Snapmite1998

Writing has become more than just a hobby for me. I’ve decided to take story commissions. So here’s some brief information and ratings for commissions.

For example, if I were to write 1,000 words, it would be $10, a 3k one shot would be $30. Payment would be up front via PayPal. To commission, you’ll need to direct message me here on Tumblr so we can talk and discuss details and what the story entails.

Fandoms I’m cemented in right now are HTTYD, Star Wars, Arcane, and Tangled. However, I want to push myself into delving into other fandoms. Most likely, I’ll be writing Kim Possible, Spider-Verse, and Spartacus. I’m willing to write other fandoms as well, and I’ll try to get characterization down to the best of my ability, but I’m human like the rest of us, so it won’t be perfect.

Content wise, I’m writing stories at the moment. But I can do fluff, angst, smut, and willing to venture into more avenues.

Rating: Mature | 2k words

Gifted to: @ochibrochi

Chapter 2: He lives

Janix City was certainly no Coruscant, but Obi-Wan wasn’t here for sightseeing. He was here for one reason, and one reason only: to purchase the necessary supplies he needed for himself, Luke, Luma, and the ship before laying low in the jungles for a few days and then moving to another system. 

As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was one of the most wanted men by the Empire, he also had the occasional run-in with low-life bounty hunters trying to make a name for themselves within the Guild by collecting the fortune that the Empire had placed on his head. 

He couldn’t afford any altercations. 

Not with Luke in his charge, and the role the boy would have to play in the war between light and dark. 

Steering his Mandalorian swoop through the freeway, Obi-Wan made his way to the Market District so that he could do what he came to do. Even though the Empire had yet to establish itself on this planet, the Jedi Master was on high alert. After all, there was plenty of crime to go around on Janix, and although there weren’t any big criminal players on the planet, the low-level syndicates were always seeking to build their reputation and make themselves stand out. Thankfully, Obi-Wan had no intention of going anywhere near the territories of the Janix crime syndicates. 

Upon reaching the Market District, Obi-Wan parked his swoop in a nearby parking garage before adjusting his traveler's robe and the hood thrown over his head, obscuring his identity to most. Beneath the confines of his robe was a BR-14 blaster pistol holstered at his hip, a holoprojector so that he could keep close contact with Luma, and finally, his lightsaber. He had considered whether having his lightsaber on his person was wise, especially in these times. But because he was being hunted by both the Empire and almost every bounty hunter who decided they wanted to test their luck against a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan decided it would be wise to keep his blade on hand, just in case. 

As he roamed through the bustling marketplace, Obi-Wan first sought out the supplies needed for Luke: baby formula, diapers, and fresh clothes. Before parting ways with both Master Yoda and Bail Organa, Obi-Wan had been provided with a hefty sum of credits by the distinguished senator from Alderaan. Not one credit that he had been provided with had gone to waste, and Obi-Wan made sure that he had spent what he needed to, especially once the Republic currency was soon deemed invalid, and the Empire also began implementing a chain code system, which would be a galactic database of identifying anyone in the galaxy. Over the past several months, he had acquired a modest supply of freshly minted Imperial credits thanks to his collecting on a bounty, and to sweeten the deal, he also managed to secure a serviceable phony chain code tied to a fabricated identity: “Ben Lars.”

Now, these tools have made survival far smoother. 

At the first stall, Obi-Wan selected the correct formula that Luke was able to digest, dried protein bars, and caf tabs for himself, as well as a small medpac and a soft, chewable teething ring for the boy’s emerging molars.

“Forty-two credits,” the Rodian vendor said in a heavy accent, barely glancing up. 

Obi-Wan slid over a stack of crisp Imperial credit chips without hesitation. The vendor scanned the accompanying identichip with his reader. The device beeped once, registering the phony chain code without issue. 

Moving to the next stall with quiet efficiency, Obi-Wan knew he would need to secure another false chain code, one that wouldn’t be flagged as fraudulent and be reported to the Empire. Thankfully, during the times he had spent with his good friend, Quinlan Vos, the Kiffar Jedi Master had told him that he had a contact in Janix that was a friend to the Jedi, and was willing to help if “a friend of Quinlan Vos is ever in trouble.” Obi-Wan chuckled softly at the memories of his time with Quinlan during their days as Padawans and the adventures they had as fellow Jedi Masters. He had heard nothing of his death, nor had he felt his friend’s death through the Force. 

Despite the man being intolerable sometimes, Obi-Wan hoped that Quinlan was doing all right in these dark times. 

After purchasing a few extra items: a compact thermal cooker, moisture-wicking blankets, and some fresh fruit, the once-respected Jedi General now moved through the markets as just another curious traveler, blending in with the countless sentient beings roaming the bustling streets of the Market District. 

Making his way back to the parking garage, Obi-Wan secured the supplies in the swoop’s storage rack before swinging back onto the vehicle. The engine purred to life beneath him. For the moment, at least, the phony chain code had worked in his favor. Despite not believing in luck, Obi-Wan knew it would be most unwise to continue using the chain code he had on his person, which is why he would be visiting Quinlan’s old contact. 

Thanks to Quinlan and the conversations that had concerning this contact, Obi-Wan had memorized the name and address that his old friend had provided him—Rynar Keth. South underlevels, third hab-block past the old refinery. 

Rynar Keth was a Shistavanen, and according to Quinlan, he was “rough around the edges, but he owed the Jedi Order more than a few favors. Good for identities that actually hold up. If things ever go sideways… he’ll help you out.”

Obi-Wan hoped that goodwill still meant something, now that the Jedi Order had been purged and the Republic was now abolished, with the Empire standing in its place. 

Thankfully, the wolfman didn’t live far from the Market District. Obi-Wan piloted the swoop down a narrow service ramp into the dimly lit underlevels of Janix, where the air grew thicker with the smell of coolant and wet duracrete. As he parked his swoop in a shadowed alcove, Obi-Wan suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, slowly looking over his shoulder before quickly looking up at the towering skyscrapers and buildings around him. 

He could sense something stalking him, watching him. Ever since he left Luma and Luke back at the ship, he sensed something was following him. It wasn’t a living being, no, it was a droid. Whether another bounty hunter had found him or someone else, Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure, but he needed to wrap up this meeting with Rynar quickly and then return to Luma and Luke. 

Approaching the reinforced door to Rynar’s apartment, it was marked only with faded yellow paint: Unit 47-B. He knocked in the pattern Quinlan had described—three short, two long. A low growl answered from inside in response to his knock. The door slid open just enough for a pair of glowing amber eyes to peer out from beneath a hooded snout. Rynar was tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in thick charcoal-gray fur streaked with white. A jagged scar ran across his left ear, and he wore a patched leather vest over bandoliers heavy with concealed weapons. His clawed hand rested casually near a heavy blaster pistol at his hip.

“You seem to be in the wrong neighborhood, friend,” the Shistavanen growled softly as he eyed Obi-Wan from head to toe before narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “How do you know that knock?”

Obi-Wan kept his hands visible. “I mean you no harm,” he assured the wolfman, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m a friend of Quinlan Vos. My name is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I need your help to produce a reliable chain code, untraced credits, and perhaps a few discreet tools for travel with… sensitive cargo.”

Rynar’s ears twitched. He studied Obi-Wan for a long moment, then grunted before opening the door wider and stepping aside, allowing the Jedi Master inside the cluttered den that Rynar called home. The room resembled a workshop rather than an apartment living room; it was cluttered with half-disassembled blasters, stacks of forged datapads, and humming encryption devices. A large vibro-knife was embedded in the table beside a half-eaten haunch of meat. 

“So, you’re the one who went by “The Negotiator” during the war, huh?” Rynar chuckled in amusement, his fangs gleaming in the dim lights, before his tone turned sympathetic. “It’s a real shame what happened to your kind. Despite all the lies that the Emperor and his cronies say about you, I never believed any of them. The Jedi may have been flawed, sure. But you lot certainly were not traitors.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, grateful that there were still people who believed in the Jedi. “That means much to me.”

“Vos was a good man. Saved my life and the lives of my pack on a botched job on Felucia,” Rynar said, closing the door to his apartment and locking it shut as well as activating a privacy field. “Haven’t heard from that crazy human in over a year. I figured the Empire got him like the rest of your kind, but I don’t believe it. Vos is a very hard man to kill.” The wolfman tilted his head curiously as he looked at Obi-Wan. “You here alone?”

“For now,” the Jedi Master didn’t need to tell Rynar about Luke and Luma waiting back at the barge. “I have some Imperial credits and a serviceable but low-grade phony chain code. I need a longer-term chain code. And perhaps secure a way to convert the last of my old Republic holdings without tripping alerts.”

