#wannabe bounty hunter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

almostempty · 3 months ago

Text

prisoner - part 1 (f!reader x din djarin)

wc: 4.6k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | part 2 (coming soon)

summary: this time our fav bounty hunter is the bounty and you're on a mission to capture him and claim your reward

note: big thanks to @wannab-urs for hosting the dmamc25 event !! i'm looking forward to catching up on the other amazing fics!

this was my wip for the campaign but i missed the deadline (not a soul was surprised). i'm splitting it into two or possibly three parts, so the man doesn't get dommed yet, but i still wanted to acknowledge the inspiration for the whole thing <3

tags: 18+, my interpretation of pre-canon younger din djarin aka as they said in the 1991 action/thriller classic Point Break he's "young, dumb, and full of cum" aka moody reckless and virile din, some canon typical violence, one (1) tranquilizer injected by needle, dirty talkin' din, bulge riding, opposite of a virgin kink if u squint? mayhaps a filthy whore kink? (dubcon to come in part two bc of course i would, sub!din djarin will also be coming in part two)

thanks to @syd-djarin @auteurdelabre and @swankyorange for support <3

The first time you see him, he’s in everyone’s way. A blunt, metal block that the crowd on the street parts and weaves around. He stands, scanning for something, oblivious to the vendors peddling their wares. He’s completely uninterested in their lives or their products.

Instead, he forces the world to bend around him.

And when he moves, they move. Everyone gets out of his way–and quickly–hustling and veering around him. Not out of fear or respect, but because he gives them no other choice.

It would drive you nuts if he interrupted your path, but from your viewpoint on the rooftop it’s almost amusing. You stretch languidly, enjoying the warmth of the sun as you watch. You catch the glint of his helmet as his head swivels in search of something. It’s the only polished piece of his mismatched armor. The rest is scraped, dented, or painted over. A testament, you assume, to the brutal and dirty life he lives.

When he surges off again, stiff and hurried, stalking whatever he’s tracking, you’re drawn to the hunger in his movements. His physicality. You expect a Mandalorian to be calculated—efficient. And he is. There’s urgency that bites at his heels.

But there’s something else, too. Something reckless in his movements. The way he shoulders through a circle of street performers without a care. The way his hand hovers near the blaster on his hip, ready to draw at the slightest provocation.

In broad daylight.

It’s like he’s not just looking for something. He’s daring the galaxy to give him an excuse to destroy it.

It’s that volatility that makes you curious. The danger that curls around his edges. It entices you.

You’ve met men like him before. Men that burn with the kind of fury only youth and disillusionment can sustain.

Their drive gives them strength, but they have a glaring weakness.

The second time, you’re closer.

At some rundown, backwater outpost cantina—the kind of place where a fight is as common as a drink. You watch the dust particles swirling in the streaks of light filtering through the windows as you sit at a table waiting. It’s not long before the Mandalorian storms in.

He rocks up to the bar with heavy footsteps, ready to slam down some credits in exchange for answers. Unfortunately, he misjudged the stubbornness and the loyalty of the wiry bartender. He lacks tact.

The barkeep offers clipped responses to the questioning. From under your hood, you can see the Mandalorian’s fist clench. A few nearby patrons snicker as the encounter seems to be futile and his patience snaps.

In seconds, his gloved fist is wrapped in the bartender’s jacket, dragging him halfway across the counter. A glass tips and shatters on the floor. And a few heads turn both toward and pointedly away from the scene.

“Try again,” the Mandalorian demands, his voice loud enough for you to catch. It’s deep, modulated by the helmet but still laced with venom. It suits him, you think.

The bartender flails, his eyes widening before he sputters out something. You can’t help the small grin that curls at the corner of your lips.

The Mandalorian is far from subtle but it works. He drops the bartender and storms off just as pressed as the way he came in, his tattered cape flicking behind him as he disappears.

You stay seated as the chatter picks back up.

The Mandalorian is impatient, you note. Unconcerned with the attention he draws if he gets what he wants.

Your smirk grows wider. It’ll be satisfying to watch him unravel when he doesn’t get his way.

The third time, you’re following him. He’s tracking someone through the city, his strides long and swift, no hesitations. You slip from shadow to shadow, quietly leaving enough room to vanish if anything goes wrong.

When his target fucks up–darting into the wrong alley–you’re almost disappointed. You know what happens next. The fight is over fast. Brutal. Mechanical.

The Mandalorian is pure force, absorbing every counter attack with only the slightest stagger. Until his opponent crumples to the ground, groaning and bloody. The Mandalorian hauls him to his feet muttering something you can’t quite hear.

He drags his prize toward the shipyard, his grip unyielding and his pace unrelenting. You trail along continuing your observations.

The Mandalorian is ruthless.

It’s no wonder the reward is worth your time. You can only imagine the grievances he’s racked up on his violent crusade. You look forward to the payout, considering what you might spend it on as you slip behind another ship. You surveil him long enough to learn one more thing.

He’s restless.

A cloak of unease clinging to him that never fades.

Not when the chase is over. Not when he hands off his mark to the crew of miscreants he flew in with. Not when he’s at rest while the others indulge in their night off.

He’s a raw nerve encased in dented metal.

You can feel it buzzing off of him even when he’s sat still. Vibrating at a similar frequency to you. Resonating.

You’ve watched long enough.

The next time, you’re waiting for him.

Din doesn’t know it, but he’ll find you.

Adrenaline burns hot in his veins, twisting violently in his gut. The day was pure chaos. Betrayals, near-deaths, plans unraveling. He’s on edge. A live wire thrumming with an unspent charge.

He’s only a man, but the insatiable call within him feels more suited to a beast.

He stalks through the dark streets like he’s hunting something. Or daring something to hunt him. His jaw clenches tight, his teeth grinding against the insides of his cheek. The city streets are loud, the nightlife too busy for his liking, but the thoughts ruminating in his head are louder.

Their plan was doomed from the start—but the failure still stings.

His crew had been bickering over who was to blame, the voices a blur of petty insults and clashing egos. Din didn’t care who was right or wrong. He just knew that the first one to point the blame at him was getting put through a wall. Or worse. So before anyone found out what worse could be, he left.

So he continues tromping down the street on a warpath. No plan or purpose. Just fuming with the displaced energy that should’ve been released by now. He’s unsure how long it’s been, or how far he’s wandered.

It’s instinct, more than anything, that leads him to where you’ve been waiting. He’s pushing through the doorway before he even realizes where his legs led him. He’d been too busy wrestling with his anger, and now it’s a physical thing, radiating off of him in waves.

Heads turn when he enters the bar. His presence draws attention. Even with his banged up armor, a Mandalorian is still a sight to behold. The cut of his visor sweeps the room like a weapon and most eyes dart away, unwilling to meet it.

The establishment is otherwise lively. It’s packed with a misfit crowd full of sly glances, nervous shifting, and raucous laughter. There’s tables for games and smoking, dancers—barely clothed in bright shades of magenta and gold, and a band with instruments he couldn't name with a gun to his head.

But he’s not interested in drinking or gambling. He’s looking for something stronger. Someone more potent.

He begins to circle the room when his steps quickly falter.

The dark fabric draped around your curves catches his eye first, the way it shifts when you lift your glass to take a slow, deliberate sip. He’s drawn to the line of your neck, the tender, smooth skin and the soft roll of your throat as you swallow.

And then you look right at him.

