to your nest, even if they are friendly. There's just too many risks involved.

Canine scholars have it rough for this reason. No one wants anything to do with them, no matter how much information they've got or how valuable that information is. They're more often trusted if they're visibly older (white muzzles and faces, etc) and slow in their movements, but it's not a guarantee that they'll be welcomed into a badger-sett to teach the kits about the history of their kind.

[thegreatwicked]

Meditations: A Moment in Time in a Galaxy that Never Was

Mediations

For Madelight

Summary: Amid the summer heat on Dathomir, Maul finds himself unable to sleep, restless thoughts stirring within him. Seeking solace, he attempts meditation, only to be joined by his companion Zeala. As they navigate the challenges of finding inner calm, their connection deepens, and unspoken emotions come to the surface. Together, in the quiet moments of the night, they discover a shared intimacy that transcends words and the boundaries of their world.

Notes: Do I need to explain that this takes place in an alternate universe? No? Ok, so here we go. Maul, Savage, and Feral are alive and whole, Maul was not bisected in this universe. The three brothers return to Dathomir after the near massacre of their people to find Mother Talzin, dying. Desperate to see Dathomir reborn, Mother Talzin tasks the strongest of her children, Maul, to bring about a new age on Dathomir. Maul alongside his brothers and his mate, Zeala. Zeala is a native Dathomirian woman who was taken as a young child from her world and raised as a bounty hunter. She meets Maul on Mandalore and they are an established item. If you are a cannon snob then this is not the story for you, please see yourself out or sit down and enjoy. Get’cha an orange creamsicle cause this is gonna be spicy. 

Dathomir.

The summer night wraps around the world outside, creating a dark backdrop dotted with sparkling stars like keiber crystals. It is captivating yet eerie, embodying the world's dual nature. The air is heavy and hot, and the sun's departure has not done much to make the temperature more bearable. Occasionally, a warm breeze wanders through the long hallways, briefly relieving the persistent warmth. Despite the inviting bed and the cool sheets against my skin, I cannot seem to fall asleep. I look around the room without any real purpose, feeling frustrated without a clear reason. The day has been lengthy and satisfying, my mind occupied and content. My body is tired, but each time I shut my eyes, my thoughts remain restless.

The physical comfort alone should be enough, but a restless feeling under my skin stops me from finding the peace I crave. My stare fixes upon the ceiling; an empty canvas that holds no answers, provokes no thoughts, and elicits no emotions.

In the haven of my home, solitude feels like a distant memory. My brothers stand by my side to share my burdens, and even as my mother's final days approach, her presence remains as she guides me to the task of rebuilding our home. She celebrates my son and has embraced Zeala, my mate, as one of her own, teaching her the magics that are her birthright.

Next to me, she rests, my mate and companion, enveloped in the solace that rightfully befits a woman of Dathomir. Her ghostly hair flows like a silken veil across the pillow that she holds close to her chest. Slumbering on her stomach, her arms encircle the pillow she clings to as if finding refuge in its embrace.

The intricate tattoos adorning her form draw my gaze down her body, tracing the delicate curve of her back and waist before disappearing beneath the sheet that grazes her hips. Her very presence in my life is still something of a mystery to me, a riddle I have never been able to solve. 

Companionship. 

It is not something the path of a Sith or Night Brother would have ever afforded to me. As a Sith, lust and embracing of passions was encouraged but such connections led to mercy and mercy was weakness. As a Night Brother the only touch of a woman I would have ever known was as a breeder in servitude to the Night Sisters. Devoid of any sense of equality.

However, Zeala challenges those conventions, carving out her role in my existence as a true equal. Such a thing would have been deemed heretical by both Sith and Night Sisters.

In her presence, I discover a paradox—a connection that feels both forbidden and undeniable. She is mine to protect, mine to touch, sometimes to fight with, and has born my son; complexities that defy my training and upbringing. But I am a Sith no more. And I am not bound by the traditions of the Night Brothers and Night Sisters.

As I contemplate these reflections, her delicate figure stirs, turning on the pillow, arms reaching overhead in a contented stretch. Her naked body is now revealed to my appreciative gaze. Bathed in the moonlight, its gentle glow caresses the curves of her skin, mingling with her tattoos and the various scars from battles she's endured, along with the unmistakable imprints left by carrying my son. A surge of lust courses through my veins and my hearts beat faster. My hands flex with the urge to reach over and touch her, it is overwhelming the sudden desire I have for her; to taste her perfect breasts, to envelope myself in her warmth and make her sing for me. The spectral beauty she possesses stirs sensations within me that at times, I am still learning to understand and control, yet my reverence for her keeps me from waking her. In this quiet contemplation, I make my choice. 

It is time to seek solace in solitude, to find my path amidst the swirling tempest of thoughts and emotions. 

My path leads me down the ancient stone hallways to a chamber which lies mostly bare and unadorned; yet graced by an open balcony that gifts me a panoramic view of Dathomir’s desolately, haunting landscape. Torches cast a gentle, flickering light upon the walls, creating a dance of shadows that mirrors my inner contemplations. 

My legs fold into a familiar cross-legged posture, and I close my eyes, deliberately cutting off the world's visual distractions. Through the balcony, a warm breeze caresses my skin, carrying with it the essence of Dathomir's spirit, both harsh and alluring.

With each breath, I attempt to cast off the shackles of the outside world. Muscles taut from battles struggle to relax, slowly despite my training to always be ready, yielding to the sensation of the breeze and the coolness of the stone beneath me. My breath becomes a lifeline, a guide leading me back to the present moment.

Inhale. Exhale. 

The rhythm of my twin heartbeats reverberate within me, a unique cadence born of Zabrak physiology. This is my anchor, grounding me in the now, granting me a brief reprieve from the chaos that clutters my mind.

As I continue to breathe, the world fades into the background. My consciousness extends, attempting to merge with the land, the air, and the very pulse of the planet. Yet I am further disappointed. Frustration simmers beneath my controlled exterior as my efforts to clear my mind continue to be thwarted by an ever-persistent barrage of thoughts. I release a measured breath, acknowledging my momentary defeat and my shoulders slump as if to surrender to the weight of my internal chaos. 

Suddenly her presence calls to me at the edges of my consciousness. 

I can sense her behind me.

The very air changes as she silently observes my struggles. She waits quietly for a few moments before seeking me out. Trying to ascertain whether I am receptive to her presence or if she should leave me, but the truth of the matter is, that it is a rare occasion that I do not desire her closeness. Even in my most angered state, when I feel more beast than man and pulse with anger powerful enough to rip worlds apart, Zeala’s presence, her touch, and her very breath on my skin soothes me; and I do not understand it. 

Her footfalls are soft against the stone floor, approaching as if trying not to startle a skittish creature. I find myself contemplating if that is the lens through which she views me. However, there is no need for her to tread so cautiously, I hold an unspoken devotion to my mate that runs so deep, that I would readily offer my very lifeblood before ever causing her a shred of harm.

A ripple of awareness draws my focus to the cool touch of her hand gliding across my back. She kneels behind me and I can feel the warmth of her breath on my skin as her forehead rests between my shoulder blades—the gesture is both intimate and grounding. This is the sensation I yearn for when thoughts of her consume my mind. And that is the puzzling part—no Night Brother has ever experienced such a connection with a Night Sister. Regardless of how and where Zeala and I met and what our courses are, she is, at her core, a Dathomirian woman. And this union we have, this connection we share is unusual for our shared culture.

Our bond is unparalleled, defying the norms of our customs. It is more than mere intimacy—it is a bond unlike any other. She comprehends me, understanding my thoughts and desires sometimes before I even realize them myself. In another life, the ways of the Sith would dictate severing all connections with her, perhaps even snuffing out her life; viewing her as a vulnerability not to be tolerated. But I am no longer a Sith; I have become Maul once more, son of Dathomir. While the grip of the Sith teachings has weakened, their lessons remain deeply ingrained, making it challenging to dismiss them entirely.

In the customs of our people, parity would elude us; I would assume a subservient role to her, bowing to her, her wishes and whims guiding my stars. If she commanded, offer my blood for any cause she deems worthy. I would exist to serve her, aiming to bring her pleasure; a life not wretched compared to my past horrors. Nonetheless, the intimacy we embrace would not be sanctioned, our cohabitation forbidden. Her absence from my side in our shared bed breeds frustration. 

Gradually, these musings disperse, replaced by a hint of a smile as I savor the wordless tenderness she offers. It is a curious revelation, having spent a lifetime devoid of such connections or sensations, yet finding myself relishing them so profoundly, yearning for their presence. The whisper of her breath caresses my spine gently, a subtle disruption to my usual composure. With my eyes firmly shut, I maintain my focus, her proximity an intermittent interruption in my concentration.

Breaking the silence with a quiet and knowing tone, I address the situation, curious about the disturbance that has roused her from what should be a peaceful slumber. 

“What has awakened you?”

"I could hear the thunder of your thoughts," She remarks in a whisper, her voice a blend of tenderness and desire. It is a comparison that always catches me by surprise, a reminder of her unique connection to my inner world, even though she cannot truly read my mind.

“I highly doubt that.” My tone is light-hearted with amusement, as I release a breath and temporarily abandon my efforts. "I did not want to disturb your rest." It often surprises me how I think of her well-being before my own. 

I shift my gaze toward her, allowing her fingers to glide up my neck, their delicate trail making its way to trace the creased lines on my forehead. Only Zeala possesses the ability to offer such a touch—one that carries a deep tranquility; a connection that is exclusively ours. I convey how my thoughts were a jumble, too intricate to disturb her slumber, hence why I turned to meditation for solace. Her touch persists, a soothing caress mapping the lines etched into my skin.

“How is your meditation progressing?” I scoff and don’t answer immediately, 

"Focus eludes me." I further the sentiment with a dry tone. “Though it is difficult to find focus with such distractions, your touch for instance.”

“Perhaps you should channel that focus and teach me.” 

Zeala is not a patient woman, and the notion of teaching her such a disciplined exercise as meditation draws genuine amusement from me.

"It might serve you well, considering your temper." 

A thousand images of Zeala in various states of anger flash through my thoughts, most of them linked to her role as our son's mother. Her fury rivals even that of my mother, rendering her a truly formidable force—one I have no desire to challenge. Yet, oddly enough, witnessing her in such moments has only heightened my admiration for her and intensified my attraction toward her. To witness the extent of her ferocity as she safeguards our son, my son, stirs something within me, a connection that's both difficult to explain and impossible to ignore.

“Are you saying I’m hot-headed?’

“Yes,” I respond bluntly.

“My temper is nothing compared to yours.” She counters, clearly not offended.

“If that is your belief...”

"My assertion isn't a mere opinion; it's a factual observation. Or have you forgotten the fate you bestowed upon Garyss?" 

Yes. That.

A snarl curls my lip as I recall the man who dared extort the mother of my son. 

The memory of his audacity, his touch on my Zeala, ignites a fire in me. The repugnant thought of his filth marring my mate lingers. The knowledge of his punishment fails to quell my rage, no matter the price he paid. My posture tightens and my fists clench.

I recalla vividly his fear and screams fueling a devious grin, a fate that was well deserved and yet was not brutal enough. Zeala is mostly right, and her observations are correct to a degree. 

"You're not entirely innocent in matters of retribution either. Both Savage and I bore witness to your fierce attack against that Twi'lek girl who dared to vie for my attention in your presence." It was quite the spectacle, a sight forever etched in my memory, to see her stake a claim over me. 

A shadowy chuckle brushes my ear, the sensation of the sharp edges of her sharp teeth following, accompanied by a sinister tone. 

“She won’t make such a mistake again.” Zeala asserting her possession of me in that wicked whisper, I cannot help but wonder if my declarations also ignite similar emotions within her. 

"Meditation might offer you the balance you seek." 

"Teach me, then. Your discipline might rub off on me." As her lips find my ear once more, her voice whispers, telling me to instruct her, one I struggle to resist.

The warmth of her lips, a tender touch that trails along my spine, resonates deeply within me. Her presence, her breath, her soft words, all contribute to a growing intimacy that beckons as much as it distracts. The very notion is unexpected, yet a part of me is intrigued by her willingness to explore this practice with me.

With a controlled exhalation, I slowly shift my head, just enough to acknowledge her presence and her request. Her bewitching violet eyes hold mine, and I find myself drawn into her gaze, those unusual depths that could drown me. 

I nod in agreement. It is then that I notice she has donned my black robe, wrapped in its darkness that contrasts the pallor of her perfect skin. The robe's oversized nature drapes around her like a luxurious blanket, covering her form yet hinting at the fact that she wears nothing else. The possessive thought that she's wearing only my robe is both alluring and intoxicating, deepening the connection between us in a way that stirs something primal within me.

She has done this on purpose.

As I narrow my gaze at her, a knowing smile tugs at her lips. She has taken a calculated step with her choice of attire, and she is fully aware of the effect it is having on me.

“Sit comfortably,”

She follows my instruction to sit, though not as I expected her to. Instead of mirroring my position and posture, she instead, positions herself in my lap, straddling me. It is an unconventional posture, one that defies tradition and expectation. Her hands find purchase on my shoulders, and her forehead presses against mine. Never before has such an intimate pose of meditation been assumed and for a moment I think she cannot be serious so I pose the question.

“Are you truly committed to this?” My tone is a dry mix of skepticism and curiosity, as I wonder if this is some kind of jest – and yet, a part of me hopes it is not. I follow up with a comment on her unique approach, stating, "Your approach is… unorthodox."

Yet, even as I speak, I cannot deny the undercurrent of affection in my words, nor how enjoyable I find this to be. 

I instruct her to focus on her breathing, to let go of the tension that clings to her form. As our breaths sync, her body relaxes against mine. Our breaths intermingle, drawing us into a shared rhythm, a connection that is both unusual and intriguing.

Her thumbs tracing soft patterns on my shoulders invite a question, a challenge. "Is that for my benefit or yours?" I ask, my voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

Her response is honest, confessing that touching me does indeed relax her, it comes as  a surprise to me. I find myself mirroring her gesture, my hands lightly stroking her lower back, the touch invoking a subtle shiver that courses through her.

Strange woman, indeed.

I resign myself to Zeala's unusual approach, adjusting her posture ever so slightly, as well as my own. I instruct her to clear her mind and to let go of thoughts of training, responsibilities, and all distractions. My voice is steady and commanding, a reflection of the leadership role I often inhabit. But in this private moment, it is different— I am guiding her, not as a Sith Lord or a Night Brother, but as a partner.

"Clear your mind," I remind her. "Aim for an absence of all stimuli." I watch her closely as she adjusts her position in my lap as if accommodating my teaching, her chest rises against mine as our breaths synchronize. My gaze narrows slightly, and I question whether she understands the reaction her body is going to prompt from mine. The tiniest curve to her lips tells me that she is fully aware.

I add a more challenging instruction, my voice lowering slightly. "Purge your mind of all desires." It is a test, a way to see if she truly understands the depth of focus that true meditation requires. The nature of our closeness is a distraction in itself, but I want to see if she's able to set aside even those desires in pursuit of the meditative state.

I continue, my voice a steady guide. "Let your body relax." It is a strange juxtaposition—guiding her in meditation while she's seated in my lap, both of us so close, yet striving for a state of mental detachment. It is a challenge, to the strength of her mind.

Amid the intimacy of our shared breaths and gentle touches, I guide her with a single word. "Breathe," I murmur, a directive that extends beyond the realm of meditation, a reminder to embrace the present moment.

Time unfolds with its rhythm, and our breaths intertwine as we share a moment of profound intimacy. I sense the currents of energy between us, a peculiar connection that reaches beyond the mere act of meditation. My mind begins to settle, finding a semblance of relief amidst the chaos that usually engulfs it. The weight of my responsibilities and the constant battles fade, if only for a fleeting moment.

Yet, this respite is short-lived as I detect a shift in Zeala's thoughts. I cannot read them as I would an open book, but the undercurrents of her consciousness are unmistakable. She is thinking of me. A fact that should be incongruous with the state of thoughtlessness this meditation aims to achieve. 

My eyes flicker open. Her presence, so near and enveloping, is both comforting and distracting, her curves pressed against my muscled torso. My irritation surfaces as I realize that the robe she procured from me, is slipping off her shoulders, leaving little to my imagination. I inwardly grumble at the situation, annoyance, and arousal swirling within me.

