#Ty Garrison

[guywrestlingaddiction]

That Wrestling Moment: Letting your Jobber (briefly) win - Ty Garrison v Jean-Luc Menard (bgeast.com)

Top heels know when to give and take.  Sure one-sided matches can be fun, but master heels know when to let their jobber take the reigns ... only to crush them later for maximum effect.  

Ty Garrison v Jean-Luc Menard (bgeast.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

The Backstory

Ty and Jean-Luc meet on bgeast's UK wrestling mat for a knock down drag out.  Since this is a Ty Garrison match you better believe that someone will be knocked out at the end of this.  You see Ty is not like the other pretty boy wrestlers out there; this man came to dominate the ring.

Jean-Luc may be all smiles now but give it a minute.

The Action

It all comes quick.  Ty takes down the tall lanky Jean-Luc within a few minutes of the match.  Jean-Luc may have the size and reach advantage but Ty fights like he's from the streets and he knows how to take guys like him down.  He could literally end this match whenever he chooses.  

Easily take down the big man and humiliate him.

Straddle him and force him to look up at you. 

Ty's got him in a vice forcing Jean-Luc to squeal 

Ty knows how to take advantage of that lean torso that's begging to be pummeled. 

Big guys like Jean-Luc aren't used to being manhandled so it's extra satisfying for guys like Ty to crush them.  

Ty: Give! Give! Jean-Luc: *Groan* *Groan* ... I ... give ...

The Moment 

If you look up heel, you'll find Ty Garrison's image somewhere.  The man is not only the definition of a brutal top but he also clearly loves his work.  So like all top heels, the man also knows when to give his jobber the win, albeit brief.  You see a heel's victory isn't complete without giving a jobber some semblance of hope before totally obliterating their dreams.  

Jean-Luc: You'll pay for that ...

A minute later ... Ty takes him down putting him in his place.

Ty: Fuck ... Fuck *groan*

Jean-Luc on top.  Is this the upset victory we've been waiting for? 

So what have we learned today?  Good heels are confident in their place to know when to give their jobbers hope and no victory is sweeter than after shattering that hope.  You see good heels need a good ending and Ty is among the top heels out there.  

#gay wrestling #bgeast.com #Ty Garrison #Jean-Luc Menard

[mvshortcut]

For blorbo bingus: Dr. Garrison? 😇

Go girl give us nothing!

#ask game #dr. garrison #Ty maren <33

[amysterywrappedinanenigma]

For the character ask game - Dr. Garrison for 2, 10, and 23? (And also Curtain for 9. I gotta know the truth.) <33

Dr. Garrison:

2- When I think I truly started to like them. 

I feel like I generally liked her in the first season, but didn’t think that much of her. I thought she had a pretty interesting role as someone who was aligned with Curtain, but was also a voice of ethics that pushed against him, and I thought her character functioned as an interesting showcase of his manipulation. 

That being said, I don’t know what happened to me between season 1 and 2, but the second she came onscreen in season 2, I physically shrieked. And then I really liked her in the episode she was in, and I love her even more with the weird extensive world of lore we’ve kind of built around her. 

10- Describe the character in one sentence

Ethically questionable, emotionally unstable woman in STEM with divorced energy, who can do no wrong and who we hope will have the supervillain arc she deserves in the future, after extensive therapy and probably a hug.

23- Future headcanon

I think we’ve mentioned this a little bit in the past, but I really like to think her and Martina join up in the future and kind of go through things, and do a little bit of healing and moving on together. I just feel like they’d have a mutual respect for one another, and their dynamic would be really nice. (This also definitely involves Martina gently (or not so gently) bullying Garrison until she gets back on her feet and starts her villain arc). And it gives Dr. Garrison the chance to become an aggressive sports mom, and I kind of love that for her. 

Curtain: 

9- Your least favorite outfit of them

Oh that’s hard, there are so many to choose from and I feel like they’re kind of equally- just kidding, it’s the x-ray smock. We all know it’s the stupid X-ray smock. Stupid shirt haunts my nightmares and he has the audacity to wear it as if it’s fashionable. It inspires my rage just like he does. 

