#feral opress tattoos

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

per a suggestion, posting these in a group for reference photos more easily found. (2/2)

[mercurydancer]

FERAL HAS A RED AND BLACK ARMBAND TATTOOED AROUND HIS LEFT BICEP AND I JUST NOW FUCKING NOTICED AND I DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT IT WHAT THE ABSOLUTE SHIT.

[thenightmarketofdathomir]

All I want in the aftermath of not writing any smut for a month is a lesson in etiquette delivered by my fave Zabrak as he offers me his cock and instructs me to say, “Thank you,” when he gives it to me, and “Please,” when he takes it back.

[zeenmrala]

sonnet 29 - savage x gn!reader

summary: modern au. gn!reader. when savage finishes a late shift at work, he comes home and reads to you, as he usually does - but the content of the text that he chooses tonight resonates with him in a deeply personal and profound way. features sonnet 29 by william shakespeare.  pairing: savage opress x gn!significant other!reader  cw/tw: domestic fluff that snowballs into angst. hurt/comfort. grief, insecurity, envy, mention of manipulation, sickness and abuse. happy ending. word count: 2.2k a/n: thank you candy + kima for beta-reading! this was inspired by prompt 6 of this list: ‘reading to them late into the night.’ this is purely self-indulgent: i love shakespeare and i want savage to read to me. i also hated how savage had no time to acknowledge or process the death of his brother feral, and that we did not get to see the extent of how maul's madness and his mother’s terrible behaviour affected him.

Sonnet 29 - [Read on AO3]

The weather outside is wet, grey and cold, and peppers your bedroom window with the delicate pitter-patter of rain song. The bare branches of a nearby tree are encouraged closer by a whistling autumnal breeze, and frequently knock against the glass. The howl of said wind is a muted, soothing backdrop to both of those gentle tapping sounds, and the trio of noises are a grounding comfort as you awaken from your dreamless sleep. The flickering glow of candles drapes your bedroom with an incandescent cosiness, the light so pleasant and warm, perfect for your now sensitive, sleepy eyes. You roll over, leaning across the cold and unslept-in side of your double bed to grab and then squint at your phone, which reads 4:13am. Perfect. Savage will be home any moment now, so you won’t bother trying to get back to sleep. You smile softly and sit up with a yawn, stretching your arms out into the cold air, before quickly pulling them back into yourself and the sanctuary of the warm bed with a shiver. You turn onto your side and curl up, nestling beneath the duvet and fluttering closed your tired eyes to rest them as you patiently await the tell-tale squeal of the elevator from down the hall - the sound that will indicate Savage’s imminent arrival.

As if right on cue, you hear the softened screech of the lift, and then the muffled thud of large feet padding closer. The lock of your apartment door then clicks, and you cannot help but grin as you listen to Savage try in vain to be quiet, shuffling around in the small hallway in the darkness, no doubt knocking his horns into the lampshade that hangs from the ceiling. Being as large as he is, Savage still struggles with residing in a building that wasn’t designed for someone of his size, which, though frustrating for him, is endlessly endearing to you. You quickly decide to let him know that you’re awake before he breaks anything in his attempts to prevent rousing you. “Savage,” you call out, your words laced with sleep. “I’m awake.”

He turns on the light in the hallway then, and makes his way to the bedroom. “What are you still doing up?” he asks softly as he appears in the doorway, ducking beneath it to enter the room. He steps closer and drops his keys to the bedside table, and leans down for a kiss. As you peck his lips, you notice that his yellow skin is cold from the weather, and raindrops linger on his tattooed cheeks. He smells like the nightclub he works for, that cheap booze mixed with the ashy remnants of other people’s cigarette smoke - but beneath that there is still the intoxicating goodness of his natural scent, a musky richness that never fails to make your head spin. 

“I was just so excited for you to come home,” you whisper against him. 

His lips curve into a muted, amused smile and with a final kiss, he then pulls away to the wardrobe. He shrugs off his jacket which is damp from the rain, then grabs a hanger. It’s a black double-breasted topcoat that was tailor made to fit his unique large frame, and you always think that it makes him look so smart and stylish. “Tea?” he asks as he hangs it up. You cannot help but grin at his offer, knowing that he is once again beginning the early-morning ritual you always share when he works late.

“Chamomile please,” you respond.

“Of course,” he says softly. “So how was work?” you ask, sitting up again, rubbing your groggy eyes as he makes his way from the bedroom to the kitchen.

“Fine,” he replies back, but you notice that his tone is slightly dejected. You hear him fill the kettle with water and switch it on. Then he pokes his horned-head around the doorway to say, “But all the better now it’s over, and I have come back home to you.”

You smile at that comment, but before you can reply he has disappeared again. You can hear the sound of him traversing the tiny kitchen, cupboards opening and closing, clinking mugs and teaspoons, the bubbling rattle of the kettle. Then he returns - two cups of steaming tea in his grasp, one in each hand: he makes them look like shot glasses with how large his fingers are. He passes you your tea, and you gratefully accept, holding the cup in both of your hands, pleased for the warmth that it emits.

“No sugar,” he states. “And in the cup with the smiling little tooka on it.” 

“Just how I like it,” you reply with a soft giggle. “Thank you, love.”

Savage smiles at your gratitude and places his mug on the table, then kicks off his shoes. You watch him closely, noting how much you like his work attire on him, how sharp and dapper he looks: he wears all black, a crisp shirt that, as most of his clothes do, appears the slightest bit too small for him. No tie tonight, a leather belt with a simple silver buckle, and fitted trousers that show off the shape of his thick legs wonderfully. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him wear his work clothes, what with him having time off due to the events of the past few months.

“How are you doing?” you ask softly, tucking your legs beneath you.

He sighs as he then falls back into the old armchair across from the bed, which is situated next to the bookshelf. He spreads his legs and rests his thick forearms on the fraying armrests and briefly closes his eyes, shaking his head. “It is…strange. Being back at the bar again,” he admits hesitantly.

“What’s strange about it? Talk to me,” you insist, a spike of worry unfurling in your chest.

