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feybarn · 18 hours

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And I return with some ghost Obi. Thanks @queenaelinwildfire!

Spinning off of Sparky, ghost Obi haunting Jango Ooo bonus points if it’s smol obi wan

When the boy first appeared, Jango had been sure it’d been the spice. Hallucinations were hardly new and the young boy who stared at him with frightened eyes was hardly the strangest thing he saw. In fact, the boy who whispered warnings about when the slavers were coming, and told him that Neeva—the young togruta girl a few slaves down—was dying, and told him stories about men in white armor who died forgotten heroes, was perhaps the kindest hallucination that Jango experienced.

Except the boy didn’t go away. Not when Jango killed the slavers. Not when Jango detoxed. Not when Jango left behind all but the scars of his time with the slavers.

Jango hadn’t quite believed in ghosts before, but he had no other explanation for the boy that followed him unerringly from the slavers’ ship to Concord Dawn to the ugly, worn down ship he eventually acquired.

“You have a reason for haunting me, kid?” he asked.

The boy frowned. His hand came to his neck where a collar rested.

Jango had tried not to think about that particular accessory too much.

“I don’t know,” the boy admitted. “I… I don’t remember how I got here.”

Jango was going to guess that the answer included ‘dying’. “You need help moving on?” Jango asked. Though he had no idea how he would help some ghost move on. Jaster would have, though.

Jango blocked out the thought.

“I don’t know,” the boy admitted. “I don’t think so. I think I’m here for a reason.”

Great. A reason. That explained so much. “What’s your name?”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “I… I don’t know.” The boy sounded alarmed, as though he’d just realized he didn’t have a name.

Well, there went trying to track down where the boy had come from. All Jango had to go on was the rough mining clothes the boy was wearing, several sizes too large for him, and the collar around his neck.

Mining colonies weren’t exactly sparse in this galaxy. Even narrowing it down to mining colonies that used slavery didn’t help.

The Republic might claim that slavery was outlawed, but that didn’t mean much, Jango had discovered.

“Do you have a name you want me to call you?” Jango asked, because while Jango could keep calling him ‘the boy’ it seemed…

Wrong.

If Myles were here, Myles would have already named the kid. It’d probably have been something meaningful and well thought out.

If Silas were here, he’d have helped the kid come up with a name on his own. He’d have turned it into a game, until the kid didn’t even remember he was upset.

If Jaster were here…

Jango tried not to think about what Jaster would have done.

The boy frowned and Jango could tell he was thinking. “Obi,” the boy said finally. “I think… I think I like Obi.”

“Obi,” Jango agreed. He wondered if it was the kid’s actual name, hidden in the depths of his mind. “You going to keep following me around?”

Obi tilted his head. “I think so. I don’t want you to be alone.” Obi’s gaze was piercing. “Are you going to go home?” he asked. “Now that you’re free?”

Jango swallowed. “I don’t have a home to go to.”

Obi’s eyes echoed with a terrible sadness. “You’re afraid.”

Jango closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, words coming out short.

“Sometimes I dream I can’t go home either,” Obi whispered. “In the dream, I want the desert sands to strip me to my bones.”

Jango flinched, but added the piece of information to the possibility of where Obi had come from. Though, there were a spare few mining colonies on desert planets. The combination was rarely conducive to the most valuable of mining operations.

“It’s not the same kid.”

Obi stared at him. “I think they’d want you to come back.” His hand rubbed at the metal collar around his neck again. “Wherever home is. They… they probably miss you.”

Jango scoffed. He’d gotten so many of their people killed, the ones that remained could hardly want him back. “Not likely, kid.”

“In my dreams, they died because of me,” Obi whispered.

Apparently being a ghost made the kid telepathic. Jango was not a fan. But it was… it was a kid, a dead kid. Jango didn’t have the heart to try to get rid of him, unless it was to bring him home.

“Just a dream, kid.”

Obi looked away. “What if it’s not? Do… do we never get to go home?”

Jango sighed. “Come on, let me teach you how to navigate in and out of hyperspace.” He’d noticed that the kid looked like he enjoyed watching Jango in the cockpit. Sure, the kid would never need the skills himself, being dead and all, but Jango didn’t know what else to do with the dead kid that was stuck with Jango.

