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sanerontheinside · 2 years

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Shifting sands, sudden storms (title)

For the life of me, I don’t know if this was complete or not anymore. If complete, why still in draft form? If not, what was I thinking? Ah well.

I can, roughly speaking, date this ask. I remember doing the title prompt meme into March of 2018; I remember this because some witty anon submitted 10 titles in one ask and my poor brain shut down. (I’d informally set myself a goal of writing at least a short ficlet for every prompt, which was my first mistake. No shade on the anon either, they weren’t to know. But now I still have a file full of 40-41 titles for which I think one day I might write something.)

anyway this prompt is so old it tagged norcumi’s old blog, which tumblr [also] ate, so I’ve gone and edited that

Eeyyyyy, whaddup, this fic also decided to be part of the Mandalorian Sith ‘verse (which has also adopted another title prompt for ‘verse lore purposes, but that one—I have an idea for it, but I don’t necessarily know how to write the idea. yet.)

Y’all can definitely thank @norcumii for the fact that this fic is Jango&Shmi centric.

“All right, Quin, what do you want?” Obi-Wan drawled. If Quinlan was calling him, then clearly some mission had gone sour. Obi-Wan was still trying to shake off the last time he’d helped him out of trouble with Aayla. And wash the bitter aftertaste of glitteryl out of the back of his mouth.

Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he shifted past him, leaving the cockpit to them for some semblance of privacy while he made tea in the ship’s small, but rather practical galley. He hadn’t enjoyed that jaunt into Twi’lek slave trade any more than Obi-Wan had.

“Look, um… It’s a touchy subject. Chancellor Valorum asked Master and me for a favour, he wanted us to take a look at the Trade Federation’s blockade around Naboo.”

“Thought the Senate was supposed to approve all the Jedi assignments now,” Obi-Wan probed carefully. It was a very recent ruling, at that, less than a month old.

“Yeah, hence the favour. We weren’t supposed to be there, and the Trade Federation—whoever’s running the company now grew a pair of gills or something. They blew up our ship, Ben. Then deployed an entire invasion force onto the planet.”

Obi-Wan winced. “Oh, that sounds like fun. What did they want with Naboo, anyway? They’re still fighting over the plasma trade?”

“Naboo’s holding up well, their new Queen—Amidala—well, it’s her first year of rule, but she doesn’t buckle under pressure. They tried to get her to sign a treaty that would make Naboo a protectorate of the Federation. We know how that goes…”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Right. So you got her out.”

“Jumped the blockade. The Naboo pilots are competent, but I miss outrunning smugglers with you and Garen, honest to Force. We got hit, took damage to the hyperdrive. Had to refit—on Tatooine, of all places.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “Hutts.”

“Sand. Heat. Slaves. Pod races. Anyway, we found this kid, or I should say he found us. He helped us out—a lot—and he’s a blazing nova in the Force, Ben, I’m not kidding. He’s—no one’s ever seen anything like it. Tholme and I, we thought we could buy them out and take them back with us to Coruscant. I mean if you just met him—”

Obi-Wan sat forward sharply and dropped his feet to the floor. “So did you buy them out?”

“Just the kid,” Quin said, audibly deflating. “The owner’s deep in debt. He wouldn’t let the mom go for anything. But I can’t just think of leaving her there, without her son, even. Ben, you could—you and Qui-Gon, you could do something, couldn’t you?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at the audio pickup, fairly sure Quin knew him well enough to hear even silent gestures by now. “What do you want us to do, burn the owner’s house down?”

Quinlan snorted. “Nah, he’s not a bad sort. Well, not the worst. Has faults like anyone else, Ben, you know how it goes. But if you could do anything for the mom… Shmi Skywalker, that’s her name.”

“And you’re sure the Council won’t give you funds for a good cause,” Obi-Wan prompted, but really it was just to confirm what he was sure he already knew.

“Nope. For a slave woman, Ben. She’s—Watto’s really deep in debt. He’d ask for a small fortune.”

Obi-Wan sighed and sat back, sensing Qui-Gon standing in the entry behind him. He knew their schedule and their situation even without asking, but Tatooine… “We can’t, right now,” he said, regretful. “We might know someone in the area, though. Maybe. It’ll be a little while, but we’ll let you know once we get it.”

“Thank you, Ben.” Quin’s relief and sincerity were heartfelt, almost broadcast in a physical wave from the speakers. “May the Force be with you both.”

“And you,” Obi-Wan answered, automatically, flipping the switch off.

There was a moment’s thoughtful silence. “Well,” Qui-Gon said. “Jango?”

“He’s—in the general vicinity of Tatooine,” Obi-Wan allowed.

“That is true. He’ll not want to miss a meeting with that client, however.”

“Why are we letting him do that, by the way?” Obi-Wan asked, watching Qui-Gon slip back into his seat with a sigh.

“It’s his choice,” Qui-Gon shrugged.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

This sigh was longer and deeper. “What we know, Obi-Wan, is not enough. We don’t know what Dooku is planning; we suspect that he isn’t working alone, but is, rather, under someone’s control; we don’t know why he wants Fett, who would gladly kill my former Master with his bare hands if given the opportunity, for Galidraan. He must have had very compelling reason not to strangle Dooku on the spot.

“We don’t know nearly enough, Apprentice. It would be foolish to lose our lives by interfering, with what little we do know. We cannot help if we are dead.”

Obi-Wan’s lips thinned into a pale line. “I understand, Master. I worry that the cost will be… untenable.”

“So do I.” Qui-Gon reached across the space between them and grasped Obi-Wan’s shoulder, iron-gripped, yet reassuring still. “I have little gift in Foresight, unlike you, but even I sense a great disturbance in the future. It is nebulous, but every day less a likelihood than a certainty. You are right, Obi-Wan, but I fear our deaths will not prevent that cost, only add to it.”