Character asks!

#ty for the ask!! <33 #these are so fun #I'm totally down to do more if people have any more characters or numbers they want to send! #also fun fact during season 1 my friend made a venn diagram comparing me to Dr. Garrison and it’s a prized possession now

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

alas I've no WiPs to post about currently, but thank you for tagging me nonetheless! :D I would like to know about "in which maybe everyone goes to gundabad" 👀

i was not sure! figured i'd send it your way in case :D

but! everyone goes to gundabad. this one's also mostly outline, in no small part bc it would require knowing all the details of the helf trio story and the dwarf politics brigade story, which. i do not. but est had opinions on it already so i gave it some words to make it be quiet

altho! return to carn dum might mess with it a bit. i had been thinking (before it was announced) that est and corunir were running around angmar and helping to irritate the last iron crown holdouts, and then followed one of the parties taking the iron pass into car bronach. est wasn't going to get most of the epic- that was gonna be for glainyn and my woefully underdeveloped stout-axe. isena & isedd i wasn't thinking were gonna be major players- they're hanging out with leothred for history of the rohirrim, mostly. helf trio (well. helf duo- silmeniel doesn't go adventuring lol) is mostly 'what do you have?' 'a cursed gaunt-lord staff :D' 'nO-'

still very vague, but does technically exist!

#ask games #fun fact! est has not been back to moria since vol2 and sprinted thru erebor before the garrison got back #she is Unaware of all that :) #also there are shenanigans about 'everyone finds a special gem' #the zidir-nesad quests were fun. not fun enough i'm doing Every Deed In Gundabad again tho #ty friend :D

[airplanes924]

Movies I’ve Watched in 2022

Number 27

12 Mighty Orphans

#movies2022 #12 mighty orphans #ty roberts #luke wilson #vinessa shaw #wayne knight #jake austin walker #robert duvall #martin sheen #jacob lofland #levi dylan #kelly frye #treat williams #carlson young #lane garrison #natasha bassett #scott haze #lucy faust #larry pine #ron white #heath freeman #king orba

[callmelyc]

Angsty post canon concept:

When Allura dies what if the Altean magic she used on Shiro and Lance weakens and that's how ppl find out Lance also died?

Both Lance and Shiro start with symptoms they can ignore and ones doctors brush aside. They get told it's fatigue, they get told it's after effects from fighting In the war like they had for all that time. Neither realize it all starts after Alluras death.

Then they end up with things unexplainable. Things like extreme full body tremors, sudden extreme chills and are icy cold to the touch no matter the temperature. Their bodies ache in the ways they had in their deaths but neither man admits it out loud too afraid of what that might mean so neither is aware they aren't alone is this bizarre and sudden turn of events.

It's not until Lance collapses and is rushed to the Garrison hospital that they discovered it something more.

His body deteriorating from the inside out seen visibly from their newest high tech scans. Rotting, closing down, slowing or lacking proper function like his body has given up. Like his body is referring backwards to lack of life but no one knows why.

It's almost like its frying itself from the inside out, it's path crawling closer and closer to his heart with every passing day like bolts of electricity pulsing more and more upward.

Shiro is the first to realize what it means once Lance is finally giving the symptoms they'd had to pry out of him. He realizes with dread that his fellow paladin has things that match up too close to his own.

He only realizes bc he's felt similar things, only his resemble his own death and he knows for a fact its thinfs in Excruciating pain, a pain he thought no one but himself would ever understand.

To get lance to admit what happened Shiro goes through the scans himself to prove his point. No one enjoys hearing Lances story, Allura hadn't even known she was capable of what she'd done to him So he's worse off than Shiro is and terrified of the idea of dying again this slowly

both get taken to an off planet hospital, one that could preserve their symptoms until the rest of their team and families could find a way to heal them

But without Alluras alchemy No one knew what to do.

