Summary: Isabet realizes she recognizes the Jedi wandering Kamino.
Details: Reau & Obi-Wan Gen. Kamino AU. Using my Obi-Wan infiltrated DW during the Mandalore Mission HC.
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Isabet couldn't stop watching the Jedi. Originally she'd just wanted a glimpse of it through the crowd, wanted to keep track of it in case it pulled anything, but there was something so familiar about it.
She followed for hours as it was given a tour of the facility, not doing very well at hiding its surprise or disgust. The longnecks didn't care, if they even noticed. There were few times she could risk getting close enough to hear whatever it was being told and only after that, after she heard, "Master Kenobi," from the longneck's lips, did she realize what was happening.
Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi. A name she'd only learned months after knowing him as Ben, a boy considered a foundling among Death Watch, for he'd claimed his clan was dead to him, nothing but New Mandalorians he could no longer abide by.
Her buir had been just days away from finally offering to adopt him, had been heartbroken when he'd disappeared. Isabet had mostly been confused--she was excited for a vod'ika and disappointed to not be getting one, but what recruit could so easily slip from a Death Watch compound so easily?
When images of "Ben" had shown up on the holonews trailing behind Kryze, she'd gotten her answer.
He certainly looked like a Jedi, now, though they'd had decades to work on him, yet she couldn't help but wonder if the Manda still called to him. He'd learned so easily, fit in so well. Too well for someone actually meant to be a Jedi.
Her plan wasn't necessarily a good one, but Dred and the others wouldn't protest. Didn't, when she told them of it.
"I thought I'd give our guest a tour of the training facilities," she told the longneck, after a standard greeting.
Out of the corner of her eyes are could see Ben staring at her, brow furrowed, but when she turned to face him, his expression had smoothed into infuriating Jedi calmness.
"That...is acceptable, Trainer Reau, if Master Kenobi agrees."
Not even the best mask could hide his reaction to her clan name, though he still tried. The poor thing was probably suffering through all sorts of shocks after stumbling upon Fett's plot.
She didn't give him time to protest, simply grabbing his arm and pulling him with her, as she might have when they were kids. "Interesting stylistic choices, Ben'ika," she started, once they were away from the longneck and moving deeper into the sections of the facility that Death Watch had more or less claimed for itself.
"Issy--this--what are you doing here?"
He remembered her name, then, remembered her. That was a good sign, the Jedi hadn't wiped away everything he'd been back then.
"It's a job, and a chance to spy on Fett."
"So that is that Jango Fett? I thought he was dead!"
She snorted. "Oh, you missed allllll the excitement. He came back to Mandalore just long enough to feed Tor to some wildlife and then hightailed it out again. Mereel has probably been cursing him from the Ka'ra since."
Ben fell silent, probably torn between being thankful Fett had been useful for one thing and trying to figure out why he was helping create a whole army for the Jedi. He didn't even notice when they entered a room already occupied with a handful of other trainers, though he did tense when the door shut behind them.
"You remember Dred, I'm sure." She motioned to her riduur, then started more introductions, watching as Ben carefully nodded in greeting, his eyes roving over the armor of everyone present and taking note of the Death Watch marks on all of them. "This is Ben, he's my ven'vod'ika."
He actually flinched. "That was years ago."
"Do you think buir ever forgot you?"
"After my identity came out? I suspect she hated me!"
Isabet sighed, wondering if the Jedi had made Ben this dense or if it was just his exhaustion. "We realized after you'd been trying to tell us all along, trying to get our help. It's late, but now you have it."
Two of them had circled around, one had locked the door, and she smirked as he fell into a fighting stance. They'd spent ages practicing techniques for going at Force users, Fett was even willing to teach them if it meant a Jedi might die. She was certain they could subdue him and with the drugs the longnecks gave them access to, keep him out until they got back to Concordia. A Jedi on Kamino meant Fett's plans were finally in motion and, as much as Isabet wouldn't mind a better view, she didn't think she'd want to be anywhere near the Republic when things went down.
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Isabet Reau is a really nasty character, a Death Watch fanatic who was part of the Fight Circle that got a bunch of young clones killed for some of the trainers' entertainment.
There's not a lot of autistic representation, or non-binary representation, or [insert a marginalized group a fan creator is a part of] and so they create it through headcanons. They headcanon that a character they love has a backstory similar to their own history or comes from a culture similar to theirs so they can go, "this person is loved/successful/powerful/whatever, and *I* can be, too."
Sometimes it's obvious, making a character a direct copy of these real world groups that the person making the headcanons is known to be a part of--they have the same disability as the fan creator, they have the same race, etc. Sometimes it's less obvious, like the common trope of using monsters as metaphors, and so this character is now a monster but people love them, still, anyway.