Your sparkling eyes pierce him. Snare him. Capture him whole.

You tilt your head toward the open seat next to you. The invitation is subtle, but the pull is magnetic. In a heartbeat, he’s moving in.

He drops into the seat, heavy as a man made of metal, leaning an elbow on the bar. You don’t look at him directly, but he sees the way you adjust your shoulders and the faint curl of your lips. It’s enough to tell him you know. That you’re baiting him. Good. He’ll bite.

The bartender approaches, but Din waves him off without a glance, keeping the full weight of his focus on you. The low hum of his anger begins to ease as he takes in the details of your profile—the sweep of your lashes, the plush curve of your lips, your smooth skin.

You take another sip of your drink before turning toward him. Something wicked flashes in your expression before you acknowledge him with a smile.

“You’re not drinking?” Your voice is melodic, stirring his appetite.

“No.”

You take one last sip from your glass before pushing it across the counter slowly, drawing his attention to your hands. He’s tempted to grab one just to marvel at the size of it in his. So delicate. Focus.

“You want another?” he asks bluntly, curious. “No.”

The corner of his mouth quirks under the helmet. Amused. You mirror his sharp tone without hesitation; you’re not afraid of him.

“The pleasure of my company will cost you more than a drink,” you say, tilting your head slightly.

Ah. His curiosity sharpens.

“Good,” his voice is low, but tight. “Not interested in cheap.”

You’re close enough that the conscious brush of your thigh against his spends sparks through him. Your very existence is temptation and his composure is razor thin.

His body screams at him to grab you–right here–to bend you over the bar and see just how much you’re worth. But he waits, wired and anxious, for your next move.

You bite your lower lip, rolling it slowly between your teeth as if you’re reading his thoughts, and flash him an alluring smirk. The charge in the air between you is alive, pulsing with its own heartbeat.

“What are you interested in, Mandalorian?” you ask, your voice steeped in seduction.

He studies you with the emotionless visor. “What type of company are you offering?”

You laugh softly, a sound that winds around his restraint and pulls tighter. “I know a few tricks you might enjoy.”

Your finger dips into your empty glass, drawing up the last drop of liquid before slipping it between your lips. The motion is intentional and filthy.

His chest tightens. His hands flex. His cock twitches as he watches you drag your finger back out of your mouth, devastatingly slow.

You mistake his silence for hesitance, and decide to turn up the charm. You lean in closer, your breath brushing the edge of his helmet. “But, you’re in luck tonight,” you say, your voice dipping lower, “if you’ve got the credits.”

The next words are glazed with false innocence, cloyingly sweet. “I came to the city to save my family's farm, you see. I’ve not got much to send them yet, so I’m willing to offer it all for the right price.”

You bat your lashes demurely, in complete juxtaposition to your finger sucking move merely seconds ago.

“I’m untouched,” your voice lilts. “Fresh. And now with a warrior like yourself in front of me?” You rest your hand on his forearm, just above the vambrace, along the tougher material of his flight suit. “A Mandalorian? Seems like fate.”

Din shifts in his seat, as if adjusting his weight could relieve the feral itch clawing within him. Your lure is powerful, but the mischief in your eyes gives you away.

“Untouched?” he questions like he’s weighing something. You give your best virginal smile.

“You’re lying,” he decides, in a gravelly, hostile tone.

You feign offense, leaning back with a pout that barely masks your amusement.

But he leans in closer, compressing the air between you until his commanding presence is nearly suffocating. His voice drops lower.

“You better be.”

You huff with irritation.

He curls and uncurls his fist, but his gaze doesn’t waver, locked on yours. He drags one massive hand up his thigh, slowly–ever so slowly, but pointedly–until it’s resting on the heavy bulge between his legs.

“I’d prefer to fuck someone that knows how to take this.”

The air crackles between you at his explicit assertion.

Inky darkness floods your eyes before you smirk, daring him to break the control he’s barely clinging on to. And then you speak, low and sultry.

“Follow me.”

You slip off your seat, sauntering toward the hallway without looking back.

Din rises without hesitation, his boots heavy behind you, his decision already made.

You lead him to a small room–more of a storage space really–hips swaying as you float down the hall like you didn’t just scope it out hours ago.

Maybe he was expecting soft drapes and plush furniture. Instead, there’s a single, worn chair.

Good enough.

The dim light is warm enough to make the shadows dance in the space. The sound of the cantina dampens, leaving just the two of you. You push the door shut behind you, projecting confidence.

“Sit,” you command, gesturing to the only seat in the closet-sized room. You see the stagger in his momentum at your order.

His head cocks slightly, the cold shape of his visor locked on you. There’s hesitation, not in fear, but in defiance. You feel his shoulders tightening, his body coiled, ready to strike—or tear your clothes off.

Impatient.

So you push. Hands on the durasteel pauldrons on his shoulders, not forcing him with strength but wielding him with your audacity.

His compliance comes with resistance, his body slow to relent, but he drops into the chair finally. Like he’s claiming it.

The Mandalorian sits, like, well…a man. His legs wide, owning the space despite the walls closing in. His armored body is broad and rigid, all sharp lines and angles.

The testosterone pours off of him, nearly choking you, but you have his attention. His rapt attention.

Your eyes flick to his hands. His fingers flex. Poised to grab, to take, to claim. But your draw keeps him still. For now.

“Let’s see then,” his husky words wind their way right to your core. Molten and sticky.

You straddle his lap without further teasing, adjusting to the cool, firm steel on his thighs, ignoring the faint creak of the chair. You settle closer, shifting your weight, nestling into the cradle of his hips and trapping the rigid length of his erection between you. Your lips part, taking in a sharp breath at the unmistakably generous size of him, even stifled beneath the tactical wear.

It’s an ego trip in having such a powerful figure wound up and straining beneath you. It quickens your heartbeat and makes your cunt throb.

The plates of his armor bite into the meat of your thighs, but it’s the solid mass beneath that has you slanting your pelvis, rocking against him with purpose. His body responds instantly—an involuntary buck of his hips upward that forces a hiss through his helmet. His gloved hands hover just shy of your waist, trembling with the last thread of his restraint.

You want to feel the rush, the untamed strength. Your spine tingles with anticipation.

“What’s the matter, Mandalorian?” you purr, “Afraid to touch me?”

A deep and guttural sound rolls through him and his hands latch onto your hips with bruising force, dragging you tighter against him. The action is rough, desperate, on the verge of losing all civility.

A victorious smile spreads on your face as you grind against him, unabashedly revelling in the friction, you hum in your throat. Each roll of your hips lights a fire beneath his skin. The heat building between you is scorching, even through the layers of armor and fabric.

His breaths come faster, heavier, as he mutters a string of curses. Some of it is in a language you don’t know, but the vehement desire in his tone is clear in any language.

His gloved fingers dig into your flesh, emphasizing the contrast between your softness and his sharpness. It heightens the charge between you, the magnetism that doesn’t relent as you rub against each other like animals.

For a moment, he’s lost in it. Lost in you. His helmet tilts forward like he’s leaning into the touch, and his grip on you is vice-like, pulling you impossibly closer.

Until he forces you still.

A pained look pulls your brows together. You were enjoying that.

“Enough,” his ragged voice is quiet, but commanding. “I want to fuck you now.”

“You will,” you assure, in nearly a whisper. You trail your hands up his chest plate, sliding over the broad expanse before wedging your fingers beneath the cowl around his neck. His body jolts at the skin contact, a groan escapes him, and his grip relaxes.

