#*does a jig* more wholesome Not Dark jangobi to welcome in the new year | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crispyjenkins · 3 years

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dream clouds, ghost ground (real friends, dead hometown)

an accidental jangobi au

( and also @batsutousai and @the-mandalorian-clone-lover but it won’t let me tag you :(

i uhhhhhh plotted this from my prompt roster without rereading the actual ask, so this is completely out of timeline for the anon’s prompt? and i didn’t realise until i was halfway through?? so here’s this??? i already have ideas for a sequel???? (and it’s 3157 words gl)

some context: there’s no age-out, but obi-wan is still sent to the agricorp and stays there. yarael poof inspects the facility 7 years later, and obi has visions of korda 6/galidraan and finagles themself onto the rescue mission of the true mandalorians. cue chaotic, still-has-the-impulsivity-that-got-them-kicked-out obi-wan. who is also nb just for funsies.

title from start//end by eden

Obi-Wan Kenobi is not as Yarael had expected, but then, he had never met them while they lived in the Temple.

The young Jedi breaks away from their group of friends on the other side of Bandomeer’s main greenhouse as soon as they catch sight of Yarael, the other novitiates trying and failing to hold Obi-Wan back from running through the dark green garden beds right up to him. They don’t seem to care that they’ve interrupted Master Fodvam’s tour of the facility, and ignores her to glare at Yarael with a fire in their eyes that he vaguely remembers as being the cause for their failing the initiate program. Stocky and toned with dark freckles on every bit of exposed skin from working the desert Enrichment Zones, Obi-Wan glares up at Yarael with a set to their lips so very like Master Yoda (and Qui-Gon Jinn, for that matter) that Yarael raises a placating hand to the Kubaz master at his side and smiles back down at Obi-Wan.

At first flush, he might have thought Obi-Wan approached him to beg to be allowed to return to the Temple and become a knight —it would not be the first time an old initiate had done so, though they usually attempted such an action much sooner after their reassignment— but instead, Obi-Wan wastes no time in demanding, “You have to go Korda 6, the lives of thousands depend on it.”

“And why is that, young one?” Yarael returns calmly, though Obi-Wan must be pushing seventeen standard; everyone is young to him these days.

Master Fodvam sighs, reaching out to put a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, but they shake her off. “Obi-Wan,” she admonishes softly, for all the good that does.

“There’s going to be a genocide,” Obi-Wan insists over the sound of their friends trying to call them back across the greenhouse, “Death Watch is going to kill the Mand’alor and slaughter the True Mandalorians, and no one here will listen to me.”

Curious about their absolute certainty, Yarael gently pushes against their mind, but has to jerk away when the Jedi shoves him right back out, Yarael’s second brain fizzling like it had been shocked by a bad power coupling. Perhaps Master Yoda had been too hasty in handing this one over to the Council of Reassignment, when even though Yarael can sense their fear and hurt, their lingering doubt in the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan has not a single crack in their shields. Not a single doubt in themselves.

Master Fodvam shakes her head, but it appears more out of a helplessness than disappointment. “Master Poof,” she says, “Novitiate Kenobi has spoken of this premonition for the last standard tenday, and I’m afraid none of the masters here are versed in the Unifying Force.”

“At all,” they stress.

Interesting indeed, that Master Yoda would nominate Obi-Wan for the Agricorp over the other branches, then, for surely they would have shown precognition as a crècheling. “Novitiate Kenobi, you clearly have complete faith in such a vision.” Yarael doesn’t try to enter their mind again, but does open his senses between them, benignly inviting Obi-Wan into his own instead. “Show me.”

Obi-Wan is bewildered for all of a moment, eyebrows pinched, but then they blink in understanding and snap their eyes closed. A flurry of images is all but shoved into Yarael’s lower brain, a confusing mash of forests and armor and blasterfire, but, yes, there is Vizsla, and there is Mereel, and there is a Mandalorian in blue armor leaving Mereel to die on the battlefield.

“How are you sure this is Korda 6?” Yarael asks, opening his eyes to Obi-Wan’s mentally-drained expression, tanned skin sallow under the freckles.

“I’ve heard some of the mission report,” they say, and let Master Fodvam gently support them where they had pushed her away before; Yarael will certainly have to teach Obi-Wan to strengthen their mental stamina. “Every night for the last tenday I’ve seen this battle, I’ve seen ten different ways it could go, and all of them end with the True Mandalorians’ slaughter, unless we do something.”