These are, for the most part, good things that don't affect other people and should just be ignored (or complained about in private or so vaguely it could be about anyone, if it really gets to you lol), because someone adhering to a personal headcanons doesn't normally negatively impact others.
Except sometimes they do. Not necessarily because of the nature of the headcanon (though there are a few of those that are inherently harmful), but because the fan creator starts being unable to disconnect what is a headcanon and what is canon.
They become "right" and everyone else becomes "wrong," and since these headcanons often come from a place of seeking representation, the "wrong" people are now being called bigots, are now being accused of attacking the fan creator on a personal level if they point out why that headcanon isn't actual canon, why they themselves don't use it.
And because there are a lot of people wholly uneducated on actual social justice issues, they cling to whatever the fan creator says so they're not called bigots, because to them being called a bigot is worse than being a bigot. So it creates a feedback loop for the fan creator, who had gotten so caught up in having their headcanon seen as the One True Canon that they're now caught in the throes of a power trip, attacking others and encouraging the people too scared or ignorant to not agree with them to do the same. To the point where their already weak headcanon (which is based on seeking representation and not necessarily the canon, and would be absolutely fine as an individual headcanon), becomes weaker and harder to see as they have to continually find new, ridiculous ways to justify why they're right and everyone else is wrong.
It comes up a lot here on tumblr, and on AO3, and now on twitter (because that's like what 7 years delay or something?), and it's a sad phenomenon to see people still falling to it to this day.
"Kryze has jetiise as would-be protectors," the instructor sneered, "therefore, today's class will be on techniques to use against those creatures."
Obi-Wan leaned forward, eyes wide with interest, then caught himself. Glancing around, he relaxed, realizing that everyone looked excited, and he wouldn't look out of place.
"You'll be learning a daily practice to strengthen your minds against their invasions." Shielding, Obi-Wan realized, this would be how the older verde were doing it, so he didn't dare risk looking deeper. "As well as techniques to fight them and for having other interactions with them."
Each new piece of information given horrified Obi-Wan both in how it was presented (that the Jedi were monsters, that they would tear through someone's mind or twist their bodies at will) and in how accurate the techniques to counter Force users were (the shielding he already knew was effective, the method for pushing close and staying close during a fight something that would always make sense with a sword user, but the way they spoke of never directly lying, of always telling half-truths, made his skin crawl). He was fascinated despite himself, watching wide eyed through demonstrations and eagerly taking notes on his datapad during the lectures.
Finally, after an exhausting day, they were given a boon not common for Kyr'tsad trainees: the chance to ask a question of the instructors.
He licked his lips, allowing himself the nervous tick. Ben was curious, that was perhaps one of his best known traits, and so Obi-Wan had to ask something. It would look too suspicious if he didn't. And so, when it was his turn, he tried to ask a question that might be informative while also not stirring up even more hatred against his people.
"Not all jetiise are monsters, though, are they?" There was an immediate swell of disbelief and he hurried on, "Mand'alor Tarre Vizsla had been a jetii." That quietened the other trainees.
The instructor frowned at him, nodding absently. "It's true, some jetii can see through their brainwashing for the truth of what they're being made to do." There was no trace of irony in the instructor's voice. "They rebel against being the soulless creatures they've been kept as and leave their Order. But Tarre had to prove himself to Clan Vizsla before being taken into their aliit. Most jetiise should not be treated as possible Mando'ade. They are all still aruetiise, first and foremost."
He had no way of knowing that others would remember his question, later, after he'd left and his identity was revealed. That, in the twisted way that perceptions could change memories, they'd remember a jetii'ad desperate to escape the Order, unsure if he'd truly be accepted if he did.
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Notes: As most know by this point, since I’ve been using it for months, my personal headcanon is Obi-Wan infiltrated Death Watch as a voluntary trainee during his Mandalore Mission. This is set during that.
Summary: On a diplomatic mission to Mandalore, Obi-Wan meets someone he didn't remember he already knew.
Details: Jaster/Obi-Wan. Reincarnation AU. Dark.
Content Warnings: Consent issues.
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"This is ridiculous," Obi-Wan insisted, though he'd given up fighting against the priests who were in the process of 'cleansing' him.
He'd been through many odd rituals in his lifetime, even some where they assumed he was someone or something he wasn't, but this was the first time he'd had to deal with anyone mistaking him for the reincarnation of their ruler's spouse.
Coming to Mandalore, he'd known there would be some traditions that seemed completely foreign to him, no matter how many Republic worlds he'd traveled to. The quaint idea that the Mand'alors were cyclical, that every one of them had been Mand'alor in lives before, and would be again in the future, was one of the details he hadn't seen as overly important.
