I'd be mad too if I were Maul, like, girl, I just worked so hard on this tea for our manipulation tea time and now you're pulling out my own weapon against me?
summary: you and maul spend five years learning the language of each others silences. you promised him you'd be back. you were seventeen and you believed it
word count: 5,504 words
rating: m, tw for bullying, some canon typical violence
a/n: this was a request from @timeladymorsillon for a reunited childhood friends prompt that spiraled out of control. this story is in 2 parts. its very, very loosely based off of mauls time at orsis academy in the wrath of maul book. i took a lot of creative liberties with orsis, so please keep that in mind. part two is in the works and will be rated explicit (time skip, so reader and maul will be adults)
original request: Would you be willing to write a prompt for a reader x maul drabble where they knew each other when they were younger, got separated by Complications (tm) in life for a number of years, and then somehow reunite?
i hope you all enjoy!
part one: orsis
Maul arrived at Orsis Academy a year after you did, with three times the fanfare.
Rumors spread that he was feral, like all the other Zabrak males from Dathomir. He nearly ripped Dalok's nose off on his first day, so hardly anyone could be convinced otherwise. The instructors pretended not to hear the rumors, but you thought some of them agreed.
You were twelve and thought a lot of things about Maul that first week. It was strange the way he stood at attention like a soldier, as if it would disguise how out of place he was. His arms dangled off his shoulders like snapped, jagged branches, but he displayed the strength of a full grown man. His face was a mismatched puzzle; horns and chin long and sharp, but his cheeks were still chubby from childhood. He sat ramrod straight and never took his eyes off the teacher. Always the first student in class and the last to leave. You couldn't decide if he was shy or didn't like people.
But his tattoos were one of the coolest things you'd ever seen. And you couldn't stop thinking about how he bit a boy's nose hard enough to bleed.
During recess on his first day, Maul cycled between kicking rocks around and watching the other kids. You approached him, ignoring the protests from your friends.
"Hi, you sit behind me in tracking class," you told him your name. Maul stared.
"I'm Maul."
"What school did you transfer from?"
"Does it matter?"
You shrugged. "Just curious."
Maul narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"
"Wanna play with us?" you gestured back to your group of friends, who pretended they weren't just looking.
"No," he said, far more harshly than you expected.
"Oh…maybe later?"
Maul walked away without answering. Your friends were generous with their I told you so's, yet oddly, his rudeness didn't bother you like it would from someone else. It just made you curious.
You tried again the next day. You found him squatting at the same edge of the field, moving rocks and dirt around with a twig.
"We're playing warvolley if you want to join," you said. "Just don't hit the ball with your palms up. Kera dislocated his pinkie doing that once. There was blood everywhere."
Maul didn't look up. "No."
"What about tomorrow?"
"No."
You tried tomorrow anyway, and the next day. And the day after that. Every time you asked him to join you, you offered him something. A seat, a game, even half your lunch once, which earned you a look so suspicious that even you questioned if your pasta was poisoned. Maul either said no or nothing at all— which was still a no.
Weeks of rejection passed. Your friends said that Maul might bite your nose too if you kept asking. That was probably true. You'd seen him fight dirty during sparring matches well enough. But you saw the slight falter in his expression when he was chosen last for group activities, every time. How he watched everyone play at recess like an exhibit at a zoo. There was something lonely about him, so you kept asking.
The student body at Orsis was a wealth of diversity, except for Zabraks. Specifically, Dathomiri Zabraks, which made Maul the prime target for the loud and obnoxious students. Zhet was the worst of them— a Theelin boy whose father was a top donor, which meant the faculty would turn a blind eye to his behavior. He carved slurs into Maul's desk and shoulder checked him in the halls. And during a documentary screening one afternoon, he and his friends flung rubber bands at Maul's head, trying to loop them around his horns.
They never landed a single shot, but they still thought it was the funniest thing in the whole galaxy. Maul never fought back, which was the part you couldn't stand. You'd seen him take kids twice his size down without so much as a sweat— yet he just sat there and took it when Zhet and his minions harassed him. Jaw tight, eyes forward, spine ramrod straight. Maul could easily break his arm in half, and Zhet must've known that because he was a coward with stupid, pink hair.
You just stood up in the middle of the documentary and stomped over to Zhet's desk. You didn't have a plan. The whole class, including the instructor, was staring at you. Zhet was tipped back in his chair, looking at you as if you were stupid, and you kicked the legs out from under him with all the strength you had.