First they try talking to the alteans on new altea but none have any knowledge of the alchemy allura had used for them

Then the team spreads out

Pidge uses her ranking in her field to gain any and all database information she can get her hands on

Hunk uses his connections To the Balmera and other species to attempt to find any information on healing abilities that might help

Keith is the most successful, the man he loves and his brother are dying and he wouldn't accept that one bit

He sends all the Blades willing to look for any possible Leads and anyone who might know anything about healing magic or alchemy

Keith is the one who comes across one of haggars old druids, one well versed in altean alchemy and one bitter at what had become of the craft

She had understood, to a degree, what Allura had done to Save both men

She had tied their life force to her own to ground them back to this plane of existence and now that she's no longer tied to one universe her connection has faded and so has theirs

"You must tie them to another life to keep them but this practice is taboo. If this next life dies they will with it."

Keith doesn't hesitate for a moment "just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

He ends up tying Lances life force to his own, Lance so sickly he didn't get a choice and Keith apologizes the entire way

He combs fingers through lances thinned hair hoping it brought any comfort to the man that had no energy to even stay awake anymore "you can be as angry as you want after this, as long as you survive I don't care anymore..."

Shiros husband does the same for Shiro

They know it's worked when their bodies stop dying and start to finally try to heal.

The damage so extensive they both spend months in newly crafted healing pods that do everything to try to reverse it.

Both come out whole, alive and maybe a little worse for wear than before All this took place.

But no one cares so long as they stay alive.

And, if when Keith tells lance what he'd done to save him, Keith earns a strict slap to the face for his recklessness that's followed by a gentle kiss.

Well, no one says a word.

#voltron #lance vld #vld #vld lance #lance mcclain #keith kogane #klance #keith x lance #keith voltron #shiro vld #i put this concept on Twitter and rhey were frothing at the mouth over it #this will be turned into a full fic so stay tuned

[zablife]

Birthday Gift

John Shelby x Y/N Solomons

Summary: John celebrates his birthday with his bestie, but things don't go to plan.

Author's Note: Part of my Partners in Crime series about John and his problematic bestie Y/N Solomons. Ty to @dreamlandcreations for this idea!

Warnings: language, drinking

“Where have you been? Party started at eight. It’s gone ten,” John stated as he saw the top of your head weaving through the crowd gathered at the Garrison to celebrate his birthday.

“Take a butchers at this, you ungrateful arse!” you shouted above the din of the crowd. As the people standing in front of you parted to make way for the enormous tray you carried, John was finally able to see you head on, noticing something that vaguely resembled a triple layer chocolate cake. However, it was so unstable, it teetered precariously in your small hands and John’s eyes widened as it swayed before him.

“Would you Adam and Eve it?” you said with a wide grin, your pride swelling as you offered your gift.

“I can, it looks bloody awful!” he said with a boisterous laugh, fueled by the drinks he’d consumed in the hours before your arrival.

Arthur turned from the bar and poked his head over John’s shoulder, knitting his brows together and squinting his eyes which swam in their sockets from his own indulgement as he asked, “What’s this, eh?”

“You having a bubble? What the bloody hell do you think it is?” you asked, incredulously.

“Looks like a pile of dog shit,” Arthur mumbled into John’s ear, making them both erupt into drunken laughter, whisky splashing onto the floor as John gripped his brother’s arm to keep from falling over.

You stamped your foot and pursed your lips together, unamused by their buffoonery. “I spent five fucking hours on this!” you huffed, blowing hair out of your face from the corner of your mouth as both hands were occupied. Looking down at the increasingly heavy monstrosity you held and back up at your friend you wondered why you had bothered when this was the thanks you received. “Bloody shame is what it is,” you whined.

“That you dropped it?” John asked, voice dipping into a low and serious register all of a sudden. He scratched his ear, considering how the pathetic looking confection seemed to have fallen from a great height and been crammed back together hastily with fistfuls of icing. He waited anxiously for you to explain as your face grew ten shades of red.

“Dr-dropped it?” you stuttered, temper rising in your throat as you thought of all the time you’d spent in Alfie’s kitchen, covered in flour, pressed up against his disgusting, foul smelling workmen. Your hands were still cramped from holding the icing bag used to decorate it in tiny rosettes the way you’d been shown. It might not be the most beautiful creation you’d ever seen, but you were still quite proud of it.