Perhaps morbid, when he found out their spouses were expected to kill themselves immediately on the Mand'alor's death so they could have a higher chance of reincarnating along with them, but inconsequential to a diplomatic mission as a Jedi.
Until he'd stepped into the throne room, met Mand'alor Mereel's gaze, and...the world had shifted. Like gravity had turned blinked off and back on, so quickly only his sense of equilibrium had noticed. He would have dismissed it, himself, meditated on it later, perhaps, but Mereel had shouted Mando'a orders and suddenly Obi-Wan was being separated from the rest of the diplomatic team, all but dragged (in a very gentle manner, for a Mandalorian commando, he was sure) deeper into the palace.
Then made to wait, confused, before the Mand'alor had come in spouting nonsense about thinking 'Ben' had been lost to him.
The story he'd worked out, from bits and pieces Mereel and others would say, was that Rid'alor Ben had not taken his life, because Mereel's first rule had not ended in a challenge, but instead a betrayal. He'd been murdered and his teenage heir made Mand'alor, with most believing he would not last long. Ben had stayed alive for his child, protecting him and guiding him, restabilizing the Empire of that time. And missed the window to reincarnate.
Or so they thought, until Obi-Wan had met Mereel and now they were claiming they'd been wrong, that their Ka'ra had rewarded Obi-Wan for his dedication to his family.
No one actually paid attention to Obi-Wan's protests. Not as they kept him locked up for days, not as they dragged him to some Temple for the ceremony he was being prepared for. The details made it sound simple, and not overly dangerous, and so he had decided he'd play along. Once he proved them wrong, he could hopefully leave and this would just be another unexpected detour in a mission.
Mereel waited for him at an altar, a bowl with what looked suspiciously like human blood and a brush that Obi-Wan realized with a sinking feeling might explain his own nudity beside him. He was directed to lie on the altar, to hold still as Mereel painted symbol after symbol onto his body.
"I never thought I'd have the chance, but I learned it all, memorized it just in case," Mereel was saying, voice fervent.
If what the Mandalorians believed was true, this was at least the sixth or seventh life Mereel had lived, maybe more. Obi-Wan thought if he had been the man's spouse, he would have wanted him to move on, to find happiness with someone else.
He didn't bother saying that, the last time he'd suggested it, Mereel had not reacted well. And when he'd brought up to anyone--to the priests, to the guards, to Mereel's current (and supposedly former) heir Fett--that he didn't want to be anyone's spouse, that too had been dismissed.
Whatever was in the 'paint', he realized, must not just be blood, not with the way it was starting to make his skin ache. The feeling was sinking deep, making him worry he'd end up with welts afterwards.
Around them the priests were chanting. Obi-Wan knew just enough about Mando'a to recognize it was an ancient dialect. At first he thought it was completely unfamiliar, but as the ceremony went on he began to pick out more and more of the words he knew. Focusing on the chanting meant he had a distraction from the odd feeling in his body, the ache not quite painful, but becoming overwhelming.
He thought he might be crying, as Jaster finally set the brush down and gathered him into his arms, the way he would after a harsh battle where Ben had lost too many of his verde.
Obi-Wan sucked in a breath, realizing what he'd just thought with a thrill of fear. He could remember more, now, like a flood--meeting Jaster for the first time, the other Taung impressed with his skill with a blade, even more impressed with how he poked holes in all of the plans the great 'Reformer' thought up. Finding Jango, so tiny and fragile, and bringing him home to much celebration. A vow to be as one, always.
"It's alright, cyare," Jaster was crooning above him, rocking him as he might have Jango, "you're back. You're mine again."
"After the war," Obi-Wan had said, a promise that slipped out despite himself.
That he'd return, when the war was resolved. That he'd leave behind the life he'd had.
It was his survival that had been in question, that had caused Jaster to clutch at him before he left again, convinced the Sith would kill him as they had so many other Jedi.
He had not meant to find love while stranded in Mandalorian space. Had not even known that it was the Mand'alor himself that he'd fallen for at first.
Obi-Wan was the one who was meant to be running into danger. He was not meant to see a holonews report one day as he traveled to another battle of Mand'alor Mereel's death.
No one could know why he'd been upset after that--the Republic was not at war with Mandalore then, but they were not allies. A High General could not love a Mand'alor. The aching, unaddressed pain hollowed him out, made him take risks he knew he shouldn't.
(Made him wonder if the Ka'ra and the Force could be the same. If he could see Jaster again in death.)
When Mandalore took advantage of the Republic's distraction and conquered an entire sector from them, Obi-Wan almost said something, almost pleaded with Jango to think of what his buir would have wanted. But he stayed quiet, still, fighting the Sith who flocked to his despair.