Despite my inner turmoil, she appears serene, her calm façade against my internal storm. I can sense her thoughts taking a more intimate direction, a current of desire and longing that courses through her, coming off in waves, she likely does not even realize she is doing it. 

It is a shift that puzzles me initially. Is she merely pretending? Yet, as I study her more closely, I come to realize that her calm is genuine, her thoughts unclouded by deception.

The peculiar absence of nothingness in her thoughts begins to have an unexpected effect on me. A sense of calm begins to wash over me. It is as if her serene thoughts are affecting me, transcending the boundaries of our physical closeness. 

The act of meditation between us has transformed into something different, something more profound. It's as though her tranquility is merging with my own, weaving an unspoken bond between us, transcending the confines of language and reason.

The space between us diminishes to nothing and her body is pressed against mine in ways that make concentrating or clearing my mind impossible. I can feel my body responding to her, my cock stirs and desire floods my veins.

"You are distracting." My voice is full of discontent. “This meditation is futile.” 

She suggests that if I would prefer solitude then she will leave me to my thoughts, her hands exerting a subtle push on my chest as if preparing to withdraw. In response, I grip her waist more firmly pulling her even closer, conveying without words that I want her right here with me.

Zeala's fingers embark on a delicate exploration, gliding from my shoulders down my arms and back up to my neck. The sensation is an odd mixture of pleasure and anticipation, a battle of conflicting emotions that I'm not entirely sure how to process. As her touch ventures upward, following the curve of my neck, it takes on a different quality, an almost tingling sensation that resonates through my core.

Peace and calm, which I had sought through meditation, begin to yield to something entirely different. Desire and longing gradually take their place, like tendrils curling around my thoughts. 

Her voice pierces the quiet, breaking the stillness like a gentle ripple in a pond. "Why can't you sleep?" I don't respond immediately, instead, I resort to a jest, attempting to lighten the weight of her question.

“My mate is sitting naked in my lap,” I reply dryly, my words carry a touch of amusement. Her presence, clad in my robe but barely held in place by her posture, is a distraction that I find both tantalizing and vexing. It makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

“Not naked,” she counters.

“Indeed, appropriate attire,” I remark, my tone sardonic as I take in the sight before me. The robe's precarious position on her form is testing my resolve. “Or lack thereof.” There's a subtle, reserved mockery in my voice, a tone I reserve solely for Zeala.

Her eyes open, meeting my gaze with a mischievous glint. “I thought you had mastered meditation,” she taunts, daring me with that enticing tone.

"Indeed, long before you were even aware of the concept," I remind her, a touch of pride underscores my words. But her next words are a tantalizing proposition, a daring challenge that holds a promise of testing my self-discipline. 

“Then you won’t mind a challenge.” 

She relaxes her posture completely, allowing the robe to slip from her shoulders, and it falls to the ground pooling around us, she has my full attention and she’s keenly aware of it. Astonishingly, I manage to maintain eye contact, despite the temptation presented by her actions. I have seen her naked a hundred times but the pull to touch her is as strong now as it was the first time.

“Witch.” 

"Your concentration leaves much to be desired.” She observes my struggles, and it’s clear she’s amused by my predicament. “Am I still distracting you, cyar’ika?” Her voice is akin to a purr and it sets my nerves aflame.

“Yes.” 

She is quick to remind me that she had offered to leave me to my thoughts, but I declined her offer. "Seems you're discontent no matter what the circumstances," she muses, her fingers continuing to trace gently following the lines etched into my skin.

"You will not be satisfied until you have driven me to the brink of madness." 

"My satisfaction has never been an issue where you are concerned." Zeala’s voice is a melodic murmur meant to excite me.

Just as I am about to unleash my words in a sharp retort, Zeala's gentle touch silences me like a spell. She traces the contours of my lips, "Stop thinking," She commands, the words resonate within me and her unexpected tone leaves me taken aback. It is a tone I have heard many times from her but I have never been on the receiving end of, one that allows no room for argument. Her command cuts through my defenses, and to my surprise, I am unable to hide it, compelled to obey.

She proposes that if finding solace in the absence of thought proves impossible, perhaps I should embrace the swirling currents of my mind instead.

I cannot help but scoff at her suggestion, a retort about the fundamental principles of meditation nearly escapes my lips. However, a glimmer of wisdom in her words gives me pause. 

"What are you thinking about?"

The impulse to remain guarded, to keep my vulnerabilities hidden, is strong, but I find the words escaping my lips. "You."

"Then concentrate on me," she instructs, her gaze unwavering. "My voice, my breath."

Unintentionally, defenses waiver, and my innermost thoughts spill forth as though I have no control over them. "Your scent..."

Without hesitation, Zeala acknowledges and embraces my unspoken desire. She tilts her head back exposing the hollow of her throat and I breathe deeply, allowing her scent to envelop me. "Yes, Maul."

It feels foolish as if I am succumbing to a spell woven by mere desires, not being able to resist the charms of a mere woman, all my years of training fail to serve me. I feel weak and I consider pulling away, to put distance between us and retreat into myself as I always have. I feel as though a dam is threatening to burst inside me and something primal demands to be set loose, and the lack of control terrifies me. I am not one to bow to urges, not one to be controlled by simplistic desires; I control the force around me, and I determine my fate. 

But then, I feel her hands gently touching me in a way I never knew could be pleasurable. I hear the soft cadence of her breathing, its steady rhythm, I feel her heart beating, a steady echo of life. I can smell her, sense her- my mate. Mine. My arms act of their own accord and wrap around her naked body pulling her to me and I lean into her, I begin to feel myself relaxing as my posture slowly begins to shift. I begin to feel the ease of calm that has eluded me for days and I surrender to her suggestion, allowing her to now guide me.

Zeala's hands continued to trace the intricate lines of my tattoos. The air around us seemed to grow lighter and cooler, and the weight of my thoughts slowly dissipates.

In that moment, what began as a lesson has transformed into something entirely different—a union of minds and souls, an intimate connection that transcends the boundaries of the physical world. In the firelit room, amidst the flickering torchlight and ancient stone walls, my mind still grapples with the unexpected calm that has settled upon me. 

Is this what people mean when they speak of soulmates?

She prompts me to reflect on the purpose of meditation, and I responded with the essence of my practice. 

"To achieve steadiness and focus, and calm,"

Her approval is conveyed in a subtle nod, and her touch moves up my neck—a soothing gesture that grounds me in the present moment. As her fingers dance across my skin, I feel a sense of tranquility settle within me, as if her presence is a tether to some unexplored realm.

“How do you feel?”

Drawing a breath, I follow her rhythm, allowing her to lead me further. "Steady," I murmur, a declaration that resonated with assurance. With each breath that follows, I traverse the landscape of my thoughts, acknowledging the truth that lies beneath. "Focused."

As I exhale, a sense of acceptance unfurls within me. The word I utter holds a quiet revelation, one that carries a sense of wonderment. "Calm," I confess, the syllable carrying the weight of an unfamiliar emotion. It is a state I rarely permit myself to embrace fully.

The progression of her touch continues, lips brushing against my skin as her fingers glide over my arms and up the sides of my face, stopping tantalizingly short of the base of my horns. It is a touch that's both soothing and maddeningly teasing. A low growl rumbles in my throat, a mixture of frustration and desire as I command: 

"More."

 The word hangs in the air, heavy with implication, as the boundaries of our meditation continue to blur.

She hesitates only long enough to make me crave more, then those cool, delicate fingers continue their journey along my crown, from the base of my horns to their very tips and back again. The sensation is electrifying, causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps and my body to shudder in response. The rhythmic motion sets off a series of reactions within me, from the erratic beat of my hearts to the hitch in my breath. I'm overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience, a mixture of pleasure and vulnerability.

Her fingers stroke the contours of my horns, and I find myself unable to control the grip of my hands on her hips. My fingers dig into her flesh, a mixture of desperation and desire fueling my actions, my body aches to become one with hers. My breathing, once steady and measured, becomes shallow and erratic. I find myself whispering a confession that I've kept buried within me. "Stay," I murmur, the words a quiet plea. "I– need you."

It is a confession that I am not accustomed to making and it catches me off guard. My life has been defined by pain, solitude, and the pursuit of power. The companionship that Zeala offers is both foreign and terrifying, a realm of emotions I have long been unaccustomed to, even feared. Yet, despite my resistance, I have come to recognize the significance of her presence in my life.

In the wake of my admission, Zeala's touch persists, her fingers weaving patterns of comfort and intrigue. 

Her words, tinged with playful observation, traced a path of revelation through my consciousness. "I like this meditation." She muses, her touch brushing my earlobe in a gentle caress that gives me chills.

Her words strike a chord within me, encapsulating the truth of our shared experience. What began as a simple attempt to find solace in meditation has transformed into an intimate connection, a unique communion of shared breaths and unspoken understanding. In her presence, I have discovered a new dimension of meditation—one that exists solely between us, an unspoken language of connection and serenity.

“It is too highly flawed to be effective.” I counter, sensing the internal dam straining against the pressure of my emotions. 

“You mean to tell me this doesn’t relax you?” Her voice carries genuine concern, she expects a different answer.

“No,” I growl in response, something hot and carnal burning beneath the surface and I have held it at bay long enough. "It is impossible to find a relaxed state of mind when my cock thickens and aches and every inch of my body demands your touch," My voice is thick with a potent blend of frustration and desire.

Without a moment's hesitation, my actions are resolute, and I crush her mouth against mine in a kiss that defies all inhibitions. In the early stages of my pursuit of Zeala, the concept of a kiss was foreign to me, shrouded in confusion and unfamiliarity. I struggled to discern its purpose, questioning the necessity of such an intimate gesture. At first, the notion of deriving pleasure from such an act eluded me, and I failed to recognize the subtle allure it possessed. My initial reaction was one of caution, even interpreting it as a form of aggression rather than a physical connection.

Under Zeala's alluring instruction, I gradually came to understand the depth and significance of a kiss. Through her guidance, I learned to not only appreciate its nuances but also to derive enjoyment from its intimate embrace. Over time, I honed my skills, mastering the art of the kiss and using it to stoke desire and kindle passion in my mate. With every brush of lips, I can elicit a breathless longing and a hunger for my touch, a mastery that occasionally grants me a strategic advantage, playing to my advantage in unexpected ways.

The kiss is a hungry and passionate exchange that goes beyond mere physical desire. It is a connection that transcends the boundaries of the material world. "Witch," I breathe against her lips, my voice is a low rumble infused with a blend of emotions. This term holds intricate layers of meaning—a fusion of adoration, a sense of being enchanted, and the profound recognition of the spell she casts over me.

My lips meet hers again and she offers no resistance when I seek entry with my tongue, she offers no resistance but embraces me, and her hands stroke their way up my chest. She’s pliable in my hands and I feel her sigh into my mouth with each soft stroke of my tongue against hers. Yet, I am not done. In a voice that is a mere whisper, a secret to be shared between us alone, I speak the words, 

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum," 

The Mando'a  proclamation of love that I seldom utter aloud. Her reaction is subtle, yet I catch it, and I feel it. A gentle inhale, so delicate and filled with fondness, escaping into a soft whimper. I have surprised her, the evidence in her firm embrace that draws me nearer, her grip tightened with an urgency that speaks of her emotions.

With those words, I let her in further, allowing her to witness the vulnerability that lay beneath the veneer of my strength. In her presence, I find acceptance, understanding, and the rare comfort of a companionship that has the power to heal even the deepest of my wounds. Her scent is all over me, she soothes me and her touch leaves me wanting her closer. It is almost unbearable how much I enjoy it. I feel drunk with want and I easily negotiate her into her back, she does not seem bothered by the cold stone floor, no matter either way, I will warm her should she chill.  

Her slender legs wrap around my waist, prompting a lazy thrust of my hips and I savor the sounds she elicits. My arms cage her against the floor. It lacks the comfort of the bed we share but it is too far a walk and my desire has reached its peak. I will have her here, right now. 

Never before has meditation left me in such a state; ravenous, hungry, half mad, and desperate. I want to hear her cry out my name, I want all of Dathomir to hear her sing for me. And sing she will. 

Her nails rake down my chest, the sensation stings at first then it just tickles, my patience with this woman is fractured and I want nothing more than to bury my cock inside her. To make her take all of me and feel her convulse in pleasure as I fuck her without quarter. I can smell her arousal now, her sweet perfume calls to me, and I can feel my mouth watering, whipping me up into a frenzy, and my control splinters further. 

Those clever fingers of hers reach down my chest offering teasing touches to my muscled body searching for my trousers and pulling at the remaining physical barrier between us. I growl like a wild beast when her hand slips inside and grasps my cock, her thumb stroking the hard ridges in a way that makes my entire being falter. A breath claws its way from my lungs and I break our kiss. Physical intimacy has not been a factor in my life, not until I met Zeala but she was quick to school me in the exquisite art of release. 

My breaths are shallow and I try to steady myself to gain an iota of control but she has a game she likes to play, to see how quickly she can bring me to orgasm. In this regard she is the more talented of us both, and she is doing it now. Alternating between softly and firmly stroking my cock, teasing the ridges and her thumb works circles over my head, swirling about the evidence of my desire for her. The sensations are maddening and they are made worse when I feel her lips and tongue graze my nipple. I snarl as my hips thrust into her skilled hand, her touch is fire upon my skin and I need more of it. 

Kriff, this woman. 

I let her have her fun for a few moments but as the seconds slip by I can almost taste her in the air, but it’s not enough, I need to savor her. Need to make her shudder and writhe against me, to make her crave the pleasure that only I can give her. No one can know her as I can. No one can touch her as I can. My grasp is strong yet gentle, as I take her jaw in my hand, conveying a desire to hold her attention. I tilt her face towards mine, wanting to lock eyes with her, to delve into the depths of her gaze, and for a moment, make our connection irrefutably clear.

I stroke her lower lip and the coy minx she is, sets her teeth upon me, her tongue darts out to lick my thumb before sucking softly. 

I demand her to open her lips to me and she does with an abandon that sets my body aflame. I drink deeply of her lips before moving down her body to what it is I truly want. The softness of her breasts is too tempting for me to ignore them any longer, she moans at feeling my teeth nipping and pulling with just enough pressure for it to almost hurt. She thrives off the fine line between pleasure and pain and the revelation first stunned me. I alternate between the harshness of teeth and the soothing strokes of my tongue and lips against her nipples and her body writhes and jolts whenever I do. If I play my hand right I will have her coming undone just from my current ministrations. As time goes on the more sensitive she becomes, a trait I relish using to my advantage. Until she whimpers and she can’t control how she writhes against me, the slightest breath on her skin will send her flying higher than any narcotic could ever hope to achieve. 

As I make my way down her body, my tongue dips into her navel, I can see her breathing is slow and steady but I can feel her body beginning to tense. My breath teases her where I know she wants me most. The warmth of my mouth, the sensual strokes of my tongue, she’s thrumming with need. 

“Test my concentration, will you? Let us see how you fare.” 

Her body opens to me with little provocation and I can feel my lust surge up, demanding I take, and so I do. Her breasts rise in a deep breath which she struggles to conceal as I enjoy her. Although I required guidance on the act of kissing, kissing her this intimately came naturally to me, and I needed little guidance. Slow, leisurely strokes of my tongue against her cunt have her keening against me, her scent permeates the air. I devour her like she’s a treat, and she is. A sweet delicacy only for my enjoyment. Her legs tremble slightly with want as I purposely avoid her clit, I can be cruel sometimes wanting to see how far I can push her till she begs me for exactly what she wants. 

My witch seems to think she can wordlessly coerce me into submitting by gently touching the base of my horns once more. She pushes herself up on her elbows and her reach is extended, I can feel her eyes on me. Her fingers stroke my crown with more assertion, aiming for a less delicate approach and I feel its effects immediately. The tremors that race throughout my body and my cock twitches with need, my zabrack physiology works against me now.

A growl rumbles deep within me as I harness the power of the Forces symphony of unseen energies bending to my command. With a purposeful gesture, I direct these cosmic currents, orchestrating their unseen embrace. Her form, once upright, yields to my unseen will, her arms gently pinned above her head, surrendering to my influence. 