Obi nodded, following Jango back to the cockpit. It was the end of the conversation.

Or it should have been.

The question haunted Jango as the months passed. Would he ever get to go home? With the sins that weighed so heavy on his shoulders? It’d been years. Years as a slave and now nearly a year free.

He looked at Obi, who hadn’t aged since the day he’d found Jango in the hull of the slave ship. Just a kid. Always a kid. A dead kid that couldn’t go home. Whose closest thing to home was Jango and Jango’s ship.

Jango had been determined not to think of it, of what he’d lost, of what was gone, of what he could never allow himself to have again.

Do we never get to go home?

Was that why the kid was stuck as a ghost? Had he told himself he was never allowed to go home? Had he trapped himself in some sort of eternal punishment.

Jango had never heard of it happening before, but he wasn’t a scholar, and this universe was full of things stranger than Jango could believe.

Do we never get to go home?

Was that why the kid had found him? Because he saw Jango’s punishment as his own?

Because this life Jango lived now, constantly chasing the next bounty, with nothing but a ghost at his side… was it a life? Was Jango just as much a ghost as the dead kid that haunted him.

“Where are we going next?” Obi asked when the next hunt finished.

Jango stared at the controls on the cockpit’s dashboard.

Do we never get to go home?

Did he?

The kid needed a home. Jango… Jango couldn’t give him the one he’d been taken from. But…

“Concord Dawn,” he said.

“Where’s that?” Obi asked. “Is there a hunt there?”

Jango shook his head. “No, kid. We’re going home.”

#star wars #fey's writing #obi-wan kenobi #jango fett #ghost obi-wan

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feybarn · 8 days

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feybarn · 12 days

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I'm not going in any specific order, just in the order in which these prompts nudge at me. This one is from @bolithesenate. Not entirely sure this is what you were imagining... the crime got replaced by Dooku being... Dooku-y and judgmental. It also got a little longer than planned... But I kind of want to play with Komari and Obi-Wan some more... so maybe???

*tosses Komari & Obi or Rael & Obi as Master-Padawan pairs here and runs away real quick*. I just like imagining the total chaos these would bring. Especially the Komari & Obi,,,, what crimes would they commit.

Yan stared down at the tiny thing—an initiate in pristine white tunics, staring up at him with wide, guileless eyes—in front of him. “What is this, Komari?” he asked, edging away.

“My new padawan,” his apprentice informed him, tone nearly belligerent.

Yan sent her his most censuring look, but Komari didn’t quail or retreat. Instead her jaw jutted out in sheer obstinance. It was… unusual. Komari had always been nearly desperate to keep him happy with her, but in this moment, such thoughts seemed to be the furthest thing from her mind.

“You are a padawan,” he informed her. “And still several years away from your knighting.” He glanced back at the—oh Force—child, who was still watching him silently, those wide eyes making Yan entirely uncomfortable.

“Well, he will be my padawan,” Komari informed him, not even the slightest bit deterred. “His name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I found him and a padawan crawling through the air ducts trying to get into the kitchens.” She sounded disgustingly proud. “I’m going to teach him how to do it better.”

Yan wanted to know what, exactly, Komari had been doing investigating the air ducts, but decided that was a lesser concern at the moment. “And where is this other initiate?”

“Quinlan’s a padawan, Master Dooku,” the initiate corrected him. “Master Tholme took him on as soon as he turned ten.”

Tholme. Tholme was from Qui-Gon’s creche clan, he remembered. A Shadow. Yan had heard that he’d taken on some sort of rapscallion apprentice, but he hadn’t had a reason to be introduced. “And how old are you?” Yan asked the initiate.

The initiate shifted on his feet a little. No sense of confidence, Yan diagnosed. They’d have to do something about that.

Force, no, there would be no doing something about anything. Because this was not Komari’s future padawan.

“Eight,” the initiate told him.

Five years until the child was thirteen. It was possible that Komari would be knighted by then. But highly unlikely.

Yan narrowed his eyes at the child, who didn’t look away. Perhaps he didn’t lack confidence entirely; Yan was aware that many of the younger generations considered him… intimidating. An impression he had done nothing to try to alleviate.