When Mandalore struck again, forcing the Republic to stop simply defending itself on that second front and wage war, instead, Obi-Wan still found ways to avoid it. Cutting through fields of beskar'gam, possibly facing commandos wearing House Mereel's symbols, would break something inside of him.
He did not expect the Republic to fall. It had stood strong against the Sith for so long.
The Mandalorians swept through, following plans that must have been long in the making (that Jaster must have made, his signature was on all of them, mocking Obi-Wan even as he turned his attention from the Sith in a desperate bid to protect the Core Worlds).
Jango did not wear Jaster's colors, the only small comfort he could find when they met. Behind Obi-Wan was the Temple, the last stand of the Jedi. In front was the rest of Coruscant, burning, overrun.
"Gedet'ye, Jan'ika," he pleaded, voice rough but knowing the Mando'a he spoke out loud to himself in the privacy of his berth was smooth.
He recognized the gesture Jango made, the call for surrender, and he shut off his lightsaber, letting it fall into the Mand'alor's hand. There would be no winning against the numbers they faced and death in battle felt empty when it was slaughter instead.
"Why have you done this?"
"You were the only thing that held my buir back," Jango said, in Mando'a, and while he understood Basic, Obi-Wan couldn't recall a single time he'd heard Jango speak it. "He thought you'd see the foolishness of waiting and return to him."
Maybe he would have, given another year or two. Maybe he would have snuck back to Manda'yaim and begged for Jaster to forgive him, to take him back. And Jaster, ever so lenient with those he loved, would have welcomed him with open arms and never blamed him for his absence.
Jango was not so forgiving.
"You'll be given the respect due the widow of a Mand'alor," he was saying, now, tone almost bored, despite that his words were as much a threat as a promise.
Mand'alors rarely had spouses that survived them. The ones that did were almost always kept as political prisoners against their own clans. Sometimes the "devoted" ones were locked in the tomb of their 'alors with the weapons they'd gifted each other, expected to kill themselves as a show of their love.
"We weren't married."
Jango leveled an unimpressed look on him. "Because you insisted you were a Jedi."
"I am a Jedi!"
"No. You are a Mandalorian, now, Ben. And you'll be happy to be one, considering what will be happening to the remaining Jedi."
Obi-Wan bit his lip, knowing nothing he said, certainly not in public, would change whatever Jango's plans were.
What Jaster's plans had been.
He was guided away by guards he vaguely recognized, even as Jango outlined the terms of surrender to the rest of the Council, hiding behind the walls of their home. He would not see what destruction was leveled against his people, even though he'd feel it all, and know the man he loved had planned it.
Summary: Outsiders, foreigners, didn't have souls.
Details: Pre/Obi-Wan. Daemon AU.
Content Warnings: Torture, major consent issues.
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"Aruetiise don't have souls," Pre murmured from somewhere beside him, his fingers tracing down Obi-Wan's back, pulling at the cuts he made.
Obi-Wan didn't make a sound, bit into the gag harder. He wouldn't give Pre the satisfaction.
"But you, Ben'ika, you always deserved one. And even though you left me, I know it was jetiise brainwashing that stole you away."
Something was building around them, not quite the Darkside. He tried to twist in his restraints, but they didn't allow any movement. In a corner, Mirdalar watched as intensely as Pre must have been, eyes reflecting in the light.
"You're supposed to swear the Resol'nare, first, before this ceremony, but I know your heart. You would, if you thought you could."
Somewhere, someone was chanting, an old dialect of Mando'a that he couldn't translate into anything comprehendable. The pressure increased, buzzing against Obi-Wan's skin, sinking down into it.
It moved heedless of his shields, overwhelming in it's strength. He felt it wrap around his Force presence from deep inside and that was horrible enough, but then he felt it pull.
He screamed into the gag.
The pain was everywhere, in every part of him. The Force writhed with it as Obi-Wan did, clutching at him even though here it was weak and he was weaker still.
Pulling became tearing. Unbearable. Incomprehensible. Until something inside of him cracked, gave.
He must have passed out.
Obi-Wan woke up feeling weak and less. Like he'd lost something intrinsic to him. Like there was a hole inside that would never be filled.
Mirdalar was near his face when he opened his eyes, fangs gleaming in the soft light of fading torches. Pre was beside him, too, gently stroking Obi-Wan's hair. Mirdalar's paw moved, stroking in time something he held and for a second Obi-Wan felt both movements. The thing moved and a small, weak looking lothcat stared back at Obi-Wan.
"Your soul will settle in a few months, it's just experimenting now," Pre murmured, like he didn't see the horror on Obi-Wan's face, like he was misinterpreting why Obi-Wan was displeased. "Once you recover, you can swear yourself to me, but even more, the Manda has shown you its favor."
