#fanged god

[maulsboobwindow]

So I've been reading the book of sith:

And I noticed something interesting

The part about the blood vessels specifically made me think of the scenes with Maul's eyes in MSL

[thenightmarketofdathomir]

Fic: Water of Life (Opress Bros x Reader)

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Opress Brothers x Reader Word Count: 6k Warnings: Dubious consent (if you're uncomfortable with situations involving penetrative sex while under the influence of alcohol or drugs, this is not for you), memory loss, substance use, ritual sex, anonymous sex, p in v, p in a, dps, poly, orgy, size difference, rough sex, primal play, ritual marking, stalking, power dynamics

Summary: A spiritual pilgrimage for Dathomir’s third moon festival requires little of its attendees: respect for the culture and respect for its rituals are paramount, and you must always do as the Nightbrothers say — but you know for certain, what is lost in the process never outweighs what’s gained…

Least of all when Lord Maul throws a party in honour of the old Gods.

Please Read/A Further Warning: If you're uncomfortable with situations involving penetrative sex while under the influence of alcohol or drugs, this is not for you. The Reader experiences memory loss of the event, and while there is no doubt she consented, the description may prove triggering for some readers. The author does not condone or encourage the use of mind altering substances while engaging in sexual activities, and the descriptions of the power dynamic here do not reflect a real world BDSM relationship. This is purely a work of fiction with darker elements.

Notes and an excerpt below the cut 👇 | Read the fic on Ao3 👉

Notes: This is very much a response tailored to the particular request -- largely because the askee and I are friends and we share two particular interests: Star Wars and Sleep Token. To that ends, this story has been shaped by a couple of notable influences from its playlist, so if you’re unfamiliar but would like to be better acquainted, I suggest giving Jaws, The Offering, and The Summoning a listen. Worship.

You wake the next afternoon with Dathomir's sun already at a half slant, making a red slash across your legs. The sheets are a tangle, but somehow you made it back to bed the night before. Everything's mussy, bleary around the edges from too much blackroot tonic, your muscles sore from dancing around the bonfires that lit the mountains in a long chain --

Every peak ablaze.

And every window to every hut in the Night City had been lit up, the caves and quarters of the Nightbrothers offering libations for new friends and visitors alike gold and green in the night. The revels had lasted until morning, pathways through the grave thorns lit with candles and brazier light leading to secluded alcoves where your memories get a little hazy -- all you know is that you've never seen anything like it, any place else in the galaxy.

Lord Maul really knows how to throw a party.

The thought brings a smile to your face, even though you haven't seen the man -- more a legend by the way the Nightbrothers speak of him: he's the one responsible for Dathomir's restoration, but he doesn't partake of the third moon festival. He's yet to make an appearance, as far as you know, but there are plenty of Nightbrothers, all of them keen on demonstrating their artistry in the games, many looking for partners to dance with, to play host to visitors wanting a taste of the authentic, revived Dathomiri magical traditions -- and your hosts have been more than accommodating.

Everyone is looking for something, that’s why you've come here. What you don’t yet know is the question, though you’re sure there’s an answer:

Something missing. You’re sure here you’ll find it. Whatever it is.

You shift, the sheets slipping, and realize you might've gone overboard on your very first day. Everything aches, your muscles sore from all night spent in the grave thorns and the caves, and you're tender in places you hadn't expected -- your breasts, your thighs too. Your shirt shifts and that's when you notice something's different -- there's paint striped everywhere across your body beneath your sleeping clothes.

Gold and smeary and shimmering, like you'd cuddled up to somebody painted with those pretty sigils the Nightbrothers use to invoke virility, prowess, and stamina in the hunt --

A memory flickers, there and gone like a moth against a candle and back to the darkness.

You swallow, the soreness registering as something not so awful because maybe there's a reason your clit feels so tender. Like someone lavished it with affection, leaving your cunt warm and wet, eased open for whatever came next.

Your body throbs with the disconnect, and like a ghost, you can map the places where someone touched and squeezed, offering pleasure in exchange for your memories of the event, because while you remember a body to whom you enthusiastically consented, his face is a blank in your memory.

A glance at the bedside mirror reveals finger streaks across your throat to your chest, and following the mark, you remember the weight of that hand undoing the straps of your dress. Fabric pooling around your feet in one of the caves where the brazier light made oil-slicked muscles shimmer. Gold and ochre. Gold eyes in a masked face.

Parting your legs, there's a little shimmer on your inner thighs too. A peek down your shirt reveals gold smudges on your breast and belly, and something flickers on the periphery of your awareness, rising like a vision from the depths:

Teeth against your neck. A heavy cock between your legs. And you, breathless and desperate, clawing marks up a Nightbrother's back as he braced you with gold-painted hips, the rough praises offered in whispers as he slipped you down each of his three ridges like something sacred --

No names. No faces.