Obi-Wan leaned into the hand on his shoulder, just a little. He’d take what comfort from it that he could get—hells, he’d bask in it, if only for a moment. “I’ll comm Jango,” he said quietly.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed, and did not let go.

~~~~~~~~~

Jango roundly cursed the jetiise every chance he got—which would be every other breath, if he didn’t have to save it to make his way through the heat. The internal life support system of the beskar’gam was supposed to handle this sort of thing, but was barely keeping up with Tatooine’s suns. But it was midday, and Jango was the only idiot outside, so he supposed it was probably his own fault.

He really needed to get the enviro-controls updated. He could afford it now, anyway, and his target was a junk shop owner. If Jango’s luck held, someone at the shop might have experience with Mandalorian work, though he wasn’t really counting on that. The best he expected from this venture was to maybe scavenge a few reasonably functional replacement parts.

The junk shop itself wasn’t hard to find. It was a relief to be out of the Tatooine suns, though his HUD took a few seconds to adjust to the relative darkness within. At least that let up some of the pressure on the life support system.

It wouldn’t have surprised him if the shop were empty. Many desert settlements ran on a different schedule; new arrivals quickly learned to sleep through the hottest part of the day to escape heat stroke, burns, or excessive and dangerous dehydration. To add insult to injury, here the light of the suns was reflected back almost completely from the sands, and that could do irreparable damage to one’s eyes. Jango noticed a being or two whose species had adapted to thrive in such conditions, but they too had taken to the shelter of a dwelling or a cantina fairly quickly.

But he’d been told that the owner of the junkshop was in dire financial straits; it seemed a safe enough bet that he would find a slave working through what ordinarily might have been rest-hours.

When he finally caught sight of her, Jango had to bite back a litany of harsh curses in Jinn’s name.

Jango hadn’t known what this job was for. The dar’jetii had simply handed him a lump sum in mixed Cho Mar and Wupiupi dataries, then given him the name of a slave for purchase. Honestly, if he and Jinn hadn’t both been in the same arena at Galidraan, Jango might have considered pulling details out of the man at gunpoint. Who was this Shmi Skywalker? Why did her freedom come at such a cost? What the hell was Jinn asking him to do, really—start some sort of fresh war among the Tatooine Hutts? In which case Jinn and Kenobi could please handle it on their own, and thank you.

Now that he’d caught sight of her, Jango couldn’t have cared less. He knew her; met her after Galidraan, loaded up with the others from the arena in the hold of a ship too shabby for words, angry and injured and half-mad with grief for the loss of his clan.

Shmi has been the closest to a Healer that the slaves had on that ship, and Jango probably owed her his life.

He’d been staring too long. Shmi looked up, right at him, and Jango belatedly remembered what the beskar’gam looked like to those who’d never been on Mandalore before. It was a warrior’s suit of armour, and the sharp look in Shmi Skywalker’s eye was a wary one, certainly not a look of recognition.

“Choy? Stuta che poonoo mo azal?”1

Jango undid the seals and took off the helmet. “Excuse me. You wouldn’t happen to have updated processors for mobile life support systems?”

The look Shmi gave him was searching, and it pinned him in place for almost a moment too long before she broke away. Shmi carved a systematic path through the junkshop detritus, directed him over to something that actually looked like patches to mobile life support suits with a nonstop stream of available models for him to narrow down. It took a few tries, but he did find what he needed, and even a few spare parts that would never go amiss.

“I hadn’t thought you would have so much here of Mandalorian make,” he noted, a little surprised. “It’s fairly unique work.”

“It is,” Shmi agreed. “The previous owners of the parts you are holding now had a run of bad luck, and upset Gardulla. She doesn’t like cardsharps at her sabacc table.”

Jango frowned down at the parts he’d laid out on the worktable in front of him. “I’ll make a note of it.”

Not that he was here to play sabacc. He had more than enough money to get what he came here for. He just wanted to have a better grasp on the details before he went any further.

~~~~~~~~

Shmi had recognised him almost immediately. It was one of those things she knew with a bone-deep certainty, the way Ani used to tell her of certain things before they happened. They were just hints, but even his words seemed to hold a ring of fact to them, and it was up to Shmi to decipher future-fact from other kinds.

She’d been dreaming about Galidraan. Not, surprisingly, of the broken people who’d been brought aboard there, but of their burning, fierce warrior faces full of light. Shmi dreamt of Jango fighting alongside a tall man with flashing amber eyes that could be both terrifying and kind, and felt as though she should know him, too. But he hadn’t been on the ship with the others, so she supposed that would come to mean something in a peripheral, patient, dripping-cave-water sort of way.

But Jango’s purpose for calling on Watto’s shop was the variable her mild foresight could not account for. When a figure encased in that armour stepped in, Shmi’s first thought was that another bounty hunter had called to collect Watto’s debt to the Hutts. Never mind that the Hutts had already collected their due—the Hutts also never discouraged their ‘messengers’ from looting.

Instead, Jango had bought parts from the very armour worn by an ill-fated pair of previous messengers. (Shmi had been lucky enough to have Watto’s help, and between the two of them they’d made just enough noise to discourage the looters when they’d come to call. Gardulla anger had probably been a lucky stroke for Watto and Shmi; otherwise, they might have expected another attempt the next day.)

Shmi eyed the spread of parts and odd bits of circuitry, and wondered if he was going to fix all of it himself.

“Where are you staying?” Shmi asked. “At the hotel?”

Jango hesitated. “I have—my ship.”

“On the outskirts? Far to walk, with a semi-functional suit at best.”

Shmi offered him a place to sleep in her quarters, and latemeal, and assistance with reprogramming the suit’s computer besides. There was a storm coming, and in return for the stay he’d help her prepare meals for however long the storm raged, and cover the windows and cracks in the door. That was all the payment she needed.

Her home felt empty now, since she’d given Anakin to the Jedi. At least for one night, it might not seem so desolate. The Slave Row would gossip, she knew; but they would always talk, about everything, and offering a pallet to a freeman who couldn’t afford a hotel was not so unheard of.

Jango helped her prepare dinner and tea, and kept her talking. Shmi couldn’t recall how or when they’d gotten to the subject of family, but when she told him of her son, something eased in him. He became less a hunter, wound tight and wary, and a wistfulness crept into his gaze. Shmi knew that look, if she’d seen it rarely.

What of your own family? she wanted to ask, but caught the words back before they could emerge. She didn’t know what had happened to Jango before he’d been loaded up with the others on Galidraan, but Shmi was no fool, either. Jango Fett had never carried himself as anything other than a freeman-warrior, and his fever had left him plagued with horrors all too real not to be fresh and recent memory. She heard whispers from the other slaves, about the loss of an entire clan.

A son, he whispered softly, and Shmi wondered what this man was doing on here on Tatooine, earning a living as a bounty hunter on the dangerous fringes of civilisation. Of course, he wouldn’t say.

But there was a light in his eye that spoke of possibility, and that alone warmed Shmi’s heart.

Later that night, as she settled down to sleep in her room, exhausted, she heard the tell-tale scuff of quiet booted feet pass out through the door and onto the stairs, and caught a whiff of tabacc. Shmi wondered, briefly, what Jango was thinking of, before she drifted off to sleep.

The next day she woke to a sandstorm howling outside and sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~

After years of working with them, Jango was well aware that that Jinn and his quiet shadow weren’t really Jedi. He just didn’t feel like letting go of the suspicion, especially knowing who Jinn’s Master was. Still, Jango could probably acknowledge that it was mostly paranoia humming in his skull. Jinn’s reputation as a diplomat held fast in certain circles, but any association with the Order had eroded over the years.

Of course, Jinn still worked with Jedi, which never failed to set Jango’s teeth on edge when Jinn asked him for ‘help’. Most times, the man made sure Jango didn’t have to cross paths with members of the illustrious Order; and even when he did, Jango found himself working with the wilder sort, the jetiise who lived hard on the Outer Rim along with everyone else, or hovered just on the edge of completely cracked.

Perhaps it was telling that altogether there were few Jedi whom Jinn trusted. Jango could count them on one hand. There was the Weequay and his younger Twi’lek partner who’d been harrying slave traders for the last three decades, both looking every inch of Rim pirate. Then there was the Kiffar—Jango never wanted to be on his wrong side. They were all a bit rough around the edges, but Vos was a different kind of crazy.

Jango himself had a limited contract with Jinn, if one could even call it that. He agreed to help out Jinn on the basis of time spent together in a cell and a fighter arena on Galidraan, and Jinn had earned Jango’s respect on shaky ground. What struck him at the time was how Jinn had looked when Jango mentioned the woman Dooku had with him, Komari. Whatever damage Dooku had left Jinn with, that man understood the importance of family. Jango saw it in the way Qui-Gon looked after Obi-Wan, in the way Obi-Wan kept either an eye or an ear on Jinn; in the way the two fought, making space for each other like flowing water. These were people who understood that family was more than blood, more than shit guardians who were supposed to look after you.