The creature across from him inched towards his face, reaching out to touch him. Obi-Wan had been crying from the pain, but it was despair that made the tears flow now.
Pre kissed their paths, careful not to get too close to the creature. "I know, I know. It's such a happy occasion. You're a Mandalorian, now, Ben'ika."
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Notes: If it's not obvious: Mandalorians have daemons and most other people don't. The Mandalorians have a ceremony to give people daemons, however, and Pre non-consensually does it to Obi-Wan, tearing his soul in half.
Summary: “Seeing you with someone else makes me sick to my stomach.”
Details: past-Pre/Obi-Wan. Rex/Obi-Wan. Dark.
Content Warnings: Torture.
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“Seeing you with someone else makes me sick to my stomach.”
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to check on Rex, to make sure he was okay. He’d stopped even making noises of pain, but Obi-Wan hoped that meant he had passed out, that he was getting a moment’s respite. He wouldn’t draw attention back to him.
“I don’t belong to you,” he hissed, gasping when a hand gripped his neck and squeezed.
“Look at me.” He snapped his eyes opened, worried what would happen if he didn’t. “You were mine, from that very first day. You could pretend it was a mission, pretend you were a spy, but we both know you were at home with us, with me.”
Pre was looming over him, eyes narrowed, searching as if Obi-Wan’s face would give away some sign of the love he thought would be there. And maybe once, traitorously, he could have loved Pre, when sinking deep into his persona of a Death Watch recruit to protect Satine.
He sucked in a breath, deciding playing along might be the only way to get Rex out alive. “Pre, I thought...you’d moved on. Especially after you found out what I am.”
“Was forced to be,” he dismissed, so easily, as if Obi-Wan didn’t choose everyday to stay a Jedi. “The Manda called to you, you’ll be Cin Vhetin, none of your life before will matter.” His grip softened as he smiled down at Obi-Wan.
“You did all of this to get to me?”
“Of course I did. I’d do even more for you, cyare.”
Obi-Wan forced himself to smile back, drawing on all his training and experience to make it look sincere. “I’m so lucky to have you, cyar’ika. Why don’t you let me out of these cuffs and I’ll show you?”
Chuckling, Pre pulled back, turning his attention back in the direction that Obi-Wan had been praying to the Force he wouldn’t look again. “After we get rid of Fett’s clone, then we can catch up.”
Summary: “You’re mine, do you understand. You belong to me.”
Details: Jango/Obi-Wan. Soulmate AU.
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Obi-Wan twisted out of Jango’s hold, a mirthless laugh bursting from him. “You’re the one who did this. It’s your fault we’re in this position.”
With a soulmark that should have linked the two of them together, two halves of one soul, meant to complete each other. And instead it was copied onto every single one of the clones, an unbearable pull that made Obi-Wan’s soul ache every moment he was on Kamino. He felt like he was being pulled apart, he wanted to tear himself apart to get it to stop.
“They’re copies, flesh droids,” Jango snarled, grabbing for him again, this time getting in too close too quickly for Obi-Wan to avoid being slammed against the wall. “Once we complete the bond, they won’t matter.”
“You think, you hope.” Obi-Wan’s lip curled in disgust. “For all we know, it’s all or nothing, cyar’ika,” he bit out the term of endearment with spite, knowing how much Jango enjoyed the knowledge Obi-Wan was fluent in Mando’a already.
The frustrated noise Jango let out was matched by the heavy press of his body, the crashing of a mouth onto Obi-Wan’s. It wasn’t enough, they’d need to do more to complete the bond. And for all Obi-Wan threw the words at Jango like a weapon, he was terrified about what would happen if that wasn’t enough.
Millions of soulmates. He didn’t even know if he wanted one.
“I’ve loved you for years,” the tone was calm, matter-of-fact, at odds with the words.
Obi-Wan bit back a scoff. “Do you even know what love is?” he countered, turning to face the Immortal Emperor with a carefully bland expression.
Vitiate didn’t try to hide his amusement. “You are like no other–”
“I’m a time traveler stuck in the past, I would hope that was a unique situation.”
“–is it so difficult to believe you could fascinate me enough?”
“Ah, fascination. Is that what you’re referring to as love?”
He was playing a dangerous game, he knew, on the edge of mocking Vitiate. Perhaps, he thought, watching the body Vitiate possessed approach him, that was his appeal. Even few of his enemies would speak in such a way to Valkorion, fewer still who knew what he was would do so.
“For you I feel something I never have for another, is that not enough?”
Obi-Wan thought of the Sith artifact locked away from him that had brought him here, of his requests to return to his time that had never been acknowledged. At the war that would soon rage again through the galaxy because of this being.
“I was not aware that you knew what ‘enough’ meant.”
