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outerrimhours · 2 years

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As The World Burns

A Darth Maul x F/AFAB!Reader Fanfiction

Chapter One: A Princess's Peril

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FIC SUMMARY: Queen to be, after the slaughter of your mother and father by the Separatists, you were cast aside in an attempt at dictatorship by your uncle who claims he is the rightful ruler. Kept in the dark, you secretly seek knowledge to overthrow the crown, yet find yourself entangled in a lustful affair with the enemy, a certain Sith Lord who aids you in the ploy to take back your kingdom.

Multi-chapter, fem/AFAB!Reader x Darth Maul. No use of y/n. Let’s pretend Maul was cut from the knee down. No canon timeline tbh. Includes smut.

RATING: Explicit. This work is strictly for those 18+ due to sexual content. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT.

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1k

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: Loss of parent/family, anxiety, unwanted touch (nothing serious),nightmares,

A/N: Sorry this took forever to get out. I’ve had no motivation, except @eloquentmoon, who I adore their work and their fic made me want to write this.

“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom”

As if conjured from the storybook of a child, a soft evening mist ghosted over the garden, soaking into petals of lavender. In the cloud softened light, the ivy brings a sweet wave of evergreen with veins of the lightest green. The ghost of vines traced their pathway like fading scars against the Utarian statue. What once was new and vibrant, crumbled at the will of the planet. Pieces of tufa and limestone fragmented. Grass breaching through exposed cracks. At the edge of the clouds rested a brilliant white patch, like a turning page catching the suns. The rest was dove gray and peach nestled into a hint of beryl, just enough to announce the sunset. And tucked furtively inside of a stone wall was an aged and water logged copy of “The History of Utara”.

What once was tradition within the Altair family, soon perished with the death of the King and Queen. Before the coronation of a young princess, Druan Altair, brother of the king, emerged from the shadows to take the crown instead. The princess was not to know the history of her people and the politics within. Most saw this change as a form of protection after what happened to her mother and father at the hands of the separatists, but was merely a ploy to dictatorship.

You settled onto the bounty of clover and sun strengthened grass, the torso of a tree lending a resting spot. Despite the yellowed pages curling up within themselves, black ink still flowed in perfect Auerbech.

Your kingdom was once peaceful and prospering, barely a parsec away from Naboo, who happily traded with no conflict, until the war began. A war that starved the Naboolians and killed the reigning monarchs on Utara. A beloved King and Queen, struck down by the hands of a red suffused blade. A young princess's peril. Although you had been trained from birth to take rule, Druan Altair assumed control under the pretense that a princess whose parents were targeted by the Sith would merely be in danger.

You absorbed the information thoughtfully.

“M’lady”, a voice approached, the mildewed book hiding underneath the skirt of your dress. Approaching through the brush was a young Knight named Torent Mozh, who met your gaze, not with a shyness like most guards, but with a blunt refusal to avert his gaze first.

“The king requests your presence in your quarters.”

Your jaw clenched at the word king. There were no requests. Only demands.

“May I inquire why exactly I am being shunned from my own gardens at such an hour”, you requested, observing the way the setting sun beamed off the shiny armor. You knew Torent long enough to know when he did provide all of the information you requested. Although some of his face was obscured by a dark scraggly beard that clung to his skin, you could still read minuet facial expressions.

“We have visitors. He prefers you not be out during this time”, the Knight stated, “You know, for your safety, Princess.”

Bile rose in your throat as a large, sleek, ship slowly landed a few miles north. Nothing like you had ever seen.

“Who”, you demanded.

Torent scoffed at the assertiveness.

“Separatists?”

“Nothing you should concern yourself with. Now let’s go”.

The way he placed his hand against your back was soft, yet aggressive, in a swift motion to move you towards the palace. It infuriated you. Yet suddenly panic settled in as you realized your book was still tucked between your dress. Every explicit comment you felt like shouting was silenced by the dread of knowing your secret could be exposed so easily. You were silent, tunnel vision setting in as you walked up the stairs and into the foyer, Torent’s hand no longer pushing you, but eyes still watching as you climbed the stairs to your quarters.

You had to find a way to return the book to the garden.

“M’lady, may I retire for the night”, your servant, Thalia, asked quietly as she combed through the waves of your hair. You were usually more talkative, basking in Thalia’s company and friendship, yet tonight you were curled within yourself. Gazing into the mirror, thoughts far away. All you could think of was getting that book back into its creavis.

“Of course, get some rest.”