“Yea…cos it’s leanin’, see?” John pointed as he cocked his head to to the side, attempting to view the cake as it might appear right side up. “And this whole side is pretty much….well, it’s gone, love,” he commented, gesturing toward the left top tier which was missing a large chunk. Your mouth hung open in speechless horror as you realized it had fallen off somewhere along the way, probably food for the rats in the streets by now.

At that moment, Finn walked up, studying you and the unfortunate mess you held in your hands. “Y/n! Is that food? I’m starving!” he drunkenly yelled, lunging for the cake.

Before he made it to you, Isaiah pulled him back by the elbow warning, “Careful, mate. Probably came out Alfie’s bins by the look of it.” Then turning to you with a cheeky grin, he asked “Is that why they call you alley cat, darlin’? That lovely little tail of yours been digging through the rubbish for scraps? Hope it’s not poisoned!” he chuckled.

“Alright, that’s enough!” John intervened, straightening himself. It was alright for him to make jokes, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to wound your pride. “It might look a bit dodgy, but I’m sure it tastes…well, better than it looks,” he gulped, eyeing you and the cake wearily, knowing he’d have to try it now.

You felt the tips of your ears burning as your rage boiled over, vocal chords thrumming as you screamed, “Would you stop rabbiting on about the bloody give and take!” Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, mostly due to exhaustion.

Finn stood motionless, glancing at John in panic. He shuffled forward, placing a hand on your shoulder as he assured you in a meek voice, “I can’t wait to try it.” He gave you a weak smile before stepping away, deathly afraid of the murderous glint in your eye.

“What are you drinking, alley cat?” John asked, attempting to appease you.

“Drop of needle and pin,” you answered, allowing the distraction as you looked around for a place to rest the cake.

As he rejoined the conversation, Arthur asked in confusion, “She gonna sew the fucking thing back together?”, a hiss escaping from between his teeth as he found amusement in his own joke.

“You’re brown bread, you hear me?” you threatened, gritting your teeth together tightly. You’d had nearly all you could take of relentless taunts for one night.

“So long as you ain’t the one bakin' it, sweetheart,” he replied with a wicked grin, raising his glass in a sarcastic toast.

That was all it took for you to snap, fingers raising the edges of the hefty tray as you grunted under the weight. 

“Oh, fuck!” Finn called out, but you were already launching the cake through the air toward Arthur. Even in his state of inebriation, the tall, lanky man managed to duck the flying pastry, his boxing reflexes serving him well.

However, the cake found an unanticipated target as John turned from the bar at that moment with your gin in one hand and a fresh pint of beer in the other. Unable to defend himself, the confection hit him squarely in the face, the weight of it nearly bowling him over in the process. The drinks sloshed out toward you, soaking your new dress in alcohol and you gasped at the feeling of cool liquid running down your cleavage. The room seemed to quiet for a few seconds afterward as John turned to place the empty glasses on the bar and wiped his face with a handkerchief. 

“Y/n?” he called out to you through a mouthful of icing. You didn’t reply, frozen in place with your hands to your face in genuine shock over your outburst. Then the laughter began, a silent shudder against your ribs at first as you attempted to hold it in and then an undignified snort as your amusement grew for the entire pub to hear. 

“You fucking laughing at my brother?” Arthur asked, picking up a handful of sponge and tossing it at your dress, ruining it further.

“You prick!” you yelled and grabbed a handful yourself, attempting to hit Arthur in the face. However, you missed and pummeled his chest, smearing his new tie with hideous brown streaks. As his face contorted in anger, Finn attempted to pull you away, but Arthur was already charging at you with the ferocity of a bull. Although John tried to hold him back, he only succeeded in slipping and sliding in the chocolate icing with his brother, landing on the hard wood floor with a thud.