He slammed to the floor with a yelp and the class roared in laughter. The instructor shouted at you, but you were too focused on watching Zhet scramble to his feet, his face burning red.
The instructor dragged you out of the classroom by your arm. On your way out, you caught Maul's eyes and winked at him.
You didn't expect Maul to thank you after that, which he didn't. But he started staring. Constantly. You'd catch him in class and instead of glancing away like a normal person, he'd stare at you until you caved and looked away, embarrassed. But it wasn't the look he used when watching the other kids at recess— it was a calculating one, but no less intimidating.
It was driving you nuts. You planned to confront Maul about it, but he got to you first.
Inside the academy's library, you had a hideaway; a storage closet, tucked away in the far back corner. The librarian gave you the keycard herself, delighted that someone expressed interest in physical books. It smelled like mildew and old clothes forgotten in a dresser. The couch cushion was lumpy and split at the seams, and you chipped away at the cracked leather like dried toothpaste. But it was lined with towering, cherry wood shelves that held hundreds of books nearly lost to time.
It was your own sanctuary. That's why you nearly jumped out of your skin when the door opened and Maul walked in.
"W-what are you doing here?" you placed a hand over your racing heart. "How did you even find this place?"
"I followed you." Maul said, like that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.
"But I've been here for a few hours?"
Instead of answering, Maul looked around the small space, taking in the old couch, wood shelves, and bad smell.
"Why did you kick Zhet's chair?" He finally asked.
You blinked at him. "Because he's a sleemo and deserved it."
What flickered across his face was more than confusion— like what you told him was downright absurd. Maul frowned at the floor and fell silent again. You felt awkward, so you reached for the crumpled bag tucked in between the couch cushions.
"Zabraks are carnivores, right? Do you want some jerky?"
Maul scrunched his nose at the offered bag. "You're not supposed to have that in here."
"Are you gonna snitch? You don't seem like a snitch."
"No."
"Then take the jerky," you tossed him the bag and he caught it without looking.
He stared suspiciously at it. "Why are you giving me this?"
You shrugged. "Mother said it's polite."
"Polite?" His lips curled around the word like he'd never said it before.
"That's what she says."
For a moment, you thought Maul would actually take it. Then his face turned to stone and threw the bag back at you. It fumbled against your chest when you caught it.
"I don't want it."
"Why?"
But Maul already turned around and walked out, leaving you wondering if any of that actually happened.
You didn't expect him to come back that next evening. He avoided you throughout the day and disappeared during recess. But he did, wordlessly, scowling so harshly that it looked painful. Maul came back the evening after that, too. And the one after that. You never understood why and you didn't think he did either. You don't know when it became normal to find him already in the closet when you arrived, tucked into the far end of the couch by the door. Maul didn't explain himself, and you never asked. You learned that questions made him leave. So you accepted it as his version of a friendship.
Maul always sat by the door, you by the dirty hopper window. His charger became yours because your cable was always frayed. He brought a lavender potpourri satchel for the shelf because his Zabrak sense of smell was far more sensitive than yours. You draped a blanket over the seat when the flakes of leather stuck to your school pants. The moth-bitten hole in the back seams became home for snacks you stuffed in your bra to sneak into the library.
You studied there, completed projects together, tossed balled up snack wrappers at Maul's head when he annoyed you. They never landed. Some evenings passed wordlessly when there were no assignments due. Maul, working at something on his datapad. You, buried in one of the musty tomes.
The seasons passed with you two folded into the quiet of that little room. You were happy in ways that you didn't understand yet, and Maul was as familiar to you as the back of your hand.
Until he wasn't.
Orsis was a dense jungle, smothered in unrelenting, soup like humidity that was especially brutal during the summer. And you, a child of the arid Andrenma desert, were sure this exercise would break you.
You dropped to your knees beneath an overgrowth, the shade providing you minimal relief from the oppressive heat. You felt every swell of your veins in tandem with the rapid beat of your heart. Your skin flushed, and damp with sweat that clung to you like a wet sock. The jumpsuit tied at your waist left your exposed shoulders littered with various cuts from the flora. Some beaded with endless blood, others stung like claws on a sunburn.
The realization dawned on you as you rummaged through your bag for your water skin, which was tragically empt. The bag and its contents were soaked. You were so sweaty that you hadn't noticed it leaked. Rations melted into a half-powder slurry that oozed into the seams of the emergency tracking beacon, and fried the electronics.