“Well, Initiate Kenobi, I’m afraid that Komari is mistaken. She will be returning you to the Initiate Quarters immediately.” He turned his gaze on Komari, making certain that it was perfectly clear that he would not take her insubordination on this matter.

Komari glared at him, but wrapped an arm around the Initiate’s shoulders. “Come on, Obi-Wan. I’ll take you back to the Initiate Quarters. For now.”

Yan shook his head as she left with the initiate in tow.

Her future padawan indeed. Yan thought not.

5 years later

“Where is Knight Vosa?” Yan asked, searching through the ranks of Jedi. Galidraan’s air was cold against his skin where his robes did not protect him. They were preparing to approach the Mandalorian encampment with orders to surrender, but he could not find his former apprentice.

Knight Thriff winced. “Uh, the padawan said something about a bad feeling?” Thriff said. “Knight Vosa decided they needed to investigate. They left before dawn. No one knows where they went.”

Yan had not expected for Komari to be knighted so soon, but finding Initiate Kenobi five years ago had lit a fire inside of her that he hadn’t been able to temper. She’d been determined to be knighted in time to take Initiate Kenobi on.

She had dedicated herself so entirely to her training that Yan had run out of reasons to keep from Knighting her three months before the boy’s thirteenth birthday. She had arrived at the Council Chamber the day after her knighting with Kenobi in tow and the first bead already picked out for his braid.

The council had agreed unanimously to allow the partnership, despite Yan’s own concerns on the matter. Mace had actually gone so far as to tell him that the shatterpoint between the two of them was bright and beautiful and that Mace expected great things from them.

He had not wanted her to bring her new padawan with them to potentially fight Mandalorians. But Komari had been adamant that she wasn’t leaving him behind at the temple.

His comlink chimed.

He pulled it from his utility belt. “Master Dooku,” he answered curtly.

“Master.” That was Komari’s voice. “There’s a second encampment of Mandalorians in the southern quarter to blame for the death of the civilians in this quarter,” she informed him. “Death Watch.”

“How do you know this?” he asked, surprised. “We had no intel—“

“Well, Obi-Wan and I found the intel,” Komari said. “I’ve left Obi-Wan with the True Mandalorians—“

Horror filled him. “You what?”

“—Fett and I are investigating this second encampment. I’ve negotiated a temporary truce between our group and his.”

”You—“

“See you soon, Master.” The comm call cut out.

Yan felt the wind curl around him as it blew. He was not sure whether it was that or the sense that Komari was falling further and further from his reach that sent the chill down his back.

“Your Master is going to be okay,” Mand’alor Fett comforted a shaking Padawan Kenobi where the boy hovered over Komari’s sleeping form. Yan stood a few steps away, staring down at his unconscious former padawan, bacta patches over her side where a slug thrower had ripped into her.

Yan knew that it was likely his responsibility to comfort his grandpadawan, but he had never been good at comforting. Nor could he bring himself to do so when it was, in many ways, young Padawan Kenobi’s fault that Komari had been hurt.

If she had just listened to Yan and left the boy at the temple… But no, the boy had run into the battle against Death Watch despite orders to stay out of it.

“She’s a fighter,” Fett continued.

“It’s my fault. I should have stayed out, like she told me, too,” Kenobi whispered.

“You should have,” Fett agreed, not bothering to soften that blow. “Kyr’tsad isn’t the place for an ad, but you saved Myles’ and Alena’s lives. We won’t forget that.” Fett rested a hand on Kenobi’s shoulder. “You were trying to protect people, your Master is going to be proud of you for that.” He stood from his kneeling position. “Come on, I told Vosa that I’d keep you safe until you were off planet. Let’s see what we can do about teaching you to use a blaster in the time we have left.”

Yan watched as Fett led a reluctant Padawan Kenobi away. Yan looked down at his former apprentice. He remembered when she had been entirely devoted to him. But that hadn’t been the case in nearly five years. Now her devotion lay elsewhere. Yan had never thought he’d yearn for those days. But at least then, she’d have listened to his words of caution.

Still, perhaps she would listen now, when he cautioned her about her padawan.

If the two of them were not careful, they would stain the legacy of their lineage.

10 years later

“You trained her well,” his Master said, voice low and cruel. “Perhaps, too well.”