Soon everyone was covered in unappetizing shades of brown, a sickeningly sweet smell permeating your nostrils as you threw chunks of cake at one another. You took pleasure smooshing a large portion into Isaiah’s face as you asked, “Enjoying the rubbish, darling?” And you couldn’t stop giggling as you noticed an overly intoxicated Finn licking his fingers greedily behind a chair. At least someone is enjoying my efforts, you thought. 

The shouting had long since turned to peels of laughter as the fight devolved into happy chaos. Even Arthur began to smile, until a distant voice began yelling over the crowd in sharp authority.

“Oi! What the fuck is going on?” Your head snapped up to see Tommy standing over all you. He watched you rolling in what looked to be mud as he picked at the bottom of one of his pristine leather shoes with disgust. 

“Tommy, I thought you were in London tonight,” John coughed out, attempting to shake crumbs from his hands. His face looked like that of a naughty child and he quickly averted his eyes, ashamed of his untidy appearance in contrast to his brother’s spotless three piece suit.

“We was celebrating John boy’s birthday,” Arthur added, attempting to stand, shoes skittering to one side as he clutched for the edge of the bar to remain upright. As he tried to smooth his hair back, you hiccuped out a little laugh.

“Y/n Solomons, might have known you’d be here,” Tommy mumbled through clenched jaw, disapproval evident, before announcing, “Everyone out of my fucking pub!” Chairs squealed and feet shuffled as partygoers who had been cheering and laughing moments earlier turned silent, no one wishing to incur the wrath of Tommy Shelby as they exited with haste. 

“Sorry, Tommy,” Isaiah mumbled, his ever present grin permanently faded as he fetched a mop and bucket. As the junior peaky boys began to clean, shooting daggers at you through their eyes, you realized the night had officially ended.

John leaned against the wall outside the Garrison, blowing smoke rings up toward the heavens in the peaceful silence of the evening. Cigar finished and stamped out on the cobblestones, he shoved his hands in his pockets, bouncing on the heels of his feet to keep warm. As he looked over at your disheveled figure, he laughed, “That was some birthday, alley cat. Haven’t had that much fun since I was kid.”

“Is that a thank you, I hear, Barney?” you asked, stamping out your cigarette with the heel of your boot. 

“Yeah, spose it is,” he chuckled. “Tommy’s face was a picture though,” he said, shoulders shaking as he laughed.

“Think he’ll tell Alfie?” you asked.

“No!” he snorted, indignantly. “Who cares about a mess in Tommy's pub?” John asked with a wave of his hand.

“Not the cake, you stupid git, THAT!” you said with a flourish, pointing to the brand new Triumph parked at the corner. 

“Alley cat, what have you done?” John asked, noticing the motorcycle for the first time that night.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, eyes as big as saucers.

“All yours, my love,” you said with a nod.

“No!” John gasped, running toward it and jumping on the seat with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

“Yes!” you squealed, following him. “Just don’t drive it round London,” you said, biting your lip nervously. 

John looked over his shoulder at you with furrowed brow, “Alley cat…” he began in a warning tone, knowing full well how you'd come into possession of the bike.

“Don’t ask,” you cut him off, holding up your hand.

He burst into laughter as you asked, “Does this make up for the birthday cake?”

“Yea, I’d say so!” he replied, stroking the handlebars lovingly.

“Good, then I never want to hear another word about my baking as long as I live!” you replied with a satisfied smirk. 

---------------------------

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

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@notyour-valentine

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@thegreatdragonfruta

@mythos-writes

@emotionalcadaver

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #John Shelby fanfic #John Shelby imagine #John Shelby x Y/n #John Shelby x you #John Shelby x reader #John Shelby x Solomons sister

[voltronisanobsession]

may i request an Altean!reader (possibly fem) who is also a bodyguard? Im thinking about if King Alfor put them in a pod too to help protect Princess Allura once she came out. im mostly thinking of the princess x bodyguard trope 🤭 but the reader x other paladins are fine too! i can't exactly remember, but i don't think they trained them to fight at the garrison. I think it would be nice if reader helped them at the start with their stances and such.

ty for reading this, regardless of if you get to it ^-^

Being Allura’s Bodyguard Headcanons

I LOVE THIS IDEA😻😻😻 IMMA MAKE THIS A FEM!READER CUZ IM A SUCKER FOR FEMALE GUARDS 🤪🤪 this feels all over the place BUT IGNORE IT

This feels a little weird though, let me know if I did you justice🤨💔

OH MY GOSH BODYGUARD READER???