You resume the dance, chasing the friction, the pressure. Letting a broken moan ring through the air. A sound that overrides his thoughts and sends his hands on a mission. Moving higher, brushing over your ribs to cup your breasts. You gasp, rhythm faltering for only a second. But the raw and unbidden response incites him. He gropes at you roughly, trying to draw more sounds from you.

It pulls a sinful smile to your face as you wrap your arms around his neck.

You’ve got him.

For a fleeting moment, you consider letting it progress. Chasing the release that your body is aching for. Letting him fuck you. Just enough to know, to feel what it would be like. The thought of his thick cock filling you to the brim, driving deeper and deeper, has your pussy clenching. Your thighs tremble. A tear of frustration wells along your waterline.

He grunts with frustration, needing more.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

Your fingers skim the heated skin of his neck again, brushing the edge of vulnerability he keeps hidden. His groan vibrates through you, rich and unguarded. You swear you can hear his real voice beneath the distortion of the helmet.

Din is so engrossed in your touch, your movement, your body writhing in his lap. Drunk off of you.

And then the needle sinks in.

The sting is immediate. His entire body tenses beneath you, the realization dawning too late. His hand flies to his neck, but the tranquilizer works fast. The tension in his muscles melts into dead weight, and his grip on you slackens.

“What the—” His voice is sluggish, slurring before he can complete the sentence.

You hop off of him with ease, sinister smile widening on your face as you strip him of his blaster, then his vambraces, with swift and practiced hands.

“That was even easier than I thought,” you tut.

His head lolls to his shoulder, fighting to keep his eyes on you.

“Disappointing, honestly,” you keep rambling as he fights to remain conscious. “Big, strapping Mandalorian. Fearsome warrior. Nobody would even take the contract.”

You step back, assessing the way his shoulders droop. He’s fading fast. You let loose a heavy sigh, frustrated for more than one reason.

“I was hoping for a challenge.”

A weak sound is choked out of his throat before his tips forward, chin to his chest. Your disappointment was the last thing he saw; a blade carving into his pride as the sedative drags him under.

Din wakes up slowly.

His body is uncooperative and heavy. A dull ache radiates from the base of his neck, through his shoulders and down his spine. His mind is still foggy, clarity flashing in short bursts. He recognizes the sterile hum of a ship.

Din shifts slightly, testing the restraints. Metal cuffs dig into his wrists, holding his arms taut above his head.

“You awake already?”

Your voice slices through the haze, cool and serrated. He turns his head, his helmet amplifying the groan that rumbles out as the movement worsens his headache.

His throat is dry and sore when he tries to respond, but it’s nothing compared to the rage simmering beneath his skin. He knows better than to let his guard down, but he had been careless, reckless.

And you.

You had been such an irrefutable seductress, in ways he doesn’t even have words for. The memory of the way your body felt in his hands, like you were molded just for him, still seared into his senses. The weight of you in his lap, the sounds you made in response to him, the pitiful look on your face when he’d stopped your momentum. It all swirls between the fury.

Because now he’s here. Bound by you. Humiliated by you. Forced to endure whatever ridicule you have planned.

Best he can do to respond to you is a grumbling, “hmph.” Yeah, he’s awake.

You step into his line of sight, arms crossed with a cruel expression on your face.

Seeing you makes it worse. His face is hot. His mind races, thoughts spiraling, berating himself. He fucked up. Let his dick do the thinking. Letting you think you bested him—even if you did.

You lean against the wall, studying his attempts to fight the restraints. The chain scrapes against the ship's hull, each pull more furious than the last. You don’t even bother to hide the gratification. It beams off of you. Like the energy he wastes struggling powers your radiance.

“That’s cute,” you say finally, eyes lingering on his heaving chest. The raw strength he has, useless in his current predicament. “Do you think that’s going to work?”

The rage that flares in his posture is enough to make you laugh. You can picture his teeth gnashing beneath the helmet like a caged animal. Trapped but still defensive, prepared to shred anything that gets close.

“I thought Mandalorians were supposed to be…impressive,” you taunt in a smooth voice as you step toward him. He curses at you—well, you assume, it’s in another language.

You cock your head, assessing him leisurely, taking your sweet time to make sure he knows that you’re detailed, precise. He braces against the cuffs. The chain groans under his force. He’s still menacing. His shape and stature, let alone the outrage emanating from him.

But stripped of his weapons and strung up like a prize, he’s still merely a disappointment. A frustrated, metal clad, man with a foul attitude and a libidinous weak spot. The thought causes you to frown.

He was too easy to catch. Too impatient to actually fuck.

“I thought you’d put up a fight,” you confess.

You slink back just as he lunges toward you, scraping the chains against the hull and no doubt snarling, baring his teeth under the helmet.

“Pity. Most of my bounties are painfully boring. And ugly.”

He juts his chin toward you like an insult. “You lure the rest the same way?” he snaps, disdain ricocheting between you.

“No.” You reply, turning and walking back out of sight. “Was just curious what you’d be like up close.”

He yanks harshly at the chains again, grunting at the exertion. The ugly sound of metal on metal reverberates throughout the ship.

Din wears himself out trying to force his way out of the cuffs, adjusting and tugging trying to find any kind of leverage. He wears out every muscle in his arms and back, taut and bulging, as sweat trickles down the back of his neck. It only exhausts him.

To the point where he’s unsure if he’s drifting in and out of consciousness or hallucinations. When he sees you next, he’s unsure if you’re real or a figment of his madness. A focal point for him to hurl insults and garbled frustrations at.

He’s unsure how much time has passed when he notices you again,sitting on a crate, observing him.

The anger and humiliation still grate on him, and a fresh wave of adrenaline lends him another attempt at breaking free. But he’s weak.

It’s unsuccessful.

You laugh, brightly and sharp as a knife. The sound is torture.

“I should untie you just for the sport of it,” you muse, as if it’s a passing thought. “I could use some combat practice. Something to stroke my ego. It’s terribly anticlimactic to have captured such an overhyped trophy without even breaking a sweat.”

You draw nearer, checking for anything out of place.

“Even worse, we didn’t get to have any other fun first.” His head jerks at that. You imagine an incredulous sneer under the beskar.

A fleeting thought winds through his consciousness about his own unfinished conquest. He clenches his teeth, shoulders stiffening, adopting the proudest posture he can.

You merely prod and taunt him more as you continue whatever it is you’ve come to do. The ache behind his eyes is sharp as needles, and his arms and legs are cramping and stiff.

The longer you keep talking, the shorter his fuse gets. You make one more comment about how you’d wasted time learning about him, doing recon and research, when he fell prey to the promise of something tight to sink his cock into.

His breaths are ragged now, hostility dripping from his pores. Your voice incenses him, ringing in your ears even when you aren’t talking. Taunting him endlessly, like a thousand tiny cuts stinging and inflamed, never an opportunity to heal, you just jab and slice over and over.

And now you step closer. Too close.

“Gloat all you want. There’s no honor in using tricks,” he spits, his voice jagged and venomous, “like a filthy whore.”

The words hang in the air as you pause.

Your breath stills, the mocking glint in your eyes hardening into something severe; dangerous. He absorbs the shift in your posture—how you go perfectly still, save for the faint twitch of your jaw. The silence is blaring, swarming with something that makes his obstinance waver.