Letting out a short, barking laugh, Rynar bared his teeth. “That’s a huge favor, Master Kenobi. Lucky for you, I love a challenge,” he gestured to a stool. “Sit. I can do better chain codes—deep Imperial slice, tired of fabricated logistics contractors, businessmen, or whoever it is you want to be. This should help you stay out of trouble with the Empire for at least eighteen months before they start flagging those codes as fraudulent.” He then sniffed around Obi-Wan before narrowing his eyes. “Do you need weapons too?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Obi-Wan said dismissively, brandishing his blaster pistol and lightsaber. “These are more than enough for the time being. That, and the Force is all I need to defend myself.”

“Fair enough.”

Rynar leaned over his workbench, claws clicking across a datapad as he pulled up encrypted files. “Because you’re a friend of Vos, this first business transaction is on the house. Next time, credits will be paid up front. And if the Empire comes sniffing because of you… I never saw your face.”

Nodding in understanding, Obi-Wan allowed a tired smile to stretch across his bearded face. “I understand, Rynar,” he said quietly. “Thank you. The Order… what’s left of it, anyway… won’t forget those who helped in its most dire times.”

The wolfman snorted, but his amber eyes softened just for a moment. “Just stay alive, Kenobi, for all of our sakes,” he then growled in displeasure. “The Empire is already committing unspeakable atrocities throughout the galaxy. And without the Jedi to stop them, things are only gonna get darker.” Placing a hand on Rynar’s shoulder, Obi-Wan gave him a reassuring smile. “Have faith, my friend.” his smile widened into a grin. “In time, a new hope will emerge. And the dark shadow of the Sith and the Empire will be vanquished.” 

Outside, a saucer-shaped droid hovered silently in the shadows of a rusted ventilation duct just above Unit 47-B. Its matte-black casing made it nearly invisible against the grimy underlevel infrastructure. Spybot was the droid’s name, and it had been following Obi-Wan from the moment the Jedi Master had left the ravine, maintaining a careful distance while recording every turn and stop. 

Now, pressed against the duct grate, its sensitive audio receptors picked up every word from inside Rynar Keth’s den. The conversation played clearly through its processors: “I have some Imperial credits and a serviceable but low-grade phony chain code. I need a longer-term chain code. And perhaps secure a way to convert the last of my old Republic holdings without tripping alerts…”

“...I can do better chain codes—deep Imperial slice, tired of fabricated logistics contractors, businessmen, or whoever it is you want to be…”

Spybot crawled up the wall before pressing his photoreceptors against a window that wasn’t tinted, allowing the droid to record the entire exchange—the Shistavanen’s guff voice, Obi-Wan’s calm but weary tone, the mention of forged identities, weapons, and the name “Quinlan Vos.” Every detail was logged, cross-referenced, and prioritized. Rynar Keth was a well-known underworld contact, but after cross-referencing the wolfman’s specialities, Spybot learned that he was also a contact for the Jedi Order to conduct business with and to acquire information on transactions that transpired within the galactic underworld. 

Satisfied he had obtained enough video footage and audio recordings, Spybot detached itself from the duct and slipped away through the underlevels, its saucer-like frame moving through the air nonchalantly while he was humming to himself. Once clear of the hab-block, Spybot established a tight-beamed encrypted transmission. 

“Hey! You here, Rook? I have some valuable information!”

Tucked beneath the bustling streets of Janix City was a converted refinery sub-level that served as a temporary safehouse for a group of dangerous individuals who followed a warrior that was strong in the dark side of the Force and one who commanded a criminal enterprise that once threatened both the Galactic Republic and Confederacy of Independent Systems—The Shadow Collective. 

Inside, the members of Maul’s Collective stirred with purposeful activity. 

Rook Kast, first lieutenant, as well as lover of the man she had devoted herself to, stood at the central holotable, her oxblood-and-black Mandalorian armor gleaming under the sickly amber lights as she reviewed the latest feed from Spybot. 

Nearby, a handful of other Super Commandos moved around offloading cargo and supplies, while others moved around the armory section—veterans of the same bloody campaigns checked their WESTAR blaster pistols and carbines, checking their gauntlet gadgetry and weaponry, and sharpening vibro-knives. Their quiet camaraderies spoke of years fighting together. 

Further back in the main chamber of the safehouse, two Nightbrothers stood apart from the Mandalorians. Icarus and Scorn—brothers who had partaken in the Battle of Ord Mantell when the Shadow Collective fought the Separatist droid armies and managed to capture both General Grievous and Count Dooku, a feat that not even the Republic and its Jedi could accomplish at the time during the war. Along with Icarus and Scorn were other Nightbrothers, including a dozen white-skinned assassins marked with ebony tattoos, and their horns were all oxblood, having been soaked with the blood of those they’ve killed. These Nightbrothers were among the most elite of a sect of white-skinned assassins called the Silent Fang, and they were among the fiercest warriors that Dathomir had to offer. 

Rook’s left gauntlet suddenly beeped, notifying her of an incoming message from Spybot. 

“Report,” she said curtly.

Spybot’s cheerful yet menacing gibberish came through, now stripped of its playful tone for the official transmission:

“Target confirmed as Obi-Wan Kenobi. Currently operating under the alias “Ben Lars.” Subject made contact with Shistavanen underworld operative Rynar Keth in Janix City underlevels. Conversation recorded: Kenobi requested upgraded Imperial chain codes, untraceable credits, and possible weapons. Contact is a former Jedi ally from the Clone Wars. Transaction in progress.”

Rook’s gauntlet chimed as she received the holographic footage and audio recordings from Spybot. A faint smile tugged at her lips. 

“Well done. Stay on target. Do not engage. I’ll inform Lord Maul, and depending on what he wants to do, I’ll scramble a team.”

“Okie dookie!”

Ending the transmission with Spybot, Rook made her way to the deepest chamber of the safehouse, far from the clatter of armor, training, and weapons preparation. Soon, she laid eyes on the man she had sworn complete devotion to—Maul. The former Sith Lord sat cross-legged in complete darkness, only a single lamp that burned with a sickly amber hue illuminated his figure, casting angular shadows across his tattooed face and mechanical legs. His eyes were closed as he allowed himself to meditate deeply. 

The soft sound of Rook’s boots on the duracrete floor echoed down the corridor. She approached without hesitation or fear, her armor catching in the amber light. She stopped at the edge of the meditation circle and waited, knowing better than to interrupt her lord and lover’s meditation. 

Maul’s fiery yellow eyes opened as he looked up at his first lieutenant. 

“Yes, Rook. What is it?”

Removing her helmet and tucking it under her left arm, Rook bowed her head. “Lord Maul,” she began respectfully before giving her report. “Spybot has reported back. Your droid successfully tracked a new player who has arrived on Janix. He’s now made contact with a black-marker Shistavanen for upgraded chain codes and credits.”

Maul remained silent, listening intently to Rook’s words before narrowing his eyes at her. 

“This… new arrival is someone known to us?”

“Yes, my lord,” Rook allowed herself a rare, sharp smile. “You won’t believe who survived the Jedi purge.”

Rook activated a small holoprojector on her gauntlet. The grainy but unmistakable image of Obi-Wan Kenobi flickered to life—bearded, cloaked, purchasing supplies in the Janix Market District.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said, voice steady. “He’s alive. Operating under the alias Ben Lars. Your droid has confirmed it visually and through voiceprint.”

For a long moment, silence filled the chamber.

Then Maul slowly rose to his feet, mechanical legs whirring. His yellow eyes widened with a storm of emotions—shock, burning hatred, relief, and a deep, savage elation. His lips peeled back from sharpened teeth in a predatory grin.

“Kenobi…” he breathed, the name dripping with venom and dark joy. “He lives.” Chuckling softly, Maul then began to laugh in elation. “He lives.” Looking at Rook, the dark warrior gave her a stern look. “Assemble a team. Bring him to me.”

Rating: Everyone | Words: 2k

Summary: With the Empire on their tail, Maul and his group can flee Janix, thanks to the premeditated planning of Rook Kast.

A/N: This is a headcanon outcome that I gaslight myself into CONSTANTLY.

Maul was no stranger to roaming the underbelly of civilizations and planets like a rat scavenging for scraps. After all, he had lived in a labyrinth of trash and filth for over a decade on Lotho Minor after being bisected by Obi-Wan Kenobi so long ago on Naboo.

Now, within the bowels of the Mid Rim world of Janix, the Shadow Lord and what remained of his once mighty criminal empire—The Shadow Collective—are fleeing from pursuing Imperial forces. The forces of his former master, Darth Sidious, weren’t just here for him, but they were also here for two Jedi: Master Eko-Dio Daki and Padawan Devon Izara. 

Recently, the Force has shown him visions of Devon standing by his side as his new apprentice as he walked the long, brutal path of vengeance. This girl would supposedly stand by his side as he rebuilt his criminal empire and use the Shadow Collective as a stiletto and slowly bleed the Empire dry of resources with the aid of those who would be under this control. 