“Seeing people…laughing, dancing, celebrating. As though nothing terrible has happened.” He opens his glowing eyes to look at you then, and his face softens with grief. “I still can’t believe that he’s…gone,” Savage says wistfully.

“Me either,” you reply. 

A pause. “He really liked you.”

The absence of his brother has haunted Savage since the day that he died four months ago, and you know that the weight of responsibility that Savage bears for Feral’s passing will always sit heavy on his shoulders. It is not helped by the fact that his family has crumbled in the face of such loss, what with his other brother Maul’s sickness and his Mother’s total apathy and indifference to both of her son’s pain. It has been heartbreaking to witness.

Savage takes a deep breath then, exhaling with a pensive sigh. He then plucks his small pair of wiry reading glasses from the bedside table, seemingly keen to move on. “So what are we reading tonight?” he asks as he perches the spectacles on his nose. Late night reading sessions by candlelight have always been a part of your routine together. It’s always a highlight of your day, stealing these precious moments after Savage finishes his shift, indulging in each other’s company before the sun’s rise and your departure for your own job. And since Savage had to take time off of work, you both kept up the habit. Comforting him and distracting away the sleepless nights with stories of faraway people and places, getting lost in fictional worlds together to cope with the tragedy of Feral’s death and Maul’s suffering.

“I was thinking maybe a poem or two tonight,” you reply, grabbing one of the tattered books that litter the wooden floor by the side of your bed, then reaching over to pass it to him. “Maybe a sonnet?”

“Which one?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

He flicks through the small volume of poetry, which looks positively tiny in his large fingers, and stops at a random page. “Sonnet 29,” he reads.

“Sonnet 29 it is.” 

And after a brief pause, he clears his throat and settles into a comfortable position. Then he begins to read:

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state…”

His voice is deep and rich as usual, he speaks clearly and slowly, enunciating each word perfectly. You feel a tug at your heart as you hear him read these antiquated lines, written by such a sad soul, from a time so long ago. Words that despite their age are timeless, that now may very well be resonating with Savage. Disgrace. The despair he feels in the face of his loss has been monumental, and you both know that there have been those around you that blame him for what happened, and the guilt and sorrow of such sentiments has begun to decay him from the inside out. Outcast. You are aware of how isolated his upbringing was, of how feeling separate from those around him has always plagued him. How that feeling has only been exemplified with the loss of Feral. “And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate…”

It is devastating how well Savage is embodying the pitiful, downcast narrator of this poem. A man broken by tragedy, his pleas and prayers, no matter how desperate, ignored by the Forces above. His existence falling to ruin. You notice Savage’s fingers gripping the pages tighter, and it is then that you understand: he really does relate to these words. He pauses at the end of this line, blinking slowly as the meaning of what he speaks steadily settles within him. As he realises that his pain has been understood by a poet, who lived hundreds of years before he even existed. Savage inhales softly, then continues: “Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d…” Savage has never been one to complain, never been one to envy: does he truly resonate with these words? Does he wish he were someone else, someone without a violent past, without a broken family? Does he long for a temperament that is not easily inflamed, a body that is not large and imposing? To be someone whose friends and family have never once attempted to manipulate him for his strength? “Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least…” Savage’s voice is quieter now, the tragedy of these lines making his voice syrupy with regretful understanding. Though you are aware of him sinking into a grief-fuelled depression, one that has leached him of his hobbies and passions; he has never before struck you as insecure or unsure of himself in any respect. Has he envied those with more money than him? Your home is modest, but you get by, it has never been noted as a problem before. Does he secretly wish for the decadent lifestyles of those that he works for? Or does he simply yearn for the sweet relief of self-medication, exotic drugs and acrid drinks that he cannot regularly afford? “Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state…”

After reading these two lines, he stops talking, reading the rest of the poem in silence. You worry that this was a terrible idea, that the content has been unnecessarily upsetting. That the poem is going to end with a bitter lament on the poet's lover, and Savage wants to save you the awkwardness of it by ending it here. But then he reads those final four lines aloud to you, his confidence restored, his countenance painted with…relief. “Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

There is a deep silence when he finishes, as his words ring in your ears, the meaning of the piece striking you unexpectedly, deep in your heart. The poet’s spirits, once melancholic and dire, are immediately lifted when he thinks of his lover. That he is like a bird, flying the sky at sunrise, whistling songs of beauty and reverence. Joyous. That his love brings such richness and wealth to his life, he no longer wishes to swap places with those of such greatness as monarchs. “It is all very truthful,” Savage muses, shutting the book. He thinks for a moment, then brings his eyes to yours. “My suffering has caused me at times, to envy and wallow,” he admits. “I have often compared my own fate with that of others, desiring to swap our lives, to switch places and live a menial existence without the heartache of my grief. My guilt.” He pauses, and adds with a devastating inflection, “and the overbearing reality of my abuse.” Savage then sits forward, taking the reading glasses from his face. “But then I look at you, my beloved.” Your eyes prickle with tears as you listen to him. “I look at you, and I know that I would not change a thing. Not for the world. Not for the galaxy. How could I ever envy those without you in their life?” You inhale sharply at the sweet shock of his confession, placing your cup of tea aside and stumbling out of the bed and into his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, and feel his large, warm palm settle on your back. “Oh Savage,” you whisper. “I am so sorry for all of the pain that has been inflicted upon you. It’s not your fault. You don’t deserve this, any of it.” “When you say that, my love,” he mutters in a hushed whisper. “I truly believe it.”