Which was why, Jango thought, Qui-Gon knew exactly what had motivated Jango to accept Dooku’s offer. Kenobi had been furious, but Jango thought that was more incidental than directed at him personally. It wasn’t as though the idea of Count Dooku creating an army was a particularly savoury idea in any context.

But Dooku had come to Jango Fett with an offer, claiming that the soldiers would all be his clones. That made it Jango’s army.

Jango wanted his family back—the True Mandalorians, all of them. All those men and women who had been cut down on Galidraan decades ago. Part of him still wanted to rip out Dooku’s throat with his bare hands. But that ache for his family—that was so much stronger.

The clones… it wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t be. Yes, Mandalorians were trained for to fight, prepared for anything. But those clones of himself—not only did was it strange to think about, millions of copies of Jango Fett, living apart from him—but he couldn’t put out of his mind the simple fact that these were men bred for slaughter. Jango would train them, yes; he would give them everything they needed to survive. But a cold certainty sat in his gut, that not a single one of these soldiers was meant to live past whatever war they’d been created for.

If Qui-Gon could sense what Jango wanted, what he intended to make of these clones, then he likely knew of their intended fates, as well. It wasn’t as though the dar’jetii was stupid. Obi-Wan, too: Jango couldn’t read the boy on his best days, but when he’d told them about Dooku’s offer he’d felt the air heat around the redhead, smelled ozone, and could have sworn he’d seen sparks fly about Jinn’s Apprentice while Jinn wasn’t looking. The entire time Kenobi’s face had been smooth with implacable calm. Jango had been, admittedly, quite impressed by that.

And a little turned on, but gods knew Jinn would have cut off something important if Jango had so much as thought of making a move. And that was if Kenobi didn’t get there first.

Dooku had, however, offered him a very impressive sum of money for the privilege of training Mandalorian warriors. Money was of a distant concern to Jango after family, but then, this was the kind of money that took care of everything. This was the kind of buy-a-moon retirement haul smugglers and thieves dreamed of—and only when high out of their heads on spice, at that.