Read the rest on Ao3 >

[twin-sun-archives]

It is said the winged goddess rules the plants and fanged god the animals. Have you ever thought about why?

Beautiful gardens would form at her feet only to be turned to rot as he neared. So the goddess crafted life from clay because she saw how lonely her brother was from being surrounded by death. She made beautiful beasts that could not be killed by his touch. He finally had a pack of his own. Darkness began to rule Dathomir, the sunlight losing its hours more and more. To the point even all 4 moon had no light. Her flames were turning to ice as she drained so much of her energy to keep all of this life alive. The dark night threatens to claim her, all because she wanted to help him. In the desperate hopes to keep his sister alive, he goes on a slaughter. Soaking Dathomir in blood. Only keeping 7 beasts alive, the zodiacs. By balancing the scales she was able to bring light back on the solstice. This was what started the great Hunt, for her… because after all it was all for him to begin with. So every year when the moons turn cold, all of Dathomir commences in the great Hunt. In hopes to keep the cycle of life going. For if they fail to do so, they know the cold dark night would be one of eternity. The winged goddess must rise again with the sun.

[raventrigonsdaughter]

Ok so mixing all the information on the matter we got Baylan Skoll and Shin Hati are hunting ahsoka(and maybe ezra), they are named after the wolves that trigger the ragnarok, they chase the sun and the moon that are often represented as brother and sister which in star wars are probably the daughter and son of mortis. Ahsoka and Ezra will have a deep conection and relationship that will be important in the show.

Yeah Ahsoka and Ezra are the new Ones of Mortis and will have a sibling relationship, maybe they will find balance together instead of needing a middle man too (the Father) as it has been pointed at for some time

Im sorry im just loosing my mind over Ahsoka and Ezra possibly developing a deeper bond, i have dreamed of that since rebels and now they will likely become brother and sister, fuck the dyad bullshit, i want whatever sibling bond those dumbasses will have

[nightsister-juisid]

Someone needs to explain me why the “Siege of Mandalore” arc in the concept arts is called “Twins” before I start doing more theories

So, is not secret Dave Filoni already said that Maul and Ahsoka are “the other part of the same coin”

which means that, for him, Maul and Ahsoka are equals in the force. Reflections of one another, in the different sides of the force, because of their similar lifes being the product of the training of two of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, and forgotten and betrayed by their orders after the infinite penances they had to go through and their immense devotion for their “religion”. That in the end, made them followers of the dark and light side respectively, but under their own philosophy and law.

The clone wars end is great too because we saw the journey this two apprentices had during the series, and after so long, they finally met. Two apprentices, the half of another, that could have been the only two persons capable of changing the course of history if light and dark weren’t enemies.

Considering this, I find really curious they put the word “Twins” for this arc concept arts. But more than just being the half of the other, I remembered something this days: For many alien species, included Maul’s and Ahsoka tribes, the galaxy is ruled by two deities who represent light and dark:

The twin deities. The fanged god and the winged goddess. Also known as “The son” and “The daughter”

The fanged god: An spirit of masculine energy and chaos

The winged goddes: A selfless being of femenine energy and compassion

The two entities have in their destiny to generate imbalance in the force, by fighting eternally each other on Mortis. The brother, always for his own selfish reasons, meanwhile the daughter would often put others in front of her.

“The Daughter was a selfless being who cared greatly for her family, particularly her father.”

“In her greatest show of loyalty and love, the Daughter threw herself in front of the Dagger meant to kill the Father”

“Sacrificing herself to save him”

If the twins would have not fought forever, for thinking different due their diversion of ideas and path to follow, would have that changed the destiny of the galaxy? We don’t know. But is sure things could have been different if the deities have found common ground.

[twin-sun-archives]

A Dathomirian Christmas🏹

Wanted to create some fun holiday Dathomir lore and ended up created an entire creation myth, elemental system, a whole new zodiac system & this Hunt story featuring the fanged god. It was inspired by the Wild Hunt from Norse mythology. I’ll be sharing more soon, even an interactive quiz to help determine your Dathomir zodiac animal. 👁️

To stay updated on celebrations & lore dm me for the disciples of Dathomir server link!🫀

[twin-sun-archives]

My AU where Maul & Gem (undead nightsister oc) become the avatars for The Fanged God & Winged Goddess.