“She is a credit to my lineage,” Yan said, keeping his voice even. He hadn’t been pleased when Komari had been chosen to go to Naboo to spring the trap that his master had set. It could be no coincidence that it was one of his own apprentices sent. He knew that his Master was attempting to ensure that his ties to the Jedi be more… permanently cut.

A sickening part of him had just been grateful that it hadn’t been Qui-Gon that had been sent. Qui-Gon who, when he was honest with himself, he could acknowledge as loving most. But then, if Qui-Gon had been sent, then perhaps his Master would not be quite so displeased with him. Qui-Gon had always been something of a maverick, but a maverick who could be depended on to follow certain expectations.

Qui-Gon would have removed the Queen from the planet, would have gotten her to Coruscant to plead her case.

Komari and her padawan had never been quite so predictable. Galidraan had been the start, but not the end, of disobeyed orders and unsavory partnerships. Yan had fought constantly with the horror that could not quite stop the pride he felt when Komari and Obi-Wan became known as the team to send before the boy had even turned seventeen.

Perhaps Yan should have known that Komari and Obi-Wan would have ruined his Master’s plans now. But, neither he nor his Master had expected for Komari and Obi-Wan to join forces with the Queen, her handmaidens, and a force of Mandalorians to take the planet back.

Yan wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten word out to the Mandalorians that they required aid. But then, his former apprentice and her apprentice had always been remarkably capable and entirely unorthodox.

He had tried to caution Komari against maintaining the friendship she had built with Jango Fett ten years ago on Galidraan, but she had retained it regardless. Had done worse and encouraged an impressionable young Obi-Wan’s own friendships with the two Mandalorians he had saved on that Galidraan battlefield.

The fruits of that relationship had borne out now. Naboo relieved from their blockade before his Master could use the circumstance to gain the power he desired and his Master’s more brutish apprentice—Darth Maul—captured and contained.

“A credit to your lineage,” his Master repeated, disgust cool beneath the words. “There will be consequences to this setback, Tyrannous.”

“I understand,” Yan said evenly. He steeled his heart. He knew what this would require

He had lost Komari fifteen years ago, when she had arrived in his quarters with an eight year old initiate with wide, guileless eyes. It had been a gradual loss. That his new Master sought to make it permanent… Yan had made his choice.

But perhaps…

Yan did not allow his new Master to see the small kernel of hope that burned in his chest that maybe his former apprentice would subvert his expectations in this, just as she had in everything else since that day fifteen years ago.

#fey's writing #star wars #obi-wan kenobi #komari vosa #dooku #not at all relevant to the story #but Jango has an absolute crush on Komari #the rest of the true mandalorians laugh at him #Komari has a crush back #whenever they meet up they flirt by teaching Obi-Wan to be deadly and dangerous

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feybarn · 13 days

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Thanks for all the prompts you guys sent. I'm definitely not going to be able to hit them all at once. But I'm going to try to get to at least one or two a day...

Up first with @everfascinated's prompt.

It's Monday and I'm really feeling it lol Can Obi-Wan relax with your fav Jedi/Mando/clone? I'm working for the weekend, someone needs to just sit and read or have a nice day with people they love

Some Obi-Wan & Quinlan.

Obi-Wan glared at his interloper, currently looming over him and holding Obi-Wan’s datapad over his head. “What are you doing?”

“You are going to give me an ulcer,” Quinlan said. “Literally. An ulcer. I can feel it growing right now.” He pressed his free hand against his stomach and let out an exaggerated groan. “I never thought you were capable of such cruelty.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t amused. In the slightest. “I need to finish the report for my latest mission, Quin.”

“You need to take a break before you break down. This may come as a surprise to you, but things like fatigue and stress do affect you the same way they do the rest of us.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Quin. My datapad. Give it to me.”

Quinlan scoffed, turned off the datapad, and stuck it in his belt. “Not a chance.”

Obi-Wan had somehow forgotten just how supremely irritating Quinlan could be. How he’d managed to forget that was something of a mystery, because Quinlan was… Quinlan. Apparently the back to back missions he and Anakin had been sent on the last year were getting to him. He didn’t know why he was being ‘specifically requested’ so often, but he’d really prefer it stop happening. “What do you want, Quin?”

“I want you to relax. For an evening. That’s it.”