It had almost been enough to keep him quiet, but in the end he hunted down the dar’jetiise anyway and told Jinn and Kenobi about it. He figured Jinn would probably like to know that Dooku was trying to manipulate Bando Gora business, anyway. Mostly, though, Jango had made up his mind when Dooku asked him to kill the new leader of Bando Gora. Hells, Jango hadn’t enjoyed telling Qui-Gon that his ‘sister’ was completely out of her skull on deathsticks, or that Komari was the power behind the sudden expansion of the deathstick trade.

~~~~~~~~~~

1Choy? Stuta che poonoo mo azal? = What? [Are you] looking for business or trouble?

Note: Azalus = dangerous or hazardous.

Huttese does not actually have a word for trouble, surprisingly. So, in the spirit of making your own: trooba is trouble, but azal quite specifically indicates you’re gonna get deadly trouble, or at least you’ll fucking hurt when I’m through with you, the fuck do you want with this shop?

Shmi could probably live up to that threat, even.

Trooba is a step above nuisance (hotshuh). Can also be used to cover anything from ‘expensive spice-dumping, tail-squishing smuggler’ to Sy Snootles. It’s also entirely possible it’s a borrowed or corrupted word from Basic.

#Jango Fett #Shmi Skywalker #Mandalorian!Qui-Gon #Mandalorian Sith 'verse #Qui-Gon Jinn #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Quinlan Vos #wild ficcage and au spawn #Anonymous #this prompt is so old it tagged norcumi’s old blog

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sanerontheinside · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn

Additional Tags: Qui-Gon lives au, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Undercover Missions, Undercover as Married, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, (well. probably), anakin skywalker, Shmi Skywalker

Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn are assigned a joint mission for the first time since Obi-Wan's Knighting. Due to the sensitive nature of the mission, they must travel undercover. Apparently the security forces providing them with their cover story found it expedient to pass them off as a married couple.

It’s been a long week (it’s Tuesday), so here u r, haz fic. In this house, we love and cherish our betas, @meggory84 and @skyywalkerfen

#what this world needs now is more fakemarried #all hail the fakemarried #Qui-Gon Jinn #Obi-Wan Kenobi #QuiObi #wild ficcage and au spawn #trembling between heartbeats waiting

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sanerontheinside · 5 years

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn

Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn are assigned a joint mission for the first time since Obi-Wan’s Knighting. Due to the sensitive nature of the mission, they must travel undercover. Apparently the security forces providing them with their cover story found it expedient to pass them off as a married couple.

HAPPY MAY THE FOURTH EVERYONE!!! special thanks to @skyywalkerfen for a spot of beta’ing at the last minute 🥰 and @meggory84 and @northisnotup for being enabling enablers and for believing in me ❤️

#❤️❤️❤️#trembling between heartbeats waiting #fakemarried #Qui-Gon Jinn #Obi-Wan Kenobi #May the 4th #wild ficcage and au spawn #brought to you by: I DO NOT WANT TO SPOIL MY CURRENT PROJECTS AND I ADDED LIKE A QUARTER OF WORDCOUNT TO ONE CHAPTER JUST TO BE SURE #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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sanerontheinside · 5 years

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At The Bottom of the Bottle There’s a Pair of Warm Blue Eyes by sanerontheinside

Rating: Not Rated Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Characters: Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi

Additional Tags: Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Love Confessions, Drunken Confessions, (i mean that probably applies), Fluff, happy feels

Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi has been offered a Council seat. He's... not exactly ecstatic over the matter.

A Valentine’s fic for @meggory84 ❤️

As always, thank you @skyywalkerfen for giving it a once-over... several times 😂

#Valentine's day fic #Qui-Gon Jinn #Obi-Wan Kenobi #these circles au #meggory84 #surprise fic to make ur weekend sweeter #❤️❤️❤️#wild ficcage and au spawn

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sanerontheinside · 5 years

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Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Category: Gen

Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton

Relationship: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Original Characters

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, no update schedule

Summary: Obi-Wan comes to Bandomeer, where he's taken under the wing of the Master overseeing the local AgriCorps and holding the whole sector together almost by sheer bloodymindedness and effort of will.

for @davaia

#fic backup #ao3 backup #A Perfect Balance of Things #wild ficcage and au spawn #qui-gon jinn #obi-wan kenobi #Qui-Dad Jinn #Master of the Living Force #in this case quite literally chillin out on Bandomeer‚ keeping the Corps together

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sanerontheinside · 5 years

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5 sentence fic: Obi-Wan was Too Tired for this bullshit.

Obi-Wan was Too Tired for this bullshit, as Ahsoka eloquently put it. It was the third hour of Coruscant morning and he’d been awake entirely too long. His ship had been held up twice by Coruscant’s traffic control, and that was quite apart from the twenty days he’d spent traveling from his last assignment, four days’ worth of needless interruptions by bounty hunters, Hondo, and a stop for resupply. He barely kept his feet, and had already nearly stumbled into a wall as he turned a corner, eyes crossing. At that point he’d given up and let his Force sense lead him.

Home, bondmate, sleep, report, more sleep. Maybe food in there somewhere. Yes. That was good.

His quarters were dark and quiet, but Obi-Wan could sense Qui-Gon’s presence—sleeping peacefully. Obi-Wan was about to fall asleep right here by the entrance, propped up against the wall. Why was he propped up against the wall? Oh, right. Boots.

Obi-Wan wrestled them off and sighed deeply, then abruptly woke himself up by nearly toppling over. Whatever heartfelt curse he had in mind came out sounding far more like a discontented grumble, and he pushed himself somewhat upright and staggered over to his couch.

Much to his surprise, he found Qui-Gon on it. Obi-Wan sometimes wondered if Qui-Gon’s sleep schedule went to complete shit while he was away. He was always much more likely to find Qui-Gon stretched out on the couch than in bed when he returned. Well, that was fine. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he’d have made it to the bed without faceplanting into the floor somewhere in between, anyway. Besides, Qui-Gon was warm, and the couch was wide enough that Obi-Wan could press close to him and wrap one heavy, comforting arm around himself, and blissfully give up on being awake.

#punsbulletsandpointythings #saner cannot count #bit of tcw QuiObi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #What is Sleep!Kenobi #hey y'all some of you get some old prompts filled #I'm as surprised as you #wild ficcage and au spawn

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sanerontheinside · 5 years

Note

Combo "1 & 5" on the QuiObi fluff parade, pleeease :-)

hehehehehehehehe

as always, many thanks to @meggory84 for beta

#I do fill prompts #eventually #y'all're probably used to this by now but I have this t r e m e n d o u s feeling of accomplishment ^^#Qui-Gon Jinn #Obi-Wan Kenobi #QuiObi #ficling #wild ficcage and au spawn #skyywalkerfen #saner chats

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sanerontheinside · 5 years

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I. Decompression: Afterimage by sanerontheinside

Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn, Jale Terza (from ReEntry by Flamethrower), Padmé Amidala Mace Windu, Garen Muln, Yoda (Star Wars), Sheev Palpatine, Quarsh Panaka

Additional Tags: the frankenau, Medical stuff, Hurt/Comfort, Mace Windu is Doing His Best, Suspicious Politician is Suspicious, bit parts for the Handmaidens, Yané, Cordé, Sabé, Eirtaé, Teckla Minnau, oh good lord SHEEV is in the TAG in the OFFICIAL TAG oh no, Finis Valorum, Original Character(s). brief appearance by Darth Maul so y'all don't think death is a thing that's permanent

Series: Part 2 of Silent enim leges inter arma

Summary: Meanwhile in the City...

My betas are lovely and wonderful and they help me plot all the things. Thank you @meggory84 and @skyywalkerfen <3

#the frankenau awakens #decompression #new chapter #the frankenau #Finis Valorum #Finis is not having the best week of his life‚ poor guy #original character #The Director #Typhon #Darth Maul #ya he ain't dead #I apologise if it seemed like I tagged him just to kill him #I knew he was coming back but I didn't know if it would be in the immediate future #didn't want to tag ahead of myself #I _know_ he has a much bigger role very far into this plot soup is all I'm sayin #anyway #wild ficcage and au spawn

