#padadin au.

[loveoaths]

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In the Shadow of the Valley (Padawan!Din AU):  When young Death Watch assassin Din Djarin fails his mission to kill Anakin Skywalker, he expects the Jedi to kill him. What actually happens is far, far worse: Skywalker makes him his padawan.

The lasersword cuts through Galaar blaster rounds and durasteel like silver fish through dark water, yet when the plasma blade retracts and the hilt is shoved against Din’s throat it is as cold as the frigid blue eyes of his target, Jedi Anakin Skywalker. 

“See that button on the side? One push and your head kisses the floor,” the Jedi hisses, digging the hilt in deeper into the exposed skin between helmet and chest-plate. The peculiar pressure from before is back, the Jedi’s magic bracketing his ribs and flooding his lungs with molten iron. Din does not struggle this time — knows the spell is not one so easily broken, not with Skywalker’s large rough hand snarled around his wrists and shoving his face into the temple floor. “Give me one good reason not to.”

Go on, Din thinks, Kill me. I am already dead.

Inside the helmet, bitter tears sting his eyes and sour his mouth, his open mouthed, bruised-breath exhalations rust-tinged and shaky-kneed with pain and fury; but on the outside, where the beskar that is his true face shields him from the world, Din is all cold metal and proud heritage, clad in the silver bones of Mandalore and the Resol’nare, the soul of his people: unshakeable.

He may have failed his mission, but he will not embarrass the Watch, and he will not forsake the Way of the Mand’alor.

Kote at kyr'am.  O'r kyr'am, at kote. At kote, ni slanar.

Din tilts his chin up, defiant and proud in the way only the young can be. He licks his lips, and they taste like war. “Spare me, Jedi,” he murmurs, voice delicate with hate, “And it will be the last thing you do.”

The Jedi blinks, the frozen fury in his eyes cracking with something Din can smell in the air like blood: doubt. His finger hovers over the button. For the first time in his life, he wishes he was not wearing the helmet, so he could spit in the Jedi’s face before he dies. Din closes his eyes, ready for the black to take him and the world to go silent–

And then fingers jam under the lip of his helmet and yank.

Light hits his eyes knuckles-first. He reels, blinking rapidly against the cacophony of unmitigated light, and squints up into shocked blue eyes. Skywalker steps back, the lasersword’s hilt jerking away from skin with only an imprint to tell the tale.

“Kriffing hells,” the Jedi whispers, “You’re just a kid. Obi-wan’s gonna kill me.”

The name means nothing to Din. But the insult of childhood — the very thing the Jedi have denied him again and again — and the shame of unmasking, mean everything. “Me first,”  Din snarls. Before the Jedi can react, Din spits a bloody glob of saliva in his face and tackles their legs, pummeling his knuckles broken into exposed skin like Boba taught him, sending them both sliding across the floor and over the edge of the ruins and into the hungry darkness below.

If he must find his end here at the hands of the Jedi, let it be glorious. 

Kote at kyr'am.  O'r kyr'am, at kote.  At kote, ni slanar. Glory to Death. In Death, to Glory. To Glory, I go.

[loveoaths]

"i never said you were stupid. not out loud." for din baby

Set in the In the Shadow of the Valley (Padawan!Din AU). AU Summary: When young Force-sensitive Death Watch assassin Din Djarin fails his mission to kill Anakin Skywalker, he expects the Jedi to kill him. What actually happens is far, far worse: Skywalker makes him his padawan. ( AU Playlist. )

Din Djarin is not much of a talker.

Growing up on Aq Vetina he was bashful and shy, clinging to his mother’s skirts as she bargained at the market, or getting happily dragged into trouble by his fearless little sister. He was no good with words, but he was an honest child who shared his thoughts with those who loved him enough to ask, and in the company of love the words tucked like seeds beneath his tongue flourished green and sweet as summer fruit; simple, maybe, but lovelier for it.

Then they died – They were murdered, the voices of his Death Watch instructors hiss in his head; Death is no accident, never forget that, boy –  and the flowers in his mouth died with them.

Death Watch took him in, and any inclination of speaking his mind was beaten out of him. He was a soldier, a weapon to be used. He learned to hold his tongue and his blaster with the same deadly grip. Those were the rules.

Then, through a series of events that still baffle him years later, the Jedi Anakin Skywalker took him in, and suddenly the rules changed all over again. Always speak your mind, even if you think I don’t want to hear it, because I do. I want to know you, Master Skywalker would coax him when they were alone, So tell me what��s rattling around in that tin can of yours.

This was… Difficult, in the beginning, but over the last year they’ve come to understand each other, and sharing his thoughts with his Master became second nature.

It’s also caused a lot of disagreements, like the one they’re in right now.

“...I never said you were stupid,” Din says once the ship breaks free of Florrum’s atmosphere and there’s no longer a possibility his Master will Force throw him out of the airlock.