“Seemed to me,” you say as you circle him slowly, your boots scraping against the floor like a predator’s growl, “like you were rather keen on filthy whores when you followed me out of the cantina. Does honor only matter when your cock is soft?”

Din seethes with indignation—yet, a shameful thrill spasms through him, too. He ignores it, attributing it to fatigue, or the desire for retribution. He can’t see you. You’re behind him, silent. A retort is on the tip of his tongue, but it never makes it past his lips.

In a blinding flash, he’s slamming into the floor. His knees make a loud thud as they bang against the hard surface. The pain in his joints is sharp; he curses loudly.

His muscles are stiff and screaming after being in one position for so long. His gaze sweeps across the mostly empty space before you step in front of him once more. The pain is familiar, a constant he’s learned to live with. A sensation he almost craves. He swallows it down, along with the exhaustion, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

“Look at you,” your voice is drenched in condescension. His head tilts up, the visor pointing directly at you. Despite all of his current disadvantages, he’s still a threatening sight. But not to you. Not when you have control.

You crouch, facing him, hands braced on your thighs. Your lips curl with satisfaction and a hint of pride. “You don’t intimidate me.”

You see his fists clenching and the taut brace of his shoulders. All that power and hostility, once again straining–itching–to take it out on you. It’s an addictive rush that makes your blood pump hotter and your heartbeat sink to your cunt.

Your fingers tap restlessly as you stare each other down. You wouldn’t mind seeing him snap. You chew at your bottom lip, maintaining presence of mind. But you let one more thought slip out in a provocatively lush tone. “You look good on your knees, prisoner.”

let me know if you enjoyed this or if you want to fight me over my din djarin interpretation, either way part two is coming

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

tags for babes:

@lovely-vamp-princess

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy

@indiegirlunited

@syd-djarin

@harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

@slimybeth69 @yxtkiwiyxt

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #ppcu fanfiction

124 notes · View notes

iheartmira · 28 days ago

Note

Can you doo boothill x reader

Where he was after the reader for they hade a really big bounty on them but right when he was about to get them they escaped?

"the bounty and the bullet" - boothill x reader

✧ ✧ ✧

the bounty on your head was enough to make even the laziest bounty hunters salivate. enough zeroes to make a man reckless, desperate. you’d lost count of how many wannabe gunslingers, corporate dogs, and dead-eyed mercenaries had come sniffing after you, thinking they’d be the one to bring in the ghost of the stars.

but boothill? he was different. he wasn’t just after the payday. he was after you.

you’d been dodging him for weeks, barely slipping through the cracks each time he came close. the bastard had an uncanny knack for knowing where you’d be, showing up just late enough to make your pulse spike but early enough to leave you no time to breathe. and this time? this time, he was closer than ever.

the old freight station was supposed to be abandoned, a place for you to lay low while the heat cooled. the air was thick with dust, rust clinging to the walls like barnacles on a dead ship. you could hear the distant hum of power lines still faintly alive, the only sign this place hadn’t been swallowed whole by time.

then came the sound you dreaded most: the jingle of spurs. slow. unhurried. a gunslinger who knew there was nowhere left to run.

"well, well," boothill drawled, his voice cutting through the silence like the edge of a well-honed blade. "ain't this a sight. finally got you penned in, darlin'."

you exhaled, already scanning for exits. the rafters were too high, the main door blocked by his imposing figure. that left the side panel... a slim chance, but better than none.

"you've been a darn headache to chase," boothill continued, stepping closer.

the dim light caught the sharp gleam of his teeth as he grinned. "ten billion credits worth o' trouble, and i gotta say, you sure wear it well."

"you here for the money?" you asked, keeping your tone level, casual. the kind of voice that had slipped through countless traps before.

"nah." he tilted his head, eyes glinting like a reticle settling on a target.

"a legend's only worth somethin' if someone's around to tell it, ain't it? hate to see yours get cut short."

a chill ran down your spine. boothill wasn’t like the others, wasn’t some ipc hound looking for a fat paycheck. he was enjoying this. the chase, the thrill, the knowledge that every second he got closer, your story became part of his.

too bad for him. you weren’t about to let yourself become a footnote in someone else’s tale.

the second his boots scuffed against the floor, you moved. a sharp feint to the right, making it look like you'd try to bolt past him. his hand twitched toward his gun, ready to pin you down...

and that’s when you really ran.

a burst of motion, straight for the side panel. you hit the latch with your shoulder, felt the metal groan before it gave way. the air outside was sharp and cold, the drop steep, but hesitation was a death sentence. you leaped without looking back.

boothill’s curse echoed behind you, followed by the unmistakable sound of a gun firing. not at you, but at the door frame, sparks flying where he’d aimed just a breath too slow.

you hit the ground in a roll, feet finding purchase on the loose gravel. the engine of your stolen speeder was already humming nearby, primed and waiting. you scrambled onto it, twisting the throttle hard just as boothill stepped into the open, his silhouette framed against the flickering station lights.

for a second, just a second, you met his gaze. that shark-toothed grin was still in place, but his eyes told a different story.

you’d won this round.

but you both knew this wasn’t over.

boothill raised two fingers to his hat, tipping it in a lazy salute. "run fast, sugar," he called over the roar of your engine. "next time, i ain’t missin'."

you smirked, wind whipping past your face as you tore into the dark.

next time? maybe.

but if he wanted to catch you, he’d have to earn it.

✧ ✧ ✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #boothill #hsr boothill #boothill hsr #boothill x reader #hsr boothill x reader

83 notes · View notes

rocksibblingsau · 20 days ago

Note

We (semi)often talk about Branch's various adoptive family members eventually doing the math and comming to be more understading/sympathising with Brozone because they were just teenagers and all, for good reason ofc, but I feel like we would talk a little more about possibly the one that would never even consider not hating them (especially JD) with all theirs guts. The resident small angry german man bounty hunter that had no business or desire to raise children, Dickory.

If Dickory was a slightly different person, could he possibly relate to John Dory and the pressure and heartache of being forced to raise his younger brothers as the oldest and understading that their situations weren't exactly the same (Branch had other people to take care of him etc)? Yes. Does he? Ha, no.

Look not saying I agree with this line of thought, but Dickory would definitely think that if he could raise these two brats completely alone, keep them fed and (relatively) happy, while working as a bounty hunter (and not some cushy oh-so-demanding job as a soft and pretty band boy or whatever the hell) and having to constantly fight the elements and the wild itself every night since they would have to be constantly on the move tracking targets, so why couldn't John? When he didn't have to deal with half of these things?

Dickory would die and has almost died countless times for his feral uncivilized thing he found randomly on a walk and fruity threater kid cowboy-wannabe of younger brothers, for him the thought of doing something exclusively for himself doesn't even compute, his brain has been running in pure "keep these two dumb things alive over anything else" mode for 20+ years and I not saying that's necessary healthy or good way to live, I'm saying that "maybe your life wasn't THAT easy" is the best JD is ever getting with that guy and possibly not even that.

We constantly joke about Barb killing Branch's brothers, but the only thing genuiely keeping John and the others alive at any point in the yodeler au is Hickory trying to kumbaya with the brothers and being whilling to hear their side of the story somewhat and Branch kinda not wanting them death... yet, he's on the fence. Kinda leaning on the kill them and feed theirs bodies to the boars side but knows that Hickory is in his "good guy, reformed, trolls is trolls" phase and doesn't want to make him sad. But considering.