The Quermian looks Obi-Wan up and down once more, reaching as far into the Force as he can manage, and he doesn’t have a lifetime seat on the High Council for nothing.

“Then we’ve not a moment to lose, do we?”

If Obi-Wan is surprised Yarael insists on taking them to his ship to join him for his update to the Council, they don’t show it, and don’t appear nervous at all as the holocall connects. In fact, they stand off to the side with their arms behind their back and a serene expression on their face, right until Master Rancisis admits a contingent of Jedi had just left to help a planet deal with a violent insurgence of Mandalorian commandos, led by Jango Fett.

And then Obi-Wan only blinks before turning his gaze up to Yarael. “Then we are too late for Korda 6. We must make for Galidraan.”

The holo of Master Rancisis flickers as he winds and unwinds his appendages until he finally says, “We did not tell you the planet’s name.”

On Rancisis’ left, Master Yoda taps his cane against the floor. “Clear it is, that truth in Novitiate Kenobi’s visions there is. To what extent, we do not know, but great pain I sense if act quickly we do not.”

After meeting each of the other coucilmember’s eyes, Master Rancisis leans forward in his seat and points one undulating finger at Obi-Wan. ”You will go with Master Poof to Galidraan, Novitiate Kenobi; if you leave now, you may make it in time to prevent the Jedi from having a hand in this massacre.”

Obi-Wan checks with Yarael first, their deference almost endearing as they look up at him for confirmation; Yarael cannot help a small smile, and if the Council has not guessed his intentions by now, then they are as blind as a naked womp-rat. “Well, Novitiate Kenobi?” he prompts, “Are you prepared to see this through properly?”

Obi-Wan drops their shoulders to raise their chin instead. “To be truthful, Master Poof, I would have been disappointed to be left behind.”

Obi-Wan is already at the hatch of Master Poof’s cruiser when they finally land as close to the coordinates the Council had given them as they dare, and Obi-Wan sorely wishes they had asked Master Fodvam for a blaster before leaving Bandomeer. Nothing can be done for that now, and there is the more pressing matter that Master Poof had been unable to contact the Jedi already planetside, but perhaps they shouldn’t have expected the Force to make it easy on them.

As soon as the cruiser is settled, Obi-Wan elbows the control panel for the landing hatch and drops right down into the snow; they’re not quite dressed for this weather, not coming straight from the desert Enrichment Zone, but they can hardly feel the cold over the cloying, suffocating fear that saturates the air until even the trees tremble with it. And they might be stronger in the Unifying Force than anyone else in the Agricorp, but Obi-Wan hasn’t been wrist-deep in soil for seven years to come out of it without feeling the Living Force just as strongly.

Run, the trees tell them, and they do, pushing themself up onto more compact snow and taking off for the True Mandalorian camp. Master Poof calls after them, but they don’t slow until they reach the top of the nearest ridge, a sheer drop on the other side right into the camp, and Obi-Wan is forced to look out over their worst vision come to life.

The Mandalorians stand as one facing the opening to the ravine on Obi-Wan’s right, where the Jedi spread out among the tents as Master Dooku reads them a list of false wrongs, and Obi-Wan knows the Mandalorians will not surrender. Mand’alor Mereel’s son stands before Dooku in newly-painted blue and red armor, raising his blaster as Dooku ignites his ’saber, and Master Poof halts abruptly at Obi-Wan’s side and lifts a four-fingered hand, but he won’t be able to Force-suggest anyone in beskar, and—

And he has a lightsaber hanging from his belt.

Obi-Wan had not failed their Jedi training, they were bright and talented and wanted absolutely nothing more than to become a Jedi Knight, but their temper had seen Bruck to the Halls of Healing, and their impulsivity had seen them to the Agricorp despite the potential they had shown in their seven years in the crèche.

Their temper, they have control over that now, Obi-Wan is rarely even angry these days, but their impulsivity has been the, ah... cause for many of the Bandomeer masters’ grey hairs, so to speak.

So Obi-Wan does not think before grabbing Master Poof’s ’saber, barely able to even lift the hilt almost as long as their arm, and leaps from the crumbling snowbank with as much Force behind their feet as they can muster. Sound snaps to silence in their ears, vision narrowing on the scant yard between Jango Fett and his death, as Obi-Wan yanks the Living Force around themself and hauls it up right from the ground, grabs it by the roots of the nearest tree until it sings.

