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 >
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It’s finally cover reveal day! My new novella, Of Wings and Shadows (Of Cinder and Bone #5.5) is here.(Cover art by BRose Designz) Synopsis below.
In a modern-day world teeming with marauding dragons, there is only one solution: The Wild Hunt.
The United States government has decided to hold a tournament called The Wild Hunt to determine who will be responsible for the capture of wild dragons by the Knight Division. The four challengers Noah Wilson, Charlie Howard, Su Jin Han, and Beowulf have to catch five deadly dragons alive if they want to win the tournament and become the new Knight Division dragon hunters. Their journey will take them through the mountains of South Carolina, the seas of Key West, the caverns of Ruby Falls, the Redwood forest, and finally, the murky bayous of Louisiana. Will they succeed against their competition, or will the dragons of the Wild Hunt be too wild to tame?
Of Wings and Shadows is the sixth book in the Of Cinder and Bone series. It takes place in medias res of Book Five, Of Claws and Inferno. It follows Of Cinder and Bone, Of Blood and Ashes, Of Dawn and Embers, and Of Fury and Fangs.
Release date: July 22nd, 2023
Pre-order now for only .99 cents. The price will increase on July 23rd. Add it to your Goodreads TBR shelf as well.
Haven’t read the other books in the series yet? I gotchu, fam.
And don’t forget--Of Cinder and Bone is a permanently free ebook on Amazon and all other platforms!
...please clap.
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What does the suffix fang mean?
Fealty Suffix: -fang
Basic Meanings:
The suffix "-fang" represents a cat who is outspoken and crude, with distinctive teeth, and who is notably skilled in various forms of biting combat and hunting.
(A skill and personality suffix; can also be a physical suffix.)
Reasoning:
The word “fang” comes from an Old Norse word meaning “capture, grasp”; originally used to describe something that was seized or captured, later it meant "something that traps or snares."
Coincidental Traits:
Cats with this suffix tend to also be excellent trappers, skilled with their paws and words in tandem.
Notes:
To Be Determined
See Also:
-snap
-bite
-tooth
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Dear @grinningnexu
You recently extended a challenge to the Wishmonger. I regret that while the exact parameters of said issue were not met, the Wishmonger insisted on making an attempt in crafting an answer similar in flavour but with certain particulars amended to accommodate certain sensitivities that the secretary (henceforth known as ‘Nocty’) was unable to translate.
We are pleased to hereby remit to you the results of the Wishmonger’s efforts, and a bastardized solution that nevertheless strikes on the theme of your original challenge in several places.
Having submitted this for your approval, we would also invite you to consider the notes in the afterword, where, with diligence, you will find awaiting you a counter-challenge of the Wishmonger’s own design.
The Wishmonger also submits the following statement to that ends:
LEX TALIONIS.
With affection,
Nocty
(Secretary of the Wishmonger, Perpetual Errand Girl)
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