–

tagging some mutuals who make like this (but please feel free to ignore if this isn’t your cup of tea): @kimageddon @eyecandyeoz @stardustbee @maulslittlemeowmeow @moonstrider9904 @dinsverdika @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @grinningnexu @elledjarin @gggoldfinch @nxctuaryninetythree @wingofshadow @seriowan @itsagrimm @lazarithebellydancingmime @corona-one​

[nik-barinova]

Val x Savage as Parents HCs

Because the thought of it is so adorable

Savage being a crying mess when his daughter Mara was born and Val in awe seeing how tiny she is in his arms

Their second child Kali being the trouble maker daughter and Val being the one to discipline her every time Brother Viscus caught her doing something

When their third child was born, it was a son; and Savage got emotional when he decided to name him Feral

Zejinn being their youngest child and third daughter and Savage would dote on her like he did with his other two daughters

Savage being the one to teach all four of them the ways of the Force while Val is the one that teaches the kids some basics like hunting, cooking, etc

The Opress kids telling the other Dathomirian kids their dad could beat up their dad every time they get into a disagreement

Val wondering where Savage went but eventually finding him in Zejinn’s room sitting on a little stool with a macabre tea party (he’s got beef with her frankensteined-tooka doll)

Feral being a total mama’s boy but Savage being the one defending him for it

Val teaching the kids Man’doa but accidentally slipping in swear words ever so often (Savage was no better with Dathomirian)

Val and Savage 1000% adapting the mama bear/papa bear modes whenever the kids are in danger

Savage and his daughters doing this

Also Val and Feral like so

Val and Savage taking turns on breaking up the fights whenever the kids get into petty arguments

Savage doing the work around their home while Val’s pregnant no matter how many times she said she could handle it

Savage letting the girls put pinks and pastels on him and even color his tattoos/markings, nails and horns with those colors

Opress Family cuddle pile

Also the kids wanting their own beskar armor like mom just like how they wanted their own lightsabers like their dad

[panther-os]

[beats forehead on table]

Iridonian Zabrak - Eeth Koth, Agen Kolar, Maris Brood, Sugi, etc

Dathomirian Zabrak (mixed Iridonian Zabrak and Dathomirian) - Darth Maul, Savage & Feral Opress, Akaavi, etc

Dathomirian - Mother Talzin, etc

Rattataki - Kaliyo, etc

Most likely mixed Rattataki and Dathomirian - Ventress

I get it. I understand the confusion, I really do. If we take the show at face value and don't look at Legends or the lore from other canon sources, either the Nightbrothers are all Zabraks and the Nightsisters are all Dathomirians or there's some really weird sexual dimorphism going on involving extra or missing bones. It's a combination of the writers not thinking and the animators being so overworked.

But it still irks me beyond belief so.

Dathomir has a long history of ship crashes and assimilating any survivors into their clans - Dathomirian Zabraks are the descendants of the largest known event, a whole fleet of settlers headed for a completely different planet. The closest real world equivalent I know of are the Métis, a distinct ethnic group and cultural identity who originated with mixed Natives and became their own thing. But Dathomirian Zabraks make up a small fraction of the overall Dathomirian population.

Nightbrothers are not the only male community on Dathomir and not the only community of Dathomirian Zabraks. The reason all Nightbrothers are Zabraks is that a) male Dathomirian children are returned to their father's clan and b) there are literally no canonically mixed people I can think of in The Clone Wars. Saw and Steela may be Black with blue eyes, but they're still distinctly only human. Once again, it's the writers not thinking and the animators being so overworked, with a bonus of both white-washing and non-whitewashing racism.

Nightsisters are not the only female community on Dathomir and are actually ostracized by the other clans of Witches because of their history with the Sith. (This doesn't make other Witches pro-Jedi, it just makes them anti-Sith.) Nightbrothers are also not the only male community on Dathomir that the Nightsisters reproduce with - though from what we've seen, they do only reproduce with Nightsisters.

Zabraks 👏 have 👏 horns.

Are there Dathomirian Zabrak Nightsisters? Yeah, definitely. With the hoods that go way over their foreheads, it could be almost any of the background Nightsisters we see on screen. But we can clearly see that Mother Talzin doesn't have horns unless they're only on the sides and back of her head - and with her super tall forehead and black sclera, she's either pureblood Dathomirian, mixed with something else, or stupid enough to tattoo her eyeballs - and Ventress definitely doesn't have any horns at all.

Dathomirians in general and specifically Nightsisters 👏 are not 👏 automatically 👏 Zabraks.

Thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[dokoni-mo]

So y/n works as hunter for lost treasures and precious artifacts. Our burned potato Vader saw her once in imperial space station, when she transfered her finds to Galactic Empire ("a very reliable buyer" on y/n words). Vader isn't a kid anymore, but damn if he hasn't almost said "Are you an angel" again. Terrified, he noiseless gulped his shock inside and start a VERY awkward conversation, where y/n straightly said that Vader is "very big and strong" and "has a cool mask and cape". In the end of this mumbling from both sides, Vader had her comlink number, and a realization, that he doomed again. Oh shit oh fuck

Both terrified and inspired, Vader kicks rebel's asses and chocks doctors' necks with triple strength, as in a forgotten past, when he accidentally had drank Yoda's evening tea and couldn't sleep for two weeks.

Finally, he plucked up his courage and has called y/n, ready to boast of his healed lungs, when suddenly has answered by suspicious red-skin black-tattoos zabrak little kiddo.

Wtf "Who are you?!" asked Vader and finally saw y/n face. Turns out, while he was busy by doing what he should have done 15 years ago, y/n became a mom!

In ones of her searches, y/n has found a strange cave, at the end of the dark tunnel she got out and saw a terrible picture of tortured zabrak kids. Y/n weren't a force-user, but things were definitely flying in the air, and fucked up crazy Dathomir bitches witches too. After she rescued kids, a portal-cave was collapsed.

So now our Darth-look-at-me-please-Vader trying to get closer with proud mom of three zabraks: toddler "I'll-kick-your-ass" Maul, teenager middle-brother "I-don't-know-you" Feral and minor age "…-…-…" Savage Opress, who unfortunately had already changed by dark ritual and became a killing machine, now he is taller of Vader himself. All of them loves their space mom and don't like this strange ex-asthmatic dude.

So poor Vader be like:

LMAOO THE PANIC BUTTON 💀💀

This is really really interesting tho!! Im always a sucker for soft flustered vader but LIKE,,, Maul savage and feral were like MY FAVS from the clone wars so itd be so cool to have them back!! I cant imagine our poor mans' surprise when he sees three little heathen babies tho lollll

If you end up writing this pls let me know!! Id love to see it!

[catawampuscorner]

angy tomato

From left: Feral as a caiman, Savage as a crocodile, and Maul as an alligator.