(Im so sorry for this long-ass ramble about this extremely niche AU that shorta involves this extremely niche side character, Im mentally insane hope this explains it)

I could definitely see this being the case! I like the idea of Dickory being in a similar situation but refusing to be understanding.

#sibblings qna #yodeler branch au

22 notes · View notes

joelslegalwhre · 2 years ago

Text

My Riduur

word count // 1.6k

pairing // Din Djarin x fem!reader

word count // 1.6k

summary // Mando didn't like it at all that some boy thought he could get close to his wife. He couldn't show with actions that you were his, the helmet prevented that, but he had his own way to show it.

warnings // jealous Din (let‘s still call him Din okay, thanks), pda, established relationship, lovesick puppy energy, protective!din, allusions to smut, Din and reader speaking Mando’a, me having absolutely no clue about Mando‘a grammar, taking the helmet off if you’re married is okay here, okay? Thanks (did I miss something?)

a/n // I put translation for the Mando‘a words at the end, so you don‘t get confused but I also have the link to the dictionary right here

Took me long enough to write this 😮‍💨 Thank god my exam is over (and I stressed for nothing, it was actually really easy), so here you go with my first ever din fic, I hope you like it x

Masterlist// Mando‘a dictionary I used // my kofi 🩷

It felt strange to be sitting here, in a bar on Mos Eisley, surrounded by all kinds of people, droids, and even a few bounty hunters.

It wasn't the feeling of sitting in a cantina that was weird. No, it was more the feeling of not having to accept a job. You were not here to look for one. In the last months you had almost had no break, and now you could finally lean back a little. The thought, of picking out a nice place with Mando for the three of you for the next few days, pleased you.

But before you did that, you just had to have the ship repaired a bit, after it had taken quite some damage.

Mando was still at Peli Motto's place, busy showing her the ship and checking the price for the repair. You had been looking around the bar ever since he left, hoping he'd be back soon. The jobs of the last weeks had been unique, the wages you had collected for them were easily enough to sit back and relax for a few days, even after getting the razor crest repaired.

You were sitting at a free spot at the bar of the cantina and watched the people and other beings talking to each other. Some argued, some laughed with each other.

You wondered how long it would take for Mando to-

"Hey there, gorgeous." someone sat down next to you, interrupting your thoughts.

You looked at the stranger for a moment, eyeing him. He had to be your age, a few strands of his dark hair fell into his face, and his eyes were not only gleaming with a deep blue, but with an extreme amount of confidence. "I didn't expect to see an angel today." he smirked in a way that almost made you laugh. He didn't lack any confidence, that was for sure.

You drew your brows together, and tilted your head slightly as you looked at him.

"Say, does that work on any woman?"

At his next sentence, you were sure he definitely had a drink too much or just a little too much self-confidence to flirt so shamelessly.

"You're not any woman." he winked.

You raised your eyebrows and nodded with an amused smile. "Oh, is that so?" you chuckled lightly.

"You're here with someone?" he asked, leaning closer. You immediately brought some more space between the two of you again, "I am, actually."

"Well, then where are they?" he asked with a grin that told you he didn't believe you. "Right here." you could hear Mando's deep, modulated voice. Your heart made a little jump when you turned your head and saw him walking straight towards you.

If looks could kill, this wannabe bounty hunter would be six feet underground by now. Mando's jaw had clenched when he saw the stranger talk to you. His jealousy stewing at the mere thought of another man looking at you this way. He’d been ready to stomp up to him and place a good, hard punch right at this fool's flirtatious face.

"Me'bana?" Mando asked, looking at you. His hand naturally found its place on your waist.

"Nothing," you leaned a little closer to him, "Kaysh mirsh solus."

Mando's light, breathy laugh made you almost turn into a puddle. 'He's an idiot.' you'd told him in Mando's native tongue, so the stranger in front of you wouldn't understand.

You had learned it when you started to accompany Mando. He was confused at first, to say at least, as to why you'd wanted to actually learn the language. But you wanted to get to know Mando, that included his native tongue. And besides, it was fun, sitting in the razor crest next to him, Grogu on your lap, learning to speak and read the extraordinary language of your Mandalorian.

"Hey, just so you know," said one started again, "Unalike that tin can there, I can show my face whenever, my lips too." he smirked. His obvious confusion about the two of you speaking in a language he'd never heard but knew must've been Mando'a.

You politely declined his request, slowly getting annoyed. "Thank you very much, but I actually really like the tin can right here."

Mando wanted to kiss you so bad, show you off as his, but he couldn't. That's just how it was, he couldn't take off his helmet. He was proud of his religion, it was part of him. You'd probably wouldn't even let him take it off, even if he tried. That was one of the many reasons he loved you so deeply. You respected his religion, tried to understand and learn about it.

And he could always take it off when the two of you were back in the privacy of the razor crest. He loved the curious look on your face every time he did, as if it was the first time you've seen his face.

But the truth was, that you were enamored with his features, the patchy beard paired with the mustache, his brown eyes and the brown curls… You could just never get enough of him.

Even before you two were married, you always loved to play with the ends of his fluffy hair, whenever it was getting longer once again. It was never much, but enough.

He had other ways to make sure everyone, especially the fool in front of you, knew you belonged to him.

"We need to look for our child." he was well aware that people believed he meant a human child when he referred to Grogu as "child" or "kid".

The look on the boy's face made a smug smile appear on Din's face, carefully hidden by the beskar helmet. He was so satisfied with himself, you could practically feel it spill over, and you didn't even need to see his face for it. You just chuckled quietly.

"Next time," Mando said, "watch who you talk to. My wife is off limits, understand?" his voice cold, almost threatening.

The eyes of the stranger widened, hearing the title.

You took Mando's gloved hand from where it was still firmly placed on your waist, and intertwined your fingers with his.

"C'mon, let's go," you smiled up at your riduur. You turned back around to address the guy, trying to sound nice, "It was nice meeting you."

With that, you left him sitting there, Mando‘s grip on your hand tightening in a protective manner, as you left the cantina.

When you were back at the ship, you could see Grogu fast asleep in his pod, "He's the most adorable thing I've ever seen." you say to Mando, looking at the little being with a look of pure love. Mando‘s heart warmed at the sight of you and Grogu. His little odd family.

"Even more than you getting all jealous of that guy back in the cantina." you grinned at him teasingly.

Mando stepped closer to you, his hands on your hips once again. You slung your arms around his neck.

"I wasn‘t-" but he interrupted himself, he was jealous, so much so that he would've loved to take his blaster out of the holster, even if it was just for show. "I was protecting my aliit." Family. You could barely get your fastening heartbeat under control, no matter how many times he'd say it. "I'm all yours, Din."

"Good." he said, and lowered his head. You could feel the cold beskar of his helmet touch your forehead. A Mandalorian kiss. You loved when he showed you his love that way. You closed your eyes, just soaking up the moment. You couldn‘t see it, but Mando had also closed his eyes, his hands still on your waist, he tried to memorize every little detail about this, about you.

After some time, spent taking the other in, after savoring the intimacy, you could hear a content sigh voice through his modulator.

"I'll look after you, always." His hand wandered to your cheek and cupped it gently. “And trust me,” he huffed, "I won't let anyone flirt with my wife like that, cyar'ika."

You grinned up at him. You couldn't wait to be all alone with him, leaving Grogu in the cockpit to sleep, and kiss him. Oh, how badly you just wanted to give his lips a little peck. You settled for wrapping your arms tightly around his armored middle, pressing yourself against his chest.