Despite the promises of gaining power, exacting revenge against Darth Sidious for destroying the only life she had ever known, and robbing her of a bright future, Devon Izara had refused the opportunity that Maul was offering her. Instead, she chose to cling to the misguided ideals and outdated dogma of the Jedi Order. A byproduct of having a master who was steeped in days long passed, where the Jedi basked in their ignorance and decadence, allowing themselves to follow the whims of a corrupt senate, rather than being the supposed peacekeepers that they professed to be.

“Nearly all of our reserves were lost back there!”

Of course, there were other matters to attend to, such as the complaints of several of his Mandalorian allies. No, not true allies, mercenaries. He had fallen so far from grace that it was now painfully clear that the Mandalorians (aside from Rook Kast) needed something more than the Darksaber to maintain their loyalty—credits. 

“The situation is untenable.” Kebris, one of the mercenaries, frowned, removing his helmet.

That caused everyone to stop dead in their tracks. Maul, whose patience was already at its end with trying to convince the Padawan, Devon Izara, to his side, felt the desire to choke the life out of Kebris, putting an end to the shortsighted pursuit of wealth forever, as well as those who followed his way of thinking. Before Maul could unleash his frustration on the Mandalorian, his first lieutenant, and most devoted follower, Rook Kast, stormed towards the whining commando, like a mother who had to discipline her child.

“Even if we get out of this,” Kebris continued to whine, “we’ll be no better off than when we started—ugh!”

Shoving the bearded Mandalorian against the wall, Rook pressed her left arm against his throat, cutting off his complaints, while also clenching her right hand into a tight fist, ready to strike.

“If you’re not careful,” she warned, her tone cold as ice, “it’ll get worse for you.”

Removing her arm from his throat, Rook turned sharply on her heels, leaving behind a flustered Kebris, who glared hotly at her back. The rest of the group had momentarily stopped to stare at the Mandalorian mercenaries complaining about having to abandon their cut of the credits they had earned during the operation on Janix.

“Perhaps it is time that one,” Maul said cooly once Rook was by his side, “is dealt with.”

And Maul would have no quarrel with killing Kebris and his friends to make a point. These Mandalorians were mercenaries, loyal only to credits. Credits and material wealth were only a means to an end to obtain power. 

Through power, I gain victory. 

Yet the brief victories he had achieved were all snatched away from him, forcing him to begin anew.

“My lord. Since you claimed the throne of Mandalore, I have followed you without question.” Rook said in response, her tone not betraying any regret in her choice to follow him. 

“But?” “But some of the commandos…” Rook sighed, frustration and shame evident in her tone as she tilted her head back towards Kebris and the mercenaries who shared his sentiment. “There is a price for their loyalty. And that cost is rising.”

Maul’s nostrils flared in frustration. It truly has come to this—resorting to mercenaries that will abandon him at any moment if their price wasn’t right—and the credits he and his group had managed to take from the late Nico Deemis and Pyke shipments were now left behind in their previous hideout before relocating. 

“This is a momentary obstacle,” Maul assured his first lieutenant, trying desperately to maintain his anger. “Every move we make is in accordance with a greater plan.”

Rook, who by now had grown closer to Maul than anyone in the galaxy, pieced together what he was saying. 

The girl, Devon Izara.

“This apprentice,” she began carefully, “I fear she is clouding your judgement.” 

Maul looked at Rook, meeting her helmeted gaze. “You’ve seen her fight, you know what she’s capable of.”

“I also see her allegiance,” she countered. “It’s to her master.”

“Allegiances can be severed.” Maul retorted. 

“I agree.” 

“So remember that.”

“And without prosperity, so can the bonds of mercenaries.”

Were Maul any Sith Lord, they would’ve killed Rook for her audacity to challenge their way of thinking or perhaps brutally maim her for believing she was on equal footing with a Sith Lord.

Alas, Maul was no longer a Sith Lord. 

And Rook Kast wasn’t just a subordinate. Aside from Spybot, Icarus, and Scorn, Rook was his most devoted follower. The only other people who had shown him any genuine care and devotion were his brother and mother, both of whom were now dead because of Darth Sidious. 

Loyalty was not a promised assurance for those who walked the path of the dark side, yet somehow, Maul was fortunate enough to have a small handful of people who showed him genuine devotion. 

“You have a solution?” Maul finally asked, considering Rook’s words. 

Nodding, Rook looked back at Maul. “After I escaped imprisonment by that traitor, Bo-Katan Kryze,” she spat out her former ally’s name with disgust and contempt before continuing, “I managed to free dozens of other commandos who fought alongside us during the Clone Wars. Not only that, but I have garnered support from members of House Kast, including my brother, Drusus Kast.” 

Recalling her brother, Drusus, who had helped replenish the supply of weapons for his depleted Mandalorians shortly before the Siege of Mandalore began, Maul narrowed his eyes as he considered his options. Drusus, as well as the Mandalorians of House Kast (those who supported his reign), were as loyal as Rook was. And in these dangerous times, loyalty would go a long way, rather than having to deal with the constant protests of mercenaries. 

“You summoned your brother to Janix.” “I have,” Rook affirmed with a stern nod. “After Captain Lawson’s failed attempt to arrest us and shortly before the Empire arrived, I contacted him, requesting that he and a skeleton crew of Kast warriors provide a means of escape for us.” Lifting her left arm, she activated the wrist hologram, displaying the three-dimensional visual projection of a House Kast Kom’rk transport. “Our transport should be used as a diversion, while we take my brother’s ship offworld.” 

Giving a single nod in approval, Maul had Rook lead the way as they continued to walk through the maze of tunnels beneath Janix before reaching a tunnel with a closed hatch, large enough for the group to fit through. Upon opening the hatch, a tall Mandalorian warrior in the same color scheme as Rook’s armor was. After removing his helmet, the man revealed his pale, ivory skin, a cleanly shaven face, and his ebony, yet dark violet dyed hair was done in a mohawk hairstyle, while the sides of his head were cut in a cleanly shaven fade. 

“Sister.” Drusus greeted her with a nod, extending his free hand out for her. “I’m glad to see you’re still fighting.”

“Brother,” Rook clasped her brother’s arm, gripping tightly. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Giving her a nod in acknowledgement, Drusus then looked at Maul, bowing his head in greetings. “Lord Maul. My ship is ready for departure. But we must leave now,” he said with urgency. “Our scanners have detected incoming Imperial gunships closing in.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” Vario exclaimed, eager to get out of Janix alive. “Lead the way, friend!”

Looking down at the Aleena crime lord, Drusus placed his helmet back on before beckoning the group to follow him to the Kom’rk transport that was ready for immediate departure. 

The group hurried across the final stretch of the dimly lit tunnel, the distant rumble of Imperial gunships growing louder overhead. Drusus led the way as he guided the group toward a wider tunnel that led to an open hatch, which led outside to a bridge protruding like a pointing finger to their means of escape. The House Kast Kom’rk-class transport that loomed ahead was sleek, angular, and painted in a dark violet and black, along with stripes of crimson, with the crest of House Kast—the coiled Vexis—emblazoned on its hull. Its engines were already humming to life, casting a faint blue glow across the floor of the bridge.

“Board quickly,” Drusus ordered, his voice carrying urgency. “We’ve found your ship secluded in one of the caverns not far from here, and one of my men set the autopilot to activate and serve as a distraction to keep the Imperials occupied, allowing us to slip right through the Empire’s fingers.”

Rook gave a crisp nod at her brother’s words and moved up the boarding ramp first. “You heard him!” She said to the Mandalorian mercenaries. “Let’s move!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, lady!” Vario chuckled in relief as he scuttled up the ramp on his short legs, muttering under his breath. “Ah, fresh air. Those tunnels were starting to smell like bantha fodder.” 

Maul lingered a moment longer beside Drusus as the remaining Mandalorian mercenaries—ragged but determined survivors of the failed operation—filed up the ramp behind them. “Your loyalty is noted, Kast,” he acknowledged before looking into the eyes of his rescuer. “Do not give me a reason to regret placing my trust in House Kast. Your sister’s loyalty is to be an example to you all.” 

Drusus met Maul’s intense gaze steadily, unflinching. “My sister believes in your vision, Lord Maul. That is enough for me,” he then continued in a low, intense tone. “Mandalore will never be free under the yoke the Empire has placed upon it. But my men and I will follow you.” 

A low growl of approval rumbled in Maul’s throat as he turned back to see the last commando boarding the ship, leaving only Spybot, Icarus, and Scorn. Excusing himself to prep the ship for takeoff, Drusus made his way back inside, leaving the three Zabraks, droid, and his sister alone for a brief moment. 

Maul looked back, contemplating whether or not this was the wisest course of action. 

“Master?”

Spybot nudged him from behind, causing the former Sith to place a hand on his droid’s dome of a head. 