UM YES PLEASE

If you were put to sleep with Allura and Coran, that means Alfor REALLY trusted reader

You probably trained to be Allura’s guard specifically as you both grew up

So that means you were around each a lot as children and teens

I think reader might be a year or two older than Allura, so in a way you grew to be protective of the younger girl, naturally

She was always able to confide in you no matter what, whether it was about a problem that bothered her or complaining about her potential suitors

I think because y’all spent so much time together, a little crush might form between yall

But being her bodyguard, you knew you had a duty to uphold and couldn’t let silly feelings get in the way of that (much to her dismay)

You would always playfully roll your eyes whenever she tried using a pickup line on you

When you guys wake up from the pods, despite your drowsiness, you’re immediately at Allura’s side, pushing away the weird creature with round ears from her

Like your sword is drawn out and pointed to Lance, ready to attack if the group in front of you poses themselves as a threat

Yeah, the group decides that it’s best to take several steps away from you LMAO

You’re always by Allura’s side no matter what, the princess being your main priority

You’re kinda like her shadow, always standing guard, waiting for the unexpected

I think reader would begin falling hard for the Allura (much to her delight) when she saves her from a life or death situation

The whole point of being her bodyguard was to protect her, but seeing how she risked her own life to drag you to safety made your heart flutter

Like no one had ever done that for you😭

You were taught and trained to fight for yourself, trained to protect others

So Allura being the one protecting you led you down in a spiral

And it’s a QUICK spiral, may I add

You begin seeing the princess in a different light

The way not a single hair moves from its placement when she’s fighting, whether it be training or when out on a mission, entranced you

You admired the way she demanded attention with just her presence alone

And Allura notices these changes AHH

Like this girl is internally screaming when you gently take her hand when you’re trying to bring her away from any danger

I like to think Allura would be flirty with her bodyguard lowkey

They’re used to each other from the years of being together so this isn’t an odd occurrence

But things do change when you begin turning pink whenever she uses her dumb pickup lines

It’s gotten to a point where the princess was able to beat you in a duel for the first time when she randomly blurted one out

(You claimed that you were feeling a little sick that day lol)

Even despite the fun flirting and knowing looks shared between you two, you would still be hesitant to start an actual relationship with Allura

You have so much respect for the passed King Alfor that you want to continue being the bodyguard for his daughter

You feel like you might be betraying his trust if you start pursuing his daughter

Coran would tell you to go for though if you talk to him about it

He knew Alfor best, so hearing him say that the king would want you and Allura to be happy, you immediately go to the princess

You confess and she’s just jumping on you in pure joy cuz FINALLY

The rest is HISTORY as you guys finally pursue each other AHHH

You’re a much more gentler bodyguard, you’re less tense when out of the castle and honestly just enjoying every moment with Allura

Instead of protecting Allura, you both fight along side each other

The respect you guys have for the other is just so UGH!!! If Allura wants to fight her own battles, you watch from a close distance

Honestly you guys make each other better I can’t even

And because you’re less intense now that you’re with Allura, you treat the team with much more patience

Since they had no idea how to fight at first (most of them at least), you offer to train them

Altean style😍

They wouldn’t take you seriously at first, except Shiro, until you bodyslam Keith to the ground when he gets too cocky with his attacks

After that, they take training very seriously LMAO

You taught Shiro and Keith how to fight efficiently when in close range, showing them fighting techniques that they could also use if they don’t have their weapons

You teach Hunk and Lance how to properly use their guns, showing them the right positions to hold their weapons as to not injure themselves

And with Pidge, you show her how to use her weapon in general because of how unique it is compared to the others weapons

They grow to become strong fighters, you may even shed a tear, happy you were able to help them