He tensed, but the hand that Vitiate raised only stroked down the side of his face, giving the illusion of tenderness. “There are events coming that you want to stop, you hide the future well, but I can feel it from you. Through me, you could reach your goals.”
The irony of the offer was not lost on Obi-Wan.
“Perhaps.”
There would be ways to use this, to use Vitiate, and Obi-Wan had never been above using others.
Summary: "Children shouldn't play with blasters."
"Who said I was playing?"
Details: De-aged AU.
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“Children shouldn’t play with blasters.” The person seemed well-meaning enough, looking at Obi-Wan and seeing just a Core-raised child.
He stared them in the face as he finished breaking down the blaster, hands running through the old pattern he’d perfected in the sewers under Zehava. “Who said I was playing?”
The person--Cody, he’d said his name was, and there was enough weight to it in the Force that Obi-Wan knew he should know this person--stared. Unease was curling around him as he registered what Obi-Wan was doing, how he was doing it.
A flare of disquiet came from beside them--Knight Skywalker, Obi-Wan remembered the other Jedi was called. “You...don’t remember anything about this time, you said?”
Obi-Wan frowned. “No, I told you, I was in an abandoned warehouse on Manda’yaim with Satine and then I woke up here, in that shrine.” Master Qui-Gon wouldn’t be asking all these silly questions over and over, he’d assess the situation and then get over it and move on with their mission.
“I’m fifteen, you know, I’ve been a Padawan for years. We can take out those--what did you call them, Separatists?--on this planet, then get back to that shrine and figure things out from there. The mission is most important.”
Skywalker cursed in very fluent sounding Huttese under his breath. “Is that what you were taught?”
He leveled an unimpressed look at the Knight, wondering who had taught him that he was so willing to put off an important mission just to protect one child. “We’re Jedi, we have to put the good of the many before the good of the few.”
“Sir--uh--Padawan Kenobi,” Cody drew his attention back to him, feeling so uncertain and lost in the Force that something in Obi-Wan wanted to reach out and comfort him. “This isn’t just a mission, we’re at war.”
“I’m aware of that, Commander. This isn’t my first war.”
The unease built again, to a point that Obi-Wan couldn’t pinpoint exactly who it was from or if it was just from everyone. There had been nothing but truth in their words when they spoke of knowing him, working with him, but how much could they know him if they didn’t even know that?
Summary: Being a crechemaster hadn't stopped Obi-Wan from becoming a Soresu master.
Details: pre-Jaster/Obi-Wan. Crechemaster!AU.
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Obi-Wan had been something of a contradiction among the Jedi–trained as he was by Qui-Gon Jinn, with an exemplary record (at least towards the end of his Padawanship) and great skill with a lightsaber, no one had expected it when he decided to “throw it all away” (in the eyes of some of the Order) to become a crechemaster.
They could not understand how stressful his younger years were, how much he longed for the simplicity of a set duty and goals. And if, perhaps, he was motivated to make sure that none of the children under his care experienced even half of what he had…that he kept unsaid, as well.
So when the surprise attack came, any Jedi present could have told the Mandalorians that Crechemaster Kenobi would fight, and fight well, to the death if need be. The Mandalorians, though, had not been expecting it.
For the younglings and their caregivers, the Mandalorians used stun bolts only, unlike for the rest of the Temple. But some quickly changed the strength on their blasters when Obi-Wan began plowing through them, with no visible hesitation and a fine hand at finding the vulnerable points on their armor.
Behind him the last of his charges were filing out, into a passageway that would be collapsed so no one could follow. It was only once that had taken place, when the small wave of the sudden explosion made the Mandalorians stumble, that Obi-Wan turned off his lightsaber and surrendered himself.
Mand’alor Jaster Mereel, who had been watching the fight with some interest, looked between the once-tunnel and the caregiver and thought he might not be the only Mando’ad there wondering if he wasn’t in love.
No one protested taking Obi-Wan alive, if over the internal comms there were some disagreements over who would be the ones to cuff him and escort him out to one of their waiting ships. Jaster pulled rank, something he rarely did, and it was the Mand’alor himself who pulled the crechemaster through the ruined halls of the Temple.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find your children,” Jaster assured him, pointedly ignoring the fact such was the last thing Obi-Wan wanted.
It might take a little time, but he thought this particular Jedi would make a brilliant Mandalorian. And would be well-worth Jango’s disapproval at having a younger step-buir.
Details: Fox/Obi-Wan. Established relationship. Somewhat cracky.
xxxxxx
“You’re dripping blood on the carpet.” Obi-Wan hadn’t even looked up from his datapad as he made the declaration, tone bored.
Glancing down at himself, Fox grimaced. “Sith Lords bleed a lot.” That only got him a thoughtful noise in reply. “…Would you like to assist?”
