#jangomaul

[the-writing-mill]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The JangoObiMaul AU is here!

The first chapter that I posted for subobi is now up in its own separate fic, plus a new chapter! Like a few other stories, this has no set update schedule, I’ll just be writing when I get ideas for this and feel like writing them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And once again: if you read this then it’s your own dang fault so I offer no apologies.

[dead-cowboy]

Apple of Discord? JangoMaul??? 👁👁👁 —MandalorianBrainWeasel

(link to the wip ask game)

Yesss I answered about it here so let me share a snippet:

“Of everything—what you asked for was this,” Maul says with disdain. He huffs openly, stares at Fett. “A weakness.” He expects a cutting remark, a mean reply—something made to hurt. He relishes in his impatience, wants to hear what the Mandalorian will say, what his answer will entail, what hints it could provide. Maul conceals his eagerness, blood running through him with the animalistic desire of a good hunt. But Jango Fett simply stares back. Huffs. Shrugs openly as his gaze grows tired of Maul and roams through the expensive copies of his own self. “Yes,” he simply replies. There is—satisfaction. Laziness, perhaps. Something in his tone has Maul blinking. Fett doesn't seem to mind his predicament; rather, he acts as if he holds power over Maul—as if he knows something Maul doesn't. He's a fool. Why did he ask for a copy that cannot sustain itself on its own? Why did he want it to grow at a regular rate, to be a burden for many years to come while it could have bee— Unless.

“A wasteful investment,” Maul says. He cannot stop his eyes from narrowing—but he swallows back the growl that threatens to spill. There is no reason for him to be angry, none to his advantage, and he won't give Fett any. He stares at the wailing creatures and doesn’t try to conceal his disgust. “Devotion needn't grow from roots,” he informs primly. “It can be taught. However, for that to happen—a mindless being won't give satisfying results.” He huffs, points at the copies below. “It will take years before it can be trained. These, on the other hand, will take half the time.” Maul ventures a glance: the Mandalorian’s eyes are already on him. They always are—calculating. Detached yet full of life: so very bright for how dim and dull these pupils are. There is simmering danger in them, the silent tension of a still predator. It calls to Maul’s most debasing instinct, to animalistic tendencies he tries to quell but cannot fully tame in the presence of Fett. He wants to hunt him and tear him apart as much as he wants a good fight, with no rules and no thoughts. He has that sensation again: the one that says Fett doesn’t put as much thought into Maul as Maul does into him. It’s infuriating as much as it is a relief. He should leave; his mission here is done. He has nothing to do on Kamino anymore—he has an inkling the Mandalorian staring at him openly is fully aware of that. He doesn’t retreat, not yet. He won’t give Fett the satisfaction of winning. The thing stirs awake. It wails, as it is prone to do, its shrilling sound invading the room from the comm strapped to Fett’s wrist. Maul grimaces; Fett blinks, once, twice, then he leaves the room without a word. Maul lets himself stare at the creatures wailing on their own and smiles.

[dead-cowboy]

Get back here! Tell me about my presents!!

(link to the wip ask game)

HELLO I'M HERE

apple of discord, jangomaul

One day, someone who shall remain an🍏nym🍏us posted on tumblr about the criminal lack of submissive jango fett fanworks compared to literally every character jango's paired with. So I decided to make my own contribution! But it's going very slowly. I cannot for the life of me write relationships (or even pwp) with clear dom/sub roles. I'm lit rally a one-trick pony who writes every character as switches, so you can see the problem here 🤠

Long story short: this was supposed to be a pwp, it's more or less grown into a canon divergent slow burn spanning from pre-Naboo and going well into the clone wars, so. It's fine I'm fine we're fine

apples, sky17

don't laugh you probably read this already but this has been sitting in the grocery list for months

“General,” he acknowledges. Dryly, nonchalantly, blatantly disrespectful. He lifts one eyebrow, tries not to react when Anakin twitches the wrong way. He's—unbalanced, suddenly making himself smaller and stiff. One-Seven blinks, relaxes his stance.  It works.

He's not a very perceptive man, Anakin. He infers people’s thoughts and emotions to the point that what he guesses becomes almost immediately reality. Even when he's wrong. He doesn't see it, doesn't always understand what he thinks people feel isn't what they actually do. For a Jedi he's less than attuned to sentients orbiting him. It's kind of funny, kind of worrying and—well. It's kind of refreshing too. What he thinks One-Seven feels is usually wrong, and One-Seven is used to the galaxy around him thinking he doesn't feel at all. Having someone somehow overcoming that yet completely missing the mark is both reassuring and dreadful. But it soothes him—more than he'd like to admit. “Come here,” he mutters. And Anakin does. His shoulders sag but he feels bigger, taller, stronger: his long legs eat the space between them in three strides and suddenly he's here and he's real. “Can we stay here for a while?” he asks against One-Seven’s thigh, body slouched between his legs. It's suddenly hard to say anything, so One-Seven simply nods. Anakin sighs—something deflates inside him in response. All the tension One-Seven contains, the fear he hides, the anger he feeds: they die with a single sound from Anakin and leave him feeling empty. He slides off his chair, silent and awkward, and holds onto Anakin until he can breathe again.