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sanerontheinside · 6 years

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I. Decompression: Affirmations by sanerontheinside

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn, Jale Terza (from ReEntry by Flamethrower), Padmé Amidala Mace Windu, Garen Muln, Yoda (Star Wars), Sheev Palpatine, Quarsh Panaka

Additional Tags: the frankenau, Medical stuff, Hurt/Comfort, Mace Windu is Doing His Best, Suspicious Politician is Suspicious, bit parts for the Handmaidens, Yané, Cordé, Sabé, Eirtaé, Teckla Minnau, oh good lord SHEEV is in the TAG in the OFFICIAL TAG oh no, please ao3 please never add Dooku’s ‘canonical’ name to his tag, GLAMNOR DOOKU oh man that’ll be the day

Series: Part 2 of Silent enim leges inter arma

Summary: In which: Mace Windu really enjoys not being Head of the Order for a while, Obi-Wan tries to keep himself too busy to panic, and also Palpatine is creepy af.

Many thanks as always to the wonderful @skyywalkerfen and @meggory84.

#the frankenau #the frankenau awakens #Decompression #new chapter #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Mace Windu #Qui-Gon Jinn #Palpatine #aka Creepertine #wild ficcage and au spawn #happy‚ er‚ Thursday?#❤️

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sanerontheinside · 6 years

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Pssst. :-) So, how's about 8 and 10, together, for that new(er) kiss meme? Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan? Please?

Parting shots, before I lose most access to intertubes for a week! I found a prompt I actually finished, and then promptly (oops pun) forgot about. Whoops.

As always, many thanks to @meggory84 and @skyywalkerfen for beta ^^

Also someone sent me sarcasm prompts ages ago, they’re in here too. The lines were “I’m listening to you, I’m just not paying attention” and “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

#I guess that's one way to space out your updates #Qui-Gon Jinn #Obi-Wan Kenobi #QuiObi #ficlet #short ficlet #kiss prompt meme #skyywalkerfen #wild ficcage and au spawn #saner chats

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sanerontheinside · 6 years

Text

Call Sign (1 of 2, apparently)

Over a year ago I did a prompt run for titles. Now, it’s been over a year, and I’ve amassed over 30 titles. Obviously I’m never gonna fill them, eh? y’all thought.

Actually, about a third of them have ideas attached, and a few more have ideas that I’m lukewarm about, so they’re still marinating. You should know, there are... 7 aus between them, and 2 short stories (that I’m relatively set on going with).

Call Sign alone, however, happened to be a particularly active title, and spawned 3 stories. One buggered off and found another name to live under (and, incidentally, another au). One is a Rogue One au.

That is not this one.

“Captain,” Governor Arkin grated irritably, “you were tasked with subduing and eradicating the rebels, and yet the terrorist attacks on the Empire's citizens continue!”

Ty drew himself up taller, forcing down a misplaced pang of wounded pride and smoothing his face to a neutral mask for the Governor’s lecture. It wasn’t his first time. It wouldn’t be the last, either. He’d be thoroughly reamed, sent out to do the job “properly this time,” yet again without assistance, and criticised again for failure. Better him in the line of fire than his men.

They were doing their jobs! They were, truly, doing their best. Problem was, Onderon’s military hadn’t been much to boast of since the Clone Wars, when their most respected generals had abandoned their posts in the midst of the Separatist occupation and joined forces with the deposed King Dendup. For a time, they’d even won back their standing, all of them—until the arrival of the Empire’s forces. Now, their king was dead, former rebels declared outlaws once more, and the people of Onderon again utterly demoralised. This was nothing like the fire Ty remembered, when the Gerrera siblings began to show the first signs of a true, organised resistance force.

Despite his fairly young age, Ty had earned his rank as Captain of the Guard fair and square—he’d been the best in his class. But he harboured no illusions about how he might compare to his predecessors. His uncle General Tandin might well have been a walking legend in comparison.

Ty was just… doing his best. Besides, how could he ask his men, his brothers-in-arms, to fight their own family? Uncle Ari might still be out there, despite reports of his suspected death. Ty certainly wasn’t going to be the one to turn reports into reality.

So he fell back on the usual script; not enough people to comb the mountains, not enough equipment or weaponry to flush the caves. He wasn’t going to sell out his men either, after all. Ty had the feeling the Empire knew all about their familial connections among rebels, and also caught the feeling that they didn’t care enough, but that could change at any moment.

But, for once, things did not go according to plan. Apparently, Governor Arkin did have a limit to his patience.

“Backup, he says. You want backup?” Arkin snarled. “Fine. I’ll put in a request for an orbital strike.”

Ty barely held back a horrified noise. “Governor, sir, we’ve requested one before, the Empire—”

“The Empire will provide resources at my request,” Arkin replied scathingly, “as your people proved unequal to the task. You call this a military, boy? I ought to send you to the Imperial Academy, but I don’t expect to see you after that strike anyway. Dismissed, Captain,” Arkin added with an ugly sneer, and Ty, shell shocked, fell back on trained habits. He saluted—making it just barely passable, he was trying so hard to keep his hands from shaking—and turned on his heel, all but fleeing the Governor's office.

Office. He’d defiled the bloody throne room, but that was neither here nor there.

Fuck, Ty thought, fucking fuck fuck shit fuck arse. He needed a drink. And a Mandalorian. A drink to appease an annoyed Mandalorian, and a Mandalorian to help him find the right fucking swear words, and tell him what the fuck to do, because Ty honestly didn’t fucking know anymore.

Fortunately, he knew where to find both.

Imps could say what they liked about the Clone Wars vets still in their command structure, but Ty preferred working with Commander Naasade, and drinking with him. For one thing, Naasade was efficient, and could drink anyone under the table. For another, the vet could always make sense of things, like command decisions.

Particularly this latest slap in the face.

“They’re sending a squadron of troopers to wipe out the resistance fighters in the mountains,” Ty mumbled into his fourth drink, about two hours later. His head was floating and his ears were ringing, but Naasade looked completely unaffected. Luckily Ty wasn’t stupid enough to try a drinking game with him.

“They’ve been saying that since we got here.” Naasade shrugged. “They say it about every planet with a resistance cell, anyway.”

“Yeah?” There was just a hint of bleak sarcasm that Ty couldn’t keep out of his voice. “What happened to Lothal?”

Naasade pinned him with a too-sober look. “Onderon isn’t Lothal. You’re Inner Rim, kid. That’d be like the Emperor ordering a strike on Alderaan.”

That sounded fair enough, Ty supposed, staring into his glass again. Things made a lot more sense when alcohol was involved, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

He was sad. Why was he sad?

“I don’t wanna, kill ‘em all,” he slurred, then frowned with effort. The Empire wanted the rebels crushed, gone, forgotten, but… “S’not… right. They’re people.”

Naasade sighed. “Better be careful who you say that around, kiddo. You’re never the one who picks the booth with the jammer in it, what’re you gonna do when I’m not around to watch your sodden arse?”

Ty smiled. That sounded like a fond sort of grumble.

One thing the occupation kept reminding him of, was that there were stupid damn idealistic idiots everywhere, green and naive and itching for a way to get themselves killed. Drinks with Ty always left him in a foul mood and a sour taste in his mouth.

Naasade sighed irritably into his drink, then thought better of it and pushed the glass away. He had an appointment to keep as it was—and it just got much less pleasant. A night patrol, an out-of-the-way meeting. Now a warning to pass along.

People like that, naive and idealistic and stupid-young, they made his job easier, sometimes. Sometimes all he had to do was sit someone down for long enough that they’d lay out the plan for the next month in perfect order for him. Sometimes he got the chance to stretch out, talk rings around an officer until he could play them like a bes’bev, make them a Rebel sympathiser for a day to get the newest codes for transmission frequency encryption.

Ty was loyal, and devoted completely, to Onderon—not to the Empire. That was a crucial distinction; Naasade had no problem manipulating Imps to do whatever he needed them to. Disillusioned Imps were, in fact, the easiest to compromise. But Ty was less a target for recruitment than a source, and every time the kid walked away Naasade thought the Empire would swallow him whole, leave the body in a sewer somewhere.