Now Obi-Wan did look up, setting down the datapad (and Fox could only imagine what sort of incriminating evidence he was turning up on that) and stalking over to him. Jedi often moved like that, Fox had found, in his increasing exposure to them–like graceful predators barely remembering the rules of physical bodies they didn’t entirely have to follow. In some of the Jedi, it made Fox nervous, drew on buried instincts of fight-or-flight that the Kaminoans couldn’t entirely destroy.
In Obi-Wan it made something inside of Fox perk up, curling in excitement at all the possibilities presented.
He had it bad, he knew.
“I suppose we’ll just have to write it off. A shame, Sidious collected so many priceless antiques,” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft, accompanied by a hand hovering over the parts of Fox’s armor now a darker red of drying blood, before gently cupping his cheek. “Did I tell you, yet, how amazing that was?”
Fox flushed, wishing for his bucket until he remembered that would mean Obi-Wan couldn’t be touching him like this. “You weren’t too bad yourself, General.”
“My dear, we just murdered the Chancellor together, I think you can call me by my name.”
He’d never actually said it outloud, he didn’t think. It had always been “General Kenobi,” even when speaking with Cody and Rex about him. No matter how much they might have spoken over notes and flimsywork, that had seemed too intimate.
Murder was an intimate thing, he supposed. “Obi-Wan.” The name rolled off his tongue, lighting up his senses, and he didn’t know if it was Obi-Wan or himself that closed the distance between them, lips meeting.
Fox had never actually been kissed before but he was certain Obi-Wan was very, very good at it.
Summary: After Anakin falls, Obi-Wan is left alone with the Son.
Details: The Son/Obi-Wan. Mortis AU.
xxxxxx
Obi-Wan stared in horror as Anakin left him stranded in the middle of the Well with the Son.
"He's mine, now," the Son murmured, the truth of it ringing through the Force even as Obi-Wan's mind reeled away from acceptance.
His shock dimmed his senses and he wasn't ready for the looming figure of the Son to suddenly be there, in front of him, glowing eyes boring into Obi-Wan's.
"You must feel so alone, so lost. You did everything you could for him, after all. But he could never escape his destiny."
"To bring balance to the Force," Obi-Wan bit out, the line the Qui-Gon had been the one to believe.
The Son threw back his head, laughing, the echoes of it in the Dark that was near-suffocating around them making Obi-Wan feel so small. "I have seen his future, as has he now. There has never been anything for him but the Dark." He leaned down, bringing his face close to Obi-Wan's. "Such a shame, if Father had cared half as much about me as you do him...well, I wouldn't take it for granted."
Obi-Wan wanted to protest, but he knew he didn't have enough information. The Father might not want the Son dead, might have let the Son hurt him, but that didn't mean he had shown him he cared.
"Perhaps you should tell that to Anakin," he says, instead, drawing another horrible laugh from the Son.
"Perhaps I should show you, instead."
He took the gargoyle form he had used before, scooping Obi-Wan up before he could flee (for all the good it would do him, at the bottom of the Well). Something in the force of it, or maybe simply the Force from him, made it too hard to keep concentrating.
When he woke up, he was in a room, on a bed, the Son above him. "Once I have taken care of the Father, there will be nothing in my way. I will leave this place. If you're very good, I might take you with me."
"Anakin--"
"Is mine. He won't be able to help you."
The Son's hand carded through Obi-Wan's hair, the Son's lips brushing against Obi-Wan's own, then sliding down his cheek, until he was breathing icy cold breath against Obi-Wan's neck.
"But, don't worry, you won't even remember needing help."
Sharp teeth broke through the skin of his neck, but it wasn't the pain of the injury that had Obi-Wan crying out. Something was inside of him, flowing from the bite. His mind flashed to Ahsoka as she had been under the Son's influence and he did his best to fight, shoring up the (weak, so weak) Light that he could.
He wouldn't last long.
"Don't worry, perhaps I'll let you go, once the Chosen One and I have finished. I will so miss my Sister and you'll fill her place so well, as diminished as it will be."
Summary: The Mand'alor's soulmark is a sign of the legitimacy of their rule, of the Manda's favor.
Details: Pre/Obi-Wan. Soulmate AU.
xxxxxx
Jaster Mereel went nearly his entire time as Mand'alor without a soulmate. It was, many would say, one of the reasons Tor Vizsla could encourage others to break away, to separate the Faithful into three camps--Mereel's True Mandalorians, Vizsla's Death Watch, and those neutral parties who were content to see how the dust settled.
A year after adopting Jango Fett, Mereel's soulmark finally came in--it was a sign, many said, that House Mereel was on the rise--a soulmate and an heir within such a short time.
And then, before anyone had found the Mand'alor's soulmate, when they would still be but a child, Mereel was betrayed and killed.