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[aftergloom]

Nightbrother Tattoos and Reclaiming Traditions of Old Iridonia: A Headcanon

"And while our Nightbrothers are kept separated, they are marked as our kin and our warriors by the tattooing on their chests and faces."

―Talzin

The tattoos worn by the Nightbrothers have always been a symbol of resistance. Understood as tribal markings, the paste made from mushling was often imbued with special sacraments -- herbs and flowers thought to have special properties that were crushed down into the ink mix and applied to the skin as if to confer either magical powers or symbolic resonance:

Strength. Agility. Stealth. Power. Prowess.

Undetected by the Nightsisters, the brothers receiving the marks often thought of these additions as special gifts that would see them through life so long as they wore them with honour. In doing so, they reclaimed a little bit of the outward manifestation of their indenture to the Nightsisters: they made their tattoos their own in a small act of rebellion; a little way to reclaim ownership over themselves and their bodies.

In other ways, too, the marks have evolved to demonstrate small acts of defiance and commemoration. While the tattoos are often administered to new Nightbrothers in their infancy, a further subversive practice was implemented:

The "brotherhood" so often encompasses many members of the tribe of Nightbrothers who aren't blood family, but those who've retained knowledge of their parentage, and who could identify their full and partial siblings, were called upon to lay marks into the skin of their blood brothers to fortify their bonds and to recall that more than just circumstance binds them together.

Stylistically, the marks may vary between the hands that made them -- some Nightbrothers preferring more ornate ornamentation, or others more geometric in style, and yet others demonstrating more organic shapes. It is by that right that in some cases, the tattoos worn by one person can sometimes vary, as different aesthetic influences from multiple siblings may be demonstrated as part of the brother's being "claimed" by his kin.

There is one such example in Feral Opress, whose facial markings different greatly than those worn on his back and torso -- evidence of the two styles belonging to his elder brothers who applied the tattoos to his skin at an age when Feral was too young to remember.

It's one of the reasons Nightbrothers only receive the ritual markings in their early childhood: it would be unsafe for them to recall the particulars later in life, when the information might be so easily exploited by their captors.

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

per a suggestion, posting these in a group for reference photos more easily found by artists. (1/2)

[mauls-fair-in-love-and-war]

I genuinely love seeing half-finished drawings of Zabraks, because without their tattoos and/or horns,,, that’s just some guy

[thenightmarketofdathomir]

Oh Wishmonger, patroness of things too sinful to tell! One more for the night, for the lonely cold road! For whenever your honor has the time or inclination! It may be a trifle and perhaps too sweet and cloying for these dark side brothers who have dealt with so much worse… but can this humble palmer request a smutty version of the three brothers with a plus-sized reader? (I am sure there are SOME out in the gffa!)

Specifically one that may be self-conscious about being with warriors that are chiseled out of dark granite, warriors that are maybe admired and revered and therefore not expected to stoop to manhandling women of inferior beauty.

What I mean to say is, let’s be honest, the Opress brothers could have ANYONE, so is it surprising that many around them ask why YOU? Lumbering you. Ugly you. Does Not Fit Into Sith Nightgowns you.

If you please Wishmonger, if it tickles your fancy! If it kindles your imagination!

When asked about their values, you'll often hear about strength and honour and respect mentioned before physical perfection in Nightbrother circles. Valour. Physical prowess. Stamina. Endurance. Fearlessness.

Sit around the communal fire in the village when the brothers are trading tales, and no one is talking about how cute they looked in the middle of the hunt with their teeth blacked.

A reminder:

Feral wears scars on the back of his head.

Savage never filed his horns down for repair after some Jedi lopped them off when aiming for his head.

And Maul, never indifferent to what he lost at Kenobi's hands, never once speaks of himself as half of what he might've been.

It's not their way. So maybe that's something they'll need to teach you, prized pet that you are on their arm and in their beds, because no one -- no one -- who admires and respects them would dare say something disparaging about their chosen partner and live to tell about it.

Oh, and Sith might have nightgowns, but last I heard Nightbrothers far prefer you nude when you're sleeping together (and panty-free in public, but maybe that's another story.)

Pairing: Darth Maul x Reader, Savage Opress x Reader, Feral Opress x Reader Rating: Explicit Warnings: P in V, Oral (receiving), blindfolding, past mentions of abuse (Nightsisters) Notes: Plus Sized AFAB Reader.

Feral: Isn't fond of turning the lights off when he takes you to bed, despite your insistence. He likes watching your face when you come for him, but knowing you're self-conscious, he blindfolds you instead and gets to work -- thighs, tummy, ass, flipped over and spread wide, taking palmfuls of your breasts, leaving bite marks on your hips. Maps your stretch marks. Your dimples. Your scars. Your nipples. Finds the exact right places where you're sensitive exploits those areas while he helps you remember there's more to your lovemaking than just seeing what he's capable of. He's a talker, too: likes telling you what he likes about you -- the way you tremble and how you squirt a little and the way you shudder when you forget it's not a performance but it just feels good. Most of all, he likes hearing what you think -- a little praise for him when he fucks you the right way is always appreciated.

Savage: The first time you express reservations about seeing you naked, he brings you to the cave on the Witch's Horn where Gorgara makes it's lair -- the one where all those brave Nightbrothers before him have left their marks, handprints, names carved, and some little illustrations. The drawing he shows you made years ago in hydraatis acid is a scrawny, weak little thing who wears his horns shorter, but the tattoos are familiar. It's him, before his transformation. "I sometimes wish I could go back there," he tells you in confidence, because the transformation leaves scars that you can't understand even though he now represents someone else's ideal of physical perfection. It's a good thing the creature isn't around anymore, because when you came up to the cave, you didn't realize how badly the confession would make you want to kiss him, to hold him close, to straddle those heavy thighs so you could show him how you appreciate him. He's not a monster. He's no longer someone else's creation -- in some ways you're similar. You're not the only one who needs the reminder: how he sees himself is not how you see him.