“My lord,” Rook said, his voice steady but urgent. “We cannot delay any longer. The Empire is closing in.”

Icarus and Scorn, who followed the heel of their fellow Nightbrother, voiced their own opinions on the matter as well.

“She’s more trouble than she’s worth, my lord,” Scorn said, the burly Nightbrother rumbled as he crossed his muscled arms across his large chest. “The Empire may want to destroy you, but if that Twi’lek girl is so determined to cling to the cloak of her master, then so be it.”

Icarus lowered his gaiter, revealing a snarl. “She’s more trouble than she’s worth. Do not let an obsession with one potential apprentice cost us everything we are trying to rebuild. The Shadow Collective, and your vision for the galaxy still lives—but only if we leave now.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. Filthy Jedi deserves to die!” Spybot bobbed aggressively in agreement with both Icarus and Scorn’s words. “She’s stupid for not following you, Master.”

Maul’s gaze lingered on the ruined outpost where he had last seen Devon Izara. The visions that the Force had given him had been so clear that the girl standing at his side was a powerful weapon against the Empire and against Sidious. 

Yet she had chosen the dying light of the Jedi instead. The sting of rejection burned hotter than he cared to admit.

“The girl is but one child in a galaxy full of untold trillions,” Rook reasoned further, placing a firm hand on Maul’s shoulder, returning him to the moment. “I am certain the Force will lead you to another apprentice, in time. For now, we must go.”

For a long moment, Maul said nothing. Part of him still wanted to tear through the city, find Devon, and drag her aboard by force if necessary. But the cold logic of survival won out over such foolish thoughts. The Inquisitors were hunting him. The Empire, or more accurately, the Emperor, his former master, wanted his head. Risking everything for one stubborn apprentice would be the act of a desperate fool.

If Devon Izara wished to die, then so be it. 

“Very well,” Maul finally said, relenting to the counsel of his followers. “Let us be on our way.”

Laughing boisterously, Spybot flew past Rook and into the ship. “Yes! New adventure! Booshkeedoo!”

The group moved quickly toward the Kom’rk-class transport crouched on the platform—a sleek, angular Mandalorian vessel bearing the distinctive red-and-black markings of House Kast. Its boarding ramp was already lowered, engines whining as they spooled up for emergency takeoff. Kast warriors stood guard at the perimeter, scanning the horizon for Imperial forces.

As Maul ascended the ramp, followed closely by Rook, Icarus, and Scorn, the Kom’rk’s heavy doors began to seal. Through the narrowing gap, he caught one final glimpse of the city skyline.

“If Devon Izara wishes to burn with her master,” Maul muttered bitterly, “then let her burn.”

The ramp clanged shut. The Kom’rk transport lifted off with a powerful surge, its Mandalorian pilots banking hard to evade incoming Imperial gunships. As the ship climbed into the upper atmosphere, Maul stood in the command deck, staring out at the receding planet. As the ship accelerated hard, the darkness of space filled the viewport as well as the streak of stars twinkling in the void.

Rook, who was speaking with one of the ship's pilots, turned to Maul. “We’re prepared to jump to hyperspace, Lord Maul.” She said before tilting her head, curious. “Your orders?”

Maul’s gaze burned with renewed purpose as the ship punched through the atmosphere, leaving Janix, the tightening Imperial noose, and Devon Izara behind. 

“Take us to Vizsla Keep 09. It is time we rebuild what Darth Sidious took from me.” 

Drusus, who was piloting the vessel, nodded before turning to his co-pilot as they punched in the hyperspace coordinates for Vizsla Keep 09, and the Kom’rk transport surged forward, vanishing into the bright tunnel of hyperspace.

A/N: Trading his loyal followers for one girl whose bound to leave you at any moment in the very near future is a bad trade, Maul! This is the better outcome!

And this is just an educated guess, but what if Rintero is a Lasat?

This picture was actually original concept art of Dryden Vos from the Solo art book, in case you guys were wondering.

Rintero could be short for Rinterious.

Maybe, maybe not.

This was honestly a shower thought. We’ve had Zeb, a rebel. Jaro Tapal, a Jedi Master. It would be cool to have a crime boss Lasat, maybe he would be a banished warrior who once held a strict code of ethics yet sullied it for greed.

Rating: Mature | 2k words

Gifted to: @ochibrochi

Chapter 1: Welcome to Janix

A/N: This story is inspired by fanart created by Ochibrochi of esentially Luke being trained by both Obi-Wan and Maul. And after seeing that art, I decided to write this story, because frankly, it would esentially lead to one of the LARGEST custody battles in fictional story telling.

A J-type diplomatic Naboo barge shuddered gently as it dropped out of hyperspace, the swirling blue tunnel of stars collapsing into pinpricks of light against the velvet black void of space. Janix hung in the viewport like a mired jewel that needed refining. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi heard that this was one planet untouched by the Empire, and so it would be perfect to rest for a little while. The former general of the 212th kept one hand on the yoke of the ship, while the other rested lightly on the small, warm bundle strapped securely around his chest in the improvised baby sling—Luke Skywalker.

It was hard to believe that it had been a year since everything changed for the worse: the Republic had fallen, the Jedi Order had been purged, the Galactic Empire rose to power, the Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Sidious, had manipulated the entire galaxy and achieved total victory for the Sith.

But worst of all, Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, had fallen to the dark side of the Force and had become the very thing that he had sworn to destroy. The boy that his late master, Qui-Gon Jinn believed was the Chosen One had been twisted and warped into an unspeakable monster; Anakin Skywalker, the boy he had trained and loved as a brother was gone. And in his place was the Sith Lord, Darth Vader.

Obi-Wan, despite witnessing the atrocities his former apprentice had committed on the security recordings in the Jedi Temple, could not bring himself to destroy Vader, not after maiming him during their ferocious duel on Mustafar. The aftermath of the duel had not only left the fallen Jedi maimed, but also burned. 

Fire was meant to signify refinement and rebirth…

…but for Vader, it signified the end of Anakin Skywalker. Not only that, but also the brotherhood that Obi-Wan had once shared with the man he cared for as a brother.

It truly seemed that all had been lost.

But that was far from the truth.

After departing Mustafar, Obi-Wan left the hellscape of a planet behind, along with his good friend, Padmé Amidala, who was not only married to Anakin in secret, but also carrying his child. Upon arriving at a medical outpost on Polis Massa, and regrouping with Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan, as well as Grand Master Yoda, the three men were able to help Padmé get the medical help she needed. 

As if Obi-Wan had suffered enough loss in his life, he was heartbroken to hear the medical droids report that his friend had lost the will to live. Padmé was one of the strongest people he knew, but with everything that transpired and after witnessing what Anakin had become… 

…it was too much for her to bear.

But after giving birth to not just one, but two babies, twins, Obi-Wan could sense their strong connection to the Force. Like their father before them, Luke and Leia were this galaxy’s last hope to not only bring balance to the Force but also destroy the Sith once and for all. And perhaps, rectify the sins of their father. 

It was wishful thinking, but Obi-Wan, despite all the tragedy, bloodshed, and horrors that he had witnessed, partook, and experienced, dared not lose hope. Not just in the hope that Anakin’s children could help change the galaxy for the better, but also in the dying words of Padmé. 

“Obi-Wan? There’s good in him. I know. I know there’s… still—”

Those were Padmé’s last words as she became one with the Force. She still clung to the belief that Anakin, now a Dark Lord of the Sith, was still the good man that she loved deeply and who she had once called husband. 

Oh, Padmé, Obi-Wan thought, hoping that his late friend’s conviction of her fallen husband was correct. For the sake of your children and for the sake of this galaxy, I hope you’re right about him. 

The sudden coos of Luke forced Obi-Wan to look down at the boy wrapped securely around his torso. He was beginning to wake up and was undoubtedly hungry after the trip through hyperspace. 

“Luma!” Calling out over his shoulder, Obi-Wan began cradling Luke who began to whine and writhe in the sling. “Luke is hungry.”

The door to the cockpit hissed open and in strode a tall, sleek, agile droid that was truly one of a kind. In fact, it was a droid from the Old Republic era; the model was created on a world called Iokath, and the droid itself was a class 9-NIX rating artificial intelligence. As Luma approached, Obi-Wan took a moment to take in the sight of his droid companion. The droid’s sleek, obsidian-and-silver chassis—scavenged and heavily rebuilt from the ancient SCORPIO framework Obi-Wan had discovered drifting in a forgotten smuggling cache on a nameless moon, gleamed under the soft, dim lights above. Where the original SCORPIO had been cold, calculating, and mercilessly efficient, Luma-4 was something new: a hybrid rebirth under Obi-Wan’s careful reprogramming. Her code retained the ancient droid’s unmatched processing power and adaptive algorithms, now layered with Jedi healing matrices, nursery protocols, and a protective imperative that bordered on fanatical. 