By a miracle of the Force, Obi-Wan lands perfectly between the new Mand’alor and the Jedi, igniting Master Poof’s unusually-yellow lightsaber just in time to deflect Jango’s first blaster bolt right into the ground — the ground that shakes and splits, exploding snow into the air to make way for the evergreen roots that surge through the cracks and grab Dooku’s entire arm, sending his ’saber flying.

Obi-Wan inhales once, twice, before allowing their other senses to flood back to them, and the Force sees fit to immediately make them aware of Master Poof stumbling down the bank after them with his upper hands raised in surrender.

“Peace, Jedi!” he shouts, successfully pulling the gaze of everyone in the ravine away from Dooku’s limb held aloft by mud-slick roots and to himself instead. “We have been misled,” he presses on, almost seeming to glide over the packed snow to stand at Obi-Wan’s back and place a palm between their shoulders, “These Mandalorians know nothing of what you speak, Master Dooku, we are both being played by the Governor of Galidraan.”

Jango Fett growls over his external comms, close enough to make Obi-Wan shiver. “What the kriffing fuck is going on?” he snaps, not bothering to drop his blaster as Obi-Wan glances at him and can just see the shadow of his eyes behind his visor.

“Death Watch had the governor call the Jedi here under false pretences, your grace,” Obi-Wan says, and doesn’t know what to make of the way the Mand’alor twitches at their voice. They can feel their shoulder weakening from hefting such a massive hilt, unwieldy even gripped at the balance point, but Obi-Wan refuses to let their arm shake, not with both sides holding them under such scrutiny; Maker, maybe they should have changed into Jedi robes instead of their dark tunics and kama? It gives them a silhouette neither wholly Mandalorian nor wholly Jedi, and certainly only adds to the confusion.

Nothing to be done about it now.

“The governor lied to the Mandalorians about their targets, to perfectly set them up for a Jedi arbitration,” Master Poof explains. “And of course knew that the Mandalorians would never surrender to the Jedi.” He looks slowly around at both parties, letting his words sink in until the Jedi are shutting their lightsabers off in disgust.

The Mandalorians don’t put away their blasters, obviously, but they do lower them enough to be an act of good faith; only when Jango lowers his own does Obi-Wan power down Master Poof’s ’saber, and is all too happy to hand the weighty thing back to him with a shallow bow.

Master Poof smiles in amusement, clipping the hilt back in its rightful place on his belt, before calmly nodding to Dooku. “Novitiate, you may release Master Dooku now.”

Startled, Obi-Wan immediately calls on the Living Force to pull the roots away from the man and coax them back into the ground, hoping they hadn’t damaged anything enough for the evergreen just up the ridge to suffer.

Dooku massages his red wrist and eyes Obi-Wan carefully, the clouds of breath before his lips casting strange shadows over his face in the dying sunlight. “I was not aware the Agricorp was still teaching Consitor Sato to its novitiates. Nor so... successfully.”

“... Master Fodvam would appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to the High Council.”

“I am on the Council, Novitiate Kenobi,” Master Poof chortles, but turns back to the Mandalorians still effusing bewilderment before the new Mand’alor can decide they really are all better off dead. “Mand’alor Fett, I presume?”

Jango shifts subtly, still close enough for Obi-Wan to watch his eyes dart to the Quermian. “For all of a week, jetii; how you are aware of this already does nothing to convince me to trust you. Any of you.”

Master Poof just smiles serenely. “There is little one cannot gather from the Force upon first meeting, your grace. However, you are correct, and I would not be aware of Jaster Mereel's death if my companion had not told me of it.”

Jango doesn't get the chance to ask him to clarify just what that means, the girl padawan at Dooku's side cutting in rudely,

“And Master Poof, just who is your companion?” as if she can’t tell from Obi-Wan’s attire that they were a Jedi Knight washout.

So maybe Obi-Wan doesn’t have complete mastery of their temper just yet, but they don’t get to snarl back before Master Poof answers cheerfully, "They are my new apprentice!"

Oh.

“Master Poof...?”

“I cannot very well leave a novitiate so strong in the Unifying Force untrained, can I?” Master Poof shakes his head. "As the matter stands, our duty to Galidraan is not yet complete: the governor has pulled both the Jedi and the Senate into his personal affairs, and has allied with a known terrorist group. Master Dooku, might I suggest we make to arrest the actual perpetrator of these crimes?”

“Vizsla will be there,” Jango interrupts. “And he must know his plan has failed by now, you'll be walking right into a trap.”

Obi-Wan raises a brow. “A trap meant for you, your grace. When we engage Governor Martinet, it would be unwise for the True Mandalorians to still be on planet.”