I sense her strength, a formidable energy that dances within her, yet my connection to the vast cosmic web is more refined, more potent. I see the spark in her eyes, the intrigue of relinquishing control, of being enveloped in the inescapable grasp of my touch. It's a dance we share, a unique understanding that only she and I comprehend.

Sly amusement curls the corner of my mouth, a private expression meant solely for Zeala's gaze. In this moment, our connection pulses with unspoken understanding, a dance of power and desire, a mesmerizing duet between two souls who share something rare and exhilarating.

My hands wrap around her soft thighs giving her no means of escaping me. Only when she is at my mercy do I truly enjoy her, my lips, tongue, and occasionally my teeth tease her, coaxing more and more labored breathing from her. Her breathing transforms before my ears, a subtle shift that reveals to me her internal struggle. From the initial composed, practiced breaths, a hint of excitement and anticipation creeps in, causing a mild acceleration. But I don’t stop there; as my intimate kiss deepens, her mews and whimpers are laden with an undeniable urgency, a manifestation of her desire that resonates powerfully in the air. Her rhythm is now a symphony of need, a melody of longing. Such sweet sounds and I relish each one. Truly, I know her body so well that I could have her coming apart for me within seconds but drawing it out like this is so much more enjoyable. I have always taken my time in this act, and I will not be rushed.

The first time she cried my name in desperation, I felt a rush that nearly overwhelmed my senses. Hearing her voice, pleading for my touch, was a sensation beyond anything I could have imagined. More powerful than any Force ability I have ever utilized. The words she uttered, so filled with need, were a revelation I had not anticipated—nor had I foreseen the intensity of my craving to hear them again. It is a sensation as exhilarating as any battle won and as sweet as victory itself, yet still, nothing quite compares.

I can feel her body tighten as I stroke her warmth with a single finger, then another joins it and another. I want her ready for me, although judging by how she soaks my hand and quenches my thirst, it won’t take much to ensure she takes me effortlessly. The dual stimulation drives her harder and faster toward her peak. She continues to make sweet sounds for me and they grow in need.

I can feel when she is reaching that delicious crest, ready to tip over and I know a hundred ways in which to make her fall. She pulls at the invisible bonds that hold her down as I lap at her throbbing clit with featherlight strokes, my tongue over each growing more firm and my slicked fingers continue stroking and curling inside her until I hear it. 

My name.

She’s full of desperation and there’s a need in her voice as her body is wracked with pleasure. Her hips twist and turn, her body shudders against the onslaught that is my kiss and while I slow my assault, I do not stop. 

I can’t. The way she cries; “Yes, yes, yes!”  And the most sinful of her cries, a fragile and wanton “Please…” I need to taste her more until she’s spent, I don’t know why, but I relish in this power. A power over her body, to bestow endless pleasure instead of pain to know how and where to touch her. To see her revel in the throws of an orgasm while simultaneously almost unable to handle its intensity. 

It is a cruelty that as pleasure envelopes her, her body becomes more and more sensitive to the extent that pleasure merges and becomes one with pain. Were it within the scope of my control, it would not be that way, I would never see her in any discomfort… but I know she can take a little more.

So I push her as the waves traverse her body and she writhes against my mouth a slave to my hunger, but my only whim is to see her come fully undone again before I seek my release. It happens so quickly, it always does. It takes so little, such a light touch to her already aching and sensitive clit and she’s coming again, her lips part in a wordless cry. Her hips and back tries to arch off the ground but she is still trapped by my will, unable to move unless I permit it. She curses in our shared tongue of Mando’a, and says all manner of things meant to excite me and they all do. She cries for me to never stop but the trembling in her voice tells me she is struggling with the endless waves of pleasure and begs me to fuck her. Were I less of a man, I might have lost myself then and there to the erotic display, my mate, my Zeala lost in the throes of passion, pleasure and sex. 

I release her quivering flesh from my mouth, relinquishing my hold over her, returning her freedom to her, and she’s quick to rise and return to my lap, forcing her tongue into my mouth. She overwhelms me with her aggression and it stirs something in me, knowing she isn’t yet sated and she won’t be until she feels my cock sheathed inside her body. Until I’ve marked her with my seed, I hurriedly work the trousers off my hips just enough that I can take her. There’s time later for there to be nothing at all between us but right now I ache for her, I need to feel her engulf me and feel her walls welcome my stiff cock. Need to be safe within her warmth and presence. I feel only need.

Her hands stroke the ridges on my cock once more and I heave in several short breaths, I hiss at her touch, her eyes bore into mine and I am falling into an abyss as she sinks onto my cock. The breath is pulled from my lungs and her mouth is on mine. She licks at the remnants of her release lingering on my tongue. Clutching onto me as though if she doesn’t I will fade from her grasp. Her walls grip me and I struggle to remember how to breathe. It’s always like this no matter how hard, or how many times I have her, it is as though she was made for only me. Perhaps fate has chosen to be kinder to me now, to give me such a woman. 

For a moment we are motionless, there is only the sound of our breathing and the feel of her lips against mine. Her nails dig into my shoulders and the sting is perfect, her thighs squeeze my legs with each slow and lazy thrust as I begin to move. Her lips part and tremble as she arches her back against me and I gain control of my breathing once more, I can never tire of this, never. Not of this act, not of this woman, the stars would burn out into nothingness first. And it is Zeala who breaks our intimate silence with a command that I can’t ignore. 

“More.”

I don’t even bother acknowledging her request with a nod or an answer, I only obey a slave to desire. I have to shift our position slightly but once I do I withdraw from her and thrust back up. I grit my teeth at the sensation, the heat of her body, the slickness that coats my cock, and how she squeezes me exquisitely. 

My thrusts are slow and deep at first, I need to savor each time her walls clench around me. I need to know she’s as lost in pleasure as I am. She utters my name again with greater urgency. This woman wants me. I’m a monster but I am her monster.

“You’re holding back… don’t.” She clings to me and she forces her tongue into my mouth. I accept it greedily, but I maintain my relaxed pace despite how I know she wants me. “Maul! Please…” She’s insatiable, she craves a faster pace and a harder one. Who am I to deny her what she desires?

I will rip apart the fabric of reality if it offends her so, I will tear down civilizations and erase entire cultures of the annals of history should she ask it of me. 

Her fingers weave through my horns with a touch that sends pure electricity through my body and I thrust harder, faster. I can hear my grunts match hers each time I impale her on my cock. She trembles as my hard ridges stroke places in her no other man has, or ever will reach. I wonder if this was what she intended from the moment she crawled into my lap, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest right now. 

I cannot manage words, only groans and growls, noises more akin to a wild beast but right now I am such a creature. Her hands on my chest cause me to slow my pace and I relent slightly, uncertain as to what she wants. She pushes me down, flat on my back and my legs straighten from the cramped position I was sitting in, a feral sound claws past my lips when she sinks into my cock and I am lost in the pleasure of my mate’s heat and her scent. The steady rock of her hips against mine racks my body with tremors as she rides me, ‘Sweet Mother’. I allow my eyes to close and the sensations to course through me, my chest heaves in a breath as my cock throbs each time she slides upon it, impaling herself. It is good, so good I cannot be bothered to think of anything else. There is no Dathomir, no galaxy, no Force, no Jedi, no Sith, nothing. There is only Zeala and I.

I force my eyes open, feeling drunk, and the room blurs and spins. Everything is out of focus, save for Zeala. Rocking herself on my cock, her hands stroking her breasts, using my body for her pleasure and only for hers. She grips me like a vice and I am powerless, truly powerless as she brings herself closer to another orgasm, I can only watch as this creature who makes my blood burn and my hearts thunder, fucks herself. Every inch of her is mine and no other man will ever see her or touch her, it incites a powerful shockwave through my body and I can feel the rush of my impending release. I can do nothing to stop it and I don’t care to. My breath comes in short gasps and I growl as those white hit waves lap at me, threatening to drown me in electric shockwaves. 

Zeala slows her rocking and is quick to climb off my cock but before I can voice my displeasure; her mouth, her perfectly wicked mouth and tongue lavish my cock with attention. Her tongue licks up and down my length before swallowing me. I can feel the back of her throat brushing my head, it is perfect and something primal in me wants to see her swallow every drop of my seed I can give her. Stars this woman, then she does!

I howl as I spill into her mouth and like a hungry animal she swallows me, all I have to give. My muscles burn and my fists clench as my body eagerly greets the crest that is pulling me under. I growl her name and for a moment, I am lost to it all.

I feel everything, my body pulses in time and my skin tingles from the tips of my horns to my toes, and at that moment there is no greater pleasure, no force more powerful than this feeling barreling through my chest. 

Is it moments or seconds in which my senses return to me? I am not certain, but as I come back down, my hands shake and I see my mate, Zeala, the mother of my son, mine in all the stars. Lavishing the sweetest of kitten licks on my cock, and each one sends a jolt through me, sweeter than the last. I manage to choke out her name and her eyes meet mine. A devious look flashes in those violet pools and she soothes the hard ridges of my cock with her lips and tongue before stopping.

My physiology differs from hers in that I am not nearly as sensitive to pain and overstimulation as she is, but as it subsides, my cock is hard and I am ready to take her again. 

“Such a greedy thing you are, swallowing my cum. I think it is time to take you properly...” I growl. She dips her head back down and continues to swallow my length again, and I feel as though I can breathe fire. “Cyar’ika…!”

It is with some effort that I disentangle our bodies once and she hesitantly relinquishes my cock. I ache and throb from her talented mouth, but I want to bury myself inside her again. 

The firelight flickers as I put her on her back and take her mouth while I tease and stroke her body. She leans into my touch and she hungers for more so I oblige her. 

My fingers stroke through her folds, shuddering at the overwhelming slickness I find there. She moans into my mouth as my thumb finds that delicate little spot, that all-encompassing bundle of nerves, stoking a fire between her legs once more. I swallow her sounds, feeding off the raw desire, it spurs me on, an addiction unlike anything I’ve ever known before. One of her legs wraps around my waist and attempts to pull me forward but I shake my head at her and tell her:

“Stay still. I want to watch you tremble before me again.”

My mouth claims hers again and to my surprise she obeys me, her eyes close and she lies still while I continue to touch her. The softest touches, the ones that I know set her skin ablaze, they make her crave more and she whimpers as my lips enclose a nipple coaxing it to a hardened state. Her noises grow louder, little sighs and gasps, such lovely sounds. 

I can feel her body tighten with each stroke over her silky clit, her back arches pushing those perfect breasts closer to my mouth for me to taste at my leisure. She can barely say my name, but she does say it, a choked sob as another orgasm overtakes her. She is becoming more sensitive and stars help me. I love it. 

I can feel her trembling as the crest subsides and she’s trying so hard to take what I’m giving her but she’s losing the battle. I can feel her body beginning to shake, she will cry tears and pass out from the sensations before she asks me to stop. Stubborn woman. The way her blush colors her pale skin is radiant and I slow my assault on her body and withdraw my fingers bringing them to my mouth while she catches her breath. 

We exchange no further words, I know what she wants. I want it too. 

Our shared kiss is deeper now, a meeting and melding of souls, hungry for the presence of the other. 

She rises on her knees to join me and I turn her so that her back is nestled against my chest, her arm curls around my neck, keeping me close enough that she can kiss me, and I, her. My arm wraps around her hip and I drive up between her spread legs, she greets my cock with a deep groan of satisfaction. My face is buried in the crook of her neck breathing her in, I hear her breathing, I feel her heartbeat, and I feel her walls strangle me. She is almost part of me like this, it is too perfect, and neither of us will last long in this position.

My thrusts are slower and deeper, our pace more relaxed and leisurely. A luscious pur escapes her lips when I begin pushing her back to another orgasm, her legs tremble slightly at my teasing touch as my fingers ghost over her thighs. 

I am a selfish man at heart, I want what I want and nothing will stop me from attaining what it is that I desire, and right now I desire to see Zeala come over my cock. To feel her thrash against me, so lost in the throes of passion that I see into her very soul. 

Her soft whimpers send bolts of lightning down my spine and straight to my cock, she grips me like a vice and my senses are flooded with sensation after sensation, nothing is more powerful than what is happening between us. The Force itself pales in comparison to the energy that exists here in this room. 

She grips the back of my neck and her fingers brush against the base of my horns and it spurs me to increase my pace. My arms wrap around her now, needing her as close to me as possible, needing to feel every inch of her against me.

I fuck her hard now with wild abandon, she pleads with me to take her harder, to mark her with bruises that she will wear as proud badges, she wants the galaxy to know who she belongs to. 

Me. 

My body throbs in time with the very heartbeat of the universe, every nerve is alight, and every muscle aches from this exquisite dance. I cannot hold out much longer, her nails sink into my skin searing tiny crescents into my flesh and her tongue teases my lips in a kiss that burns hotter than any lightsaber.

She bites at my lower lip and growls at me, growls. She struggles to speak but tells me she is going to cum again, and she wants to feel me cum with her. She begs me to. How can I deny this creature when she pleads so sweetly? 

I cannot. 

I tell her with a single command, one I know she will obey “Come.” and she does! Her exquisite pleasure pushes me further and I roar as my release comes, my hot seed fills her body as we are joined in this. Her walls flutter around my cock, milking every drop. Dathomir itself seems to shake as our bodies tremble together, dissolving into pleasure. It is almost overwhelming once more, my thrusts finally slow and I feel more sated and at peace than I have in a while.

It is most certainly due to Zeala, coming in my hand has never given me the satisfaction I feel with her in my arms, clinging to me as though she cannot stand, though perhaps she cannot. Her heart beats wildly and her breathing slows as we remain tethered together for a few moments more, lost in the afterhaze of our passions. 

“Now, I am tired,” 

I grumble into her neck, as my cock slips from her body, finally feeling the sweet call of sleep. Although my muscles burn from our held position I would not trade this experience, nor any time Zeala and I have sought pleasure together. I will suffer through the stiff and sore muscles  I’m and I will deal with them when morning comes, each throb of pain will serve as a reminder of the exquisite pleasure we shared here. And every time my body cries out in discomfort I will hear only her cries and her moans. She rests against my body and it is clear that I have tired my mate properly, her labored breathing is evident enough of that and it brings an accomplished smile to my face. Once I am able to rise to my feet and I cradle Zeala in my arms as I do. She is her most desirable now, her most beautiful, completely fucked and satisfied basking in the afterglow.

It is time to return to our bed. Even though I am able to sleep anywhere, I yearn for our bed, to feel her sleeping bare against me. And while I feel no such concept as shame or embarrassment over my naked body, I desire the privacy our room affords us that I may enjoy her warmth again. 

The sheets are cool to the touch and as soon as my body rests comfortably with Zeala wrapped around me, my eyes feel heavy. Tomorrow Dathomir awaits us, but right now, I am safe with her in my arms and I feel I am finally able to sleep.

___

Wow, this was only 10k words which is like my shortest one shot to date... Guess there's hope for me after all. I am gradually working my way through my WIPs and I'm so happy to see this one done as I wrote it for a friend and I wasn't really much of a Darth Maul fangirl but I certainly am now! How did I do guys? Did you like Zeala? What do you think about a story from Mauls perspective? I personally really enjyoed writing it and maybe I'll do more with the male characters POV stories. Smutty one shot from Obi-wans POV? I would love to know what goes through that mans head while he's getting head... Sorry! Kinda spaced out for a minute! Let me know what you think! Reblog, comment and like and I will see yo uin the next one, bye

@decembermidnightso it begins...

@maulfvckers @5ush1w0rm

[narrators-journal]

Katsubao rough kinky sex 🫣🫣🫣🫣😳

This one poured out of me so easily, man. Or...at least, it did come to me a lot easier than the ask I posted just before this one. Maybe that’s because I didn’t bother with a full, drawn out set up for this one, I just jumped right into the spice with just a HINT of a set up, lol. Does that make this particularly rough? Eh, kinda? It’s at least kinky! I had a bit of fun playing with some fresher kinks that I don’t tend to dabble into.

Granted, I did have to rework this once or twice, change some of the kinks I went with, and clean it up a good amount. But! I hope you enjoy regardless, and that it fits ur prompt well enough!

CW: Edging, knifeplay, cigarette burns, slapping, so. Masochism is a given, lol. Bondage and blindfolds too.

Katsuya Suou was basically Baofu’s personal nemesis.