Luma was more advanced than her progenitor—faster neural pathways, finer motor control in her limbs, and a quantum-shielded personality matrix that allowed genuine tonal warmth when addressing Luke. Her human-like faceplate resembled the sculpted visage of a woman; her photoreceptors and mouth glowed a calm sapphire blue, shifting to crimson only during combat protocols, rivalling a B2 super battle droid when Luke’s safety was threatened.

“Master Kenobi,” Luma-4 said in her smooth, velvet-modulated voice. “Atmospheric entry is increasing cabin stress by 12%. I recommend transferring the youngling, Luke, for feeding and stabilization.”

Obi-Wan nodded without taking his eyes off the controls. “Agreed.” 

Unclipped the harness of the baby sling, removing Luke from it, and holding the boy he swore to protect with his life. For a moment, the weight of the galaxy’s last hope felt impossibly heavy and achingly precious. Obi-Wan smiled softly at the sight of the baby whose gaze bore into his own, babbling nonsense while kicking his feet softly. He then turned carefully toward Luma, handing Luke over into her outstretched hands. 

If only your mother were alive to see you grow, Obi-Wan lamented, a pang of grief striking him on Luke’s behalf. Not just your mother, but your father. 

The droid cradled the child with perfect precision, supporting the head, back, and limbs in the optimal ergonomic position her advanced SCORPIO-derived algorithms calculated instantly. While primary arms cradled Luke, she produced another limb hidden in a secret compartment in her back to produce a warm bottle of fortified baby formula from her internal dispenser, the liquid heated to precisely 37.2 degrees Celsius. 

“Nutrient composition optimized for growth and metabolism,” Luma said calmly. “I will maintain full custodial protocols while you pilot the ship, Master Kenobi.”

Luke latched onto the bottle eagerly as Luma began a gentle rocking motion with her chassis, singing a soft, synthesized Naboo lullaby. His small hands clutched the bottle while his eyes fluttered, the earlier fussiness melting away under the droid’s expert care. 

“Thank you, kindly, Luma.”

Obi-Wan allowed himself a brief, weary smile before returning his full attention to the yoke. “Keep him secure and quiet,” he instructed his droid companion. “We’re descending toward the city. I want to set down on the outskirts to avoid any unnecessary eyes turning in our direction.”

“Understood, Master Kenobi,” Luma nodded.

The barge broke through the final layer of clouds, turbulence easing as Obi-Wan guided the ship into a smooth descent vector. Janix City came into view on the horizon—a modest sprawl of low duracrete buildings, glowing market lanterns, and jungle-encroached outskirts nestled against a wide river. The sun painted the scene in warm golds and deep greens. Obi-Wan adjusted course toward a shadowed ravine on the city’s edge, the Naboo barge’s elegant form cutting silently through the air. Behind him, Luke finished the last of the formula with a contented sigh, already dozing in Luma’s unbreakable yet gentle hold. The J-type diplomatic Naboo barge settled with a soft hydraulic hiss into the overgrown ravine on the outskirts of Janix. 

The droid’s photoreceptors flickered once toward the cockpit. “Janix City may serve our needs for a momentary respite, Master,” she began before turning to Obi-Wan, her voice filled with worry, “but I would advise extreme caution. This planet houses two relatively small, yet merciless crime syndicates that are run by one Nico Deemis and Looti Vario.”

Unbuckling from the pilot’s seat, Obi-Wan recalled how his good friend, Quinlan Vos, who served as an expert investigator and operated regularly in the galaxy’s criminal underworld, told him he had worked with a police detective by the name of Brander Lawson and how he helped the Janix police disrupt illicit smuggling operations by Looti Vario. 

“Yes. I’m familiar with the criminal scum operating on this planet,” Obi-Wan acknowledged Luma’s warning. “Which is why I’ll be going into the city alone.” 

Moving quietly through the narrow corridor toward the rear hold, his weathered boots barely making a sound on the deck plating. In the back of the ship, near the boarding ramp, secured by magnetic clamps and reinforced netting, sat a sleek Mandalorian Balutar-class swoop he had acquired on a discreet trade outpost three months earlier. Its angular lines and distinctive blue-and-white paint scheme—faded now from use—gleamed faintly under the hold’s emergency lights.

He paused beside it, one hand resting on the handlebars. Memories stirred unbidden. The swoop’s design was unmistakably Mandalorian—fast, maneuverable, built for both combat and long-range scouting. It reminded him sharply of Satine. Of wild chases across Mandalore’s dunes, stolen moments of peace on Sundari’s glittering balconies, and the quiet understanding they had shared before the galaxy tore them apart. She had been gone for years now, yet the ache remained—a dull, familiar throb beneath his Jedi discipline. 

“Satine…” he whispered to the empty hold, a rueful half-smile touching his lips. “You would have called this machine ‘impractical but stylish.’”

A soft whir came from behind him. Luma-4 rolled forward from the cabin where she had been monitoring Luke, the one-year-old now fast asleep after finishing his formula. The droid’s photoreceptors glowed steadily, her obsidian-and-silver frame moving with that uncanny SCORPIO-derived precision. 

“I have prepared a list of supplies optimized for Luke’s needs and your own caloric requirements for extended travel, Master Kenobi.” 

Obi-Wan straightened, pulling his traveler’s cloak tighter around his shoulders and adjusting the hood. “Thank you, Luma,” taking the datapad that was clenched in one of Luma’s additional limbs and placing it in his travel bag, the Jedi then patted the droid on the shoulder. “Stay with the ship. Keep all systems on minimal power and maintain full defensive protocols. If anyone or anything approaches within a kilometer, alert me immediately through the encrypted comm.” “Understood. I will allow no harm to come to Master Luke.” Luma assured, her posture straightened as she continued. “Threat probability remains moderate. My combat subroutines are primed.”

Obi-Wan gave the droid a nod of trust—something he rarely extended so freely these days. He checked the concealed lightsaber at his belt, secured a pouch of credits, and swung one leg over the Balutar swoop as the ramp of the ship lowered. The engine of the swoop purred to life with a low, throaty growl that echoes faintly in the hold.

“I won’t be long, just enough to get the supplies we need to replenish our strength before moving on to the next safe world,” he said to Luma before glancing back at the sleeping baby in her arms. “Keep him safe.”

Obi-Wan guided the swoop down the ramp before zooming off into the humid jungles of Janix, the rear ramp of the ship closing shut behind him with a muted hiss. As the wind whipped at his cloak due to the accelerated speed, Obi-Wan steered his swoop toward the glowing lights of Janix City in the distance, believing that this would be nothing more than a simple errand before returning to Luke and Luma to rest a little while before continuing on their way. 

High in the tangling branches of the massive trees overlooking the trail, a saucer-shaped droid hovered silently. Its matte black casing blended perfectly with the shadows, its crimson and amber photoreceptors whirred softly as it conducted routine reconnaissance sweeps of the outskirts. The droid’s sensors registered the distinctive engine signature of the Mandalorian swoop first, then zoomed in on the rider: bearded human male, traveler’s cloak, precise control of the vehicle despite the uneven terrain. 

The droid tilted its dome, internal processors humming with recognition protocols. A faint blue scanning beam swept across Obi-Wan from afar, capturing facial structure, movement patterns, and the way the Jedi Master held himself. 

“Oh, hello.” The droid chirped in a sly, mischievous, synthesized voice. “Who might you be?” Speaking to no one in particular, the droid’s many appendages twitched with curiosity. 

After a brief pause, the mysterious droid detached itself from its perch with a near-silent repulsor hum and slipped into the canopy, maintaining a careful distance. It then shadowed Obi-Wan from above and behind, weaving through the jungle canopy while also staying out of the Jedi Master’s visual range. All the while, the droid’s holocam was recording every detail about the new arrival of this cloaked figure who had seemingly arrived on Janix out of nowhere. 

“Master will be very curious about you,” the droid murmured excitedly, “he will be very excited. Yes, yes, yes. Peekaboo, I see you!”

I just started another harem story over on AO3 called Spider-Man: Web of Hearts. Peter’s gonna be hitting it up with some of the MCU’s top baddies, including Yelena, who has easily become one of my favorite MCU characters.

If these two actually were to become a couple, here’s some reasons as to why I think they’d make a killer couple both romantically and as heroes.

1. Matching Sarcastic Humor and Banter

Both are quick-witted with dry, self-deprecating humor that thrives in high-stakes situations. Peter’s endless quips and pop culture references pair perfectly with Yelena’s deadpan sarcasm, blunt observations, and playful jabs (like her vest obsession or calling out absurdity). They’d bicker hilariously during fights, turning battles into comedy routines while keeping things light. Fans and articles highlight this as a core charm—imagine Spider-Man and Yelena trading barbs that leave villains (and audiences) in stitches.