Maul: Doesn't want to hide you. Does not understand your immediate reluctance when the dress he offers you -- the black and red satin sheathe that clings and trails and reveals the swell of your chest, the ample curve of your ass that he so loves to squeeze, the plummeting back that reveals the rich expanse of your flesh that leaves you self-conscious because when he sees smooth and soft, you see rolls. He's dreamed about you in this garment that he's had made especially -- draped off his arm with a flute of champagne and glittering with the little threads of gold chain holding the fabric across your chest. It barely closes, but not because it doesn't fit -- that's how he designed it. He loves your breasts and wants to see them. His prize. His queen. His goddess. Maul knows how to create a spectacle, but you don't understand the service: why he would go to the trouble of creating this perfect wrapping with its little embellishments like you were a trophy. You humour him because you want him to be happy. You wear it, and it feels too luxurious -- sliding against your thighs every time you take a step. Falling off your limbs like water. It ripples with starlight. You wish you deserved it. You wish you could wear it better. You don't see how everyone turns, following your progress as he stalks your steps, hungry, thirsting for the moment his roving hands will lift your hem, claws dragging up your thighs when he bends you over to feast on everything the dress teases. It doesn't tear, you see: a lesson you learn later, breathless, when frustrated and angry that you don't see things his way, he steals you into a darkened corner and delves under the skirts -- head first. It doesn't tear on sharp horns when he's on his knees before you -- gasping, gripping red stone, terrified by his hunger and your proximity to the party -- the way he keeps growling when his fingers stretch you open, his tongue thirsty for everything you've teased him with. This is the problem: Maul is villainous when it comes to your pussy, and determined to convince you of your beauty and your worth, to have you see things his way, he'll fuck you until you until you don't have the strength left to protest. Hope you're ready.

[arterstrashbin]

A portraits of all Opress Siblings as humans

Maul

Savage

Feral

Wild

Sharp

[nik-barinova]

So I have a canon ending for Val x Savage and about 2-3 AU ending ideas for them as well.

This might be long since I tend to ramble on, but it gets that creativity going lol

Canon Ending

Pretty self explanitory

Savage is killed by Palptatine/Lord Sidious leaving Val angry, grief stricken, and mournful

She also found out sometime after Savage’s death she was pregnant and now has to live out the rest of her days as a single mother

After the Siege of Mandalore, Val could no longer stay with Maul to assist on his growth of the Shadow Collective and flees to another planet

She lands on Koboh in hopes to start her life over and to hang up the bounty hunter/medic title in order to live with the locals in the Rambler’s Reach Outpost

Though needless to say after managing to drive out bandits, Val gained respect from Doma Dendra and accidentally became the sheriff of the budding Outpost

Val eventually has her and Savage’s only child and daughter Mara

Now Val and her daughter live a relatively peaceful life on Koboh managing her sheriff status as well as assisting Cal Kestis on occasions with bounties

She’s even repainted her trusty old bes’kar armor to match her late lover’s colors and tattoos to honor him

“Crash Landing” AU (Bad Ending)

Relatively the same as her canon ending, except now she is both a widow and a single mother to her and Savage’s three children, Mara, Kali, and Feral

The four of them despite Maul’s offers for her to stay with him move out to the Outer Rim to restart their lives and properly grieve the loss of Savage

Val goes on to be the sheriff of Rambler’s Reach Outpost, and her three children can finally know peace

Val does allow Mara to join Cal Kestis (much to her displeasure) in taking down the Empire

“Crash Landing” AU (Even Worse Ending)

Val is able to save Savage from being killed by Sidious but is killed herself instead

Savage, now hellbent on revenge, attempts to kill Sidious himself but is overwhelmed by him and was able to get away

A grief stricken Savage has to now live the rest of his days as both a widow and a single father to his and Val’s three children

He and Maul would go about after escaping Mandalore to build up the Shadow Collective

He trains his three children intensively, much more so that even Maul was starting to become concerned for his brother and nieces and nephew

Savage during the time never got to properly process and grieve the loss of his wife up until he got into a fight with his son Feral who gave his own father a wake up call

The man had carried his late wife’s bes’kar helmet all this time and the moment he looked at it for the first time in years, he finally broke down; both emotionally and mentally

Savage leaves the Shadow Collective along with his children after much clarity and coming to terms with Val’s death, and returns to Dathomir to start over

Savage never knew of Maul’s eventual death by Obi-Wan but did feel a disturbance in the Force when it happened; he did come to terms with that

“Crash Landing” AU (Good Ending)

Both Val and Savage live and both them and Maul kill Sidious after his assault

However, Val suddenly realizes the three of them would be big targets for the Senate and possibly the Republic

Val argued that staying on Mandalore or going forward with the Shadow Collective would be a massive risk to both them and their kids while Savage argued that they would still be protected

That was really Val and Savage’s first ever big fight over what to do

After some tears and raised voices, Savage came to agreeing that making the kids go on the run with them was never a good idea and understood why Val would want the kids to have a better life

Once it was settled the Opress family found refuge on the Outer Rim and found themselves on Koboh for a fresh start

After settling, Val becomes the Outpost sheriff, Savage picks up farming, and the kids get to have their normal lives

“Shadow Collective Empire” AU

Val saves Savage from death but are defeated by Sidious along with Maul

Post-Siege of Mandalore is when the Opress’s make their move to build the Shadow Collective

As the Collective grew, so did Val and Savage and their children

Mara trains with her father and Uncle Maul, Kali learns the art of the trade with Uncle Maul, and Feral wants to become a medic like his mother

[maulslittlemeowmeow]

Dibs

Chapter 2

Warnings: Nothing (wow!), this chapter is pure wholesome fluff

Summary: This isn’t a date - couldn’t be; there was no way you could ask Maul out on a date. This is just.. an outing.. with his whole family at an arcade. Completely innocent.  (AU created by the ever talented @nxctuaryninetythree, this is based off of her fic 88:88, and soon to be The Mixtape)

If you would like to follow along with the songs mentioned in the chapter, the first song is SOS by Millencolin, and the second is The Kids Aren’t Alright by The Offspring

Pairing: ModernAU Maul x Reader (cis female)

WC: 3374

Another sticky summer night, and no breeze to cool you. You’d driven with all of the windows down, better that than waste the gas on AC. Even still, you wrapped a flannel around your waist “just in case” - but also because you felt nearly naked wearing shorts and the flannel was practically an accessory. But you’re still pulling on the neckline of your t-shirt as you sit in the shadows of the ridiculously out of place castle behind you. “Camelot” was one of the best ideas you’d had for an… “outing” with Maul. You didn’t want to call it a date, he hadn’t really pushed for anything like that and you were too nervous to ask him out. So instead, you invited him and his brothers.. And the girl Feral was “dating”. With that many people - an odd number of people, no less - it wasn’t a date right?