You were going to die. Here lies the Princess of Andrenma, died of a heatstroke on a jungle planet because she's an idiot. You couldn't even muster the energy to cry out of frustration. You wondered briefly if you could re-hydrate yourself by licking the sweat off your arms, then dismissed that thought. You'd rather just die.
You pushed yourself against a tree, letting your head fall back against the bark and closing your eyes. Bugs might crawl in your hair, but you didn't care. Your body was beyond spent, the world so hazy that you barely noticed the footsteps approaching you. You opened one eye to see Maul, standing over you. Sweat soaked, and down to his undershirt like you, but far more composed.
"What are you doing here?" you asked between labored breaths. Maul was far ahead of you during physical training exercises. Always ahead of you.
He knelt down next to you and opened his bag. "We have a project to present in an hour."
"Huh?" was all your microwaved brain could so eloquently manage. It took several seconds of you staring dumbly at Maul before you realized he was talking about the Efficacy of Torture project for your psychology class.
Maul shoved a water skin in your hands before you could respond with your permission for him to take full credit for the project. This one was still full and cool to the touch. Why did he bring two?
You brought the container to your lips and drank in large gulps that stretched your throat. You felt the liquid travel through your body like a menthol salve, cooling your superheated insides. Maul had to pull the water skin from you to keep you from drinking it all.
"Are all humans this weak, or is it just you?" he asked, then unceremoniously dumped some of the water over your head. "The sun on Dathomir would turn you into jerky."
The only rebuttal you could manage was a weak kick to his leg. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the tree. The water was lovely against your face, and made you fantasize about the shower you'd take after this. You felt a little bad. Maul probably wanted to shower too. He'd be finished now if it weren't for you. Why was he here again? How did he even find you?
You heard the unzipping of a bag, a crinkle of plastic, and the rustling of leaves next to you. The acrid stench of vinegar jolted you out of your scrambled thoughts, followed by the familiar tingle of bacta mending your skin.
"You don't have to do that," you said, registering Maul as your bacta savior.
"I know."
He didn't look at you, focused on your arms. You'd watched Maul's hands curl around the trigger of a blaster, split skin and crunch bone with powerful, precise punches. Those same hands were gentle against your skin, mindful of their pressure. The touch never hurt. Not once.
Before you knew it, Maul hoisted you back to your feet, your body officially out of "broiled" territory and now "mildly toasted." Neither of you spoke as you trudged your way back to campus. You felt uneasy, teetering on the edge between anxiety and warmth. It was probably the last of the heat exhaustion lingering in your brain.
The nurse droids nearly short circuited at the sight of you and ushered you into the medbay for fluids before you could protest. Maul had to present the project alone and passed with flying colors. He visited you later that evening and settled in the chair next to you, datapad perched in his lap.
"I took full credit."
Time passed strangely after that. You turned fourteen, then fifteen and suddenly Maul was taller than you. The awkward angles of his body filled into lean muscle, the baby fat trimmed off his cheeks. You were hyper-aware of the space he occupied; on the couch by the door, to your left in the hallways, his position on the field during drills. He was as inevitable as the first breath you took in the morning. Not an extension of you, because you didn't know where you ended and Maul began.
You met Volen in your Politics and Espionage class the year you turned sixteen. They were the kind of person with their own gravitational pull. Beautiful in a way that appealed to all; timeless, and neither masculine nor feminine.
You became fast friends, traded notes, and laughed loudly in the hallways between your shared classes. But you were one of many in their rotation of friends, not drawn too close nor pushed too far. Welcome company to fill in the spaces when Maul was absent.
Volen was a better fighter than you. They'd pin you in the training ring and laugh, hauling you back to your feet by your wrist, only to knock your legs out from underneath you. You didn't mind losing to them because they made training fun, and not the agonizing task your body carried for days after.
Between the grappling and easy banter, you felt the prickle of someone watching you. Brief, but just enough to catch your focus, and land your face against the mat. You called it quits after that.
"Your friend doesn't like me," Volen said with a wry grin after they helped you up. They tipped their chin and you followed it. Maul leaned against the far end of the wall where he always waited for you, arms crossed. You caught him as he switched his gaze between you and Volen, then he looked away and rolled his shoulders.
"No, he's just like that," you looked back to Volen. "Staring is kinda his thing."
"Oh, I know it is," they said, and clapped you on the shoulder. "But he was glaring, not staring. Probably fantasizing about all the ways he wants to kill me."
