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tpm_flashbackTitle: Snapshots: Obi-Wan Kenobi, This Is Your Life (I know, I know, it's not a single fic, but I could not let the opportunity to recommend this series pass me by)
Author: Pumpkin
Rating: Ranges from G to NC-17
Pairing: Q/O
Warnings:
Varies with each snapshot. Occasional violence, death, some implications of noncon, some very difficult angst.
Author's e-mail, web site and/or LJ id: http://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
squashed
Link to Story: On MA: http://www.masterapprentice.org/indices/author_p.html - scroll down to "Pumpkin" and find them there. Or, go to her site and find them at: http://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/starwars/snapshots/snapshots.htm
Reason for Recommending: Give me a reason for NOT recommending these. This outstanding series took possession of my heart from the very first, and I greeted each tiny piece with happy anticipation. By turns angsty, hot, romantic, hilarious, poignant, hot, solemn, joyful, did I mention hot? - the Snapshots formed a beautifully whole finished portrait of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, often capturing their personalities in a single sentence. Pumpkin's characterizations, to me, were the very embodiment of what it means to be Jedi, in every shade and nuance.
I can't tell you the number of times a Snapshot has left me in tears, or fanning myself frantically, or grinning ear to ear. Of all the fine, fine stories and series in TPM fandom - and there are so many - this is the body of work I would give to a beginner, to say: Read these, and fall in love.
Thank you, Pumpkin.
Quote from story:
April 24, 2000
It is my job to place fresh flowers in His
Lordship's guestrooms every day. I have done this
since I was a little girl and I am good at this
task, remaining as invisible to the honoured
company as the air. On the third day that the Jedi
were visitors in His Lordship's manor I placed
mauve and yellow triibeey in the slender vase on
the dresser. A piece of cream paper lay by the
base of the glass vessel.
After reading it, I slipped it into the pocket of
my uniform and have it still. Every now and then I
take it out to look at, to rub the soft, worn
paper between my fingers and to read it.
Written in the language of my people, the letters
somewhat mangled as a schoolchild might write
them, were two simple words. Thank you.
End.
Author: Pumpkin
Rating: Ranges from G to NC-17
Pairing: Q/O
Warnings:
Varies with each snapshot. Occasional violence, death, some implications of noncon, some very difficult angst.
Author's e-mail, web site and/or LJ id: http://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/
squashedLink to Story: On MA: http://www.masterapprentice.org/indices/author_p.html - scroll down to "Pumpkin" and find them there. Or, go to her site and find them at: http://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/starwars/snapshots/snapshots.htm
Reason for Recommending: Give me a reason for NOT recommending these. This outstanding series took possession of my heart from the very first, and I greeted each tiny piece with happy anticipation. By turns angsty, hot, romantic, hilarious, poignant, hot, solemn, joyful, did I mention hot? - the Snapshots formed a beautifully whole finished portrait of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, often capturing their personalities in a single sentence. Pumpkin's characterizations, to me, were the very embodiment of what it means to be Jedi, in every shade and nuance.
I can't tell you the number of times a Snapshot has left me in tears, or fanning myself frantically, or grinning ear to ear. Of all the fine, fine stories and series in TPM fandom - and there are so many - this is the body of work I would give to a beginner, to say: Read these, and fall in love.
Thank you, Pumpkin.
Quote from story:
April 24, 2000
It is my job to place fresh flowers in His
Lordship's guestrooms every day. I have done this
since I was a little girl and I am good at this
task, remaining as invisible to the honoured
company as the air. On the third day that the Jedi
were visitors in His Lordship's manor I placed
mauve and yellow triibeey in the slender vase on
the dresser. A piece of cream paper lay by the
base of the glass vessel.
After reading it, I slipped it into the pocket of
my uniform and have it still. Every now and then I
take it out to look at, to rub the soft, worn
paper between my fingers and to read it.
Written in the language of my people, the letters
somewhat mangled as a schoolchild might write
them, were two simple words. Thank you.
End.
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