Law-abiding to the ‘nth degree, always ready to scold for the smallest mistake, worry-prone, and all around a stiff mother hen of a man. So, it was no mystery why the ebony haired intel broker never really got along with him on their journey to save the world.

However, when their journey had ended, and Katsuya returned to his work as a normal cop and they were no longer basically glued together 24/7, the Taiwanese man could start to see the good parts of the brunette. Like how, while yes, Katsuya Suou was a frantic mother hen in a tan man’s body, he was also as a loyal dog. He’d risked his life to try and help his baby brother, and he had shown Baofu a great amount of compassion despite the man’s bluff to shoot him in his darkest hour. So, he was a very caring person, now that Baofu could step back and see it.

So, when Katsuya had invited him over to his house after he’d gotten off of work, Baofu humored him and decided to visit. Only to discover a whole new side to his nemesis that the ravenette would’ve never guessed.

And, fuck were the smooth, but firm, grip of the pair of belts that held Baofu’s captives hostage against the arms of the chair probably the worst part of that reveal.

He wanted to grab Katsuya and fucking maul him for the humiliation he’d lured him into. He wanted to hold the brunette bastard down and vengefully fuck him until he cried. But, Katsuya’s leather belts were strong, and the chair the ebony-haired man sat in was sturdy. So, there was no real way for him to escape.

Well, in a realisticsense, the Aerokenetic man couldget free if he truly wanted to. After all, he had a persona that he could sick on the cop for the way he pulled Baofu’s hair and slapped him while he was unable to strike him back. But, the ravenette didn’t need to look too deep into himself to know that he enjoyed the sleep mask that kept him blind and heightened the pleasurable ache of the cigarette burns that had been left on his skin.

Baofu’s own horniness was to blame for that, though. Because there was no other way for him to explain why he’d let Katsuya tie him down to torment as a way to ‘let off steam.’ But regardless of what had led him to be at the suddenly sadistic mercy of the goody-two-shoes, the storm in his chest a toxic siren’s call. One that kept his boxers strained and tightened by his neglected erection and his blood alive with need and pained joy.

Perhaps that was also because the detective was annoyingly pretty. With a strong build that was softened by his sweet tooth, dark brown hair that he kept infuriatingly neat, and equally bark-colored eyes that always seemed to glare at the ravenette. So, perhaps it excited the man a bit to finally be in a situation where the detective would, assumedly, look at him with even a shred more warmth than he usually did. But, of course, there was also the simple fact that Baofu got a hard-on from the sting of each slap he received, or yank of his long, inky hair.

As much as it drove Baofu wild to not be able to feel Katsuya’s body beyond the occasional brush against his arm when the brunette would circle too closely to his chair, it also made thunder rumble in his heaving, cut up chest. Each painful drag of the knife over his torso or upper arm the equivilent of a stray bolt of pleasurable lightning through his blood. And the anticipation of each tentative touch of the detective’s calloused hand, side, or mouth was a bug zapper’s glow to a moth.

It was awful, it was unbearable, it was cruel. But the simple suggestion that, at the end of this game, Baofu would finally get to fuck Katsuya into a mess of needy pleas and tears, or at least taste something more than the tentative kisses he’d reward him with for not collapsing his lungs in spite? It was enough to keep Baofu obediently blindfolded in his chair.

[xaeyrnofnbe]

hmmmmm i continue to think about my bitb good ending au.

what if, after a while of traveling around to clear their heads, they settle down somewhere. maybe kian has a place in california. he may not have made it as a musician, but he did well for himself in other ways.

maybe they share a room because they’re too paranoid to sleep alone. maybe they share a bed, idk. though, it might be a bit of trouble to find a sleeping situation with enough space for all three of them + barc, since he’s there too. and he’s gotten used to rolan at this point and has stopped trying to maul him.

they probably keep to themselves for a while, but eventually they start rejoining society. sometimes kian puts on shows at little venues. not a lot of people show up but it doesn’t matter, because rolan and rand are there, and they’re his biggest fans in the whole world. hell, maybe they join in every now and then. the two may not be as musically inclined, but it is what it is. they have fun and they do it together. it’s not just them though, either. they start making friends, and after a while have their own little community.

it’s hard at first, but they make things work. and maybe a few years down the line, once they’ve all come to terms with what happened to them, one of them (rand) gets an idea. maybe what happened wasn’t a one-off thing. maybe it’s happened before, or maybe it’ll happen again.

and they do their research. they find out all they can about anything similar that’s ever happened, and look for disappearances and other strange unexplainable things for signs of something bad happening again, and they set to work.

back in galloway, they had defeated the queen/elder brain/heart and saved the town. they may have lost rand’s sister in the process, but her sacrifice led to enough good to make it worth it. and the most important thing is, they found out how to deal with these monsters. and now fast forward a few years, (they haven’t been back to galloway but they’ve gotten plenty of grateful letters and phone calls from the survivors. the town is rebuilding, and they may or may not be known as The Heroes Of Galloway. anyway,) they have to again. this time, on their terms. and they also may have very briefly used rolan as a bit of a guinea pig to test any potential weaknesses these bugs may have. (it was his idea, so it’s fine.)

so they gather up the friend group they’ve found wherever they’re staying, and they explain what happened. people are pretty freaked out when rolan reveals his less human features, but that’s more than enough proof that the boys aren’t screwing with them. and they gear up, and set out to stop new hives as they happen. and maybe they discover more extra-dimensional occurrences, and they do their best to deal with those too.

and idk maybe they become this wacky team of mid-thirties polyamorous monster hunters who protect people form monsters, and maybe even monsters from people sometimes. they write down everything they learn, too, since they’re not gonna be around forever. and maybe over time their group grows. and by the time they’re old and retired, there’s a whole secret organization doing the thing.

but that’s just an idea. maybe an offshoot of my good ending au. in the main version of it is this but they don’t start hunting monsters, they just vibe and recover. this might be cool too though.

[offleashed]

about.

name: set (given name)

birthday: unknown

age: unknown. appears in her mid-20s

species: shapeshifter (human, or gray brindle cane corso mix)

pronouns: she/her/it

height: 5’3’’

sexual orientation: pansexual

residence: primarily midwestern america

occupation: waitress

traits: fiercely loyal, scrappy, affectionate, headstrong, feisty

fc: son chaeyoung

tw: implied mental abuse, murder, police mention

it’s not every day that one of three of hades’ guard dogs breaks out and barges into the human world. but somehow, set pulled it off! and boy, is she celebrating. centuries tied up to that asshole’s throne as the runt of the litter who gets the scraps of every soul that hades devours—after her two sisters hana (@notmuzzled) and dul (@undeeped) get their fix, mind you—was getting stale. and it wasn't only that set was perpetually hungry, it was that her work often went unappreciated. any time she secretly set aside an arm for hades to snack on, she was berated. any time she tried to take the lead on any of hades' dumb little excursions that he always sent the three dogs to, she was berated. she didn't have to be the oldest or the smartest to know she deserved better.

so she snuck out of the depths of hell (classified information but let's just say that charon's kinda pissed and was a bit behind ferrying souls across the river styx...) and embarked (ha, get it? bark!) on a journey to earth in search of a new "owner." she was transported to somewhere in midwestern america, spending her first couple of hours there in her true form—mortal. that's right, that sick fuck hades captured three innocent sisters way back when and cursed them with a guard dog form, and set was the only one smart enough to realize that was kinda messed up.

but then set realized everyone she passed by kind of gave her weird looks, had these little rectangular devices out and pointed her way, pointing and laughing. what, they'd never seen a naked woman before? pathetic! out of nowhere, some uniformed guys—they were called "the police," charon once told her—began chasing her, and set was a dog long enough to know when hades wanted to play tag (which was honestly, most of the time, never!). so she snuck out of their sight (not because she thought it would be weird for humans to see her shapeshift, but because she didn't want them to know she was cheating) and shifted into a cane corso, and they never saw her again!

set finds that people are more likely to give her food when she masks as a stray dog than a feral girl rummaging through garbage, but she likes to indulge in the best of both worlds. one day, she was found in the dumpster of the sunset diner, eating rancid leftovers from the day's customers: half-eaten biscuits and gravy, pancakes, burnt burgers. the owner there—christina, a woman in her 50s—found her, clothed her, and believed every chaotic story she'd ever told about living in hell. "why don't you stay here, work a job?" christina asked. "we don't pay much but, hell, there's an empty attic with a bed my great grandmother used to sleep in when she first opened this place." and before you knew it, set was a working girl! making a life for herself, working that 9 to 5!

a peaceful month or so passed before set waited on a table with a couple. she could smell something was off about the man—and the woman seemed to be quivering in fear. after they left the restaurant, set followed them home, and discovered they were living in a situation that reminded her of how hades used to treat her and her sisters. except, worse. so she waited until the man left the house to throw something away or have a smoke or something, she didn't really check to see—and she shifted in her cane corso form to maul, kill, and eat him. by the time the woman went out there to check on him, he was practically a fleshy pile of bones. set was off in the distance, watching the woman's reaction. after she got over the whole being horrified thing, her sobs turned into laughter. kinda crazy laughter, yeah, but she seemed happy nonetheless.

the next day, the big screen in the diner was talking about some wild animal attack on the news, and there was that woman again, crying and testifying to the person interviewing her. but set knew—behind those tears was a soul saved! sure, the town was afraid of a wild animal on the loose, but hey. you win some, you lose some.

so, set spends her usual days as a waitress at the diner. human food gets her fill but sometimes, honestly, she still feels that primal, cursed need to feed on humans. why not eat those who don't deserve to live? (in her eyes...)

only the people she trusts most know her cane corso form, so christina, for example. she sometimes meets people in her cane corso form even though they know her in her human form. they would never know the difference!

in set's cane corso form, she is an affectionate murder dog. she is a 100-lb lap dog, that's for sure. she really is the sweetest thing.

her human form is a bit more feral, unhinged, unfiltered. she has a quick fuse and short temper. contrary to what you might believe, she doesn't kill everyone that pisses her off, because that would be crazy. but she is learning to pick and choose, thanks to an anger management class that christina signed her up for.

it is cool to be cruel. set doesn't believe in being nice to everyone. she may be impolite or insensitive.

set does not age. she does not have a birthday. it's been about a year on earth and she feels like she should have a birthday soon, but it hasn't come up—no one's asked.

she's still learning, endlessly learning, about the world around her. she may ask what something is or who something is, because there's a 90% chance she's never heard of it. if it's pop culture related she'll just laugh and pretend like she knows.

[antirepurp]

i didn’t get very far in usum yet bc of all the hassle i experienced just getting the game to run but i still have those familiar mixed feelings on it. the graphics are neat with the right filters, the UI’s lovely as all hell, and sure the story does get a bit overbearing when it wants to but there’s still a feeling to these games that keeps bringing me back, at least for melemele island if nothing else

like there’s plenty to appreciate here. the cutscenes where the characters don’t just stand there performing default animations are nice, pokemon refresh is just about the streamlining amie needed, and the concept of regional variants is kinda fun. but the handholding, oh the handholding, whatever happened to the chaos of being a 10 y/o who forcefully barges their way out of town and almost gets mauled by rats before the adults give them a pokemon to go haywire with? the world-ending evil organizations that are thwarted by that same kid who also somehow captured a god? scouring your way through the wilderness with the power of your own pokemon? the pokerides do eliminate the problem of HM slaves sure, but they make the whole adventure seem less like an adventure and more like taking the bus downtown to go shopping. and the ride gear does not help the cause whatsoever

alola has good concepts, hell i don’t even mind the trials they’re fine for the most part. but i feel like it started this trend where you’re no longer exploring the world of pokemon and discovering creatures and going to uncharted locations full of mysteries, you’re just... walking across the neighborhood, politely obeying the street signs. even kalos felt more untamed, and that region came with the biggest city pokemon had ever seen to date. i don’t mind the attempt at making the world feel more lived-in or featuring up-to-date technology, but there are too many concrete roads and too many comfortable street signs and metal fences that keep the wild pokemon at bay. and too much goddamn safety gear i cannot emphasize how much that breaks the illusion of any adventure you could be having here

i’ll have to play more to really hone these thoughts, this is just first impressions mixed with my previous opinions on the games and the region in general. im hoping to gain a new appreciation for all this now that time’s passed and we’ve experienced the linearity of galar and the region where you clip through the floor or whatever it’s called

[tunglo]

7, 3, 2, 1 and 9 for the fandom asks please (:

Character in my fandoms that I think I’m most like.

I'm not sure I want to be like any of my fave characters to be honest, they're all very messed up people!

2. What character archetype am I attracted to?

I'm usually attracted to writing the failing caregiver. They want to help, to do good, are great at self-sacrifice... but it never feels like enough. They invariably end up tragic and lonely, or losing it completely.

3. First ever ship and why.

I first came across fic at 11 or 12 while searching for song lyrics and found a Gundam Wing Heero/Duo songfic. I was so excited that it existed - then immediately preferred the (at least then, no idea what it's like now) very rarely written Wufei/Quatre... Other early stuff I remember reading was Tom Paris/Harry Kim, Gohan/Future Trunks, Sam/Frodo, and Holmes/Watson.

I can never forgive Sherlock for what it did to my ability to find romance fic featuring repressed Victorian gentlemen. Seriously though, I spent a lot of time in my early teens reading absolutely everything on Sacrilege! There's one story I still think of often even now - Watson's war wound was somewhere rather, er, intimate, but Holmes offers to show him how he could still enjoy sex. Which, yeah, is the set up of a million and one fics. But! Though Holmes loves Watson ardently, Watson can't love him back. Even after all the intimacy, trust, etc. It broke my heart. It still breaks my heart. It's probably a big part of the reason why I so love the format of Character A pines for Character B - gets Character B - realises that it's only for a limited time - pines for Character B for the rest of their life, but now it's worse cos they know how good it could be and their relationship with B is strained and awkward. <3333

7. Top 3 Favourite books.

I don't really read a lot of fiction these days, other than fanfic or official tie-ins. It just seems like so much investment to discover a whole new world, characters, etc. I read a few non-fiction books a week though, and always have some research projects on the go. So, yeah, my top fiction books are all childhood faves:

The Mennyms - Sylvia Waugh

Children of Winter - Berlie Doherty

Jane Austen (I couldn't pick a title, so just all of them.)

9. Character death you still haven’t moved on yet?

I was very sad about Darth Maul's death but Star Wars fixed it for me...

[moonstrider9904]

its my turn for love letters and i’ll do my best to remember everyone but it gets hard to pick when everyone is so talented and loving and kind 🥺

- @moonstrider9904 all the love for you and your kindness and warm energy, moonie 💞 im so grateful to have gotten to know you and experience your DELICIOUS FIC “the hunt” which never ceases to give me butterflies 💓 congratulations on 300!! you deserve it and ten thousand more. thank you for choosing to do this for your celebration, as im certain you’ve brought together more friends and mutuals through these 🤍

- @eloquentmoon breastie, you are the kindest most amazing most encouraging most heartfelt person and i cant thank you enough for being in my life. second moon wasn’t just the fic that got me into maul (i can go on a whole tangent about how you made me love him through your poetic words and the absolute CHAOS you put me and my heart through with “wicked girl” and my newly discovered corruption kink💀❤️) but it gained me a new friend, and that’s why it holds a special place in my heart ❤️

- @twistedstitcher27 STEPHHHHH you are honesty an inspiration with how fast you write such amazing clone fics AND THEY NEVER MISS!!! every time i see you pop up in my notifs i get so excited knowing im going to be served up something good 😩👏🏽💓 and honestly, every time i work on a dad clone fic, you’re the first person that pops into my head. 😂💞 i am SO EXCITED to read the new fives fic you posted!!!

- @maulslittlemeowmeow i just wanna say that all of your tbb fanfics have me in a chokehold and they’re so delicious and i don’t think i’ll ever forget the poly batch fics you wrote, ESPECIALLY the hunter and crosshair ones because those 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 SHEEEEESH i still go crazy thinking about it

- @rexxdjarin and @pinkiemme for writing and drawing enough rex content to fuel my entire existence 😩💙 @pinkiemme your art has a special place in my heart 🤍 i came across a tik tok of someone unboxing their new star wars tarot cards and i got so excited for you and your success!! @rexxdjarin your thoughts and drabbles and spicy rex blurbs never fail to get me giggling and twirling my hair. you just get him and its always so spectacular to come across anything you’ve come up with 💙

your content is loved and appreciated in my small corner of the world 💙🤍

NAY OMIGOSH HI

Umm.... 🥺🥺🥺 Aw, shucks, you're making me tear up (happily) with your beautiful words. I'm so happy that you're all loving this celebration, nothing makes me happier than to see this community thriving.