2. Shared Experiences of Loss and Trauma

Peter lost Uncle Ben (and Aunt May in the MCU), Tony Stark, and more, fueling his “great power, great responsibility” guilt. Yelena lost her sister Natasha, endured the Red Room’s brainwashing, and grapples with her assassin past. Both are defined by profound grief and survivor’s guilt—they could offer deep emotional understanding, late-night talks about “what ifs,” and mutual support in processing pain without toxic pity. This creates a foundation of empathy rather than superficial attraction.

3. Complementary Fighting Styles and Teamwork

Peter’s acrobatic, web-slinging agility and spider-sense combine dynamically with Yelena’s elite hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship, stealth, and spy training. He’d swing in for close-quarters chaos while she provides precise support or infiltrates; they’d pull off seamless combos, with his improvisation balancing her efficiency. Stealth missions would excel—Peter wall-crawling, Yelena going full Widow mode—making them an unstoppable duo in action.

4. Identity Struggles and Mutual Support

Peter constantly wrestles with his secret identity, public perception, and the burden of being Spider-Man (especially post-No Way Home). Yelena questions her role as a hero vs. assassin, her “fake” family legacy, and stepping out of Natasha’s shadow. They could help each other redefine themselves—Peter encouraging Yelena’s independence and whimsy (dogs, vests), Yelena grounding Peter’s self-sacrificing tendencies with realism and “screw you” defiance toward authority.

5. Contrasting Personalities That Balance Each Other

• Peter is optimistic, nerdy, responsible, and empathetic (the “friendly neighborhood” hero who cares deeply about civilians).

• Yelena is cynical, pragmatic, adventurous, and irreverent (post-Red Room freedom-seeker with a rebellious streak).

His kindness could soften her edges and remind her of normalcy; her straightforwardness could push him to set boundaries and embrace fun. This “sunshine + grump” vibe (with both having humor) avoids clichés while fostering growth.

6. Similar Attitudes Toward Authority and Independence

Both chafe at being controlled—Peter defied Tony Stark and institutions when needed; Yelena rejects Valentina’s manipulation and forges her own path. They’d bond over anti-establishment moments, moral gray areas, and prioritizing people over orders, creating a partnership of equals who respect each other’s autonomy.

7. “Didn’t Ask for This” Hero Origins

Peter’s powers came from a random bite—he never sought heroism but embraced responsibility. Yelena was forced into the Red Room as a child and now chooses her path amid lingering control issues. This shared “reluctant hero” ethos allows vulnerability: moments of doubt where they affirm each other’s worth beyond their skills or pasts.

8. Potential for Domestic Whimsy and Normalcy

Yelena’s lighter side (wanting a dog, enjoying simple joys) meshes with Peter’s love for science, pizza, and everyday life. Imagine low-stakes dates interrupted by villains, or quiet moments where Peter geeks out and Yelena teases him affectionately. It grounds their high-octane lives in relatable warmth.

9. Emotional Depth and Growth Potential

Their relationship could explore themes like found family, healing from indoctrination/trauma, and balancing heroism with personal happiness. Peter’s loyalty and trust would help Yelena open up; her resilience would inspire him during low points. Fan works often highlight this slow-burn respect turning romantic.

Long story short, this pairing offers humor-fueled action, profound emotional support, and growth—a refreshing dynamic that’s equal parts fun and heartfelt. It wouldn’t be all sunshine (their traumas could cause friction), but that’s what makes it compelling. Marvel fans clearly ship the banter and synergy, and it’d be a highlight in any team-up or solo story.

Title: Cherish

Chapter 2

The First Light was the definition of opulence as Dryden Vos led Maul, Rook Kast, Devon, Rylee, and Two-Boots into the heart of his private yacht. Escorted by six armed guards, their gleaming ebony armor and gilded outlines highlighted the fact that Crimson Dawn may be aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous than any other crime syndicate.

“When the time is right, I will take you to Boss Rintero’s stronghold, allowing you to dispose of him and allow me to seize control of Crimson Dawn,” Dryden said as he led his guests towards the medical bay to have their wounds treated. “Those of you who suffered no wounds during your escape will be led to your guest chambers for respite—”

“I require immediate recharging,” Two-Boots interrupted before placing a metallic hand on Rylee’s shoulder. “And my young friend, here, needs rest.”

Dryden narrowed his eyes at the police droid, then looked at Rylee, whose shoulders were hunched, his face stricken with melancholy, tears staining his cheeks. Nodding at one of his guards who awaited his orders, Dryden watched as the droid and boy were led out of the medical bay.

“And you?” Dryden asked Devon, who too had tears staining her cheeks, though her body language suggested that she wasn’t allowing what had transpired on Janix to go unpunished. “Do you require treating of wounds you suffered? Or do you wish for respite?”

Looking into the near-human’s eyes, Devon merely sniffed in response before leaving the medical bay, causing two of Dryden’s guards to follow her, so that they could escort her to her guest room.

Dryden then turned to the droids and medical staff. “See to it that Lord Maul receives the best care possible.” He then looked at Rook with a raised eyebrow. “Will you be staying by his side?”

Of course, Rook wanted to say, unlike scum like you, I’m loyal.

Instead, she looked at Maul. Whatever his command was would determine whether she would stay or go. He gestured to the door with a nod of his head. Without a word, Rook left, escorted by one of Dryden’s guards as he led her back out of the hall and towards her guest suite. Once inside, Rook began peeling off her armor and setting it on a nearby table, and catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Her pale ivory skin seemed even more so than usual, perhaps it was because she couldn’t stop thinking about the Sith Lord who had killed her fellow commando in the thick forests of Janix and presented himself as an arbiter of death and destruction. Rook wasn’t easy to scare, but what she had witnessed terrified her to her core, and had that garrulous fool, Vario, not broken away from the pack, it might have been her who had met a grotesque end at the hands of the Sith Lord.

Shaking her head at such possibilities, Rook stripped out of her jumpsuit, leaving the remainder of her clothing pooling at her feet as she made her way towards the refresher and washed away the sweat and grime clinging to her skin, as well as the stench of fear that made her fluster in shame.

Rook closed her eyes, standing underneath the spray of water cascading down on her, allowing herself to merely stop and catch her breath. It felt as though she could truly do so. Ever since Maul had claimed the throne of Mandalore, she felt as though respite was not an option, especially after the battles between the Separatists and as it was back then, the Grand Army of the Republic, had claimed the lives of many of her fellow Super Commandos, friends of hers. Even the tragic events of the Siege of Mandalore had either claimed the lives of her fellow commandos or condemned them to rot in prison, all thanks to the traitor, Bo-Katan Kryze, and her rebel Nite Owls.

As old wounds began to reopen, Rook couldn’t help the perverse gratification of knowing that the Republic’s clone soldiers had undoubtedly turned on Kryze and her rebels, and now the Empire had subjugated Mandalore, undoubtedly claiming it as a military stronghold.

Good, Rook thought, let Kryze’s victory turn to ash in her mouth.

As she finally began to wash herself properly, Rook wasn’t sure how long she was in the refresher. Minutes, or perhaps even hours. She did, however, tense when she heard the doors to her guest room hiss open. Momentarily turning off the shower and reaching for the refresher counter to grab one of her WESTAR-35 blaster pistols, Rook was about to demand who was in her room, but relaxed when she saw Maul entering the refresher.

“Lady Kast,” he greeted, his sophisticated voice gentlemanly as he inquired of her well-being. “How do you fare?”

Setting her blaster back on the counter, Rook, despite being stark naked, didn’t cover herself. “I mourn those we lost on Janix, Lord Maul,” she confessed, her voice hoarse. “We’ve lost so many comrades, because of the Sith.”

Maul, whose wounds were bandaged for the time being, ripped off his clothing, revealing his muscular, tattooed upper body, and nodded. “Sidious will not stop until we are all dead,” he said grimly, his voice thick with hatred towards the man who was the architect of his suffering. “Just as I will not stop until I have had my revenge.” Stepping towards her until they were inches apart, Maul gazed into Rook’s icy blue eyes. “May I join you?”

“You may.”

Resuming the shower, Rook allowed herself to become like clay for Maul to mold and fashion in his hands as he worked his hands into her tense shoulders, applying shampoo and conditioner into her dark, violet hair, and savoring the touch of the man she had devoted her life to.

“We will need to recoup our losses, Rook,” Maul mused softly against her ear, the warmth of his breath causing goosebumps to erupt along her body. “If you can garner the support of House Kast to back me in future endeavours, I implore you to try.”

Nodding in understanding, Rook looked over her shoulder. “I will, my lord.”

“Good.” He continued roaming his hands along his first lieutenant’s body as though she were a rare jewel that needed to be handled with delicate care before continuing. “Vos believes I will dispatch his superior, and I will. But not for his sake, but mine. I will assume command of Crimson Dawn, and turn it into an organization that will destabilize the Galactic Empire and the Sith.”