[thenightmarketofdathomir]

The Ritual - Darth Maul x Reader

Pairing: Darth Maul x Reader (AFAB Cis), Fanged God as Maul/Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10,914 words Warnings: Edgeplay, Knife/Talon Play, Blood Play/Kink, Choking/Asphyxiation, Bondage, Degradation, D/s overtones, Sacred Sex/Heiros Gamos, P in V, Nightsister Magic, Revival of Ancient Dathomiri Culture/Customs, Alien Biology, Cybernetics in full effect (Robo Cock), Early Crimson Dawn Era, Deity Possession, no use of y/n Notes: For @grinningnexu 🖤❤️🖤

Summary:

The new Lord of Dathomir is set on reviving and bastardizing ancient traditions, and you, a Priestess, are intent on doing your job — no matter how off-putting he is.

There is only one rule you need to remember: the Gods must be appeased.

Excerpt below or Read the full fic at Ao3 >

Foreword —

Etched into the walls of the Red Grotto, stoic beneath the dripping walls and calcified creeper that drape the ancient parts of the cave system beneath the mountain, markings made by nimble Nightbrother fingers tell a story in pictures:

A zabrak descended from the cliffside, a crown of horns on his head, to be bathed in the springs by careful hands of his consorts, reborn and renewed after the hunt.  

The drawings, etched in hydraatis acid, have withstood three millennia of change above, from witches to the Nightsisters to their Brothers’ reclaiming, and yet remain:

This is Dathomir, at its deepest heart.

And like the darkness that gathers here, where the whispers of ancient voices can still be heard when the waters are stirred, some things endure:

The ritual has never changed.

But the King will reign once more.

The Red Grotto, Dathomir —

There’s no one here. 

That’s your first thought after tripping down the last set of spiralling stone stairs and nearly upending the tray of salts and oils and soaps you were tasked to bring into the bathing chambers, expecting his return from the westernmost swamps from a rancor hunt. As if anyone did that anymore. More ritual and pomp, you thought. Something to appease the halls full of guests from the syndicates because some traditions kept the kitchens staffed and everyone else fed, but —

No one expected he’d actually go through with that ancient Dathomiri custom: a rancor hunt to feed a full hall of people but also to demonstrate a Nightbrother’s prowess; his virility.

The thing is… you’ve heard rumours about him:

How he was split in half from the waist down years ago by an adversary in a battle that ended with his supposed death. He came back, didn’t he? Just like he came back to Dathomir after so many years. 

You let out a breath, taking in the dripping walls overtaken by vines and leaves that appear to breathe and shiver in the dim brazier light; the enormous bathing pools of various temperatures fed by the springs, some steaming and murky, others cool and wafting mist. Only the patter of the waterfall on stone on the grottos edges settle your nerves. The sound is unending; a constant rainfall under the phosphor of glowworms clinging to the foliage draping from the ceilings.

It’s beautiful. Too quiet, almost, because you know the ichor has been restless since he got here. Too serene for its new owner.

Now here you are and here he isn’t.

The ‘him’ in question isn’t so much a man as he is a monster, or so his renown would suggest: the new leader and face of the Dawn who’d set up operations on his homeworld, along with a retinue who’d attend him, and all his little syndicate minions.

You took your occupation and the handsome pay that came with it with the understanding that your service required a combination of discretion, secrecy, and decorum. You’ve never met him. You’ve only heard the stories:

The Son of Dathomir is indifferent to the pleasures of the consorts the Black Sun brought with them, and he has no mind for leisurely decadence like dining or drinking or even bathing in the ceremonial waters below the mountain. 

A King is still a king if only in name, you remind yourself. Even if he is a bloodthirsty monster.

You set down your tray. The bottles tink together, and you scrunch your nose at the luxury. You’re familiar with all of them: mixtures with various potencies to ease aching muscles and render someone euphoric, to cool the skin and to warm it, and a special salve made especially for legs built from durasteel: a mixture to ensure fluidity in the joints and protect it from the humidity. 

You blended it yourself on the twelfth moon, with ingredients fresh from the apothecary in the Night Market. It’s perfect. It’s precious. Picking it up, the ointment coats the inside of the transparisteel, as thick and potent as the night you prepared it. 

A little gift meant for someone half-cybernetic. 

A token. A thank you. Not to curry favour, but…

Dathomir hasn’t been the same since he returned, you think.

In many ways, with so many new faces — laughter in the hallways and revels waking the daylight on so many evenings — it’s better. Different, but alive again.

Sighing, you replace the jar, thinking about wasted ingredients and wasted time. 

Silly tokens.

Silly girl, you think. 

This is stupid — this fear, this nervousness. 

You were assigned a task for which you were prepared to do whatever necessary to appease the man, and were given leave for it, and he’s not here. You’ve hours at your disposal, and glaring up into the cavernous space of the grotto with your hands on your hips, you arrive at a decision as the damp seeps beneath your dress:

The grotto is ancient, and sacred, and private.

No one will disturb you here.

You might as well enjoy it...

Read the rest at Ao3 >