Thalia sat the gold plated brush against the vanity, its detailed artwork worn and withering with age. You couldn’t help but regret not taking every generational hair that swept through that brush and knitting it into a blanket. Possibly the last piece of your mother residing in it. The grief drained through you, rather than skating over your skin. It traveled through every cell to reach the ground. Your feet lifting to touch the chill marbled floor, ghosting over to the chest that resided like a dusty coffin underneath your bed. It was painted in swirls of pastel with flecks of gold, as if Michelangelo sculpted it himself. The lock clicking beneath your fingertips, opening to reveal what was left of your mother. A silk nightgown, moon shaped hair clips, letters from your father proclaiming his love when he wasn’t planetside, her favorite books, and lastly, a journal. The journal was several hundred yellowing pages, each gentle to the fingertip, but cracking with age and tear stains. Upon them was the wisdom of her soul; those feelings of love channeled through great knowledge and a lifetime of meditative contemplation. In that humble ink was the liveliness of her brain, how her synapse danced as if they were young all her days. The journal was forever as pure as a child. A mother who loved her daughter more than imaginable.

You curled underneath the satin cream colored sheets of your bed, flipping through the pages of the journal by candlelight. Your favorite entry a reminder of the morning you picked berries with her by the garden wall. Laughter and smiles. The way she smelled of roses when she embraced you. You were not very ladylike then and she blamed your father.

“She has a warrior’s heart”, he would always say.

Your heart ached with a mixture of mournfulness and vexation, but your train of thoughts interpreted by echoing voices downstairs. Your curiosity plagued you. You were desperate to know who your uncle had brought forth. Unlike your people, who he had easily manipulated during a time of war and mourning; you were less naïve. You had seen the Separatists ships before, the guards loading spice into what once held your finest wine.

You were eager to spy on your Uncle’s new acquaintances.

Tucking your Mother’s journal away and finding a robe to cover yourself from the chill, you swiftly gathered a small candlelight and cracked the door. A guard was perched in the center hallway, not for your protection as one might think, but to keep you from leaving. Luckily, shift change was beginning to happen, and you managed to sneak past to the staircase.

“I assure you Lord Maul”, you heard your Uncle in an overwrought whisper. You edged close to the marbled wall, creeping silently down the staircase until you were able to peer over the corner. Your Uncle walked alongside a slightly shorter man draped eerily in a black cloak.

“Our soldiers are the best in the system”, he continued.

Your interest peaked as the man clasped his hands behind his back, humming lowly as if considering his words.

“Utara will be a valuable asset to Crimson Dawn.”

You gasped at your Uncle’s words, causing the visitor to turn slightly in your direction. It was such a subtle noise, even your Uncle didn’t notice. Yet, your heart pounded violently.

“We will see”, Maul spoke, turning his attention to the staircase. Predatorial eyes locking with yours. You had never seen eyes so saffron, so piercing. It frightened you. He was surely looking right at you and you were so frozen in place, you dared not move. His blood stained skin was tattooed with black tribal inks, something you had never seen before on your planet.

The devil had you trapped in his gaze until he looked away, addressing your Uncle one last time before disappearing through the doors.

“Do not disappoint,'' he spoke.

You finally exhaled, blood and air rushing through your body as you huffed against the wall. You were so tense and panicked, quietly racing back to your quarters before you were caught once more.

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reactorshaft · 2 years

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It’s not the fall that kills you.

Luke, Maul, and Palpatine each lost something physical in their falls down the reactor shafts. Luke loses his right hand and lightsaber. Maul loses his legs. Palpatine loses his body. In addition to these physical losses, injuries, and apparent deaths, they lost more intangible things as well. Luke loses his innocence and the idealized version of a heroic father carried by a fatherless boy. Maul loses his apprenticeship and eventually his sanity. Palpatine loses his power and his Empire.

Luke losing his right hand while losing his duel to Vader symbolizes the loss of desire and power Luke had to avenge his father’s and his mentor’s deaths upon learning that Vader is his father. He is denied the honor and righteousness he thought killing Vader would bring him. The loss of his, formerly his father’s, lightsaber parallels the loss of the idealized image he held of his father, the Jedi who died a hero. I have a whole essay in me on the symbolism in the conclusion of Luke’s duel with Vader in Empire Strikes Back, but that’s a whole ‘nother post.

With the loss of his legs, and seemingly his life, Maul loses his Sith master and his apprenticeship. He loses everything that led him to that duel on Naboo in the first place, and he also loses the ability to move on from this point in his life. Despite the mechanical legs he eventually acquires, Maul is stuck in place. He loses his sanity and fixates on revenge against the Jedi who ruined his life.

Like Maul, Palpatine seemingly died in his fall down the reactor shaft. But while Palpatine loses his body, his spirit and consciousness remain and he manages to survive at the expense of using clone vessels. He loses the entirety of his physical being, and his apparent death costs him his Empire and power. He had decades of accumulated power bought with fear and human lives. In ‘death,’ he loses the ability to live independently of other people but continues to subject them to his will. His body and empire is gone, but what power he retains in the continued existence of his consciousness is still at the expense of other people’s lives.

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