Rook closed her eyes as Maul’s hands found her breasts and began to knead them, causing the Mandalorian to fall back against her lord’s chest. “And the girl?” She groaned as his thumbs brushed over her nipples. “What role will she play in this?”

“Sidious’s betrayal demands consequence. And that consequence requires… a weapon,” Maul spoke casually as though he were discussing the weather. “I will train Devon to aid me in my quest to see Sidious and his acursed Empire fall. But if she proves that she’s more trouble than she’s worth, then I will not need her.”

Rook couldn’t help but grunt approvingly in response. “She is more trouble than she’s worth, my lord. It may have only been a matter of time before the Empire had arrived on Janix, but it cost the lives of what remained of the Shadow Collective to see her give in to her anger and desire for revenge.”

Maul ceased his ministrations and knew that Rook spoke the truth. His thoughts settled on Scorn, Icarus, and Spybot, even the remaining Mandalorian commandos who chose to stand by his side and fight, rather than flee because of their lack of monetary gain. They, the last remaining few of his Shadow Collective were now gone because he had desired Devon as his apprentice.

In the end, Maul hoped that the choice to persuade her to his side would help him exact his revenge against Darth Sidious.

“We will honor them from this day onwards, Rook,” Maul promised as he held her tighter against him. “Their deaths will not have been in vain.”

Finally turning to face Maul properly, Rook took his face in her hands. “I know,” she then leaned in to murmur against his ear. “I want you, Lord Maul.” Her husky words were coupled with action as she then captured his lips in a heated kiss, one that Maul returned. The warm water cascaded over their bodies in rivulets that only heightened the heat between the two warriors.

Rook pressed her back against the slick durasteel wall, her breath already ragged as Maul’s fiery yellow eyes burned into her icy blue eyes with an intensity that rendered any discipline she had left to melt away. Their mouths crashed together again after breaking away to catch their breath. Maul’s lips were demanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to claim her as his hands gripped her curvy hips, pulling her flush against his hardened body. Water sluiced down between them, but it did nothing to cool the raging fires of desire and admiration they shared for each other.

He took the initiative, breaking the kiss only to trail his mouth lower—hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive column of her neck. He nipped at her pulse point, sucking just hard enough to draw a gasping moan from Rook’s throat, then soothed the sting with his tongue.

“Mmm… My lord,” she whispered, fingers threading through his horned scalp as he moved further down.

He worshiped her breasts with reverent hunger. His hands cupped the soft, heavy flesh, thumbs circling her peaked nipples before his mouth followed. He latched onto one, sucking deeply while his tongue flicked and swirled, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting straight to her core. He gave the other the same devoted attention, kneading and licking until her knees threatened to give out, whispering his name as though it were a silent prayer.

Lower still Maul went, dropping to his cybernetic knees on the wet floor without hesitation. The sight of him—powerful, deadly, the Shadow Lord—kneeling before her made Rook’s thighs clench with fresh need. He gripped her thighs, spreading them wider, and threw one of her legs over his broad shoulder. The new angle left her completely exposed to him, her slick folds glistening with arousal and water.

He then dove in without hesitation.

Maul’s mouth sealed over her with a low, guttural growl that vibrated against her. His tongue was relentless—long, firm strokes from her entrance to the swollen bundle of nerves, then circling and sucking with wicked precision. He licked into her like a man had been deprived of water for months, tasting every drop of her wetness as two thick fingers pushed inside her, curling just right to stroke that sensitive spot within.

“L-Lord Maul!”

Rook’s head fell back against the wall with a hoarse cry, one hand fisting into his horns while the other slapped against the tiles of the wall for fleeting balance. The hot spray beat down on them both as he ate her out with single-minded passion.

“M-My lord, I’m—”

Her voice broke into a sharp moan as the pleasure coiled tighter, her hips all but riding his tongue as he increased his actions in strength and speed. He devoured her harder, fingers pumping so fast they seemed to be a blur, tongue licking mercilessly until she shattered with a deafening scream.

The climax that crashed over Rook threatened to unravel her. Despite this, Maul continued licking her through it, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until she mewled, oversensitive, and utterly spent.

Only then did he rise, water streaming down his tattooed body as he captured her mouth in another searing kiss—letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue.

“Perhaps we should take this to bed, my lady,” Maul suggested with a playful smile. “I wish to cherish you further.”

Rating: Explicit | 2k words | NSFW

Summary: Having made a deal with Dryden Vos, Maul barely flees Janix with his life. However, despite losing the last loyal members of his Shadow Collective, he still has his first lieutenant, Rook Kast. And he finally has what he's been after, Devon Izara, as his new apprentice.

Chapter 1

Title: Cherish

Rook Kast burst from the fog, nearly tripping over a log in her haste to put distance between her and her unseen attacker, who had killed one of her fellow Mandalorian commandos. Her armor scuffed, and her blaster was still smoking. She sprinted straight toward Maul, who stood at the edge of the clearing with the rest of the group clustered behind him.

Maul’s yellow eyes narrowed. A low, involuntary shudder rippled through his body as the Force twisted around him like a warning.

“S-Something…” Rook panted as she fired several stray shots into the thick fog before turning to Maul. “Someone is out there.”

The survivors shifted uneasily. Brander Lawson gripped his blaster tightly, sharing a look with Two-Boots, who, in turn, looked over at Rylee, who was unsettled by the haunting screams of one of Maul’s final Mandalorian commandos. Master Daki and Devon gripped the hilts of their lightsabers tightly, the azure blades humming in the darkened forest, bathing them in the light of their blades while they maintained their Jedi composure, despite the imminent threat of the Imperial forces and Inquisitors on their trail.

Vario, who had kept his cool for the majority of the confrontation with the Imperial forces, felt himself caving into the pressure. “Who?” Vario demanded, looking in Rook’s direction, all while stepping out of the protective knot of bodies before anyone could stop him. His voice cracked with panic. “Who the kark is out there, lady? Tell me!”

Maul’s head snapped toward him. “Vario, you fool, get back—”

Too late.

A sudden blur of motion erupted from the fog; it was as if a phantom was upon the Aleena crime lord as he was suddenly ripped off his feet and dragged into the thick fog in the blink of an eye. Vario released a blood-curdling scream as he was yanked off the ground. The comm device and blaster pistol in his hands splattered in the mud below as he was dragged into oblivion. The group tensed as Vario’s screams rose before the grotesque sound of organs being ripped apart, and the blood-curdling cries that followed were soon silenced when the sickening crunch of a neck snapped echoed throughout the now silent forest.

Gripping one of her WESTAR-35 blaster pistols tightly in her hand, Rook activated the thermal scanners on the internal Heads-Up Display within her helmet. She could suddenly see a tall, burly figure being registered on her thermal vision, before reporting this to Maul, the Zabrak seemed to already sense something was amiss. Not just Maul, but the two Jedi could sense a strong presence in the Force approaching; a raw power the likes of which they had never felt before.

Devon shivered as the presence grew closer, frightened, and felt fear creep into her bones as though she were standing in the center of a terrible blizzard on the icy plains of Hoth.

Unlike his Padawan, Daki was more composed, as he fell back onto the mantra of the Jedi Code.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

However, he could sense hopelessness and despair emanating from the predator that was approaching them. It was like a foul stench that made Daki sneer in disgust.

Khhohhhh-Puhhh

Khhohhhh-Puhhh

Khhohhhh-Puhhh

Maul’s heart pounded in his chest with each moment that sound filled the air, until finally, the fog parted like a curtain drawn by an invisible hand. Heavy footsteps thudded against the ground, each one seemed to send tremors in the Force. The Shadow Lord could feel it in the Force—the cold—and something oddly familiar, a presence he hadn’t felt since…

…Tatooine.

A towering silhouette emerged from the thick fog as though it were some unholy beast summoned from one's worst nightmare. The figure’s gleaming black armor shone through the dim light in the forest, his cape billowing in the damp wind, and then the snap hiss of a lightsaber igniting, bathing the figure in a crimson glow, making their already menacing visage of the mask they wore demonic.

Maul wanted to doubt what his senses were telling him, but in his heart, he knew exactly who this was. He had tried disposing of him by orchestrating the Siege of Mandalore, thus depriving his former master of his most coveted apprentice.

Of course, his plans back then had failed.

And now, the machinations of Darth Sidious were truly complete; standing before them was the dark warrior, Anakin Skywalker, or rather, he was a twisted version of the Jedi’s Chosen One. Whatever his Sith title was, Maul didn’t care. Sidious had succeeded in turning Skywalker to the dark side, and the visions that he had experienced back on Mandalore had come to pass.