Thank you also for reading The Hunt and the rest of my works, it means the universe to me!! I just want to let you know that your writing amazes me to no end as well, and I too am very happy to be friends with you uwu

As for the next few shout outs...

@eloquentmoon You already know how I feel uwuwuwuw My sister in moonlight~ One can never thank you enough for your amazing writing and your friendship!!

@twistedstitcher27 More love for you! Honor to you! Hugs to you!

@maulslittlemeowmeow Now that @seriowan is mentioning your Hunter and Crosshair fic I am once again reminding myself that oooooh dear I have to read that!! Here's another little shout out to you, you deserve it :3

@rexxdjarin is just so heartwarming to see on the dash because the way she talks about Rex, the way she utterly loves him, it is so pure and there is no comparison to feeling that way. She feels about Rex the way I feel about Crosshair, and plus, her writing is immaculate (Hello, thank you for making me fall in love with Cody) and I just think everyone should run over and binge read her entire writing masterlist, you won't regret it :3

Last but not least, @pinkiemme!! Your Rex art is iconic, and you are also such a sweet person! Thank you for sharing your incomparable talent and kindness with us :3

Thank you, Nay, for sending in such wonderful love letters! Know that you are also loved and appreciated in this corner of the world :3

Love letter to creators

[slimy-eye]

Clone Wars AU Where Maul Saves The Galaxy

Kenobi senses something terrifyingly familiar (and very much alive) on Lotho Minor while meditating on the war in a neighboring system. Feeling as if it is his responsibility to confront a remnant of his past, he leaves his command post without so much as a word and throws himself onto a fighter, before traveling alone to Lotho Minor. He’s anxious, and ready for a fight, as he lands on the world of trash and begins seeking out his old and lethal enemy. Following Maul’s signature in the force, Kenobi eventually discovers his foe among the junk, and realizes instantly that the former Sith before him was no longer who he used to be. He was suffering, damaged, and insane. 

Despite the bloody scrawling of ‘Kenobi’ across the structure walls, Maul doesn’t seem to recognize his old enemy. His eyes are unfocused, and he mutters incoherently. Overcome by intense and crushing guilt, Kenobi carries Maul’s damaged body back to his ship. You can imagine the surprise of his comrades when he returns to to the Star Destroyer with a crazed Zabrak cradled in his arms, muttering endlessly about revenge against the man that held him. Against the agitated advice of Anakin, Kenobi returns to the temple, and presents Maul to the council. The Zabrak doesn’t seem to even know where he’s at. He doesn’t seem to be able to focus on the Jedi seated around him. He crouches, and mutters to himself, blind to the surrounding world. Tempers flare, but Jedi Master Plo Koon makes it blatantly clear that it would be cruel to force Maul to undergo a trial, and afterward, prison, while he is in such a fragile state. Reluctantly, the other Jedi eventually agree. Still plagued by his guilt, Obi-Wan designates himself as Maul’s caretaker, and out of fear that he could come to his senses at any time, the Council decides that Maul must remain in the temple, not only hidden from the public, but hidden from The Senate as well, despite knowing that their actions would not be looked upon fondly by the government that they were meant to serve. 

Maul remains in the temple throughout the war. Over time, he appears to recover somewhat. Instead of clawing his own skin and scrawling words of bloody vengeance across the walls, he paints bright colors across a canvas, under the guilty and ever watchful eyes of his Jedi caretaker. When Kenobi is called away from the Temple to see to the war efforts, Plo Koon is almost always left behind in his place, dutifully watching over the maddened Zabrak. His makeshift prosthetic waist and legs are replaced with professional care.

Eventually, Maul’s endless desire for revenge seems to transform into a childlike curiosity for the world. It was not uncommon to see Kenobi guiding him through the temple gardens, where he would gently touch every petal on every flower. 

Suddenly, and quite unannounced, the Jedi at the temple are surprised by the presence of Chancellor Palpatine. No doubt he has sensed Maul’s presence, but he cannot give that knowledge away to the Jedi. He lies to the Council, and claims to have come for other reasons. During his stay, Maul becomes visibly agitated. The fear in his eyes leaks into the surrounding air. Everyone around him can feel it. Obi-Wan does his best to offer the Zabrak comfort, but to no avail. Maul begins muttering about his ‘Master’, about ‘Darth Sidious’, and when Palpatine finds them in the garden before the Council can warn Ob-Wan to return the former Sith to his room, Maul cowers behind his Jedi caretaker.

Suspicious by this newfound behavior, Kenobi plays it off, and apologizes to The Chancellor, stating that Maul is harmless now, and not quite ‘all there’ in terms of mind. Palpatine lingers for an uncomfortably long time, but eventually says his polite goodbyes, and promises that he will keep Maul’s presence in the temple to himself. That should have come as a relief, but Kenobi could feel the distress from Maul. He could feel the terror. He knew something wasn’t right. Turning to embrace Maul, he finds him cowering in the flowers, staring toward the door where Palpatine had exited. Normally Kenobi would pay Maul’s mutterings no serious mind, but this time was different. Maul seemed convinced that the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. His former master. As maddened as the Zabrak may be, Kenobi could find no source of delusion. This was real.

Gently, he walks Maul back to the Council Chamber, and addresses his fellow Masters. He presents them with grave news. Some, like Mace Windu, take the idea that the Chancellor could be a Sith Lord very seriously. He lays out the implications of what it could mean, and how they couldn’t afford to be wrong about this. The consequences to the whole of the Order would no doubt be quite severe. If Palpatine was, in fact, not a Sith Lord, then the people would lose faith in the Order, and accuse them of political sabotage. But if he was...they couldn’t afford to not act. Others reminded their fellow master’s that Maul was not sound of mind. Surely they couldn’t believe the ramblings of a madman? But Kenobi was insistent. If the council refused to investigate, then he would do it himself. They all knew it was not a mere threat. Obi-Wan wasn’t a liar. And to make such a bold claim in front of the Council...none of them could deny that Kenobi was passionate about this.

And so, the Council sets up a meeting with The Chancellor to discuss what he believes the Order should do with Maul. While the Chancellor is distracted, Plo Koon and Ahsoka Tano investigate the Chancellor’s office in secret. Skywalker, do to his closeness with Palpatine, was notified of what was going on, but was not permitted to join the investigation. Anakin had never been happy with Maul’s presence at the temple, and so of course, he’s agitated. He won’t believe anything that Zabrak mutters about. He paces the temple endlessly, until his padawan and Plo Koon finally return. They had found evidence of potential Sith activity in the office, but none that proved outright that Palpatine was a Sith Lord himself. Regardless, Plo Koon enters the Council chamber, where the Jedi are still discussing Maul with the Chancellor, and lays the evidence bare. Palpatine appears flustered, but he plays it off. That evidence must have been planted, but the Order presses on, and suddenly, they sense a slip up in the force, a sudden flash of anger, and power. Palpatine realizes that he let his emotions slip as well. Without hesitation, he pulls a crimson lightsaber from his robes, and attacks.

Despite the presence of nearly the entire council, Palpatine puts up an incredible fight. He nearly escapes through a shattered window, but it’s Mace Windu that strikes the final blow. The head of the Sith rolls clean off his shoulders. 

With Palpatine dead, Maul seems to be in unusually good spirits. The tension in the temple is lifted. Anakin realizes his mistake, and contemplates leaving the order, but either way, he is saved from the Sith’s grooming. Order 66 will never be carried out without Palpatine’s voice to command it. The separatist army slowly begins to fall apart. Grievous is slain in one of the last skirmishes, and though Dooku makes many attempts to evade the Jedi, he is eventually apprehended, along with many other prominent figures of the army. The Republic can finally celebrate peace once more.

Maul would spend the rest of his life in the temple. He would never fully recover his mind, but everyone could see that he had felt that his former Master was no longer alive. The incredible hate and rage that used to radiate from him through the surrounding force in waves was now mysteriously gone.

...Anyways, who wants a fanfic on AO3? And if ya’ll have chapter ideas, ya’ll better gimmie gimmie cause I might just include them, hehe.

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2021-09-27

Spent a workday staring longingly at an electrical workshop and getting a good grade at masculinity from a coworker, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

Listening: I got some shiny new (second hand) headphones and I spent a while kicking the tyres on that with what was on my phone. Album recommendation this week for The Monitor by Titus Andronicus, which is part of the category "someone on IRC told me to listen to it".

...There's a music video??? I'll be honest I've never checked the band YouTube.

An incredible punk-rock album, with one of my favourite album closers of any album, you should really listen to the whole thing. The one song that's been stuck in my head is definitely No Future Part Three: Escape From No Future.

Reading: A star wars fic recommendation from @girlfriendsofthegalaxy because of a discussion about Jedi living quarters. Story is about a redeemed Maul taking on Ahsoka as padawan in the early days of the Clone Wars. Delightful, slice-of-lifey deal. I unfortunately cannot share it with you because it was deleted from AO3. While I'm comfortable exploiting the hardness of solving cache invalidation to find fanfic for myself, I'm not gonna post something someone has taken down publicly.

Watching: I started watching Money Heist with my parents, love a good Heist Thing, only seen one episode so far so we'll see if this is a good Heist Thing.

Also yet more stunning work from Gravis on YouTube, discovering the history an extremely storied combo TV/VCR.

Playing: Finished Deltarune Ch2! Haven't played SnowGrave yet! Toby knocks it out of the park again. The man knows how to write a goddamn videoed game. I am definitely enjoying this more than Undertale thanks to the more fleshed out characters.

I read this game as something of a reaction to the treatment of The Fallen Human by the Fandom, I should write a longer piece on that soon but you can see my opinion on The Fallen Human here. I'd probably significantly rewrite that second reblog now, though, it's not wrong, just, unfocused.

Making: Bad week for making, although I suppose I technically made a conference paper. That got submitted on Saturday so I'll hear back if its accepted sometime next month. I've never even tried to submit one of those! Wild!

Computer Stuff: A lot of writing this week so I'm going to make a shout out to :spell in vim, a command that does spellchecking on whatever you're doing in vim. Allows me to ignore the wider world of text editors for a few more years at least.

[andorlorian]

okay so I do have an anakin fix it au floating around in my brain in which revenge of the sith goes as well as it possibly could BUT that's not the important part of this post the IMPORTANT part is what happens to maul in this au. (disclaimer: all I know about maul's backstory is from watching the clone wars and reading his wookiepedia page so some of this might be inaccurate. bear with me)

okay so because order 66 didn't happen, maul is brought before the council. he was sith so the council would want to deal with him personally

I think with palpatine dead (fully and completely 100% dead no take backs) the influence of the dark side everywhere would be lessened. everyone would feel a lot clearer, happier, brighter, like a dark cloud had been lifted from their mind. this would include maul.

however, for maul, diving deep into the dark side has been something of a coping mechanism. amassing as much power as possible and giving yourself over to this dark higher power means you don't have the contemplate the fact that you were stolen from your family and home world and fed incredibly damaging rhetoric from the man who 1) let you die 2) immediately upon finding out you were still alive electrocuted the fuck out of you and killed the last part of your family and (imo) the only person you ever truly loved

so maul upon arriving to the jedi council, while slightly less affected by the dark side, is still full of pure rage, hate, and a clusterfuck of other emotions brought about by thinking about the jedi. he's a whole disaster

okay this is going to get very very long I'm going to put a read more here

I imagine some in the council would like to kill or exile him and be done with it, but after the inherent trauma of the clone wars and seeing how far separated from their ideals the jedi order has become, they'd show him mercy. this part may not necessarily make 100% sense but shut up this is the good things for maul au maul gets good things

therefore, the council would vote in favor of rehabilitation. what I imagine this would look like is maul would be heavily guarded and watched, and whenever possible he would be visited by jedi masters (and masters ONLY. they're not dumb)

maul gets his own quarters, which are big enough not to be stifling or tiny but small enough to still fit in a jedi temple where they value austerity and forsaking possessions. they would want to give maul as much freedom as possible while making sure he couldn't be a threat to anyone around him, which would mean he doesn't have much freedom at all. he's fed and watered and visited by at least one jedi master a day. these visits are usually someone meditating and trying to rehabilitate maul's mind while not being openly invading, rather guiding maul's broken mind into its natural state and removing palpatine's influence. these visits are also good old fashioned therapy (maul desperately needs to talk some shit out)

it would take a very very very long time but with guided meditation and constant consistent kindness and understanding shown to him by the jedi maul would start to heal. one of the major things that palpatine forcibly shoved into his brain is a distrust and particular hatred for the jedi, but after spending so many years in their care and with constant (almost annoying) understanding that belief system would start to break down.

it would start small. like one day maybe instead of feeling rage and anger around savage's death he feels sadness because for the first time he's in an environment where he has the space to breathe and remember his brother

I think once maul has actually started to improve a little bit and moved past his rage and murder phase that's when obi-wan would visit him. which would definitely bring back some rage and murder but also it would bring maul some closure. I'd imagine they'd both need some sort of closure, considering maul killed qui gon and obi-wan essentially killed him. but obi-wan saying something like "I forgive you. I'm not your enemy." that might throw a wrench into maul's thinking

so over time, maul is becoming less and less emotionally tumultuous. he's in a stable environment in which a set group of people visit him daily solely for the purpose of rehabilitating him, both through the force and just regular conversation as equals. eventually, after enough time in this environment, whoever maul is beneath the rage and pain and the dark side would emerge

this is the side of maul that I wrote this for. this is why he's one of my favorites.

maul is deeply intelligent, and rather calculating. while he usually forgoes rational thought to scream "kenOBIIIIIII" into the night he's very good at assessing a situation and how to get the best possible outcome. he feels things very deeply but he's incredibly bad at naming exactly what his feelings are and he's not very good at reading the emotions of others. I think a flaw of his is that he really forgets to take emotions into account, while for the jedi that's kind of their whole thing. (yeah the jedi are stereotyped as unfeeling warriors but that's not true at all, they acknowledge and release their feelings into the force. for them their feelings are the force.)

I think one day when maul is beyond resisting his existence at the jedi temple, when he slowly realizes "hey my life sucks a whole lot less than before" he manages to actually solve a problem for one of the masters who visits him regularly and has become the closest thing he can really have to a friend. said master (maybe kit fisto just because I like kit fisto) rants about a problem or a mission that they're having and maul just goes "well it's obvious, really." and manages to solve the problem like that by nature of his unique perspective.

and after a looong amount of time has passed, maul's role shifts from enemy, victim, and a patient to being a voice of rationality, a problem-solver, and someone to rant to when the whole jedi master thing gets to be A Lot™

seriously though I cannot stress how long it would take for maul to heal and get to this point. MINIMUM five years.

eventually maul and some people he's forged friendships with petition the council to allow him to have some more freedom. while extremely hesitant, without palps clouding their vision they could much more clearly see maul's mental state and what sort of danger he would pose to the jedi, and they would let him move freely about the temple

okay here's my favorite part of this whole thing. maul is a fucking nerd. he discovers the jedi library and goes insane. maul would read so many books about so many different things because he's interested in everything and he'd want to build his knowledge in a myriad of subjects. he would spend hours upon hours in the jedi library just reading every single thing in there. he'd beg one of the masters to let him access the "forbidden knowledge" just because it's knowledge and he wants it. and if that didn't work he'd find a way to break in (the forbidden knowledge did not disappoint).