You laughed it off then because Volen was dramatic, but they had been right. They usually were, you were just unwilling to admit that you didn't know the language of Maul's stares as well as you thought. Because something had shifted in him in those weeks and Maul's mood hadn't changed. It wasn't teenage hormones, because you thought that was above him in some way. You seemed to be the catalyst, a live wire that shocked him every time he was close, but Maul never stayed away. You didn't understand it. You stopped trying.
"Spar with me."
Maul's proposal shocked you. You two rarely sparred because he so easily outclassed you, and the suggestion came out of nowhere. They were the first words out of his mouth when you met him in the hallway after class— by the water fountains, like always.
"Okay, but why?"
"You have bad habits," he explained, already walking ahead, expecting you to follow. You did. "You need someone to challenge you."
You scoffed. "Every fight is challenging for me, but whatever."
The wind was knocked out of you as you slammed onto the mat. Barely a second passed before Maul hauled you back onto your feet. He was quick and aggressive, but you were smaller and nimble. You dodged his punches within a hair's breadth of their landing. He feigned a kick— you anticipated it and slipped the right hook that followed.
But anticipating Maul and matching him were two different beasts. He had the strength and speed of a warrior forged from birth. Every match ended the same way: you on your back, groaning in pain, Maul grabbing your hand to drag you up and do it all over again.
"You are predictable," he said flatly by the fourth time he knocked you down. "Try again."
You didn't have the space to answer before Maul was on you. But there was plenty of space inside you that boiled in frustration.
You couldn't beat him, but you could catch him.
You didn't dodge the next time Maul tackled you. You hooked your thighs around his neck, his right arm trapped against your chest— that was a move Volen taught you. And for one fleeting, triumphant second, you caught him off guard.
But Maul was the top student for a reason. He stood, and you, still clamped around his neck, rose with him like you weighed nothing. Like you were an afterthought. Maul was showing off, you could see it on his stupid face.
And now neither of you would win. You'd make sure of it.
He tried to shake you loose. A sharp jerk meant to throw you off, but you were stubborn and clamped down harder. Your weight swung, Maul's balance with it, and both of you came tumbling down.
The mat punched the air out of your lungs, forcing you to let go. The momentum pulled Maul forward and right on top of you.
Neither of you moved.
Maul's weight pressed you into the floor, his heat soaking through the thin jumpsuit where your bodies met. You swore you could feel the roar of his twin hearts thrumming with your own, single human beat. He was close enough that you could see him properly. A bead of sweat on his temple, the webs of gnarled skin where his horns erupted.
Maul hesitated. He never hesitated; always still and poised to strike like a viper. But the person above you, a boy, not a predator, looked nervous. You could see the tension in his shoulders, his eyes manically flicking between yours. Then it was gone. Cold air rushed over your body as Maul pushed himself from you and stood to his feet.
"We're done."
You propped yourself on your elbows while Maul backed away several steps, refusing to look at you. For reasons unknown to you, it made your heart sink.
Maul was already tucked into his spot on the couch when you arrived that evening. Not looking up or offering a quick greeting was normal, but the silence from him was suffocating. He was hunched over his datapad, scrolling in a way that you knew was mindless. He was stewing and you couldn't ask why, no matter how much you wanted to. But you needed to do something.
There was a half empty bag of spiced nerf jerky stuffed in the couch. You bent over the back, fished it out from the hole, and tossed it over to Maul. He caught it without looking. For a moment you thought he might throw it back at you and storm out like he did when you were twelve. The thought scared you because Maul hadn't walked away from you in years. He was always where you needed him— by your side, around the corner, sat in his spot on the couch. But Maul didn't throw the bag back or leave. He turned it over and placed it beside him. It was…better than nothing, you supposed.
You sat propped up against the arm on your side of the couch, stretched your sore legs out in front of you, and rested them in Maul's lap. That'd been something you bickered about years ago, when either you grew too tall or Maul too muscular and touching each other became unavoidable. You always napped on the couch, and he got tired of your cold feet pressing against his thighs. So, you draped your calves across Maul's lap one day, your feet touching the other side of the cushion. He didn't move, and that became the compromise. The silence and his warmth lulling you into years of cozy, evening cat naps.
The silence hadn't been comfortable lately. You felt a buzzing in your gut every time you were around Maul; like anticipating the drop on a theme park ride that never came. You didn't know what to do with it, but you felt like something would snap.
You were stirred from your light doze when he spoke.
"I do not know what I am doing…"
It was so quiet, you were unsure if you'd imagined it at first. The muscles in Maul's thighs were tense. You didn't open your eyes and didn't dare to move, afraid that he would be reminded of your presence and run off.