He can hear Anakin’s fists tighten around the steering mechanism, his Force signature swarming the cockpit with rippling displeasure, and, oh, he’s angry.  Beskar capuor ni, but he isn’t backing down without cause. Din clears his throat, grateful the Jedi code allows him to continue wearing his buy’ce so his Master cannot see him nervously sucking on his bottom lip. “...Not out loud.” 

“Not out loud, no,” Anakin’s voice coils in on itself, a wounded creature hunching over what hurts with teeth bared. “But you said my plan was, and I quote, ‘as sensible as a concussed gundark.’ In front of the a pirate horde. That’s worse than stupid.”

“So was your plan,” Din returns mildly, meeting Anakin’s sharp look head-on through the T-visor. “You aren’t stupid, Master. You just act like it sometimes.”

“This is why I don’t like you hanging around Obi-wan,” Anakin mutters darkly, but the storm cloud thundering across his face mellows into something wicked as he leans forward, durasteel finger brushing against the hyperspace switch.  “At least I’m smart enough not to piss off the pilot.” Din has time to spit out a huh before Anakin punches the button and Din’s head slams back against his chair with a loud thunk.

Star-streaks and hearty laughter swirl around Din’s sore skull, but he smiles in spite of himself because, yeah, maybe he deserved that one.

And anyway, a sore spot is a small price to pay for knocking his Master down a peg or two.

Still accepting drabble requests and prompts !

[loveoaths]

Three sentence fic meme: padadin au. Anakin introduces Obi or the Council to his new weird padawan

“Anakin, do you mean to tell me—” Obi-wan abruptly cuts off at Anakin’s defiant expression, then shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, because if he doesn’t give his hands something to do, they might find their way around Anakin’s neck and squeeze, and that would not be very Jedi-like of him at all. 

“Do you mean to tell me,” he repeats, biting back the bile-bitter manic anxiety building in his throat, “That you brought a Death Watch assassin — a group that, might I remind you, is openly hostile to the Republic and the Jedi Order — onto a Republic military ship? While we are actively at war?” The Mandalorian youngster — because they must be young, barely coming to Anakin’s shoulders while seated — handcuffed to the table shifts something between their legs, and Obi-wan has to death-grip the ship kitchen counter when he realizes it’s a goddamn blaster. “And you didn’t take their blaster?”

“He’s not Death Watch anymore. Or, he won’t be soon. And it’s only a stun blaster, Master,” Anakin laughs, his punch-bruised mouth only punctuating the irony only Obi-wan can see, apparently. Where he went wrong with this boy, he doesn’t know, and he’s not sure he ever will. “Did you know weapons are part of Mandalorian religion? It makes him feel comfortable.”

“Comfortable,” Obi-wan repeats flatly, gaze pinning the Mandalorian in their — his — seat. The T visor stares back dispassionately, but even muffled by beskar, Obi-wan catches whiffs of suspicion and curiosity curling underneath. 

At least the feeling is mutual.

“Like a security blanket, maybe.” Anakin shrugs again, then raps a knuckle against the visor. The Mandalorian’s hand tightens around the blaster, and Obi-wan commiserates. He, too, would like to shoot Anakin right about now. “Gotta keep him comfy before we introduce him to the Council.”

Obi-wan allows himself a moment of weakness; he presses his throbbing temple against the kitchen doorway’s cool durasteel until the aching dulls, then crosses to the caf station. He does not enjoy caf, it honestly makes him a little sick, but the emotional and physical exhaustion hit him all at once, and if he’s going to fly them home after this, he’s going to need it. “And why, pray tell, will we be doing that?” Obi-wan doesn’t bother curbing his incredulity this time.

He knows this is both the right and wrong question to ask when Anakin’s mischievous smile curls, tooka-like, into a full blown smirk. “Because he’s strong in the Force. Strong enough augment his speed subconsciously. Oh, and he almost impaled me on a stalactite back in the temple ruins. Can’t forget that.”

Obi-wan registers almost impaled me with a dull nod — and who does that say more about, him or Anakin? — and thinks, Kriff it, and bypasses the caf station entirely for the locked liquor cabinet. R2 can fly them home.

“A Mandalorian Jedi. Great!” Obi-wan grabs a random liquor bottle and a glass, then thinks better of it. He puts the glass back and uncorks the bottle and pulls. A reasonable man in an unreasonable situation is allowed his coping mechanisms. “Because that went so well the first time around. You can’t seriously think the Council will allow this.”

“They allowed me,” Anakin strokes his fingers against smooth metal and cups the back of the helmet, and it is so eerily akin to a mother clutching her child that Obi-wan starts, a dark and wary something curdling in his belly. “They’ll allow him.”

“Anakin, he’s dangerous!”

“They once said that about me, too.” Anakin’s smile folds into itself, becomes flat and displeased. “I proved them wrong.”

Did you? Obi-wan thinks. It feels like a betrayal, but the glimmer of truth digs under his skin. “We’ll see, padawan,” Obi-wan says instead, withdrawing with his bottle and heading for the cockpit, “We shall see.”

[loveoaths]

jedi din au except he’s still a Mandalorian so he has the most insane combination of armor and robes and looks like a space samurai send tweet