You’re still able to demolish them even after everything you all have been through though

Every now and then you guys hold a tournament to see whose the best fighter, you still winning most of the times

Except when you go against Lance for some reason, he’s a slippery one you need to keep an eye on💀

You grow to care for everyone in your own way, vowing to protect them when if it ever came down to it

Being Allura’s bodyguard is honestly a very rewarding duty

She appreciates everything you do and risk to keep her safe, and she promises to do the same for you

I also think you’re the voice of reason for her cuz y’all remember when they went through that dimension jumping portal? And how Allura believed those Alteans were the same ones she knew

You would be there to let her down gently, even comforting her after that entire ordeal happens

You’re her rock, being an emotional support for the princess whenever she needs it

Out of the entire team, I’m like 99% sure that bodyguard!reader is the greenest flag out of everyone

Allura won the lottery honest, her bodyguard being her lover😫😫😫‼️‼️

You’re always by her side, through thick and thin, no matter what happens to you guys

Loyalty is literally your middle name heehee

#allura x reader #voltron allura x reader #Allura Voltron x reader #voltron x reader #vld x reader #voltron legendary defender x reader #voltron legendary defender #x reader #voltron #vld #allura vld #vld allura #vld headcanons #voltron headcanons #headcanons #allura #voltron allura

[keiffeine]

hey omg ok so weird but like kinda cute request idk

could you do a keith x fem reader who when keith comes back to earth (season 7 ep 9) and is like fighting the bots and the cadets pop in he sees his best friend whom he’s had a crush on for YEARS and when he sees her again she just looks completely diff ( but in like a good way ) and like on the ride back to the garrison and at the garrison keith is just like basically in shock ab meeting his best friend again and just getting to know that she’s alive?

whew that was long sorry 😭

with female reader.

genre: fluff

a/n: this is so cute!! ty for your req :) honestly might make a pt2 for this ngl

© all rights reserved to keiffeine. reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is not allowed.

• keith scoffed in irritation as he watched the bots they had been fighting off get shot down by, what he assumed were, three garrison cadets by the looks of what they were wearing and the vehicles they arrived in. “i had it,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows when he realized that this cadet he was looking at just so happened to be griffin (that was a problem he’ll deal with later, no need to get too angry about it right now). the two others were girls, one wearing glasses and unfamiliar to keith, the other was…

• keith squinted his eyes. she seemed like a face he knew—one that he should know, but he couldn’t quite place a name just yet.

• “drones send distress signals when they’re attacked. our weapons neutralize those signals, so unless you wanna deal with a swarm of those things, let us handle it,” james bit back. keith opened his mouth to make another remark, until the other girl (the one who seemed more familiar to him) spoke.

• “hey, focus. let’s get out of here. we have to get these guys back to the garrison, and we can’t afford to waste more time right now,” she said, turning her head towards keith. her serious demeanor quickly changed to that of a softer one at the sight of him, and keith immediately realized—

• “y/n…” he said quietly to himself. several feelings immediately flooded in his chest, mostly relief at the fact that you were still alive.

• keith turned his head towards shiro, warmth pooling in his cheeks when he saw that shiro was already looking at him with a tiny, knowing smile.

• you were his best friend throughout his time at the garrison, and slowly became his crush. keith felt devastated when he couldn’t communicate with you after dropping out, and even more so when he was unwillingly launched into space, only left to wonder whether you were still okay on earth—what he’d been missing out on with you. regret had piled so much within him, with words he desperately wanted to say to you but never got the chance to. but now he can.

• “keith,” you said, catching his attention. he could feel himself nearly melting, noticing the light in your eyes and feeling the tension that hung in the air between you two. you were so different, with the way you carried yourself with more confidence and strength. it’s been years; keith doesn’t even know what to say to you first. what should he say? “come ride with me,” you say after a beat, after staring at each other for what seemed like the longest minute.

• he doesn’t hesitate to follow.

• keith silently steals glances at you as you drive. he wanted to spill everything he’d been wanting to say for the longest time, but he decided to settle on another, more appropriate time.