Without a chrono, you had no idea how much time passed— maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour. Eventually, you heard Maul sigh, the one he used when he was tired and frustrated. To your surprise, you felt warmth encapsulate one of your ankles, and realized it was his hand. Your heart jolted, which didn't make sense because you were already touching him. Touching Maul was normal. You had been friends for years.
You couldn't fall back asleep and eventually pretended to wake up. Your gut told you that Maul knew you were faking, but he never mentioned it.
Something shifted after that day in the ring. The days were the same on the surface— classes, training, studying, Maul's datapad, your books. But you felt his presence sizzle in a room like a match you struck with your teeth. The energy was aggravating and thrilling— and you lived suspended in that dichotomy for the better part of a year.
You caught yourself observing him in a way you thought only artists did. The sharpened lines of his jaw, the proud bridge of his nose. You noticed the thick veins overhanging Maul's tendons; knobby knuckles bulging underneath ruby-red skin, calloused and scarred from battle and ink. You traced the bump in his throat down to the dip between his collarbones— the jagged tattoos across his strong pectorals visible when his shirt collar hung low enough.
And you caught Maul watching you more than once as well. Sometimes he looked away too late. Sometimes, not at all. It made you conscious of the state of your hair and the way your jumpsuit hugged your figure. Which was stupid. Maul had been with you through every awkward growth spurt, hormonal breakout, and overzealous eyebrow plucking. He knew what you looked like and didn't care. Probably. What did you look like through Maul's eyes?
The realization that you even cared dawned on you one morning while getting ready for class. Not a dramatic, grand revelation, but from a simple, mundane thought while you decided between the star shaped hydrocolloid patches or transparent ones.
Which would Maul like better?
And the entire galaxy might as well have collapsed on you in that singular moment. You cared what Maul thought because you liked him more than a friend. You noticed his veins and the shape of his nose because he was handsome.
You wanted to scream. You couldn't stop smiling. You wanted to vomit.
You'd invented a new sensation: vibrating out of your skin. Like someone trapped a swarm of angry wasps in a flask and shook it for thirty seconds. Classes were busy, but the day passed slowly. You were convinced you'd combust in your Chemistry of Mind-Altering Drugs class, but you made it through. At what cost, though? Because now you had to face Maul in the hideaway. You couldn't avoid it, because he'd find you. You couldn't be late, because he'd notice.
You just had to act normal. Nothing had changed. Don't be stupid.
Maul was there when you arrived, buried in his datapad, like always. You dumped your bag next to his, rummaging through the clutter for your study material. You paused when your cosmetic pouch came into view. Should you put on lip balm? No. Stupid.
You plopped down on your normal spot, powering on your datapad. You read the same sentence about the various uses of Glitterstim about four times, absorbing none of it. Were you sweating? The room was cold, you had to be imagining it. You tugged on your shirt anyway.
You didn't look at Maul but noticed his every shift, the gentle tap of his fingers on the datapad, the breath he took. The issue was that not looking at him was obvious, and Maul had a freak intuition that you couldn't hide anything from.
His fingers stilled and you felt his gaze on you. When you looked up, he was watching you over the top of his datapad.
"What?" you asked, too fast and too defensive.
Maul's eyes moved over you, assessing the grinding of your jaw and the tension in your shoulders. You tried to keep your face neutral, and relaxed the white knuckled grip you had on your datapad. But it was useless. You knew it. Maul knew it. He had every quirk of your personality catalogued. This was unavoidable.
"You are acting strange," Maul said flatly. He placed his datapad to the side.
"No, I'm not."
"It is useless to lie to me," his words were pointed, but not sharp. "Something is bothering you. What is it?"
That was the million credit question, wasn't it? You couldn't tell him that he was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen. That he was your best friend, and you might be in love with him and hadn't realized it until this morning. You couldn't ask him if he thought you were pretty because you didn't even know if he found humans attractive.
You opened your mouth but every word died in your throat. Maul was staring at you, expecting an answer. You couldn't give him one. You didn't know what to do. So you moved, pushed yourself on your hands and knees, leaned across the couch, and kissed him.
You pressed a little too hard, your noses squished together. Maul's lips were dry, but not cracked, and he was warm. It was nice.
You leaned back after a few seconds and dared to open your eyes. Maul wore an expression that took you a second to register: shock. His eyes were a pale shade of green, and you could see yourself in the reflection of his irises. Your face was flushed and your pulse pounded in your ears. Maul was frozen. You feared you broke him and shattered everything you two built over the past five years.