I also think maul would love to spar with lightsabers and stuff. he'd know techniques the jedi wouldn't, and so in friendly spars with people he'd managed to befriend, he'd actually give them a fight and teach them something, while also learning new techniques from the jedi

I think maul would consider becoming a jedi for a brief second. he's happier here than he's probably ever been, finally free from palpatine's influence and in a healthy environment. but he knows it's not his path.

after spending a long time living at the jedi temple, having carved out something of a life for himself, made friends for the first time in his life, having finally achieved emotional stability, he approaches the order on his own. they expect, after having been long used to his presence, for him to ask to be a jedi. but he comes with an unexpected proposal.

maul asks to leave the jedi temple to go home to dathomir, to see what had become of his family and of the nightbrothers. he's much much more stable than he was, but he still has burning questions that palpatine would never have let him find the answers to. and he genuinely does want to get there, eventually. but he also wants to learn more about the force that the jedi wouldn't teach him, to learn more about the sith.

his departure is surprisingly more emotional than he was expecting. the jedi temple was the first place he'd ever actually felt safe, that he'd been allowed to just exist. he would miss it.

armed with all the knowledge in the jedi temple, he searches for knowledge the jedi wouldn't have access to. he finds the remains of mortis, and researches the mortis gods. he spends a period of time wandering around like batman crushing the people he doesn't particularly like (usually people objectively morally horrible. he spent years with the jedi he has ✨morals✨ now). he even made his way to ilum, and found two crystals to forge a new double-bladed lightsaber. (the blades are yellow.)

maul would also study ancient sith texts, and spend a lot of time investigating old sith temples (like the one on malachor). however, he doesn't have the same burning desire to seize the power for himself anymore. it's an odd feeling.

eventually he does return home to dathomir to find the genocide of the nightsisters (with only one nightsister, merrin, remaining) and the nightbrothers in disarray after the loss of the dictatorial government they'd lived under for generations. maul ends up taking over a la mandalore (but with a lot less murder and awfulness. ✨morals✨)

what I'd love to see is maul founding an opposite sort of order to the jedi. not necessarily the sith, since the sith treated him horribly and destroyed his entire life, but i think maul would believe that for the force to truly be in balance, you couldn't try to eradicate an entire half of it from the galaxy. I would love to see maul found an order of dark side force users that teaches about how to use the dark side, how to avoid total corruption, and the correct channels for the power you control.

maul would be a very effective teacher in the dark side because of how much experience he has with it. he experienced the absolute worst of the dark side, the total corruption and loss of self, but he also used the dark side to save the nightbrothers from destroying themselves after the loss of the nightsisters and used his power to keep them together and safe (not to mention the period of time with Batman Maul where he used the dark side to help people).

also I would love to see the new generation of jedi and the new generation of dark side users not to be in opposition for once. by nature of maul being rehabilitated by the jedi, he would teach about them and their teachings with a modicum of respect, and the two orders would be seen as two sides of the same coin. twins, almost.

maul would not be a child snatcher, he was child snatched. the dark side is different from the light in that its always there. it comes much more naturally to force users, and unlike the jedi, it wouldn't require you to join from a ridiculously young age. his order is always known and always open to any force user who wishes to learn about the force.

maul's life comes to an end peacefully, at his home on dathomir, having built a new society for the nightbrothers and a new order for users of the dark side.

[writer1]

A regretful Wolf and his Beauty

Chapter Eight

Beast!Rex x Fem!reader

Summary: As punishment for his actions, young prince Rex was cursed to become a monster by a witch. The only thing that saved him from his fate was an enchantress, who gave him a condition. He has to find true love in order to redeem himself and he only has until the last petal of the enchanted rose falls. Rex's family helps you by guiding your way into his heart. Rex's fate now lies in your hands.

A/N: This is a collaborative fic with @ahsokatano-thetogruta. 

Warnings: harassment, Hurt, injury, wolf attack.

Twelve and a half years later…

"(y/n)?" You hear a couple of knocks at your bedroom door. "Are you awake yet, Sweetie?" 

"Yeah, I'm awake, Papa." He hears your muffled voice from the other side of the door, making him smile. "Okay, I'll go and make you some breakfast."

"Thank you, I'll be down in a bit." You call to him as he heads downstairs. You blink your eyes open to see the sun shining through your curtains, brightening up the room. Getting out of bed, you head over to the corner of your room where your armour sits on its stand. You grab your clothes that go under it, putting them on. Piece by piece, you strap the armor to your body securely, making sure that nothing is loose so it won't fall off.

Once fully armoured, you head downstairs to the kitchen where your Papa, Bail, has set out the table with cutlery and has almost finished making breakfast. "How are you this morning, Shiny?" You smile at the nickname as you sit down in your usual place at the table. "I'm good thank you." You remember how the nickname came to be, female knights weren’t exactly… encouraged in your village. 

The boys that trained with you would make fun of you and called you Shiny. It means naive for knights, but you stuck it to them when you took a liking to the name and kept it. Now no one calls you by anything but Shiny. You’re almost positive that some people have forgotten your given name. You start eating your breakfast, wondering what's going to happen today in this boring town.

xxx

You begin to sing out as you leave your house "Little town, it's a quiet village. Every day like the one before. Little town full of little people, waking up to say…" 

You hear the Townsfolk greeting one another as you walk through town.

You gesture to a bigger set twi’lek man. “There goes the baker with his tray, like always. The same old bread and rolls to sell, every morning just the same. Since the morning that we came, to this poor provincial town, never an adventure for a knight.” 

The baker walks over to you. "Good morning, Shiny." You turn to him with a smile. "Good morning monsieur."

"Where are you off to?" He asks, it's not very often that you don't stay in your yard to train. You smile, holding up the book you have in your hand. "The bookshop, I just finished the most wonderful story. It was about a beanstalk, and an ogre, and a---" 

"That's nice. MARIE the baguettes, hurry up." The baker walks away, you huff. You never have anyone to talk to about books, or being a knight. Besides your father. 

The Townsfolk talk to each other as you pass by, all dressed in your armor and feeling proud wearing it. "Look, there she goes. The girl is strange, no question, wanting to be a knight like all the men.

She's dazed and distracted, can't you tell?"

"Never part of any crowd."

"Cause her head's up on some cloud

No denying she's a funny girl, that Shiny." You walk through as you see so many different people and aliens talking to each other.

"Bonjour."

"Good day!"

"How is your family?" a Chiss man asks another Togrutan woman.

"Bonjour."

"Good day."

"How is your wife?" A human woman asks another human man. His wife hits him in the head with a rolling pin, making you flinch.

"I need....six eggs." 

"That's too expensive!"

"There must be more than this provincial life!" You sing out as you walk through town. You walk into the bookstore.

“Ah, Shiny. It’s good to see my favorite knight in here.” You smile at Tera Sinube, he is a retired Cosian knight, now a librarian. He tells stories of working in a castle to protect a king and queen. The castle was filled with their family. It was a big family, as he says.

“Good morning. I've come to return the book I borrowed” you hand him over the book.

He looks surprised as he chuckles. “Finished already?”

“Oh I couldn't put it down. Have ya got anythin' new?” You ask looking around the bookstore at the variety of fantasy books. You climb up on one of the ladders.

“Not since yesterday.” Tera Sinube chuckle's out again.

“That's alright. I'll borrow this one!” You grab a familiar book, handing it to librarian Sinube. “That one? But you've read it twice!” He laughs out. “Well it's my favourite. With far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!” you tell him as you move the ladder with wheels so that you glide to him.

“Well, you will have your own adventures with daring sword fights some day, but if you like it all that much, it's yours!” you feel surprised “But sir?!?” He hands you the book, smiling.

"I insist, Shiny!" He gestures that it's no problem, your eyes sparkle with excitement “Well thank you, thank you very much!” You exit the shop into the busy street. You start reading the book as soon as you leave, you know the town well enough that you won’t get hurt.

“Look, there she goes, that girl is so peculiar

I wonder if she's feeling well.”

A group of girls stare at you as you walk by them, they don't sing but they grumble. “With a dreamy, far-off look.” some of the men sing, but you don't hear them. “Always training and her nose stuck in a book.” some of the other women sing.

“What a puzzle to the rest of us is Shiny.” the whole town sings, but you don't hear it at all while reading.

Your eyes widen when you read your favourite part of the book “Ohhhhhh....isn't this amazing?! It's my favorite part because....you'll see. Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him till chapter three!”

“Now it's a wonder that her name doesn’t mean beauty. Her looks have got no parallel” A Twi'lek woman peers out of the window of her home.

A shopkeeper stands by the door of his shop “But with that tough façade, I'm afraid she's rather odd. Very different from the rest of us.”

“She's nothing like the rest of us

Yes, different from the rest of us is Shiny.” The whole townsfolk sing, then Maul walks into the picture, but you walk past him and his naive, eleven and a half year old follower Ezra Bridger. “Wow you didn't miss a shot Maul! You're the greatest hunter in the whole world!”

“I know.” A red Zabrak with black tattoos, named Maul, runs his hand over his head, feeling the small horns.  

“No beast alive stands a chance against you, haha...and no girl for that matter.”

“It's true Ezra, and I've got my sight set on that one.” Maul crouches down to the eleven year old boy, pointing towards you walking by. 

Ezra is surprised. "The inventor's daughter!? The only female knight in town!!?” Maul nods at him, eyes trained on you. “She's the one, the lucky girl I'm going to marry.”

“But she's--” Ezra tries to add in but he gets interrupted. “The most beautiful girl in town”

“I know but--”

“That makes her the best! and don't I deserve the best?” Maul crouches down to the boy, getting in his face, scaring Ezra.

“Well of course, I mean ya do, but I���” Ezra mumbles something, but Maul begins to sing.

“Right from the moment when I met her, saw her, I said she's gorgeous and I fell. Here in town it's only she, who's as beautiful as me. So I'm making plans to woo and marry, Shiny.”

Three Twi'lek triplets swoon at Maul. "Look there, he goes! isn't he dreamy?

Monsieur Maul! oh, he's so cute!

Be still, my heart! I'm hardly breathing!

He's such a tall, dark, strong, and handsome brute!" They sing together as Maul tries to get through the crowd of villagers.

“Bonjour.” one man yells out. “Pardon!” Maul asks as he tries to get through the crowd.

“Good day.” “Mais oui!” Maul keeps getting blocked by people, no matter what way he goes. “You call this Bantha?” one man exclaims to a vender. “What lovely Meilooruns!” a Chiss woman tells another.

“Some cheese…” “Ten yards!”  “One Credit.” Maul pushes his way through. “`Scuse me!”  “I'll get the knife.” the cheese merchant tells the customer.

“Please let me through!!” Maul demands. “This bread.” “Those fish.” “It's stale.” “They smell!” Maul can't believe that the streets have to be this busy on this particular day.

“Madame's mistaken!” the Baker exclaims angrily.

 “There must be more than this provincial life!” You sing out again, wishing for more adventure.

Maul strutting through the crowd

“Just watch....I'm going to make Shiny my wife!” He's still unable to get to you.

"Look there she goes....a girl who's strange but special. A most peculiar mademoiselle." The whole town sings again, but you hear none of it, you once again have your nose in your book.

"It's a pity and a sin, she doesn't quite fit in. Cause she really is a funny girl. A beauty but a funny girl. She really is a funny girl.....that Shiny!!" The whole town sings, followed by many bonjours before they all close their doors and windows, going back to their business, finished with the song.

You shrugged as you went back to reading your book. A second later, someone jumps down in front of you. “Hello, Shiny.” you recognize his voice. “Bonjour, Maul.” you greet him, reluctantly looking up from your book. 

While he had your attention, Maul snatched the book from your hands. You feel annoyed, but you are still polite to him. “Maul, can I have my book back please?”

Maul opens the book, looking at it closely while you try to take it back from him. He huffs as he struggles to read it. “How can you read this? There are no pictures." You step back and cross your arms “Well, sometimes you just gotta use your imagination.” Maul's eyes widen and then he turns around to you, smirking.

”Shiny, you need to get your head out of those books.” He throws your book behind him into a puddle. “You need to focus on more important things.” he steps in front of you before you could get to your book. “Like me.” 

Off to the side of the street, a group of girls sigh dreamily as they admire Maul. 

"The whole town's talking about it. It's not right for a woman to read, let alone be a knight. That's a man's job. Soon she starts getting ideas, and thinking." Maul starts to sound almost like he's grossed out, making you mad. You earned your place among the knights, and he has no right to tell you otherwise. You pick up your book, turning to him.

"Maul, you are positively primeval. I can be whatever I want to be, and I'm a knight." Maul huff's at you, but brings back his smile.

"Right… Right. What do you say you and me take a walk over to the tavern, and take a look at my trophies?" Maul starts pulling you towards the tavern, you've had enough. No more nice Shiny.

"No." You tell him, ripping your arm out of his grip. You give him a challenging smirk. "What's wrong with her" "she's crazy." "He's gorgeous." The triplets say in rapid succession, as you try to walk away from Maul.

"I have to get home to help my father now, Maul. Maybe some other time. Goodbye." You tell him, a little too happily. Then you hear the snickering coming from young Ezra.

"That crazy old loon, he needs all the help he can get." The young boy laughs as Maul joins in.

"Ezra Bridger, don't you dare talk about my father that way!" You yell, Maul stops laughing. He fixes Ezra with a stare that the boy knows means that he's going to get a beating when they get home.

"Yeah, don't talk about her father that way!" You are mad. "My father is not crazy, he's a genius." They suddenly hear an explosion and you go running. Leaving Maul and Ezra's laughing behind.

xxx

You rush into your house, running straight to the basement. You grab your helmet on the way down, just in case there is flying debris. It wouldn't be the first time. "Papa!" You call out through the smoke, coughing. "Papa!!" You yell again, almost down to your father's workshop.

"How in the force did that happen?!" You hear Bail yell out as the smoke starts to clear. "Are you alright, Papa?" You see him stuck beneath some rubble, so you reach your hands out and close your eyes, concentrating. The wood and machinery parts start to lift up into the air.

"Thank you, Shiny." He sighs with frustration. "I'm about to give up with this hunk of junk!" You chuckle at him.

"You always say that." He kicks his invention and storms away from it. "I mean it this time. I'll never get this boneheaded contraption to work!"

You smile and shake your head, walking over to him. "Yes you will. And you'll win first prize at the fair tomorrow." Bail raises an eyebrow at you crossing his arms, turning away from you in a huff "Hmph."

"And become a world famous inventor." You smile at him as he turns his head round "You really believe that?" He doesn't sound so convinced. 

"I always have." You give him a promising smile. Bail soon feels so much better from your words of support. "Well, what are we waitin' for?" He runs over to his invention. "I'll have this thing fixed in no time!" Grabbing a spanner, he gets to work on his machine. 

"Now, did you have a good time in town today?" Your father asks as you get your training dummy ready. "It was good, Papa. I got a new book!" You grab your sword, then go at the dummy, using all the techniques you've been taught.

"Papa? Do you think that I'm odd?" 

"My daughter! Odd! Huh, where would you get an idea like that?" Bail asks as he slides out from under the machine, his magnifying goggles making his eyes look hilariously huge. You laugh as you continue practicing your sword fighting, but get sad again. Your father slides back underneath the machine.

"Oh… I don't know, it's just that everyone thinks I'm different. Especially since I'm a knight, I'm not sure that I fit in here, Papa. There's no one I can really talk to." You stop fighting the dummy, sheathing your sword. "Well, what about that Zabrak fellow… Maul, right? He's a handsome young man." 

You huff, feeling sickened at the thought of talking to that oaf. "Oh, he's handsome… and rude, also conceited. That guy is definitely not for me." 

"Well, don't worry. This invention will be a start of a new life for us, you will get your dreams of being a knight. And I know for sure that you will find someone perfect for you!" 

You roll your eyes with a laugh. "Sure Papa, but I know that no one will ever want to be with me. I'm too odd, too different for someone to love." Your father sighs, finally coming out from underneath his invention. 

"Now, that's not true. Now I think that I've finally done it, Sweetheart. Let's give it a try!" Your father pulls a lever, and you hear a whistle. You put your helmet on and pull your father behind you, just to be safe. You wait, and finally the invention is chopping wood, just like it's supposed too. You smile, your father's finally done it.

"It works." Bail hears the excitement in your voice, making him equally as joyful. "It does?" He looks towards the machine that continues to chop up the wood. "It does!" He shouts out with joy.

You love how excited your father is about his working invention. "You did it! You really did it!" You give him a big hug and jump with joy. 

"Hitch up Threepio, Shiny. I'm off to the fair!" He cheers out, overjoyed that his invention really works.

xxx

"Goodbye, Papa. Good luck!" You wave your father off as Threepio pulls along the invention, neighing as he trots with Bail on his back. "Goodbye, Shiny! And take care while I'm gone!"