Mando's arms around your shoulders, he leaned his helmet against your hair. Even if all you could feel was his armor, it was still him. Your Mandalorian. Your husband. "I love you, mesh'la." the modulator had barely picked it up. He'd whispered it into your hair, like he couldn't believe that you were his. That he had the privilege to be the one to hold you… to love you. And to be loved by you.

"You know," you started smiling at him innocently, „since the baby's asleep, I thought you could show me how much. I mean, just so I know-"

"Haav." he interrupted you, his voice low, "Now." This was no plead, no, a demand. You chuckled and started walking to the makeshift bed you shared with him.

Behind you, you could hear him taking off his helmet, and you could barely hold in your excitement to finally see his face again. You had really missed it, although you've just seen him this morning before getting up. His armor followed next, a second later you could feel his arms wrap themselves around you. "Too many clothes." he whispered into your ear, his voice clear without the modulator. It gave you goosebumps all over your body, "Take them off then.".

Mando‘a translations:

ner = my, mine

riduur = partner, spouse, husband, wife

Me‘bana? = What‘s happening? What happened?

Kaysh mirsh solus = He‘s an idiot (lit. His brain cell is lonely)

cyar‘ika = darling, sweetheart

mesh‘la = beautiful

aliit = clan name, identity, family

haav = bed

🩶taglist: @alexxavicry @kittenlittle24 @hereforfics124 @Snow30285 @cl16version

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian reader insert #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian #grogu my beloved #star wars #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #jealousy #pedro pascal #fluff #em's masterlist

567 notes · View notes

djarins-cyare · 2 months ago

Text

WIP Folder Ask Game!

Rules: Make a post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how nondescriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

Thank you, @ace-turned-confused and @the-blind-assassin-12, for tagging me in this! 🩵🩷

You wanna see ALL the files in my WIP folder? Well, once I’ve developed something to a certain degree, I add it to the WIP section of my masterlist, but I’ve talked about all of those before.

The ones where I just have an outline and a few paragraphs, there are… *counts*… 61 of those! I know, I know... I need to actually write some of this shit. But… they’re busy growing. They’re like root vegetables, carefully planted and put in a dark place until they sprout. And this game seems like a good way to inspire me to cultivate some of them (once I’ve finished writing Hush, which has reached over 70k words, but I’m on the final scene, so it’ll be with you soon)!

So okay, in the same order as I came up with them, here are the most promising 30 of my little sproutling WIPs. All are Din because he occupies my brain 99% of the time.

Refugees from TV Land [*answered here*]

Mile High Club buddy accidental quest

Catch a bounty, win a question

Captain’s (sexy) log [*answered here*]

What became of Kuiil’s compound

The Worst Mandalorian Foundling Ever

Forced hibernation

Din the Apostate

Obligatory sex pollen fic

5 Accidental Innuendoes + 1 Oblivious Bounty Hunter [*answered here*]

Courier Reader slow burn

Not psychic, just an Earthling in the SWU

Post-helmet-removal Fresher’s Flu

Alien cosplay

Evil Clone Din shitshow [*answered here*]

Pilgrimage to a Grave

What’s this Earthling word ‘tampon’?

Nevarro costume party

Be-All And Endor pegging bonus scene [*answered here*]

Undercover at the galaxy’s largest wedding fair

Din needs an iPhone charger to find out what Pedro Pascal looks like [*answered here*]

Oh no, he’s hot, ohhh nooo, you’re shallow

The Ghosts of Aq Vetina

Demi Din discovers desire

Grogu’s French Manicure

Arts and crafts competition

Din gets amnesia

Holo-image creed loophole

Grogu removes his dad’s helmet

The Last of Us inspired Mando fic [*answered here*]

I have to make the file names descriptive so I don’t forget what they’re about 😅. Please ask away if anything piques your curiosity. I will update this post with links to any answers 🩵🩷

Okay, 30 titles = 30 tags! If any of you need some inspiration for your WIPs, give this game a go – it’ll get you thinking about them again. Sending you appreciative forehead kisses, friends 🩵🩷

@ak-vintage @albertasunrise @burntheedges @cas-readsandwrites @chronically-ghosted

@covetyou @djarinmuse @djarins-wife @drewharrisonwriter @evolnoomym

@hauntedhowlett-writes @hellishjoel @iamsherlocked-1998 @javierpena-inatacvest @kyberblade

@mermaidgirl30 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @nerdieforpedro @orcasoul @penvisions

@prolix-yuy @secretelephanttattoo @studioghibelli @syd-djarin @the-mandawhor1an

@thischarmingmandalorian @thundermartini @wannab-urs @whxtedreams @yopossum

#wip folder ask game #wip folder #ask game #wip game #my wips #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

17 notes · View notes

in1-nutshell · 20 hours ago

Note

Just a little random headcanon about TFA Silver Aid: from scale 1 to 10, of her Anger = Scary or (unexpectedly) strong, and who're a (frequent?) "victims" of her anger...?

It can be like?: (you can decide your thoughts on this?)

1 = frustrated/annoyed/disappointed, but also has worry(?) at some minor issues (ex. finding her broken tools or stuffs) (but if it's the kids, she would puts her "casual or friendly" face)?

5 = = frustrated/annoyed, at when anyone Disturbed her rest time, to the point of carrying someone like Lugnut or using her

10 = If anything worst happens to her closed one, she would go "Mama Bear(Beast?)" or one of those (Hell hath no fury, like a women scorn)

Ooh! I like where you are going with this!

Though I will add something here.

1 through 4 goes from annoyed to frustrated.

Reserved for breaking tools and ignoring common sense.

Example: Silver Aid telling Blitzwing off a bit for breaking her tools because he wanted to throw them at Lugnut.

5 through 7 goes from frustrated to anger

Reserved for times where Silver has felt purposely ignored and threats to her family being said.

Example: Silver Aid arguing with Optimus after hearing that he would need to turn in some Con's in to the Elite Guard. Cons that hadn't even done anything bad in months.

7 through 11 goes from anger to pure unadulterated mother's rage

Reserved for times were Silver has had to stand her ground and times where she was ready to beat someone over the helm with a rock.

Example: Silver going after some wannabe bounty hunter that had taken her children. She left with the anger of a thousand suns and a sword. Silver came back, helm to pede covered in energon, her children and a broken sword.

#inbox asks #silver aid

10 notes · View notes

wannabebountyhunter · 2 years ago

Text

I wanted to animate these two for a while, finally got around to do it!

Astor belongs to me

Lou belongs to @lucky-lou

#astor and lou #astor #lou #wannabe bounty hunter #animation #I'm just so happy with how this turned out bhbweufebhwuife

27 notes · View notes

knightscanfeeltoo · 1 year ago

Text

Would you Trust Bridget with Boba Fett's Disintegrator Pistol????

(I doubt that Bridget would be as Ruthless as the Infamous Bounty Hunter from Star Wars maybe...)

450 notes · View notes

hp-fanfic-archive · 1 year ago

Text

A-Z AU Rec List

Saw this A-Z list of AU writing prompts and decided to make a rec list based on it! This has a little bit of everything, pairings wise, so hopefully there’s something for everyone.