The thought filled Obi-Wan with longing. As it was… “I can’t.” He had already received a message requesting that he and Anakin prepare for another mission in three days, there was too much to do in the next three days to relax. Mace had been apologetic, but the request for Obi-Wan had come straight from the Senate.

Beyond that, he’d agreed to teach several hand to hand courses for the senior padawans—which was less hand to hand and more how to fight dirty—had several meetings with Senators from former missions, and a meeting with the council.

“You can, actually,” Quinlan said. “Aayla is inviting Anakin to join her and a few other padawans for a night in the holo-room for the night. Star gazing, supposedly, but we both know that’s just code for gossip. That means the two of us are free for the night.”

“I’m not going cantina hopping, Quinlan.”

Quinlan rolled his eyes. “Give me some credit, Obi-Wan. I know when you’re in a cantina hopping mood. I have deigned to suffer this evening, all for your sake, and we’re going to do something you consider relaxing.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, because this was sure to be good. Quinlan didn’t know the first thing about relaxing in a way that didn’t include chaos.

Obi-Wan would be lying if he said he didn’t at times egg Quinlan on, but he simply was too drained to do so.

“In this theoretical situation where I give in, what, exactly, do you plan on us doing?”

Quinlan’s expression shifted into one of exaggerated long-suffering. “We are going to watch the prime-time recording of the Phantasma Opera.” He shuddered. “I borrowed the recording from Windu and stole some tea from Depa and…” He paused for obvious emphasis. “I raided Siri’s kitchen for the little sugary monstrosities that you like. I risked my life for this evening.”

“Siri’s going to kill you,” Obi-Wan said. His mouth watered at the thought of the Alderaanian Delights Siri hoarded. “How about this, you give me those Alderaanian Delights and I get back to work. You can consider your mission accomplished.”

“Nope,” Quinlan said easily. “It’s everything or nothing.”

Obi-Wan was too professional to pout, but it was Quinlan; Quinlan had seen him do worse. He pouted.

Quinlan was unfazed. “So, I’m stealing your datapad and setting up in your quarters. You can choose to join me or you can languish here in the archives.” Quinlan sauntered away.

Obi-Wan groaned and buried his face in his arms on the table.

He was so tired.

Quinlan was such a pest, really. Obi-Wan didn’t know how he put up with him.

He forced himself out of the chair.

Quinlan was wrong; Obi-Wan didn’t need a break. But… well, Quinlan had clearly gone through a great deal of work—risking Siri’s wrath on top of it all—to give Obi-Wan a break. And he really had wanted to see the Phantasma Opera for quite some time.

He made it to his quarters to find Quinlan sprawled over his couch, Phantasma Opera queued up, tea steeping, and Alderaanian Delights in a box on his chest.

Obi-Wan forced Quinlan to move his legs before he sat down. “I need my datapad back.”

“Tomorrow,” Quinlan said. “I’m teaching your class on fighting dirty, already cleared it with the Masters—who were quite pleased to have an expert Shadow, by the way—so you have time then.”

Obi-Wan stared at his best friend, because tonight had been… appreciated for the intent behind it, but some part of Obi-Wan had been on edge trying to figure out what to do with the time he was losing. This… this was more than he had thought he could ask for. Some of his tension released.

“Thanks Quinlan,” he said quietly.

Quinlan smirked at him. “Don’t thank me too soon. I’m going to tell all of the padawans about the time you won a cantina fight because you freaked out the Duros smuggler by threatening to bite him.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Have I told Aayla the story of the time we almost poisoned Yoda when we brought him the wrong type of frog as a life day present?”

“Not yet,” Quinlan said, a gleeful look entered his eyes. Mostly because the story was more hilarious than embarrassing, Master Yoda had been delighted by their ‘murder attempt’. “But you can tell her tomorrow at dinner.”

Obi-Wan thought about protesting, but with Quinlan taking on Obi-Wan’s classes, his whole day tomorrow was suddenly free; he could spare another evening with Quinlan.

He leaned back against the sofa and relaxed as the Opera started.

His tension faded away. For the first time in ages, Obi-Wan just… relaxed.

Kark. Quinlan had been right; he was going to be absolutely insufferable.

#fey's writing #obi-wan kenobi #quinlan vos #short #thanks for the prompt!

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