Bail travels across the land, through fields and over mountains, taking in the scenery around him. He crosses over a small bridge and enters a dark, gloomy forest. Threepio keeps his head down low, feeling nervous. "We should be there by now." Bail sounds confused, looking up to see a green and white Convor sitting on a tree branch, watching him as he passes.

"Maybe we missed a turn. I guess I should've taken the- wait a minute." He lifts up his lantern to a sign, reading it. Threepio's ear twitches, then he turns to the left of the path, but he gets pulled by his lead. "No, let's go this way."

Threepio shakes his head and looks down the path that Bail wants to take, eyes widening as the poor horse sees the foggy, dark path. He looks to the left again, seeing that it's much more pleasant. Threepio attempts to go left again, but Bail refuses. "Come on, Threepio! It's a shortcut, we'll be there in no time!" The horse trots on into the dark woods. Feeling more and more nervous with each passing second.

Suddenly, something not too far away runs past them. Threepio startles, looking around for the danger, backing up with fear in his eyes. Bail looks confused at the map. "This can't be right." A howl echoes deep within the forest, making him look up from his map and hold out his lantern. "Where have you taken us, Threepio?" 

Threepio backs up even more, ready to leave as soon as possible. Worry fills Bail. "We better...turn around." The constant sounds of howling frightens the horse, backing up into a tree, causing a cloud of bats to fly around the both of them. Threepio begins to gallop away as fast as he can. "Woah! Woah Boy!" Threepio halts as they come to the edge of a cliff "Back up! Back up!" He does as he's told, Bail sighs. "Good boy, good boy. That's Good that's- back up! Steady, steady. Stead- Woah!" Threepio bucks, causing Bail to fall to the ground. His lantern bursts into flames causing his horse to run away, a couple of wolves chasing after him. 

Bail gets up off of the ground "Threepio!" He loudly whispers. Nothing. Bail stands up off the ground, he turns to see wolves coming towards him. He starts running as fast as he can, hearing the howls and growling behind him. He tumbles down a cliff, coming to a stop at a gate. He quickly jumps up, running and grabbing on to the bars.

“HELP!!! Please, is someone there!!!” he calls. “HELP!!!” he calls one more time before the gates suddenly open, he falls to the ground, slamming them closed with his foot, saving him from the wolves. A wolf bites his pant leg, but Bail kicks it off. It starts to rain as he walks up to the gloomy castle, Bail knocks at the door and it immediately creaks open, he walks inside. It looks much more cosy inside than out, but it's still dark. 

“Hello?” he asks into the darkness, hoping to ask the owner if he could stay the night, but it seems abandoned. “Hellooo?” he suddenly hears whispers. “The fellow must have lost his way in the woods!” it whispers before being shushed. “Keep quiet! If we’re quiet he might leave, Fives! You know how dangerous this could be.” Bail can’t seem to find where the voices are coming from.

“Is someone there?” Bail asks, trying to find the voices' owners. “Not a word, Fives! Not one word!”

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I lost my horse, and I need a place to stay, just for the night?” 

“Aww, Echo, have a heart, Vod.” Echo presses a metal hand against Fives’ wax mouth. “Shhh!” Fives sighs, placing his one candle against his brothers hand. “ OW, ow! ow! Owww!” Echo starts hopping around.

“Of course. You are certainly welcome here, kind sir.”

“Who said that?” Bail grabs the candlestick, making Fives surprised as he's picked up, Echo is worried for his twin. Fives then smiles as he taps his shoulder. "Over here." Fives calls out.

Bail is confused, looking around. “Where?” Fives taps Bail's head, making him turn to see the candlestick looking at him, smiling at him “Hello.” 

A gasp escapes Bail as he drops the candlestick. Fives groans as he hits the ground, making his candles burn out. "Incredible." Bail leans down to take a closer look at the candlestick who just spoke. 

“Now you've done it, Fives!” Echo hops down from the table and crosses his arms.  “Splendid, just peachy- AHHH!” He screams as he is lifted off the ground.

“How is this accomplished?” Bail's expression is full of amazement as he turns the clock around to examine it. Echo is a little afraid. “Put me down at once!”

Bail turns Echo upside down and shakes him about. Fives just watches and chuckles at his Twin. Then Echo gasps as Bail opens up his little glass door and starts digging around. “Now to take you apart and see how you tick.” Bail whispers, he has no idea that this is a living being. Fives gasps as Echo screams, Fives turns and screams as loud as his voice will allow. “ REX!!!!!!” There's a roar and Bail freezes as a giant Wolf-like creature with blonde fur runs down the stairs, followed by four suits of armor and a desk shuffling behind them, seemingly having a hard time. The wolf’s honey brown, yellowish eyes widen when he sees Bail holding the clock in one hand, and a gear from it in the other.

“ECHO!!! Let go of him, NOW!!” The wolf runs over to Bail, who drops the clock and the gear, Rex runs and catches them, handing both over to Fives, that's when he stands to full height, he’s much, much taller than any man Bail had ever seen. “What have you done to my brother.” he growls angrily, standing as close as he can to Bail, showing his large, sharp teeth. “B-Brother? But that's a clock!”

“Yes, and you hurt him!" Rex's deep voice sends shivers down Bail's spine as he looks towards the clock cradled in the candlestick's arms while a suit of armor with orange feathers on its helmet puts the gear back into Echo's body. 

Bail tries to run away, but Rex runs on all fours, stopping in front of him to prevent him from leaving. “Please! I-I meant no harm! I just needed a place to stay!” Rex growls deeply. “I'll give you a place to stay, and for what you did to my brother, you deserve it!” Rex grabs Bail as he storms off deeper into the castle, leaving everyone else to make sure that Echo is okay now and that nothing harmful has happened to him.

xxx

Rex sighs as he walks back up the stairs from the dungen, he can’t believe that that man had hurt Echo, it wasn’t right. He runs up, immediately seeing his brothers. Fives and Echo are standing on Cody, with Obi Wan beside them. “Is he okay?” Rex asks as he walks over, he's on two legs at the moment.

“I’m fine, Ori’Vod. Just a little sore.” Rex sighs in relief, his brothers are only twenty one at the moment, the curse had slowed their aging a little. They get a letter when they do age a year. It's weird. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Rex whispers, kneeling down and nuzzling the little clock. Echo chuckles, reaching up and placing a hand on Rex’s nose.

“It’s okay, Vod. You know that I’m fine, but you should let that man go.” Rex pulls away, eyes narrowing. “No, he could have killed you, Echo. He’s staying in the dungeon where he belongs.” Rex holds back a growl, he's so angry at what that man did. When Fives screamed and then he came running down to see Echo with one of his gears out, it scared the living daylights out of him. He had believed that he was going to lose his little brother. “Hey!” Rex looks down to Cody nudging his leg.

“It’s okay, Rex’ika. Echo’s fine. We are all fine.” Rex sighs “I was scared, I didn't want to lose Echo… but I am not letting that man go. And that's final!” he turns around, his cape and tail swishing behind him as he storms off into the castle. 

xxx

“Oh boy! Shiny's going to get the surprise of her life! Huh Gaston?” Ezra looks at Maul who stares at your house, wanting to propose and marry you today. “Yes, this is her lucky day.” Maul turns to leave, letting the branch he was holding swing back a little into Ezra's face, but Ezra just shakes it off and follows Mail to the party. 

Maul clears his throat. “I'd like to thank you all for coming to my wedding. But first...I better go in there and propose to the girl.” He says with a wink and laughs, so everyone else laughs too. The three girls are crying that they aren't the ones to marry him. “And you, Ezra” He presses his finger on Ezra's nose “When Shiny and I come out of that door-”

“Oh! I know, I know!” Ezra exclaims excitedly. “I tell the band to start playing!” he gestures to the group of Bith aliens to play some music. Maul feels annoyed. “Not yet!” 

Ezra quickly stops the band from playing and feels a bit guilty. “Sorry.”

You are lost in your book when you hear a sudden knock at your door, making you jump. You quickly get up and place your book on the table, making a note of the page that you are on. You brush back your hair out of your face a little as you reach for your father's invention that allows you to see who's at the door with having to open it. You peek through the scope to see Maul. You groan “Ugh.” 

Being the polite person you are, you open the door. “Maul, what a pleasant surprise.” he just grins at you. “Isn't it though? I'm just full of surprises.” he walks closer to you, making you back away from him. “Y'know, Shiny. There's not a girl in town who wouldn't love to be in your shoes. This is the day…” He stops to check himself in the mirror. “This is the day your dreams come true.”

“What do you know about my dreams, Maul?” You find his big ego pretty amusing, so you hold back a laugh and try to be as kind as you can. “Plenty! Here, picture this...” he sits down on a chair and puts his muddy boots up on the table on top of your book. “A rustic hunting lodge, my latest kill roasting on the fire, my little wife massaging my feet.” You feel disgust when he takes his boots off and wiggles his toes. You hold your nose to block out the stench. “While the little ones play on the floor, with the dogs.” He stands up right in front of you. “We'll have six or seven.

“Dogs?” you really hope that that's the right answer as you brush the mud off of your book “No, Shiny! Strapping boys, like me.” You try to be enthusiastic and play along. “Aheh, imagine that…”

As you walk away, he creeps up behind you. “And you know who that little wife will be?” you snap your book shut, not wanting to know in the slightest. “Hm, let me think.” you turn around to see Maul right in your face.

“You, (y/n).” You duck under his arm and back away from him yet again, really wishing that you hadn’t left your sword in your room, you also feel uncomfortable with him using your given name. “Maul. I'm... I'm speechless.” you're back all the way up to the door. You put your hand on your chest. “I really don't know what to say!”

Maul backs you up to your front door, placing his hands on it either side of you. “Say you will marry me.” you look up at him as you try and find the door handle. “Im sorry, Maul. But…” you found the handle. “I will never, ever marry anyone, especially you!” you say, opening the door wide open, making Maul fall out of the front door and into a puddle. He goes to lift his head up, but you use the force to make sure that he gets a mouthful of mud. Maul looks up angrily, wiping the mud from his face. The band starts playing, Maul stands up, walking over to Ezra.

“So? How’d it go, Maul?” The eleven year old asks, but Maul cuffs him. “Shiny will be mine, have no doubt about that.” Maul storms off, Ezra following close behind him.

xxx

“Is he gone?” You ask a little while later as you walk out to feed the chickens, you’re wearing your armor as usual. “Oh, can you imagine? He asked me to marry him. Me, the wife of that boorish, brainless...” you growl as you tell the chickens. Then you start singing. "Madame Maul! Can't you just see it? "Madame Maul! His "little wife", ugh!” You kick over the bucket of chicken feed angrily. 

“No sir! Not me! I am a knight! Never a wife!” you sing in disgust. The thought of being someone's wife disgusts you, especially if it's Maul’s.  “I want much more than this provincial life! I want adventure in the great wide somewhere. I want it more than I can tell.”

“And for once it might be grand. To have someone understand. I want so much more than they've got planned.” You hear a horse's whinny, as Threepio runs up. “Threepio? What are you- Wait! Where's papa, where is he threepio?” You know that something must have happened, you run into your house, grabbing your helmet and sword. You run back down, jumping onto threepio’s back.

“Take me to Papa.” The horse runs off with you on his back, you will find your father, if it is the last thing you do.

taglist: @ellie1366 @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @lightning-wolffe  @pinkiemme

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[silverducks]

Game of Thrones - Jaime Lannister

A rambling character study of Jaime Lannister from Game of Thrones.

Part 1a – Jaime’s Character Arc

This post is going to look at my thoughts on exactly how I see Jaime’s character arc in Game of Thrones, based on just the show. But it’s also to set up my future posts where I explain why I find it so darn hard to understand why he had the ending they gave him. At least beside the obvious - because the writers wanted to.

Yeah I know; I’m late to the GoT train wreck of a final series. But I have a lot of thoughts and hence why I’m here typing away.

(And this is where I start to really go all English Lit exam analysis on you, so a warning for anyone who actually might be reading this post, LOL!)

My Intro to this series of posts btw, is here.

So, spoilers be below.

Ok, so to help explain why Jaime’s ending makes no sense, I firstly need to explain what exactly his character arc is in the show, or at least how I perceive it. As mentioned in a previous post on honour vs loyalty, for Jaime I see his character arc being about two, interconnected things – redemption and identity.

In series 1 and 2, he’s not a nice character – he’s a self-righteous, proud, full of himself, snob. He’s arrogant and cocky and says pretty cruel, snide things to characters we do like. And as we see him through the PoV of characters like *Mr Honourable Eddard Stark, Jaime is pretty despicable to say the least. And that is before we even get started on the whole pushing a boy out of a window because he caught Jaime having sex with his own twin sister. Oh and just as an FYI, Jaime is also called the Kingslayer because he killed the King he was sworn to protect. So yeah, most people watching the show don’t like him at the start, and neither do most of the other show characters we do like.

And from a story telling perspective, Jaime’s character can either get worse, better or stay the same as the show goes on. And in this story, he gets better, with a few slip ups along the way, and it’s fascinating and glorious!!

Like, I can think of nothing that even comes close to the amazing way Jaime Lannister’s character develops in Game of Thrones and how we as a viewer change in our perception of him.

But that only makes his ending so much more frustrating and disappointing…

Before I start rambling away though, just as a point to note; I’m using terms like good and better person and right and wrong quite loosely here. Obviously the world, even in a fictional world, isn’t all that simple. As that would be a whole other massive thematic and philosophical thesis, and it’s not really that relevant, just take the “general” meaning of the ideas, but with the understanding I know it’s a bit more complicated. Where I think it does become more relevant, I’ll expand on the ideas in that particular context. If I sound a bit flippant at times, it’s because of the whole black vs white vs grey, and how there are “rules” in storytelling that wouldn’t necessary apply to our own, real life reality. There are things that we need to take into account when we analyse characters in stories vs actual, real people. And on a side note, this is one of my favourite things about Game of Thrones, the complexity and moral ambiguity of both its characters and its story themes. But yeah, that’s a whole thesis in its own right.)

Redemption Arc

So, redemption. In order for us to start to like this character, and see him as a good guy, he has to go through a redemption arc. Like pretty much rule number 1 of storytelling. That means we have to watch him and believe in him becoming a better person. Conversations like the whole oath vs oath issue, or his chat with his father about his nicknames in series 1 makes us take notice of a character, maybe even be more invested in a character and their shades of grey, but it’s not really redemption. And considering how far in debt he is in the good vs bad guy department, he has a lot of work to do.

And my goodness, he does it. Like, I mean, this guys’ redemption arc is astonishing! He goes through so much, rethinks and challenges everything he once thought/knew about himself and his world, faces all his past wrongs and bad character traits and becomes not even a better person, but a hero! He goes from a bad villain who kills kings and pushes kids from windows, to becoming one of the main heroes we’re rooting for by the end of the story.

(A quick disclaimer here, like I’m not saying Jaime is ever, or ever will be perfect, heck, he’s human and this is Game of Thrones and Jaime’s more messed up than most. But when you think back from where he started and where he’s been, it sure is impressive – if we ignore his actual ending that is, LOL!)

And his glorious redemption arc all pretty much starts around the time he starts his fun road trip with Brienne in series 3.

So, just to give a few of his finer redemption points (and just remember his series 1 and 2 actions and our opinion of him in contrast):

He stops Brienne from being raped and gets his hand cut off for the trouble (Ouch! But suffering, especially from doing something good, gives lots of redemption points.)

He risks his life to save Brienne from being mauled to death by a bear. Like, he’s recently lost his sword fighting hand and has no weapon, but he jumps in the bear pit anyway and puts himself between the bear and Brienne. He then helps Brienne out of the bear pit first and then only just makes it out alive himself. Oh and if that wasn’t enough, he basically tells the bad guys that he’s leaving with Brienne, or they will have to kill him. Like he says this to the guy who not so long ago chopped his hand off. (Just think on that one a minute ok.)

He keeps to his promise/oath to Catelyn Stark and continues to help her daughters by giving Brienne a priceless sword and some stunning armour so she can find and help them. (This also helps Brienne, because he knows she’s not safe in Kings Landing, and gives her a purpose, because he knows that’s what she needs.)

Firstly offers to sacrifice his own life needs and goals and those vows he’s now starting to hold more dear to save his brother. When said brother then screws up that opportunity, Jaime then also helps said brother escape from being killed, going against his sister and father, who want his brother dead. (Yeah, the Lannisters are an interesting family… And you wonder why Jaime is a little messed up?)