And to top it all off, you’d gotten here twenty minutes early - overly eager and so beyond nervous - and just climbed up onto one of the thick cement bases of the streetlights in front of the phony castle. You had originally been pretty relaxed, swinging your boots to a tune in your head and trying not to melt away before the Opress gang got there. But now, your nerves are eating you alive and you’ve tucked your legs up to sit criss-cross-applesauce - leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, chewing your lip and beginning to wonder if this was a horrible idea.

Then you hear it. A blaring stereo and someone wailing along with it. You think you can spy the car it’s coming from as it sits at the stoplight just in front of the parking lot, waiting to turn in. A beat-to-shit beige sedan filled to the absolute brim; you can see a heavily tattooed arm hanging out of the back window, tapping along to the music the driver yowls to. You can’t help but grin as it rounds the corner into the parking lot. Maul manages to be the only one in the car that doesn’t look pleased with the music and it’s overly-enthusiastic singer, though he doesn’t look angry per se. Is that just his… default?

You’re beginning to panic again about how he might be entirely too much for you to handle when they park and he unfolds himself from the backseat. Your mind completely short circuits when the group begins stalking towards the building. Well… Maul stalks; Feral would better be described as slinking, and Savage has more of a saunter - a guy who knows he’s large and in-charge. But whoops, there goes that thought too, because Maul has noticed you. Feeling his eyes on you has about the same effect as a cupid’s arrow, striking you right through the chest and leaving you trying to pick your jaw up off the floor.

The moment’s here, can’t stall, can’t run - you slide off of your perch and walk towards the group, doing your best to not look nervous. Feral is first to greet you, seeming entirely too sunshine-y to be related to Maul.

“Thanks for inviting us, I’ve never been here! Great date spot!” The youngest raves, but his bright smile doesn’t distract you from how he glances back at the girl he’s standing beside. The same girl you’d seen Maul walk off with at their party… They’re a cute couple, honestly. Wait… “date”. No! You don’t get a chance to correct him though, because the oldest seems hell bent on getting you alone with Maul. Savage offers you a polite smile before he curls his arms around Feral and his sweetie, dragging them into the building. You watch them go, happy to look at anything other than the smoldering zabrak at your side. Which feels silly, considering you’ve done nothing but think about this man since the first moment you laid eyes on him. Now or never. You turn back to him with as relaxed an expression as you can manage, trying to slip an easy smile across your lips.

“Was that Millencolin? SOS?” You guess, referring to the song you’d heard from the car as they tore into the parking lot. Maul raises an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth twitching, looking the smallest bit pleased.

“Good ear.” he mumbles. He nods his head towards the door and you eagerly accept his invitation, walking into the too-loud building.

Vibrant red carpet, rooms filled near to bursting with arcade games, children darting up and down the aisles with tickets clutched in their tiny little fists, the smell of greasy food and plastic. Classic arcade feel. You spot the rest of your group at the counter at the back of the building, collecting putt-putt clubs and quickly exiting out the back where the mini golf course is. They didn’t even wait for you, Savage is entirely too obvious. What is it with everyone in Maul’s life trying to shove him at the first girl that shows an interest in him? Then again, there is no way you’re the first one stupid enough to make a move on him, right?

“Well I guess we aren’t going golfing with your brothers… What do you think, should we spend too much money trying to win some stupid plastic novelty?” You ask, giving him a wry smile. “First round of coins is on me, since this was my lame-ass idea.” Maul pulls one of his hands out of his pockets at last, gesturing one hand out as if saying “after you”. You only notice then that he’s still wearing that leather jacket, and you honestly wonder how he’s managing to wear it in the muggy summer heat. A thought for another time, especially considering how much you like seeing him in it. So you lead him down the center aisle of the arcade, lined with old and battered suits of armor standing at attention. When you reach the coin exchange, you pull a crumpled bill from your pocket and attempt to straighten it on the hard edge of the machine. You drag it along the edge while pulling it taut between your hands, then push it into the machine. Of course the machine spits it out, so you try flipping it around so that the face on the bill is facing the machine (an old superstition, sure, but you swear by it) and the machine eagerly gobbles it up before spitting out a hearty handful of little bronze coins. You scoop them up and then stare at them for a moment. You have nowhere to put these. Shit.

Maul must sense your distress - it’s probably not hard with the look on your face - because he holds out one wide palm to you. You look at it for a moment before glancing up at him with a bashful smile. You dump the coins into his much larger hand and he stuffs them into his much larger jeans pocket. Damn men’s apparel and their unfair advantages.

“So, you have any favorites?” You question, turning slightly to toss a thumb over your shoulder towards the games. Maul purses his lips in thought before shrugging. Helpful. “Ok, well how about I kick your ass at skee-ball for a bit and then you can pick something.”

“You sound just like Kenobi; arrogant. You’re on.” Maul challenges. You’d be worried you’d upset him if it weren’t for the delicious smirk curling his lips. Maybe you can push it a little further.

“I don’t know Kenobi, but I bet I’d kick his ass at skee-ball too.” It’s called over your shoulder as you saunter in the direction of the machines, putting a little extra sass in your step. Luckily, Maul follows. When you reach the line of machines along the wall, you turn and hold out your hand, rolling your fingers in a grabby sort of way, waiting for him to place some coins in your palm. Maul is still sporting that half a smile when he places two coins in your hand. You look at them while he inserts two coins in the machine beside you. How odd that the coins for a castle-themed arcade would have a rocket ship on them.