A: Apocalypse AU Love In A Time Of The Zombie Apocalypse by rizzlewrites [dramione, E, 356k] After Voldemort, there was this. The clock is ticking to create a cure to the unimaginable horror that currently grips the world. Hermione finds herself unwillingly allied with the most hated man in Wizarding Britain. (also available as a podfic)

B: Bounty Hunter AU Bounty Hunter by SnippyandSnarky [drarry, M, 32k] Set after the 7th book. Voldemort is nearly defeated. A familiar bounty hunter is picking off Death Eaters one by one. (also available as a pdf or e-book file)

C: College AU Wannabe Your Lover by Maraudererasmut & shadow_prince [wolfstar, M, 15k] Somewhere in America, Fall of 1997 - Returning to University, James refused to room with Sirius in the wake of The Great Cheez-it Battle of '96. They must adjust to living with someone new, Mr. Potter worried they'd both get scurvy, James unsuccessfully continued trying to court one Lily Evans, Snape got what was coming to him, and Sirius was the most confused of them all.

D: Do-Over (Second Chance) AU Do It All Over Again (Series) by DracoWillHearAboutThis [drarry, E, 468k] All he wanted was a way out. A way to do it all over again, and to erase his mistakes. He stared at the crackling blue flames so hard they imprinted in his vision. At age eleven, Draco receives a letter from the future, which will make him change the path he has set out upon and lead him into a life he'd never dared to imagine. (also available as a podfic)

E: Emergency Responders AU Oh, We Lost Magic by nerakrose [wolfstar, jily, G, 4k] The year is 1985 and Sirius, Remus, James and Lily are working as paramedics in muggle London, living seemingly normal lives…except there's really an awful lot of weird things going on.

F: Fake Dating AU Distractions by morningsound15 [hermione/ginny, T, 86k] Ginny sighed and slumped back in her seat. “You’re letting him win. He’s winning the breakup!” “Everything you’re saying is ridiculous! You can’t win a breakup.” “Obviously you can, and Ron is doing it!” “You’re being childish. Not everything is about winning and losing.”

G: Ghost AU Another Day in the Sun by REwrites [wolfstar, T, 19k] Is it haunted? I suppose that depends on who is telling the story.

H: Historical Fiction AU Blood and Brimestone by calanthe_fic [drarry, E, 42k] The Inquisition claims it reforms and cleanses Prodigals of their demonic heritage, but Captain Harry Potter learns that the Church has lost its way and is worse by far than the devils in Hells Below. (also available as a pdf or e-book file)

I: Investigation AU Caught by Phiso [wolfstar, G, 4k] Sirius Black was the thief no one could catch – at least, not until he met his match in Detective Inspector Remus Lupin.

J: Jazz Club AU A Specter of The Night [+Podfic] by writer-or-whatever [wolfstar, T, 1k] Roaring 20s Wolfstar AU OR The one where Sirius turns up out of the blue as a Jazz singer and Remus is confused and still very much in love.

K: Knitting AU Charmed Wool by winnett [drarry, E, 11k] Draco works for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department (MMAD). Tracking down an illegal knitter of charmed jumpers takes him to County Cork where he never expected to find the missing Chosen One. (also available as a pdf or e-book file)

L: Lycanthropy AU seventeen moons by we_built_the_shadows_here [snily, G, 6k] “The scar is small, at least,” Pomfrey says, pulling the bandage snug around the cleaned wound. There’s a pity in her voice that makes Severus want to throw up again. “It will be easily covered.” Dumbledore catches him inspecting it, as if mesmerized. “You are lucky to have survived at all,” the Headmaster says. Severus does not say I don’t feel very lucky because it is stupid and obvious. Instead, he says unsteadily, “I want to press charges, sir.” Pomfrey stills, tightening the bandage to the point of discomfort. “Remus Lupin would be executed,” Dumbledore says. “The Ministry takes a dim view of werewolves who infect other wizards.”

M: Musician AU Bubblegum Blues by reachthetree [wolfstar, M, 5k] Remus actually looks down as she smiles, like a shy teenager in a first kiss scenario, and it gives Sirius deja vu. She’s lived this exact moment before. Only in another life. When Remus lifts the bass, Sirius sees a tattoo on the back of her upper arm, and drops her little notebook on the sticky floor. She’s only known one other person with a tattoo like that. But it can’t be… Can it?

N: No Voldemort AU Sing Me a (Christmas) Love Song by andromedablacc [James/Sirius, G, 1k] James is a famous Quidditch player, and once upon a time Sirius was famous in his own right.

O: Office AU Of Tinsel and Nice Starts by nerakrose [wolfstar, G, 2k] Mysterious clouds and strange coffee abounds. Office romance.

P: Photographer AU Rule of Thirds by bluepeony [wolfstar, G, 2k] Modern AU: Sirius Black, star of the university's football team, only wants one thing: a teensy-weensy, harmless little kiss.

Q: Quidditch Player AU our kiss is as the moon to draw by blackkat [lily/narcissa, T, 1k] “Problems, cousin?” Narcissa calls to Sirius, cool and sugar-sweet. She’s smirking, braid of pale hair coming loose, and Lily should absolutely be cheering for Gryffindor, but she can't help herself. As Narcissa turns into a sharp dive, snatching the Quaffle right out of James's hands as she passes, she whoops, clapping her hands together. “I think this is the part where I'm supposed to call you a traitor,” Remus observes from the seat beside her, as dry as dust, though he hasn’t even lifted his gaze from his book.

R: Receptionist AU They don't love you like I love you by moonlightgalleon [wolfstar, G, 5k] Hospital receptionist Remus Lupin usually invites superheroes as guests for the kids. That is, until he gets the unusual request of inviting villain The Canis.

S: Soulmate AU Amare Series by ABlackRaven [harry/cedric, T, 173k] Cedric feels drawn to protect Harry Potter. Whether this be from Dementors on a Quidditch pitch or the tasks of a life-threatening tournament, he's determined to help him. He can't help but worry about the younger boy. Eventually friendship takes root and potentially…something more? Harry feels drawn to Cedric, safe when he is near. He certainly has no shortage of dangers in his life, from an abusive home life to the growing threat of Voldemort. He cant help the guilt that he puts Cedric in danger by proximity. Eventually friendship takes root and potentially…could he hope for something more? And when the end of the third task goes horribly wrong, will either of them survive? A rewrite of Book 4 revolving around Harry and Cedric.

T: Time Travel AU Escaping the Paradox by Meri [snarry, E, 35k] After Harry is thrown back in time to 1971, he has several choices to make. (also available as a podfic)

U: Undercover AU The Chosen One & The Halfblood Prince by waitingondaisies [Harry & Severus, T, 93k] Severus Snape was discovered as a spy mere days before the start of the school year. Thankfully, Albus had been working on a vague contingency plan for this possibility. It had been inspired by the question, “What would it take for Severus Snape to see that he was wrong about Harry Potter?” The answer? Force Severus to go undercover as Alfonse “Eli” Hopkirk, a sixth year Gryffindor.

V: Vampire AU Immortal Claim by ladyofsilverdawn [snarry, E, 16k] Harry needs Snape's cooperation to solve a case, but navigating vampiric culture and Snape's powerful allure proves more challenging than he anticipates.

W: Western AU Hell and High Water by Krethes [susan bones/pansy parkinson, T, 7k] Pansy is the daughter of the leader of a notorious band of outlaws that's been running this dusty old town for as long as she can recall. Then one day a new sheriff rides into town with her pretty little niece at her side who keeps making pretty little eyes at Pansy and -- aw, hell. (also available as a podfic)

X: N/A

Y: Youtube AU real life has no appeal by orphan_account [wolfstar, G, 7k] In which Remus is Lily's roommate and Sirius, James and Peter break into places.