Didn’t want to kill Rebels… Yeah, that kid wouldn’t last long.

Naasade was here shadowing an injured Fulcrum. He didn’t even know which one of them it was: some clever fucker in Command had once suggested tagging multiple people with that call sign, to have the Imps chasing their own tails for a bit. Based on the fact that Command had assigned him to babysit, and seemed to be keeping a very close eye on the situation, Naasade was almost convinced this was the real, original Fulcrum.

He was perversely grateful, still, that they hadn’t specified. For one thing, it gave him plausible deniability. For another, if the rumours from the early days were at all true, Fulcrum was likely to be a Jedi.

He wasn’t ready for that yet. The thought had him reaching for his glass again in a hurry, washing down a wave of bitterness before it could overtake him. Then, of course, Naasade grimaced at the empty tumbler, put it down, pushed himself up out of the seat and made his legs take him out of the bar. He certainly didn’t need that habit coming back.

He’d probably earned himself a headache for tomorrow morning anyway. Annoyingly, it tended to center on the faint scar on the right side of his head—evidence of careful brain surgery, an extraction he didn’t even want to think about. It seemed both appropriate and ironic, that he be reminded of the exact thing that drove him to drink in the first place every time he forgot himself and went a little bit too far again.

It was almost time to start his patrol, anyway, which meant that he had to be outside the city in five.

He made it in two, pulling out of the main gate like a man let loose. This was his favourite patrol route. The grey, weighted feeling of the city melted away from him and into the brisk air as he cut through the fields.

Somewhere in the middle of his patrol route, Naasade slowed down to a casual, coasting halt. It was a habit he’d established well enough during his posting that no one would think it strange. Some of his patrolling reports mentioned meeting the locals. Naasade reported meeting farmers, peaceful people, and either passing along the boundary of their land or having well-intentioned quiet arguments on where the boundary lay.

Naasade made sure to never capture a recording of one. He always left his swoop idling; his helmet, with its shitty voice pickup, never got anything over the rumble of the engine it was sitting right on top of; and in the dark, with companion in shadow or behind a large boulder, the video feed also caught nothing.

Their meetings also fell in seemingly random intervals. Actually it had more to do with which of Onderon’s moons had completed its cycle, but most Imps never bothered to learn the traditions of the planets they’d invaded. A great deal of local mythology was built on the phases of Onderon’s satellites.

Naasade just considered himself lucky that tonight was one of those predetermined meetings, and that he wouldn’t need to run the risk of requesting emergency contact.

He parked his swoop near a generously-sized boulder and got up to stretch, and stare at the stars. He was making good time, anyway—as always.

Radha was already waiting for him, but that wasn’t unusual either.

“Late, Commander,” a low voice said from behind the stone.

“Just fine,” he murmured. “How’s the patient?”

“Pain in everybody’s arse,” Radha shot back without a second’s hesitation. “Could be worse, though. Should’ve moved out a month ago, said they wanted to stay—to help out around the house.”

Naasade raised an eyebrow at the night sky. “And you don’t need the help,” he said flatly.

“Naw, we do,” Radha’s grin was audible, “but we’re not the only ones. There’s others they could assist. Not complaining, anyway. Not really.”

He knew the frustration in that voice—was intimately familiar with it. Definitely a Jedi, then, Naasade thought. ‘Helping about the house’ could mean anything, too, from training the troops to literally helping them explore the cave passageways. He suppressed a heavy sigh. “You’re gonna need all the help you can get, soon.”

“Shit.” He caught sight of the dull glow of a discarded tabac stick before it was viciously ground out. “Storm?”

Naasade nodded, mentally reviewing the last known fleet positions. “Big one.”

The Governor could be a right bastard, but Moff Sesirri Tanai had control over this sector at the moment. She was cold, calculating, and absolutely ruthless. At least she wasn’t also Tarkin-levels of destructive.

Sesirri was pragmatic, though, even in her overkill.

Radha swore fervently. “When?”

“Soon. Eight days,” at a minimum. Naasade thought about it a moment, wondering what to expect from Moff Tanai. “Expect nightcrawlers,” he added.

Death Commandos. From behind the stone, Naasade thought he heard a strangled curse as the realisation hit. They hadn’t exactly needed to use that particular shorthand phrase before. “Can your friend get out on their own?”

“I don’t know,” Radha said. “If I tell them, they won’t leave. They’ll want to help.”

Naasade snorted quietly. “Figures. Can you relocate?”

Radha was silent for a moment. “Do they know where our house is?”

An excellent question. Ty never said, but there had to be a record of sightings, suspected resistance outposts. “I’ll ask around.” He’d picked up a trick or two from slicers over the years, and with the right set of commands, computers didn’t mind questions nearly as much as people might. “When can you take delivery?”

“Fourth moon.”

Naasade grimaced. “City beat.”

“Then I’ll find you. At market?”

“Generator side. Prearranged drop-off site.”

“Done,” Radha agreed. “Now go home, Imp.”

Naasade smiled faintly. “You too, Rebel scum.

#Commander Cody #Naasade #Onderon #Imperial occupation #Fulcrum #wild ficcage and au spawn #Call Sign: Sky Squadron

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sanerontheinside · 6 years

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I'm halffway through Patrician :D! thats why i asked, it's lit a fire and i want more agricorp fics :) thank you though :3 it's a brilliant fic (i think might have to bite the bullet and write my own tbh)

Awyisssssss!!!!

Technically, I have an au of that sort, A Perfect Balance of Things. Slight difference being that while Master Jinn didn’t exactly leave the Order after his second Padawan’s Fall, he did very much give them the finger and stayed on Bandomeer. Ten years later he meets a washed out Initiate and wonders what the hap is still fuckening on Coruscant.

It’s sort of hanging at the moment and I haven’t thought it completely through, but there, yes, it exists. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I did poke it a bit because someone found it a few days ago and gave it a like. Also because of your ask. 😊

#A Perfect Balance of Things #wild ficcage and au spawn #I’ve shunted aside most things for the frankenau but I’m finding that a touch difficult to sustain

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sanerontheinside · 6 years

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I. Decompression: Disquiet by sanerontheinside

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn, Jale Terza (from ReEntry by Flamethrower), Padmé Amidala Mace Windu, Garen Muln, Yoda (Star Wars), Sheev Palpatine, Quarsh Panaka

Additional Tags: the frankenau, Medical stuff, Hurt/Comfort, Mace Windu is Doing His Best, Suspicious Politician is Suspicious, bit parts for the Handmaidens, Yané, Cordé, Sabé, Eirtaé, Teckla Minnau, oh good lord SHEEV is in the TAG in the OFFICIAL TAG oh no, please ao3 please never add Dooku’s ‘canonical’ name to his tag, GLAMNOR DOOKU oh man that’ll be the day

Series: Part 2 of Silent enim leges inter arma

Summary: And then the Councilors arrived.

What is an update schedule.

Hey, guys, sorry this took over a month. It’s been a beast of a chapter, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the next one happened to be at least half as troublesome. Apparently, in spite of all the outlining and planning and pre-written bits, I’m still making this up as I go ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

At least it’s fun ^^

Many thanks to my wonderful betas @skyywalkerfen and @meggory84.

#the frankenau #the frankenau awakens #Decompression #new chapter #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Qui-Gon Jinn #Mace Windu #Garen Muln #Master Yoda #Palpatine #enter the palpacreep lol #wild ficcage and au spawn #so anyway I hope this makes the middle of your week a bit better ^^

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sanerontheinside · 6 years

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¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Category: Gen Relationships: Cassian Andor & Jyn Erso, Galen Erso & Jyn Erso, Jyn Erso & Lyra Erso Characters: Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor, Galen Erso, Lyra Erso, Orson Krennic, K-2SO (Star Wars) Additional Tags: mentions of Tarkin, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Reincarnation, well - technically?, mentions of Bodhi Rook - Freeform, vague mentions of graphic violence but warning placed anyway, Father-Daughter Relationship, really uh... not-so-good father-daughter relationship, mentions of Chirrut Îmwe, mentions of Baze Malbus

Summary:

Imagine a child who grew up her father’s Stardust—this girl who looked so much like her mother, in all but that she had her father’s eyes.

Her mother, who painstakingly taught her the lessons of keeping to the shadows, keeping her words and her thoughts tight within her, deep and far and away from the Empire’s long, creeping, twisting fingers.

Lyra never quite got that lesson through Galen’s skull. They were supposed to run, they were supposed to escape this nightmare, to join up with Saw and get away. But they never did. And Galen is the one to blame.

Cheers, y’all. Since I’m moving works from google drive to my computer, here’s some fic.

#rogue one #Jyn Erso #Imperial Jyn #Rebel Jyn #wild ficcage and au spawn #works I likely won't come back to #may as well post #I just initially felt rather shit about posting only about Jyn but w/e #have fun kids!#I just wanted to write more for Bodhi and Chirrut and Baze #instead I got Jyn #thanks brain?

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sanerontheinside · 6 years

Note

12(for the kiss meme). obiqui

psssst where are all my fakemarried au ppls?

paging @meggory84 , @skyywalkerfen , @kettish , @punsbulletsandpointythings , @norcumi !

Later, if he’d been forced to defend himself, Qui-Gon might have said that he’d fallen too deep into his role. If he’d cared to lie.

In the moment he gave up thinking altogether and pulled Obi-Wan into a tight, near-desperate embrace, only half-registering that Obi-Wan clung to him just as fiercely. Qui-Gon pulled back just enough to cup Obi-Wan’s face in his hands and press a kiss to his brow. Obi-Wan slumped, let out a small, involuntary whimper, and Qui-Gon couldn’t bear the sound. It broke something in him, broke him apart and unleashed something fiercely possessive. Qui-Gon suddenly couldn’t get enough of the feel of that smooth rain-damp skin against his cracked lips, and showered light, quick kisses anywhere he could reach—eyebrows, cheeks, bridge of the nose, eyelids—until Obi-Wan covered Qui-Gon’s hands with his own and gripped them firmly.

“It’s all right, Qui, I’m here, I’m all right,” he whispered, eyes closed and expression soft.

“Gods, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured, and before he could think, before he could even comprehend what he was doing, he bent down and pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s.

His brain caught up with him only a split second later, at the sound of a soft hum and the feel of Obi-Wan melting into him. And because his brain was merciless when least appropriate, it took care to remind him that this was his Knight partner and former Padawan; that they weren’t newlyweds in truth, only in mission legend; and that they were standing not so great a distance away from a wreckage. Qui-Gon was overjoyed to have Obi-Wan here, alive, and in his arms, but there were others surely in need of their help.

But while his mind was busy playing out an entire mental and emotional speederwreck, Qui-Gon’s mouth had done without any kind of instruction. It was the sting of teeth on his lower lip that brought Qui-Gon sharply back to reality. If that hadn’t been enough, the ticklish brush of the tip of Obi-Wan’s tongue that followed almost certainly would have shattered any remaining doubts that Obi-Wan was anything less than an avid participant in this.

The idea was so novel, and so startling, it punched a low, rough sound out of Qui-Gon’s chest. Obi-Wan shuddered deliciously against him. His hands, warm and strong, drifted up to Qui-Gon’s shoulders, then squeezed, nudged him back just a little. Qui-Gon let Obi-Wan move him as he would, but in the end there was barely an inch between them. Obi-Wan was looking at him with an expression Qui-Gon didn’t know how to read—or didn’t dare to.

“We still have work to do,” Obi-Wan murmured, voice only for the space between them and a wry smile on his lips.

“We do,” Qui-Gon agreed. Wondering if that meant he should let go, step back—

Obi-Wan pressed in closer, instead, winding his arms around Qui-Gon tight enough to make the man uncomfortably aware of his ribs before letting go and slowly easing them apart. “Most of the passengers and crew are out of the wreckage. We should help the emergency team.”

“We should get ourselves cleared by the emergency team, first,” Qui-Gon insisted amused. Obi-Wan was singed, bruised, and no little amount of ash stuck fast to his skin and clothes, slick with rain. Qui-Gon wasn’t sure there was dried blood in Obi-Wan’s hair, but he didn’t doubt for a second that there had been plenty opportunities for a knock on the head in the crash.

Obi-Wan seemed torn between glaring at his former Master and indulging his mission partner, so Qui-Gon decided to tip the balance in his favour with a soft “Please?”

Any protest Obi-Wan might have had crumpled away in the face of that one word, and he went willingly enough—though he pushed Qui-Gon ahead of himself, grumbling about getting knocked on the back of the head and stuffed into an emergency escape shuttle with a handful of hostile, corrupt politicians who were to be trusted even less than pirates. Qui-Gon decided it was better not to argue, if there was no other way to get Obi-Wan to sit still for a quick exam.

The medic who looked both of them over scowled, diagnosed them with a concussion apiece, and growled some choice disapproving words about Jedi who were going to ignore his orders anyway, see if he cared, and snapped a bracelet on both their wrists to monitor their vitals overnight.

“Terrible bedside manners,” Qui-Gon muttered under his breath, half-afraid the old Akathian would hear him and come back.

“Absolutely appalling,” Obi-Wan agreed, having heard him anyway. “But I think maybe he’s had to deal with crazy people far too long.”

Qui-Gon looked up just in time to see the same Akathian bearing down angrily across the field to Madleth, who was busy securing the arrests of the men Qui-Gon had left tied up in the emergency shuttle. The Head of State Security had her back to them, and yet still flinched preemptively, no doubt at the sound of an angry medic coming at her from behind.

“As long as he keeps her busy, he’s not keeping us here,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “Come on, let’s go see if we can help.”

Obi-Wan grinned and went along gamely.

It took some hours, to figure out which passengers were in need of alternate accommodations, which needed medical care and a medcenter stay, how they were all going to be transported, and how the matter of their lost baggage would be addressed. Obi-Wan discussed the environmental impact with one of the volunteers who’d responded to the emergency call, and agreed to put in an immediate request with the AgriCorps for an official appraisal and recovery plans. Qui-Gon noted the slightly guilty pinch to his expression, and did his best to reassure Obi-Wan, if by proximity alone.

“The Order can’t afford that sort of damage,” Obi-Wan said ruefully.

“Technically the saboteur was hired by one of the corporations who were attempting to fix an election outcome and bribe the incoming candidate,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “There’s sure to be a lawyer or two who would gladly take on a corporate case.”

“It’ll take years,” Obi-Wan protested.

“In the meantime, the AgriCorps will provide what services they can.”

Obi-Wan’s lips thinned into a grim line, but he nodded. “All right. Is there anything else we’re needed for?”

Qui-Gon looked around, noting the remaining groups of people clumped by the hotels they were soon to be transported to. The beach was almost empty. “Not tonight, I think. Shall we join the others?”

Obi-Wan nodded. In the light of the setting sun, he looked pale and exhausted, and Qui-Gon reached out to wrap an arm around him, pulling Obi-Wan in against his side. He didn’t let go, not in the shuttle, not even in the lift to their rooms.

They’d been given a suite with a single bed, of course—Madleth had booked the arrangements for a married couple from cruise to hotel room, and hadn’t bothered to change it now that their mission was done. Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head, far too exhausted to sort out his thoughts on the matter, and pushed Obi-Wan into the ‘fresher instead. He turned around, then stopped, reconsidering. “Are you going to fall down in there?”

“… No?”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Listen for the sound of a body hitting the floor.”

“Right.” Qui-Gon sighed, and settled down against the wall just outside the door, resolved to do just that.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but a warm hand squeezed his shoulder gently, waking him. “Hm?”

“I didn’t fall,” Obi-Wan smiled down at him, the tips of his hair still dripping, “but I did wake up trying to, once or twice. You, on the other hand…”

Qui-Gon’s mouth felt dry, stuck in place, so he simply blinked and refused to take offense while trying to pick himself up off the floor. Obi-Wan’s hands automatically slipped into his and helped haul him up. “Thank you,” Qui-Gon said, or tried to. For some reason, the gesture left him oddly, guiltily shy. The fact that he was slipping into the ‘fresher to hide from this vision of his tousled, freshly-showered, towel-wrapped Knight partner didn’t make it any easier.