Takes RiverRun without any bloodshed. (Like pulls off the perfect bluff in GoT siege history so that he can make sure his army succeeds, but no one is killed. (I don’t count the Blackfish, who chose to fight to the death rather than escape/get taken prisoner.)

Joins the fight for the battle against the dead, even if it also means renouncing his entire house and lineage and putting himself at the mercy and judgement of pretty much all his enemies and all he has wronged. (One of which has a habit of roasting her enemies alive with Dragon fire)

Oh and also risks his life in above mentioned battle against the dead.

A pretty impressive list imho, lots of redemption points there and that’s not even including everything else he does. Following the general storytelling themes of forgiveness and redemption, Jaime basically ticks all the boxes by all the good deeds he’s now done. And that’s one of the major reasons why we as viewers now love him so much as a character.

But that’s not all, of course. As we discover also in series 3 (a pretty important series for our Jaime), it’s not even just about him doing good things, but we realise as an audience we’ve (intentionally by the show) completely misunderstood him! Yes, he did kill the King he was sworn to protect, but only because said King was mad and was about to blow up the entire capital city where hundreds of thousands of innocent people live. And not only did he do this incredible honourable thing, but because it did go against his vow as a Kings Guard, he’s ever since been derided as the Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, Man without honour. A horrible set of nicknames that he’s borne, because he doesn’t think people would care or understand anyway. (Of course, I want to add in here that it’s partly the negative trait of pride too, thinking himself as the Lannister Lion, above having to explain himself to the sheep.)

Anyway, all this has worn him down a lot over the years and it’s messed him up good and proper. It kinda makes your own initial dislike of Jaime through *Mr Honourable Eddard Stark’s eyes seem a little unfair. Especially when the guy was barely more than a kid at the time (16 or 17 I think). And his defence mechanism to deal with this is one of the reason’s he is so cocky and arrogant – he uses his dry, often cruel humour, to mask that he does actually still care. In fact, it’s worked so well, I think at the start of the show, Jaime believes it himself; that he is a horrible, hateful person. But he did have that honour inside of him once; he did care and try to do what was right. And when you think back to his scenes in series 1 and 2, they take on new meaning now. He’s no longer such an evil arrogant, cocky knight we all pretty much immediately hated.

And as this revelation happens around the same time as he starts doing all those good deeds, it all helps work together to make us re-evaluate Jaime and grow to love him and become invested in his redemption arc even more.

(*I feel the need to add a disclaimer here, I do like Ned Stark a lot as a character. But it is interesting that as the show goes on, he almost does the opposite to Jaime – we see he actually isn’t always as good as we thought, that perhaps honour tripped into bitterness and prejudice a few times. That perhaps Ned, as much as we like him, is less full white and more speckled in shades of grey after all...(which makes him a more interesting and nuanced character imho, so rather than undermine him, it makes him more human.))

And when I rethink Jaime’s scene with Robb Stark when he’s captured, where he gives Robb the choice of ending the war if Robb can beat him in single combat, well, it adds even more depth to his character. Of course, Jaime knew he would likely win, as did Robb, so Robb refused. And as a viewer who was all Stark=Good, Lannister=Evil (except Tyrion) at the time, I was glad Robb wasn’t stupid or arrogant enough, like the Kingslayer Mr Jaime Lannister, to fall for that.

But then I remember the parallel in series 6, when Jon Snow (Stark=Good) gives exactly the same choice to Ramsay Bolton (Bolton=Spawn of Satan). Ramsay can either fight Jon in single combat, or they can all send their troops to die in their war. And as a viewer now, NOW! I think Ramsay is weak and awful for not agreeing (because he knows he can’t win too) and so sending all these soldiers to an early grave. Which is like 100% opposite for pretty much the same scenario of its series 2 counterpart. Of course, we HATE Ramsay and he has no, I mean literary NO! redeeming qualities, unlike Jaime, who we never, ever hated in the same way. But it does make you think about the whole idea of perception as well as actual deeds here. And that actually Jaime, you could argue, was doing the honourable thing by asking Robb for single combat, to spare the lives of both of their armies… I mean, obviously he wants to win the war, but maybe, he also wanted to spare as many lives as he could, too – like Jon in the series 6 equivalent. Maybe not so arrogant a request from our Jaime after all…

And another point to add in here, which further adds up to Jaime’s redemption arc, is Lady Brienne of Tarth. Yes, I’ve saved her to last for a reason, as she is, imho, THE catalyst for this amazing change we see in Jaime. If you’ll notice, a lot of Jaime’s good deeds involve Brienne and start happening around the time the two characters meet. And that very fact further proves that Jaime was and can be a better person.

He does not like her at first and she’s not quite your typical maiden. Not only is she a “beast” (to quote Jaime), but she’s a fighter, full of honour, self-sacrifice and steadfast in her purpose, and more than a match for him. Oh and she’s also his captor, dragging him to Kings Landing with a rope around his hands so they can trade him for the Stark girls.

So yeah, not the most cordial of first meetings. He pokes fun at her, trying to get her to snap, to prove she’s not as good as she seems. But she doesn’t, because she is that person, she is true to herself and not pretending. Unlike so many people Jaime knows, she is genuine.  

And he’s impressed by her skill and courage as a fighter as well. She is able to best him in the sword fight (granted when his hands are tied and he’s been sat in a cage for over a year, but he is like renowned for being one of the best sword fighters in the entire realm). Also when she fought the men who had murdered the women they found hung along the road – both as justice and to give the murdered woman a proper burial. She isn’t all talk, she can, and does fight. I bet Jaime wasn’t expecting that! And as sword fights are his thing, what he pretty much defines himself by and is most proud of, that’s a pretty big for tick from Jaime for Brienne right there.

Basically, she is a) an honourable person b) sticks to her oaths c) also able to fight (and therefore protect people) and d) refuses to let him get the better of her. The perfect, chivalrous embodiment of a brave, honourable Knight. A true Knight in all but name, whilst Jaime is now a Knight in nothing but name.

Now, I’ll discuss this more in the identity arc bit, but basically all this challenges Jaime, makes him rethink his own bitter images of himself and his world. She reminds him of his younger self, when he wanted to be that honourable Knight. And seeing this reflection of his younger, naïve and less world weary version of himself in Brienne, it helps to trigger this change in Jaime. It makes him remember who he once was, what he once stood for and believed in; that ideal that Jaime once believed is actually possible - of the brave, worthy Knight people sing songs about. And it started to make him want to be that person again. And this in turn, makes him want to start to do the right thing, to start to put honour first, which paves the way for his redemption arc very nicely.

I won’t talk too much more about Brienne here, because I think her relationship with and influence on Jaime deserves its own post. But I do think it is the specific personality of Brienne, together with the very fact that she is an ugly, “beast” of a woman, that triggers Jaime’s arc in just the right way and enables it to be so profound.

One last note on his redemption – I’ve said before it was partly his Lannister Lion pride that caused some of his suffering in relation to his nicknames. And indeed part of his arrogance is because he does think he’s better than everyone else (although not to the extent we first thought). He is the Lannister’s golden son after all and the Lannisters are basically the most powerful and wealthiest House in Westeros. It is a bad trait, yeah. But even this, even this! gets sorted out in series 8. From my list of redemption points, see the second to last point above – he faces judgement. Like a guy who had too much pride to admit he actually killed a King to help save hundreds of thousands of lives, actually, of his own volition, faces his enemies to be judged and to atone for what he has done wrong. Yeah, he also offers excuses at said trail, but if I’m honest, they do sound quite genuine to me. Is it any worse than what your typical soldier would do in a time of war? Fight in a battle and kill people? Try to capture the person (Ned) who’s wife captured your brother to avert a war? And we already know now he was justified in his killing of the mad King.

So, all in all, with this new insight into Jaime’s character, especially also seeing him through the increasingly positive eyes of Brienne (more on that later), who we know really is good and honourable, we have both a better understanding of his past actions, see his ongoing internal struggles and conflicts as he strives to do what is right and along with all his good deeds as the show goes on, we see him slowly (with lots of unfortunate set backs as well) become a better person. So come series 8, his redemption arc up to THAT scene, is glorious and basically complete.

And then there’s his identity arc. The other side of his character development, which is just as important for me and very much interconnected with his redemption.

(Like, seriously, there’s so much going on with this character that I could write essays, no a whole thesis I bet! I seriously can’t wait until I get to read him and Brienne’s chapters in the books and discover even more sides and shades to this character.)

But I’ve rambled on for far longer than I intended on his redemption arc, so I’ll save his identity arc for another day. (And hopefully it won’t be as long). Then we can get into the fun stuff like that hand he lost, that famous bath scene and his, how to put this, interesting relationship with his sister…

#If you were brave enough to get this far #Thanks for reading #And hope this made sense #Just my rambling thoughts #Yeah, I have a lot

[butterflyinthewell]

So I’m working on a fanfic about Hannibal being diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s and Will struggling to come to terms with that.

I’m realizing it’s really a commentary on how society treats people whose brains work different.

There is no point where Will loves Hannibal any less and he never sees him as less than human, but doctors and other people do.

Most of the story is from Will’s POV, (I start each chapter in Hannibal’s memory palace as it’s crumbling) but I have Hannibal’s perspective running in my own mind too when we watch him through Will. So when Alzheimer’s causes Hannibal to act weird, I know exactly what he thinks he’s doing or where he thinks he is in place / time, and his behavior makes perfect sense according to where / when he thinks he is. Will and the readers won’t have that side of it, so to them it seems Hannibal doesn’t know how to behave. He has his lucid moments where he’s acutely aware that “I have Alzheimer’s and my brain is failing me”, though they diminish as his brain deteriorates. But he really doesn’t know what he’s doing when he’s not lucid, though sometimes he can remember it later and tell Will what happened. Those moments are heartbreaking.

So as an example of visible behavior vs what I know and don’t tell you: Will sees Hannibal smashing a rolling pin against the kitchen counter, but Hannibal thinks he’s cleaning up to prepare for a dinner party the next night and he’s frantic because there’s a lot to do and not much time, and he can’t get the counter clean. Once Will figures out Hannibal is trying to clean, he trades the pin for a sponge and helps him “clean”. Hannibal forgets why he was so frantic once they’re done, so now he can go to bed and sleep instead of keeping Will up by banging on the counter for hours.

You can’t reason with a confused person with Alzheimer’s once they’re past a certain point. It’s easier to just step into their reality and guide them gently in the direction you hope they’ll go. (Will is very hit and miss at doing this initially, but will get good at it later!)

Most people would suggest take the rolling pin away, but that would get in the way of the need Hannibal is trying to meet and lead to a fight. From his side it looks like Will is preventing him from getting ready for esteemed guests. Will trading the pin for a sponge is meeting Hannibal where he is, calming the anxiety he’s feeling and gently nudging him where he actually should go (to bed). Hannibal is happy with that because his need was met.

There’s another scene in a grocery store where Will doesn’t pay attention to Hannibal’s signals that this isn’t working, and it leads to Hannibal causing a bit of a ruckus. The store is restocking and there’s boxes and chaos everywhere. Hannibal can’t handle that, so he starts taking things out of the cart and putting them on the shelf like he’s at the checkout counter because that’s what you do when you’re about to leave the store. But Will misses that signal and puts things back into the cart, and suddenly a very angry Hannibal flips the cart over and hollers that “this isn’t correct” because he can’t access the language to explain he’s afraid.

Will has to talk him down from a panic attack and help him out of the store. Later, Hannibal is able to explain to Will that disarray frightens him because it looks like his memory palace, and when that happens he can’t tell his inner world from the outer world and doesn’t know which one he’s “speaking” to. But small bits of disarray become something Will can use to calm Hannibal down by giving him messy things to organize. (Hannibal is obsessive about organizing stuff, it’s soothing for him.)

Their love language evolves too. From speaking in metaphors to just speaking, then they progress to actions and finally end on touch.

Will needs to realize it’s less about what Hannibal is losing and more about what’s still there.

Hannibal is going to lose who Will is, but he never loses the fact that he loves him. Some days, he will look at Will and fall in love with him over and over like the first time he saw him in Crawford’s office, because in those moments every time is the first.

And that is what Will needs to realize. Their love hasn’t been lost.

Btw, Hannibal doesn’t stop being dangerous till the final stages of Alzheimer’s. He’s about midway through it when he almost mauls the staff at a hospital because they’re being nasty to him when he’s confused! (They chemically restrain him with Haldol and are super shitty liars about it). That experience is actually what gets Will to see that people are going to treat Hannibal like he’s not really a person anymore. Let’s just say the doctor who ordered the Haldol isn’t gonna survive. It’s Hannibal...that means people get eaten! 😌

Also, the fanfic starts after they’ve been married for 10 years, so the year is 2030 at the start of the fic. I’m writing this pretending the story of Hannibal began sometime in late 2010, Will pulled them off the cliff in 2015, they got some aliases to disappear and moved around America dodging the FBI for another five years.

The pre-story post-fall timeline goes like this:

December 2019: Will and Hannibal have been on the run for a long while, but they stop in Hawaii to have a nice, tropical Christmas. Hannibal can’t remember the volcano’s name is Kilauea.

January 1: 2020: They get married on the beach. It’s sort of spur of the moment, but they took the time to buy tuxedos and rings. Their tuxes are white with silver accents. Hannibal has a silver vest and bow tie. Will has a silver bow tie and cummerbund. They say their vows at sunset by the water.

Late February 2020: Will and Hannibal leave Hawaii for Cuba just as Covid-19 is hitting. They’ve already bought a house, so they move in. Both test positive for covid. Will stays asymptotic and never gets even a tickle in his throat. Hannibal gets the whole deal without getting sick enough to end up in the hospital, but recovers. He has some long covid issues, like shortness of breath and fatigue.

2022: Hannibal survives the widow maker heart attack and it’s discovered he had the heart attack because covid damaged his heart. He gets quadruple bypass surgery and spends a lot of time in ICU recovering. As he gets better he realizes his memory isn’t what it should be. Doctors tell him his heart stopping from the heart attack and the bypass surgery can sometimes cause some memory loss. Hannibal starts relying on his phone and GPS more and more. Will begins to suspect something is wrong, but the doctors reassure him that it’s temporary, so he lets it go.

(Fanfic begins here.)

2030: Hannibal is making mistakes in cooking, cleanup, paying bills and just everyday stuff, but he doesn’t think it’s weird. He blames “kids” when questioned about why he put dishes away dirty or burned dinner. Will is noticing things aren’t right, so he begs Hannibal to see a doctor. Will thinks it’s something solvable, like encephalitis or some other organ. But no, Hannibal gets looked over from head to toe, inside and outside, sent to a neurologist and finishes with his diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer’s. (He’s 58 at the time of diagnosis, but the disease process started when he was 48 and it was missed for so long because of the heart attack.)

As soon as he’s diagnosed, Hannibal starts making plans for Will to be his medical power of attorney, in control of their bank account, in charge of his advanced directives, etc.. He sort of drops it all onto poor Will, who barely gets time to absorb the news before he’s signing stuff. Will is in a tailspin of emotions.

It’ll take Alzheimer’s 20 years to chew through Hannibal’s brain. It’s not always gonna be pretty or easy to watch. At the end it becomes clear Hannibal is waiting for something, and he passes as soon as those final needs are met. Hannibal always has to have control of something, right? Right!

I’m gonna throw all your feelings into a washing machine and spin them. It’s what I’m good at with fics like this.

Anyway...

I have very specific images of how Will and Hannibal look at the start of the fic. Will is still pretty af, but a lot less friendly looking, and Hannibal looks like a scruffy Norse dad.

The most beautiful part about writing this (for me, anyway) is watching how Will learns to understand Hannibal’s communications as his language abilities deteriorate. He will continue to see and hear him even when most other people won’t try to watch or listen. He learns to be less “stop that, it’s annoying” and more “what need isn’t being met and how can I meet it? How can I step into his world to be with him where he is?”

Finally, their wedding song is important to the story. This was their first dance song. It’s their song. Will sings it to Hannibal a few times in the fic, and if he plays it on his phone it can break through the Alzheimer’s fog and take Hannibal back to the bank safe in his memory palace where he keeps their wedding day. Yup, he keeps that memory in a safe and it’s the last thing to go. ❤️