Z: Zombie AU Love In A Time Of The Zombie Apocalypse by rizzlewrites [dramione, E, 356k] After Voldemort, there was this. The clock is ticking to create a cure to the unimaginable horror that currently grips the world. Hermione finds herself unwillingly allied with the most hated man in Wizarding Britain. (also available as a podfic)

Yes, yes, I know. The first and last list items are the same, but there are only so many zombie and/or apocalypse AUs.

56 notes · View notes

oh-lordy-lord-save-me · 10 months ago

Note

Jay do you have any ideas for side characters in your tmnt version? :0

yes!! i’m planning on including characters from the ‘87 show and perhaps the older comics to add my own spin on them,,,

characters like bebop and rocksteady, mondo gecko, the triceratons, armaggon, irma, carter, and nobody are definitely on the list.

i dont think ive spoken on bebop and rocksteady on here yet. they are henchmen to the foot as they have graciously offered them a home after their accidental contact with mutagen, which turned them into a warthog and rhino. they used to ship mutagen but lost the job immediately after that incident.

irma is an old friend of april. while april pursued bio engineering, irma pursued software engineering. (this may change) she is an ally of the tmnt but doesn’t put herself in the front lines.

carter is an ex foot ninja. he is later introduced as a way to show how many ninja of the foot clan have become to doubt the shredder’s leadership, as it was discovered that hamato yoshi is not truly dead.

nobody is a vigilante who has a particular strong distaste with anything to do with the foot

armaggon is a bounty hunter and wannabe lord of the galaxy.

not all of these are solid. i’ll probably change up a few things!!

#ask #tmnt: coalescence

23 notes · View notes

epsilon-13 · 7 months ago

Text

I'm not going to lie. I completely missed the pink poncho the first like two times I fought that oggdo bogdo, how ever you spell it's name.

First time, didn't have to scomp link

Second time, completely forgot about it, and some how just scanned right passed it.

Third time, didn't fight that frog wannabe looking thing, but two bounty hunter and saw it when I got pushed into a "corner"(it was just the wall it's a round room).

Not my best moments...

#star wars #star wars fallen order #jedi fallen order #fallen order #haha oops

13 notes · View notes

tatooineknights · 7 months ago

Text

Day Three: Set Up For Failure - "I Warned You"

How could he have been so stupid?

Han warned him that something wasn’t right about the transmissions they were receiving from the small moon near Ruusan, but Luke, ever eager for more knowledge about the Jedi, ignored him. The X-Wing had been personally commissioned to him and for the first time in a year, he had shore leave. What could the harm be in a little investigation? He’d be alright – he had the Force, and a lightsaber. A basic understanding of the Force, at least. Which is more than most could claim. It would only take a few minutes at most, Artoo could just stay at the ship.

Luke grunted beneath the gag wrapped around his head; his captors initially were kind enough to let him speak but his incessant whining proved to be a weapon too dangerous for the young Skywalker to possess, hence the gag. The binds over his wrist were feeble.. if only he had a better control of the Force, he could get himself out of this mess. These were amateurs, bounty hunters at best, not Imperials.

Which made the capture all the more humiliating.

Luke arrived at the base only a few hours prior, blaster in hand, walking around the abandoned facility. He wasn’t sure if it once belonged to the Jedi or if it was some kind of memorial, a study, perhaps? The architecture was cold, brutal and uninspiring, which made the few tapestries and statues stand out. It was only when he reached the sublevel of the base, approaching the holocron that sat in the center of a podium, that it all went wrong; the holocron burst into static (a fake!) and caught Luke off guard, as a cuff flew out from the edge of the podium, wrapping around his left wrist and then to his right as he struggled to free himself, with a hand from behind taking his lightsaber.

When he was unable to use the Force to free himself or summon his lightsaber, the lowly mercs laughed and thought him to be a Jedi wannabe. They didn’t need to be concerned about what he would do; the capture was the priority, and now as a prisoner, he was secondary, as they left to bring the rest of their company. It was definitely a bruise to his ego, and one he would not forget. Likewise, the bruise over his left temple from an incapacitating strike still pulsed, though it had gotten better with the passing hours. Enough for him to finally concentrate in this dark cell.

Breathe. Just.. breathe.

It was always so hard for Luke to find himself at one with the Force; so many questions left unanswered, doubts that reverberated down to his soul, a mind never at peace as it continually searched for more. Desperation was all that seemed to work in his favor. Luke’s eyes rolled back in his head, as he tried to sense the mechanical lock in the binds. Just a snap and a turn, right? He could do it, now that he had the time to himself, free of distraction.

But his mind kept going to his lightsaber, which dangled uselessly on the other side of the cell. The only time that Luke kept that weapon away, the only connection he had to his father and the legend of the Jedi, was at night when it was time for bed. He needed it. The absence of it frightened him; what if he never got it back? What use would Luke Skywalker be without a lightsaber? Who would Luke Skywalker be without it? The echo of his father’s legacy was his primary calling.

Luke tried to call for the weapon – come to me, please.

It tilted and shifted briefly in the air, before slumping back down, rattling against the walls of the cell. Too loud. What if his captors had returned and heard? The lightsaber was too much of a gamble, his skill wasn’t there yet. The lock, Luke, he reminded himself. Why did he always have to make things harder?

His eyebrows furrowed, biting the inside of his lips as he sought the image of the bind in his head, gritting his teeth as it came to fruition. It was almost there.. almost. His neck tilted as he saw the delicate mechanism before him, crystal clear, waiting for a phantom hand to grasp it. Just touch it… touch it..

Click.

The binds unclasped themselves from his wrists, dropping down to the floor. Luke pulled down the gag from his lips, letting out an audible gasp for air. “You’re mine again, pal,” Luke said, leaping to his feet as he collected the lightsaber, holding it reliably in his right hand. “Time to get out of here.”

The cyan light of his weapon shot into the air, giving him a sense of power after hours of uselessness. He charged forward through the abandoned halls, haphazardly slashing through panels and pipes; the mercs would not be pleased with what their wannabe Jedi did to their communications system and air filtration. He smirked to himself as he collected his breath, racing toward the discrete place he landed. At least he was smart enough for no one to detect the ship.

“Artoo, we’re getting out of here!” Luke commanded as he jumped into the cockpit, ignoring the frantic cues and whistles from his little friend. He was thankful the droid listened to him for once and didn’t go on ahead scouting, as he was prone to do. “I know, I know! I’m sure you were worried but I have no time to explain. We’re going to be expecting company.”

The ship began to prime for takeoff, Luke flipping through switches as he pinged a comm to the rebellion. Artoo beeped back at Luke as they lifted into the air, causing him to look down and read his response. “My forehead? Oh,” the young Jedi-in-training said, his hand brushing against the purple dusting over his left eye. It caused him to wince, grimacing at the youth. “Just a little gift from some friends. Don’t worry, I plan on returning the favor.”

As Luke went into orbit, his radar sensed three small freighters approaching the moon. “They’re coming right for us, Artoo,” he hissed. Maybe the whole Force thing wasn’t something he understood just yet – but a cockpit? That was his natural element, and those mercs were sure to regret messing with this Jedi.

#whumptober2024 #no.3 #“i warned you”#star wars #fanfic #luke skywalker #post-anh #capture and escape

19 notes · View notes