Fett's mark, the Mand'alor's mark, came in nearly instantly, as the Manda passed the mantle down to him. Somewhere out there was a child who would be Fett's match.
A child who, through their connection, would suffer nearly as much as Fett did, from Galidraan, from his years enslaved.
When Fett finally returned to Mandalore to take his revenge, killing Tor Vizsla, he thought little of the mark he wore, of the teenager who was unlucky enough to be on the other side of it, only of the pain in his soul and how little anything but pain and vengeance meant to him, anymore.
He didn't even notice when the mark began to fade, not until it was gone and he was left with another thing he'd been too weak to keep.
There must always be a Mand'alor, but there was only one group that was still putting forward a person for the position. And so, even without the backing of some majority, the title and all that went with it through the Manda fell on Pre Vizsla.
Along with the Mand'alor's mark, the Mand'alor's soulmate.
Even without that soulmate present, the mark showed Vizsla's claim to the title to any of the Faithful who might have doubted him, and those who followed him--whether under the mantle of Death Watch or from the shadows, grew in number year by year.
Vizsla almost didn't want to find his soulmate, not yet. That they hadn't come forward meant they must be aruetii (he refused to believe the Mand'alor's soulmate could be a dar'Manda New Mandalorian) and Vizsla wanted to show them what Mandalore should be, not what it currently was.
Their attacks on the New Mandalorians and the others exploiting the sector increased, more and more worlds coming under the Faithful's mantle whether by choice or force. Until the dar'Manda Duchess Satine Kryze had no choice but to reach out to the Republic for help, like the puppet she would always be.
Two Jedi came, as they had before, Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had once been Kryze's pet Padawan, and that Knight's own Padawan in turn.
When Vizsla and Kenobi clashed blades, black and blue meeting with a jarring dissonance in the middle of Sundari, the shockwave almost knocked them both off their feet. Kenobi did stumble, his hand pressing against his chest--where Vizsla's own mark was aching with near-completion.
There were many reasons to curse Fett, that he'd clung to the title of Mand'alor when Kenobi was last on Mandalore and kept any from knowing the Mand'alor's soulmate was present was just the newest.
Sundari fell, Kryze was imprisoned to keep the New Mandalorians in line, and Vizsla set about teaching his soulmate exactly what they meant to each other.
xxxxxx
A/N: We were joking on Sunflare about preobi and then someone was like "Preobi Fate Comes Early" and I thought I should do a preobi soulmate AU but then didn't really want to use my Mandalorian soulmate AU idea, just something kind of similar.
I may someday make this into a longer piece, but I'm too busy right now.
Summary: Fox finds out the open secret about General Kenobi.
Details: pre-Fox/Obi-Wan. Sithspawn Stewjoni AU.
xxxxxx
When Fox found the sloppily filed paperwork to renew the Jedi Order’s permit for a Class S Bioweapon he thought it was a joke. The carefully worded reply he received to his even more carefully worded response to the origin form was even more baffling.
He didn’t actually have a reason to deny it–in fact, with the war on, technically the Jedi didn’t even need to go through him for weapons permits, even for such extreme ones–but he couldn’t stop the rampant curiosity.
Finding out the permit was so they could keep custody of a Jedi was…not the answer he was expecting.
Cody’s General, he realized, by carefully comparing records, and confirmed that Cody, and in fact nearly all of the other Commanders, were well aware of that fact.
“He doesn’t like to advertise it, obviously, but it’s too useful against the Darksiders Dooku keeps shoving at us not to take advantage,” was Cody’s casual response, as if a Jedi being a Stewjoni was of no significance.
The thing about Obi-Wan Kenobi was…he was everywhere. On the front, playing media darling on some newly liberated world, and on Coruscant, stalking through the halls of the Senate to plead for more resources and support for the war.
Fox would be lying if he claimed he hadn’t even paid attention to him–he wouldn’t? He was beautiful, an accomplished warrior, and one of the most outspoken pro-clone advocates among the natborns.
Knowing he wasn’t a person, by Republic standards, was…Fox wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He wasn’t a person, his Vod'e weren’t, the Jedi had to be.
And, yet, here was not just a non-sentient, but a restricted weapon, braving the very heart of the Republic time and again.
Surely anyone else who knew, or even suspected, could see he was a predator underneath that veneer, that there was some feral edge in his eyes as he verbally sparred with the Senators. Fox could, now that he knew to look.
It somehow only made Kenobi seem more beautiful.
(If Fox, sometimes, imagined what it would be like to see Kenobi physically tear into some of those Senators the way he verbally could, well, who would blame him for a daydream or five?)
He approved the renewal, burying it so far down that it would be next to impossible for anyone else to notice.
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