You’re brought back from your reverie when Maul flicks his wrist and sends a ball straight into the 500 point hole. Then his arresting golden gaze is sliding back over to you and his smug grin follows. Oh that pretty bastard.

“Are you just going to let me win?” He cooes patronizingly, clearly goading you. You take the bait of course. You slide the coins into the machine in front of you and flinch a bit when the balls are released and loudly clack together beside you. Then you snatch one up and send it racing down the lane. It bounces off the plastic guard for the 1000 point hole and catches on the 100 point guard, guiding it right in.

You can feel Maul’s smug satisfaction as he says “Wow, you’re really kicking my ass.”

“Listen you-...” You spin on your heel to glower at him, but the look on his face twists the arrow lodged in your chest from earlier. You purse your lips and do your best to look upset. “I’ve still got nine more chances to get a higher score than you.” He huffs an almost-laugh out of his nose and picks up another ball. You follow his lead and send another one up the lane.

It’s a close battle, but you manage to scrape by with about 600 points over Maul. He doesn’t seem too upset, just rolls his eyes when you stick your tongue out at him.

“You know what, I bet I know what you’d be good at.” You tease, snatching the tickets from the machines before grabbing his hand and leading him across the room to an equally old and beat up looking machine. You didn’t even realize you’d grabbed his hand so casually until you arrive at your destination. He let you hold it, curling his long fingers around the back of your hand and letting you drag him around. But now you don’t have an excuse to keep holding it, so you drop his hand and place yours on your hip, gesturing with the other at the machine in front of you. Whack-a-mole; or whatever off-brand animal they had in this dump - alligators, it looks like.

“Something to take the edge off, after your most humiliating defeat.” You tease. You bite your lip when you watch his eyes narrow and he tries to hide his smile behind pursed lips.

He places a coin in the machine and looks almost embarrassed as he holds the oversized beating instrument aloft, waiting for the game to begin. You both jump when the first alligator pops out of its burrow, but Maul is quick to bop it over the head and it disappears. You laugh, but Maul seems too focused to notice, his form gone rigid and poised to attack. As the speed of the alligator’s appearances cranks up, you can hear little curses whispered under his breath, and you bite your lip to hold in your giggling. By the time the alligators are popping up in multiples, you’re both cursing at the mocking plastic grins on the reptiles. Maul is now using his free hand to smack some of them and you’re reaching out to hit the ones on the far edge of the board, as the mallet’s tether is oh-so-conveniently too short to reach the farther holes. An animated snickering signals the end of the game and you both look at each other and laugh, slightly out of breath from all of the bouncing around you’d been doing.

“Wish I had one of these at work.” Maul muses as he places the mallet back into its holster. He folds up the tickets from the game and places them into his other jeans pocket; you hand him the ones you had still been clutching from skee-ball, the two of you wordlessly agreeing to combine your efforts.

“Where do you work?” You query, stepping away from the machine and wandering in a random direction, eyes scanning over the machines to see if anything catches your attention.

“Dex’s Diner… it’s a total crap hole.” He growls. “What about you?”

“A veterinary clinic; I’m a bather.” You sound just as sour about your job as he does, but he tilts his head with interest. It’s not one of those jobs people really think about, so you’re not surprised. “You wanna talk about dirty jobs, I got one hell of one. Not to mention I'm covered in scars from it.” You hold your arms out to show him the random map of criss-crossing pale lines over your forearms and hands. Maul pulls the heavy sleeves of his jacket back a bit and shows you his hands. They’ve got various scars, old burns and cuts leaving pink lines over his tattooed skin; you try not to stare at the distinct scars from split skin over his knuckles.

“Builds character.” Is all he supplies. You take another chance and slide your hand back into his, pulling him along to another game. Maybe you could do this to get him to every game; just to feel his warm hand in yours. Both of your palms are a little sweaty, but neither of you seems to care.

Maul surprisingly lets you cart him around through the arcade as much as you dare, and participates in all the games you drag him to - though he puts his foot down when you tease him about forcing him on the Dance Dance Revolution game. You’ve exchanged more money for coins at some point, and Maul continues to be the pack mule for tickets and coins, brushing his fingers along your palm every time he supplies you with coins for another play. His brothers finish with their game and join up with you when you reach the prize counter. Savage is pouting. You give him a questioning look, but Feral is all too eager to answer your unspoken question.

“Savage lost three balls to the course, kept hitting them too hard.” He and his girl are both snickering behind their hands.

“Wow, how many do zabrak have?” You ask, feigning innocence. Feral can’t hold his laughter this time, practically wheezing. You join him and his girl, giggling at your own stupid joke.

Maul lets you choose the prize of your collective efforts - a stuffed Kowakian; red, of course. Then you’re all spilling out of the building and into the parking lot. Feral and his girl are actually really fun, and you’re glad you invited all of them. But the night’s over, and you’re nearing your car. Your panic had abated through the night, but now it’s crawling back up your throat and making you fall out of the easy conversation you’d been having with the rest of the group.

“This is me.” You announce when you pass your car. Savage doesn’t have to drag the other two away this time; they all seem eager to get back to their car and leave Maul alone with you again. Maul notices too - not that it isn’t incredibly obvious - and he looks exasperated as his eyes follow his family to their car, waiting until they're far enough away before he turns his attention back to you. Before you can make any sort of move, Maul pulls one of his hands free from his jacket pockets to wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you in for a hug. You’re rigid and shocked for just a moment before the warmth and scent of him envelops you, then you're melting into him. Sweat, leather, his deodorant, cigarettes… you definitely don’t mind it. Your hands slip under his jacket and you spread them over his back, holding him as long as he’ll let you. His chin sits on the top of your head when he speaks.

“Let me know when you get home safe.” He mutters into your hair. You wonder if he’s trying to memorize your scent, trying to burn it into his memory like you are. Then he’s pulling away from you.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you soon.” You confirm as you reluctantly release him. But you smile all the same before you turn to get into your car. Once he sees you slide into the driver’s seat, he shoves his hand back into his pocket and stalks back to the car he’d arrived in. You turn the keys and roll down your windows just in time to hear Feral’s indignant shriek.