Qui-Gon felt ridiculously grateful for the fact that by the time he came out, hands occupied with toweling the still-dripping ends of his hair, Obi-Wan was already deeply asleep. Qui-Gon stared at the him for a long moment, taking in the copper hair, the lamplight casting golden overtones onto it and onto the smooth, pale expanse of skin, the curve of his spine, the gentle rise and fall of his ribs. Then he sighed, turned off the lamp, and slipped under the light covers beside Obi-Wan.

Moonlight spilled in through the high windows. Gorgeous as Obi-Wan was in lamplight, Qui-Gon loved this view of him as well. Greatly daring, he reached out with the lightest of touch to brush a few stray hairs out of the sleeping man’s eyes and behind his ear. Obi-Wan murmured something and turned to follow those fingers, catlike.

Guiltily, Qui-Gon caught his hand back. The last thing he wanted was to wake Obi-Wan now, when he’d finally fallen asleep. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, and breathed in the clean scent of him, breathing deeply and evenly until he, too, relaxed into true rest.

It occurred to Obi-Wan that there was nothing better than waking up this way, surrounded by warmth, wrapped in strong arms and feeling the light stirring of Qui-Gon’s breath in his hair. Obi-Wan sighed and squirmed a little, burrowing deeper into the embrace while he still could enjoy it. The warmth of it, and the sound of Qui-Gon’s steady heartbeat in his ear threatened to lull him back to sleep, but Obi-Wan stubbornly kept himself awake, curled against Qui-Gon’s chest. He treasured every moment of this, resolved to bask in it for the last time before it ended.

He really had no idea how they could ever go back to the relationship they’d had before this mission. Obi-Wan had lived an impossible dream in the last few weeks, and the knowledge that he might never have this again filled him with a bottomless ache.

But he was quickly distracted from that train of thought. Qui-Gon stirred, waking with a deep sigh and a gentle stretch, his arms tightening around Obi-Wan as he shifted. Obi-Wan smiled at the sound of his pleased rumble, and the feel of Qui-Gon nuzzling into his hair. “Good morning, Qui,” he said.

“Mmhm,” Qui-Gon hummed, slowly drawing back and opening his eyes to look at him.

Obi-Wan’s breath caught. He’d never imagined his former Master looking at him like that—open and adoring, limned in golden morning light, as though nothing and no one else existed yet. “Hello there,” he murmured, soft and fond, reaching up to run light fingers over Qui-Gon’s cheek. Qui-Gon nuzzled into his palm, rumbling like a giant, pleased cat.

“Good morning,” he finally said, voice lower and rougher than Obi-Wan ever remembered hearing it.

Force, but he had no idea how to extricate himself from this. “I didn’t want to wake you,” Obi-Wan said, letting his hand slide further, into Qui-Gon’s hair. “I think you needed the rest.”

“Mm. You had me worried.”

Obi-Wan sputtered at that, amused. “I had you worried? You’re the one they took hostage!”

“And you were aboard the ship with a reactor about to go critical,” Qui-Gon rumbled, accusation in his tone. “The captain told me you crashed it, too.”

“I did.” Obi-Wan grinned, a brief, fleeting thing. “They were afraid of you. Never know what someone will do, when they’re afraid of their captive.”

“No,” Qui-Gon agreed. “Never know someone will survive crashing a ship, either.”

Obi-Wan tried to look at least mildly offended, especially in the face of that raised eyebrow that he knew so well, and gods, he desperately wanted to defuse the worry before Qui-Gon got to it. “I was aiming to save the passengers, I’ll have you know, I—”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon cut him off, catching his hand in a gentle grasp and tracing a calming circle over the back of his hand. The look in Qui-Gon’s eyes completely stole his breath away, for good measure. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispered, and drew Obi-Wan’s hand up to press the barest hint of a kiss to his knuckles.

Obi-Wan stared at him, speechless. “I—you—” he stammered briefly, then gave up again, feeling like there wasn’t enough air between them.

“I couldn’t bear to lose you, Obi-Wan.”

The swell of emotion that accompanied the words had Obi-Wan curling into Qui-Gon’s chest and hiding his face, pressing his ear to the sound of Qui-Gon’s even heartbeat. It had always calmed him, grounded him in the worst of turmoil, and Obi-Wan sought it now.

Only Qui-Gon Jinn could ever find a way to undo him with words, Obi-Wan reflected wryly.

“I did wonder,” Obi-Wan said softly, into the relative safety of not having to look Qui-Gon in the eye while he said it, “on the beach.”

“This mission was…” Under Obi-Wan’s ear, Qui-Gon’s pulse picked up just a touch. “It was difficult, being near you, playing a part that I suddenly realised I dearly wanted to fill in truth. Had wanted… for quite some time, I suspect. If you would have me. I didn’t know if… I didn’t know how to ask it. I thought I’d ask after we’d returned to Coruscant, and then I thought that would be too long a delay. Of course,” Qui-Gon added, with a dry chuckle, “then I got hit in the back of the head, and bound for good measure.”

Cautiously, Obi-Wan reached out and traced a finger down Qui-Gon’s arm, from shoulder to elbow. “That, too, was an unnecessary delay,” he said, then shifted to lean up on his elbow and look Qui-Gon in the eye. “I love you,” he went on, voice as even as he could manage and meant only for the space between them. “I have for years, now. And I’m very glad for this mission, suddenly, if that’s what it took for you to discover the same.”

When Qui-Gon shifted, as if to rise, Obi-Wan held up a finger. “I’d still rather not worry about losing you, myself. We’ve come too close to that once already.”

Qui-Gon’s face was an unreadable mask for a brief, tense moment. Then the tension snapped like an uncoiling spring. In the midst of it Obi-Wan found himself tugged down and held close, kisses pressed to the top of his head and his ear and neck and collarbone and temple while he squirmed, surprised and a bit ticklish. “Qui!”

And yet he was laughing, breathless and wild for the feel of smooth warm skin under his hands, for the play of muscle as Qui-Gon rolled them over and settled above him, over him, his expression soft and sleepwarm again, like they hadn’t just danced a knife-edge between heartbreak and joy.

There was, still, an edge of desperation to the kiss that followed. Obi-Wan soothed it as best he could, opening to the heat and sinking into it, dropping the shields around their pairbond. Qui-Gon gasped into his mouth, broke away to nibble at Obi-Wan’s neck, the tiny sting of teeth somehow more vivid under the tip of his tongue and sending sparks skittering across Obi-Wan’s skin. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped him, and then Qui-Gon’s own shields melted away.

Oh, but what a gift, to be welcomed into his Master’s mind and heart this way. Obi-Wan basked in the warmth of it, ached for the sharp sting of hunger that ran through them both. That Qui-Gon had kept so much fire and sheer want under durasteel control was at once amazing and painful. We’ve wasted so much time, Obi-Wan thought frantically, trying to all but crawl into Qui-Gon’s skin, into his very lungs; to curl up in there safely, wrapped and surrounded and subsumed.

“It wasn’t wasted,” Qui-Gon broke away for a shallow, panted breath.

Obi-Wan let out a burst of helpless, breathless laughter as Qui-Gon’s teeth found a ticklish spot. “No?” Qui-Gon’s skin against his, calloused hands sending sheets of cold and flame roaring through Obi-Wan’s body and making him shudder—how could anyone stand this?

“No,” Qui-Gon rumbled, voice so deep and dark and drenched with promise that Obi-Wan felt more than heard it. “All the more time for me to think of all the things I want to do with you, to you.”

“Really? Oh—” Obi-Wan gasped as Qui-Gon devoted his complete attention to first one nipple, then gingerly skittered his fingers across Obi-Wan’s ribs to the other. The wildfire rush of sensation made Obi-Wan shiver as if he were cold. “And—Qui! Dammit, let me talk!”

A low chuckle answered him, but Qui-Gon did, mercifully, ease back a touch.

The look in his eyes might’ve been enough to undo Obi-Wan all by itself. “Tell me, Qui,” he whispered, mouth desert-dry beneath that longing, searing gaze. “Tell me what you want, love.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes fell shut, his expression smoothing to something resembling an attempt at calm. But when he opened them again, Obi-Wan found himself staring into blue fire.

“I want to hear you,” Qui-Gon rasped. “I want to hear everything, Obi-Wan.”

For the first time in ages Obi-Wan reached for words and found none. He nodded mutely instead, eyes fixed on Qui-Gon’s as Qui-Gon bent his head down and returned to the task of driving his lover wild with tongue and teeth and hands alone.

There’s bound to be more of the smut later but for now…

#Trembling Between Heartbeats Waiting #fakemarried au #fakemarried #QuiObi #Qui-Gon Jinn #Obi-Wan Kenobi #eeehehehheee the fakemarried is alive and well #now to figure out damn mission details 😒#wild ficcage and au spawn

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