He wouldn't move, it had to be you. Always had to be you.
"Say something-"
Maul kissed you— he leaned forward and kissed you. This one was softer, still awkward, but more sure of itself. You relaxed into it, and mutually pulled away after several seconds, but stayed close enough to feel each other's breath.
You giggled not out of joy but release— that buzzing anticipation in your gut finally gone. And Maul felt lighter, he even looked peaceful. Content. You noticed he was the same shade of red as always, while your cheeks burned. That wasn't fair; Zabraks needed a tell too. You'd find it. He also didn't have eyelashes, which was funny.
"Why are you laughing?" Maul asked softly.
You shook your head. "I just noticed you don't have eyelashes."
Maul laughed, a soft, short sound, but a laugh nonetheless.
You didn't need to talk about what happened on the couch because everything that came after was so natural. The routine was still the same— classes, training, studying, Maul's datapad, and your books. The third kiss was easier and shared before you parted ways to the dorms that night. The fourth that next evening as soon as the hideaway door closed. You stopped counting after that. But you kissed during the pauses of your study sessions, in the courtyard during lunch when no one was looking, and when your evening naps evaded you.
Maul was lighter and smiled more, which still wasn't often. But you'd see it when you caught him staring at you. The shift was noticeable enough even to your classmates. You learned Volen had a betting pool that you two would get together by the end of the year. Volen won three hundred credits and bought you a box of condoms, which mortified you. They laughed.
Maul let you rest your legs in his lap like always, except now, he'd occasionally hold your ankle. Sometimes your calf or knee, and lately a little higher. You still had to learn his tells the way blushing was yours. You wanted to ask him if it was okay if you called him pet names— if you could hold his hand in the hallway, or go on a date off world. You had so many plans, none of them urgent. It had only been two weeks. You thought you had time.
Around three am one night, the RA woke you up to inform you that your sister was dead, and an escort was there to take you home.
You didn't remember what she said after that. Something about your mother and a transport, maybe. Your body moved on its own. The RA offered to help you pack your bag, but you dismissed her, politely. Your sister was dead. You repeated it to yourself until the words felt fake. Your sister was dead.
You shoved your stuff in a bag with the bathroom as the only source of light. You didn't remember if you brushed your teeth. Your sister was dead, and there was a planet's worth of grief waiting for you on Andrenma. The escort waited outside your room and offered condolences
"I'm so sorry for your loss, your Highness."
A title that felt foreign to you, and your sister an abstract concept.
You didn't tell Maul because you couldn't. The boys' dormitory was off limits. You had his personal comm, but something tugged at you. You excused yourself for a moment before you registered that your feet carried you to the hideaway in the library.
It was dark and smelled like it always did— of mildew, and old clothes, and the lavender Maul put on the shelf. You tore a page out of one of your notebooks and scribbled:
My sister died. I have to go. I'll be back.
You wanted to write I love you. It felt right, natural, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. That was something you wanted to tell Maul in person. It was part of one of your plans, and you still had time. You'd be back.
You kissed the note instead and placed it on Maul's side of the couch. You felt present in your body for the first time since you'd been woken up. Tears formed in your eyes, but you willed them back because you couldn't afford to let them fall. Then you turned and left.
The academy was dark and silent as you walked past the library, by classrooms and training halls, and outside to the landing pad where the transport awaited.
You didn't look back because you didn't need to. You'd be back. You were seventeen and believed it.
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There are many favourite characters of mine that I know and feel like won't want children on their own, and Maul is not one of them. That man would enjoy to multiply on cellular level and randomly pop out a baby. He has it in his blood Sidius just irreversibly spoiled his parental instincts.
Foreverrrrrr thinking about “the chains are the easy part, it’s what goes on in here [points to head] that’s hard” and then he just sobs really loudly while Savage looks at him like this
He’s shirtless. He loves tea. He writes his lifelong enemy’s name across the wall in a language he doesn’t speak and it’s also written in blood. He’s a brother. He’s a master. He’s an apprentice. He’s alone. He’s silly. He’s terrifying. He’s terrified. He’s very very smart. He practices lightsaber fighting with his eyes closed. He’s cool. He knows he’s cool. He’s more comfortable showing physical affection to droids than to people. He’s a victim of abuse. He’s a perpetrator of abuse. He doesn’t want anyone to ever be abused like he was and yet he consistently abuses people in the exact same ways. The first word he speaks after he regains his sanity is “brother.” The entire time his brother is alive he refuses to treat him like his brother. He really really likes being shirtless.