“A hug?!” He squawks. You look over to see the driver’s seat jostle a bit, you assume Maul kicked it in retaliation, because Savage sets him with a warning look.

With a smile, you connect your phone to play through your stereo and back your car out of the parking space.

“When we were young the future was so bright (Whoa) The whole neighborhood was so alive (Whoa) And every kid on the whole damn street (Whoa) Was gonna make it big and not be beat Now the neighborhood’s cracked and torn (Whoa) The kids are grown up but their lives are worn (Whoa) How can one little street Swallow so many lives?”

You’re sitting at the light, waiting to turn, when that beat up beige sedan pulls up behind you, their blinker indicating that they’d be going the opposite way. You hear them before you see them. Feral is already howling along to the song they blast from the poor old car’s abused radio. You turn up your music in retaliation, starting to belt from the top of your lungs to compete with Feral.

“Chances thrown Nothing’s free Longing for What used to be Still it’s hard Hard to see Fragile lives Shattered dreams (Go!)”

Looking into the rearview mirror, you see all smiles from your antics, even Maul. The light turns green and you stick your hand out of your window for one last wave before you go your separate ways.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Maul sat through the relentless ribbing his brothers had given him on the ride home, though he did try to choose a mixtape that he knew Feral would want to sing to in the hopes that it would get the youngest off of his back. His family didn’t usually show an interest in his love life, but the only thing he can figure is that they are sick of waiting around for him to do things himself. Or, there was the option he was less likely to admit to himself: they wanted to see him happy. She did make him smile. She was funny and the way she looked at him made his stomach do flips. Maul definitely can’t get the image of her crouching before him and licking him from navel to sternum out of his head. The way she looked at him then? Forget about it.

He can’t.

Maul remembers those looks as he drags himself up the creaky stairs to get to his room so he can hide away from his teasing brothers. Not wanting to hang his jacket, he shrugs it off and drapes it over his amp. He is pulling his belongings out of his pockets when he hears it.

Clink

A soft clatter, a single coin hitting the worn wooden floorboards. He looks down to see a little rocket ship smiling up at him. He tosses his keys and wallet onto the cinder block beside his bed and crouches down to pick up the single bronze coin. Maul spins it between his fingers as he shifts to sit on the edge of his mattress, considering the small object and how he’d come to acquire it.

An odd thought comes to him, a compulsion, really. He stands again to retrieve his guitar off of its stand and slumps back into his mattress, propping himself against the wall as he settles the guitar in his lap. He pinches the coin between his calloused fingers and plucks at the strings, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips.

------

Previous Chapter (with incredible fanart by @the-chains-are-the-easy-part) x x x Next Chapter

More sweet-as-candy-floss-fluff? Yes. This AU has given me legitimate brainrot, it’s my favorite thing to write and I can’t wait to post the third chapter. I decided to post this right on the heels of the Maul prompt I just posted because I want to shower @eloquentmoon with Maul fic to read for her birthday!! (and definitely not because I have no self control and wanted to post this chapter for ages) Happy birthday again, Moon!

If you haven’t checked out Nxctuary’s work, I highly recommend it! Her AUs make me feel so cozy and nice and she has legitimately turned me into a Feral-Enjoyer.

If you would like to see more of my work, you can go to my Masterlist or my AO3, if you want to be added to my taglist, shoot me a message <3

Taglist:

@eyecandyeoz @misogirl828 @kimageddon​ 

[savagesbonergarage]

hi hey there hello do you maybe have any thoughts on first kisses with the opress brothers 👉🏻👈🏻🥺

You bet I do!

I'm gonna make this in three parts, so here's Maul's first, then I'll post Savage's and Feral's separately. :)

Maul

"First Kiss"

It happens during training.

Teräs Käsi was created to combat the Jedi, and therefore utilizes a full-body fighting style, complete with weapons and really whatever else happens to be on hand. It's aggressive, it's ruthless, and it embodies Maul's attitude toward life in general. Nothing is off-limits, everything is a weapon, and whenever there's an opening, it's taken advantage of.

He never used his lightsaber with you, however, and it was clear he was holding back at least slightly. While you were far from facing him at full strength, it still irked you a bit that he wasn't giving you more of a challenge.

"I'm ready to take on more, Master," you stated confidently.

Maul raised his brow with an air of amusement, allowing himself a slight smirk at your words as he paced around in a half-circle in tandem with you.

"Is that so? Are you confident you can subdue me in a way I haven't predicted? I have already foreseen your failure, apprentice."

You wanted to scoff, but instead you took a battle-ready stance and watched intently as your Master did the same, a gleam of anticipation in his eye. It was the expression he always gave when he looked forward to 'teaching you a lesson', ever so smug at the prospect of defeating you. However, you were determined to turn the tables this time around.

The two of you lunged at each other in a flurry of kicks, blows, twists, and jumps, managing to remain in an even draw with one another until Maul eventually found an opening and had you pinned roughly to the ground, his superior strength beginning to overtake you as your interlocked hands pushed against one another's arms in the fight for dominance. Your faces were already only inches apart, so you made the executive decision to take advantage of the opportunity you were given.

His breath hitched when you closed the space between you, surprised at your action as well as your inaction as you allowed your body to relax while you captured his lips with your own. You moaned into his mouth a little as you lightly grazed your teeth against the tattoos on his bottom lip, and that moment's hesitation from him as his eyes widened was all you needed.

Without warning, you flipped him over so that you literally came out on top, pressing his arms down into the dirt as you straddled him and chuckled quietly at the sight that signaled your victory.

"Your foresight is misconstrued, Master," you explained complacently as you continued to hold him in place. He didn't attempt to throw you off, or even tense up in the slightest. Initially you could see his embarrassment, however that faded into something else entirely the longer you remained in that position.

"You've learned well, my apprentice..." he began, the crimson of his skin aiding to hide the flush of his face, though the same couldn't be said for you. You wondered if the beating of his hearts was from the adrenaline of the fight or from the passion of your kiss as yours was, and luckily you received your answer with his following instruction. "Demonstrate for me again this...technique."

So, you did.