Without a word, Maul snarled as he lunged at the fallen Jedi Knight. But the moment their blades locked, the Zabrak could feel the power radiating off of the newly appointed Sith Lord. He was then violently shoved back, causing Maul to bare his teeth and quickly determine whether this was a confrontation worth engaging. Meanwhile, Rook, Captain Lawson, and Two-Boots began firing at the Sith Lord. Crimson and amber blaster bolts were batted away casually, as though he were shooing away insects buzzing near his face. Daki and Devon lunged at the towering man before them, but he merely swatted away their respective lightsabers, sending them staggering back before reengaging with Maul. Effortlessly parrying Maul’s strikes, the Sith Lord unleashed a casual slash at Maul’s mid hip, and as the blade struck deeply into his mechanical hip, the Zabrak released a scream of raw agony.

“My lord!”

Rook Kast stared, blasters raised, and her usually steady hands trembled at the horrific sight she had just witnessed. As a warrior, she faced strife constantly, but what had nearly taken her as it had her fellow Mandalorian moments ago was something she dared not confront head-on.

But all thoughts of self-preservation abandoned her as she witnessed her sworn lord hunch over, clutching at the lightsaber wound he had suffered.

She rushed to Maul’s side, whilst he grit his teeth as the pain coursed through him. Looking at his first lieutenant with desperate eyes, he mewled out. “Run,” using the Force to summon the communicator Vario had used to contact Dryden Vos, Maul placed it in Rook’s empty hand. “Get them out of here,” referring to the Lawsons and Two-Boots, he then murmured to Rook, “and see yourself to safety.”

“But—”

“Now, Rook!”

Maul commanded fiercely before joining Daki and Devon as they were locked in heated combat with the Sith Lord. He moved with deliberate, unstoppable power. His single blade met Maul’s in a shower of sparks, effortlessly parrying every strike. A casual backhand of the Force sent Daki tumbling through the air. Devon’s strikes were batted aside as the Dark Lord advanced, his free hand closing into a fist that yanked Devon forward by the throat before hurling her into Maul. The impact sent both combatants to the ground. All the while, the Sith Lord was unfazed, breathing steadily through his vocoder, towering over the trio like a spectre of death.

Rook, the Lawsons, and Two-Boots raised their blasters and fired.

Crimson and amber blaster bolts streaked toward the Dark Lord in a relentless barrage. Rook’s shots were deadly, precise. The Lawsons poured suppressive fire. Two-Boots crouched low, squeezing off rounds meant to hit the Dark Lord in the legs.

The Sith Lord didn’t flinch.

His crimson blade moved in calm, economical arcs; each blaster bolt was redirected with surgical precision. Some shots screamed back towards the shooters, forcing them to duck or drop to the ground. Others simply fizzled against the fog as he absorbed or deflected them without breaking stride.

Then he raised his hand.

A powerful Force shockwave erupted outward, slamming into everyone. Maul, Daki, and Devon, despite raising protective barriers around themselves, were hurled backward like ragdolls, skidding across the ground. Rook Kast was ripped from her feet and smashed into a tree. The Lawsons tumbled down in a tangle of limbs and blasters. Two-Boots slammed hard into a boulder with a yelp.

“This is useless. We need to move!” Brander panted as he ran, Rylee and Two-Boots close behind. Rook gave one last look at Maul, who looked over his shoulder, silently commanding her to go with them, before running off with the trio.

Maul, Daki, and Devon, who were back on their feet, with their lightsabers raised, felt the power from their opponent growing with each passing moment. Even with their combined strength, Maul feared that it might not be enough to break the Sith Lord before them. And he needed to manipulate this conflict to his advantage so that he could claim Devon as his apprentice. With a shuddering breath, Maul turned to both Jedi and uttered one word.

“Run.”

oOo

The fighting was intense, and as she had to carry the dead weight of the Lawsons and their droid companion, Rook believed for the briefest of moments that she was going to die. Quickly taking cover behind a large tree, blaster bolts struck where she was regaining herself, thick splinters of wood flew by as she peeked over the tree to see dozens of Imperial troops advancing, and on top of that, they had gunships ready to flush them out of the thick canopy of the forest.

Suddenly, one of the gunships was blown out of the sky as it was sent spinning out of control towards the position of the Stormtroopers, who quickly scattered like insects who were about to be crushed. Looking up to the sky, Rook could see an unfamiliar ship approaching, and she concluded that it had to be Dryden Vos of Crimson Dawn, here to extract them off planet.

“There’s our ride,” she turned to the Lawsons and Two-Boots. “Cover me!”

Without another word, Rook dashed out of the forest, gunning down any Stormtrooper foolish enough to stand in her way. Reaching the boarding ramp of the ship, Rook caught her breath, only for Dryden, who was accompanied by one of his men, to bark out over the heat of battle. “You!” Grabbing her arm, he bared his teeth. “Where is Maul?!”

Grabbing her hand, Rook twisted hard enough until his wrist threatened to break. Dryden cried out in pain and crumpled to a knee. The goon who had accompanied the near-human looked at Rook, but she pointed one of her blaster pistols at the man’s head. Not wanting to test the patience of a Mandalorian, the goon returned suppressive fire at the Stormtroopers advancing toward them.

“Lord Maul,” she corrected Dryden with an icy tone before tightening her grip on his wrist, “will be here shortly. If you even think about leaving before he arrives, I will kill you where you stand.” Releasing her grip on Dryden’s wrist, Rook shot down several Stormtroopers who tried to flank them from the sides. “Now shut up, and fight. He’ll be here soon!” Were Rook’s final words to Dryden before they gunned down their enemies without pity or mercy.

The sudden, thunderous rumbling of a structure collapsing filled the air, and thick plumes of dust rose to the sky in response to the collapsing temple. Rook could see Maul and the girl, Devon, sprinting in their direction, casually deflecting and redirecting blaster bolts at the advancing Stormtroopers, while also evading the heavy laser fire from the Imperial dropships swooping overhead like bombers about to drop their payload. The Crimson Dawn ship was taking off once Maul and Devon boarded the ramp, and as Dryden barked out orders for his pilot to get them out of Janix, Rook holstered her pistols and helped Maul up the ramp, since he had sustained extensive damage to his cybernetic legs.

Demanding to know where the medical supplies were located, one of Dryden’s men led Rook and Maul to the medical storage room, where she could sterilize his wounds before worrying about getting him proper treatment. Ripping her helmet off her head and setting it on a nearby counter, Rook began applying bacta patches on the cuts and scrapes on Maul’s skin while applying bacta wraps around the deep gouges and cuts he sustained to his cybernetic legs.

“You are all I have left.”

Pausing her actions, Rook’s eyes met Maul’s, who looked at her with a look she had never seen before.

“My lord?”

Gritting his teeth in pain as he sat straighter on the medical bed, Maul took her hands in his own. “You said so yourself back on Janix that you have followed me without question. Now, you are one of my last true allies in this treacherous galaxy under the rule of Darth Sidious,” his grip tightened before his gaze softened into something far more intimate. “Such loyalty is to be cherished. And I wish to express how much I value your loyalty.”

Cupping Rook’s face, Maul leaned in and captured her lips in a fierce kiss. Letting out a gasp of surprise at first, Rook quickly melted into the kiss and returned it with equal passion. Her hands cupped his tattooed face in turn, and the taste of his lips made her moan, finally tasting what she had long deemed as unattainable.

But now, her complete commitment to Maul was rewarded in ways she had dreamt of since he had claimed the throne of Mandalore.

Maul’s free arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his muscular frame. The kiss deepened, turning hotter, more demanding. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her fully, and Rook answered with a soft, needy sound that made his grip tighten. Heat pooled low in her belly as years of suppressed longing ignited between them.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Maul rested his forehead against hers.

“I’ve lost too much already, Rook.” His voice was a rough groan. “I refuse to lose you.”

Spybot has easily become one of my favorite droids in all of Star Wars. And Marrok killing him was like watching someone kill your pet. I got so mad.

Icarus living up to his name. Instead of his metaphorical wings melting off because he was too close to the sun, he literally melted in toxic waste. I saw his death coming, but at least he’s with Scorn.

I. AM. HURT.

Maul no doubt could sense the stench of Vader’s aura approaching, especially after Rook was visibly shaken, and when she got dragged into the fog, he didn’t have much of a reaction to her death. This woman was his ride or die, aside from Savage, Rook was his most loyal warrior and dare I say a FRIEND. Maul had more of an emotional reaction to Spybot’s death and showing rage in his fight against the Inquisitors than for Rook.

She died for shock value just so Vader can make this entrance.

If anyone should’ve survived from Maul’s crew it should’ve been HER. Not VARIO. Why is he still alive?! Don’t get me wrong, he actually grew on me, but he served his purpose by getting Dryden to Janix and helping Maul, Devon, and the others to safety. But what purpose does Vario serve? I guess that’s something we’ll see in season 2.

Rating: General Audience | 1k Words | Angst, Vengeance

Title: Mourning

Summary: Before reaching the cordoned office of the late Nico Deemis, Maul allows Icarus a moment to mourn his brother, Scorn.