“Why do you keep calling us that?" he snaps, the blue-armoured Mandalorian at his side grabbing his shoulder to hold him back from... striking Obi-Wan? From removing his helmet? Obi-Wan isn't sure.

They are sure that, if the Jedi succeed in apprehending Vizsla, the New Mandalorians will make themselves known much earlier. “One day, soon, you will need to make the distinction between yourselves, and those that will use ‘Mandalorian’ as a ploy for cultural reform, as claim to an identity that is not theirs,” Obi-Wan says, finding Jango’s eyes behind his visor once more. “The Children of the Watch will choose ‘True’ as that distinction of your people in retrospect, some fifty years from now.”

The Mandalorian holding Jango’s shoulder tenses. “Are you some sort of prophet, kih’jetii?”

“Hardly,” they smile, because the Force promises to back off a little after this mess is all said and done, whenever that may be. “But the Force decided I was the most likely candidate to make it here in time to stop a genocide, though I’m not sure if it knew how much information I actually needed. Irregardless, everything from today is now changed from any visions I had seen of it, I’m no more a prophet than you are.”

Jango twitches again strangely, and his companion tightens their grip on their blaster.

“Novitiate Kenobi is right,” Poof interjects gently. “You should take your people to regroup and recover, your grace, you will be of no use to the galaxy dead.”

“Wait,” Jango grits through clenched teeth. “It would... be unfair for us not to aid you in this, not when this was our disaster, too.”

“There is no need for that,” Dooku says regally, Force-calling his ’saber back to his hand. “This has become a Senate matter, and to involve yourselves further would be an unnecessary risk.”

“So you... want us to just leave?”

Dooku raises a single eyebrow, expression blank otherwise, but Obi-Wan still shudders at the dark anger in the man, the rage that had hit its boiling point upon first meeting Jango and believing he had slaughtered almost two hundred innocent activists. The Force warns Obi-Wan about that darkness, the way Dooku has not yet released it; it also gives them hope, though, that the master can be pulled back into the light, with a little persuasion and lots of tea.

The conversation has moved on without them when Obi-Wan tries to focus back on the crisis at hand, Jango’s commandos already starting to pack up the camp while Dooku and Master Poof quietly discuss the Jedi’s next moves. Neither seem to have realised Obi-Wan hadn’t been paying attention, which is just fine by them: Master Fodvam is already at wit’s end trying to keep them focused on anything but plants, somedays.

A heavy gaze pulls their own to look up, across the camp to where Jango oversees his people’s retreat, but Obi-Wan knows the Mand’alor’s attention is on them alone. Obi-Wan gazes right back, refusing to the first to look away, and is somehow thrilled rather than disappointed when Jango does just that.

He does not say goodbye, but that’s alright, Obi-Wan knows they’ll be meeting again soon.

Following a stomping Jango up into Jaster’s old ship, Myles won’t stop laughing at him.

“‘The one who will speak of the truth,’” he quotes gleefully, just as jovial in his punching of Jango’s sides as he attempts to unbuckle his helmet, and he doesn’t back down even when his Mand’alor growls at him. “Kriff, who knew that witch would end up being so literal?”

“I told you I don’t believe in that osik,” Jango snaps, trying to shove his best friend off of him. “I don't believe in that old hag's ‘prophecy’ any more than I believe in Jedi competence.”

“Ah ah, Jang’alor, you shouldn’t speak of your ba’buir like that, what would Jaster say?”

Jango finally gets his helmet off and yanks his hood down so he can get right in Myles’ face to snarl, “That adiik is not the future of Mandalore, kriff whatever the fuck Jaster’s buir says! One dream and one crazy old enby witch spouting oracle nonsense does not make Obi-Wan Kenobi my destiny.”

Jango doesn’t need to see Myles’ face to know it lights up in victory. “Nobody said their full name, Jang’alor.”

“Finish that thought and I’ll throw you out the airlock.”

Mando’a:

Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore.

jetii — “Jedi” sing, pl. jetiise

kih'jetii — “Little Jedi”, highly offensive

osik — impolite form of “dung”, shit

ba'buir/e — “grandparent/s”, gender neutral

adiik — a child aged from 3 to 13, used here as an insult

Cansitor Sato — Traditional High Galactic for “Plant Surge”, a Living Force-related technique of controlling plants (usually vines) to ensnare or slow an enemy; in legends, this was taught to Agricorp members as well, headcanoned here to be usually only taught to master/older members.

Novitiate — personal headcanon for the form of address for non-master members of the Jedi Corps.

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