• instead, he smiles, mostly to himself just knowing that you’re here, and says, “i’m glad to see you again, y/n.”

• your response sends his heart beating faster: “you don’t understand how happy i am to see you, too, keith.”

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[tremendum]

be like me   [ii]

gratitude

pairing: eventual din djarin x f!reader (afab, use of she/her)

rating: mature for violence and darker themes. (series has eventual smut, 18+ mdni) word count: 7.3k summary: “I’ve never killed anybody, you know.” your eyes search his emotionless mask, “but when we find him, if I-if I see him,” your hands tremble with the weight of your words, “I think I could do it.” you admit smally. there’s a breath of air in which you catch yours and he exhales his. “I could show you.” The Mandalorian finally says, “if that’s...what you need.”   warnings: slow burn series, violence, mentions of indentured servitude/slavery, mentions of burns/scars, brief mention of torture, gendered words (girl, woman, etc), also Mando calls the reader ‘kid’ in this one time, reader is afraid of Mando and dehumanizes him as deflection, again butchering of any kind of star wars technological vocabulary, no use of y/n. notes: here’s the second part of be like me! this one’s pretty long, and the next part was supposed to have smut but may have to be split into two parts :) as always, feedback is appreciated! im new to writing for sw so i’d b happy to find some mutuals :’)

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★  

Csilla's world aboveground is frozen and uninhabitable - your lips are dry and freezing, the silver statue ahead of you gathering frost even as you settle on the inside of his ship - but you can't bring yourself to even blink; this was the most of the planet you'd seen in nearly a decade, and as dreary as it was, it was better than that same boring crime block you'd been used to.

your wrist throbs in pain, the skin having split open from numerous attempts with a cauterizer when the Mandalorian had tried to remove your tracking brace. you didn't really mind the pain - the clinging sound the band made as it fell to the floor was like broken chains; ironic as it is you still had your hands cuffed in the front, it was music to your ears.

soon after he'd broken off your tracker, the Mandalorian had become a shadow, following you so as to not let you leave his sight, leaning with a hip on the wall as you'd gathered your measly belongings in your cuffed arms; a few trousers and tunics, inner and outer coats, iceshoes. a pang of pain rumbled in your chest when your fingers had grazed over the small figurine, embedded in its home just below your matted pillow - a polished, wooden Sable from your foggy past - something that faintly symbolized gratitude and health somewhere in your mind. one sweep of it into your trouser pocket prevented the emotions from rising to your eyes.

your grin was sheepish when you'd faked tying your laces in order to slip your shiv safely into your boot, concealed from his hawkish gaze, and then you'd marched with your shadow out of the Ark'uz'Iman garrison to never return.

and even inside the Mandalorian's ship - Razor Crest, he'd called it - you can see your breath push from your lips in plumes, your skin raising with bumps as you trudge behind the man, taking in the metal, metal, metal of the ship that seems to just be an extension of the hunter himself. there's barely a semblance of life at all besides the drying rack on the kitchenette with two bowls, a tiny spoon drying next to it; you can't even laugh as you imagine this huge man trying to eat something with that small of a piece. then again, he's covered from head to toe -besides the contents of the drying rack, you're not sure if his species could even eat.

you sit in one of the seats in the cockpit, newly free of the cuffs he'd bound you in, the cold ice and snow that blows around the outside of the Crest reflecting off of the Mandalorian's armor and nearly blinding you. he's fiddling with controls and you turn to your new, imposing shadow. "do you have some kind of - retrieval droid in your crew?" you ask smally. you needed a retrieval circuit in order to send the information through to decode it.

"no." he says stiffly after a brief hesitation. you nod dryly, knowing that was his way of saying it's just him on this crew. you figured as much: there was no room on this ship for more than two people, and you can't imagine that there is more than one bunk on this piece of metal. you gnaw on your lip; this ought to be a terribly boring trip, then.

"what do you need to access the information?" the Mandalorian asks, and you snap your eyes to where he's sitting, at the pilot's seat. you find your posture is weary, perched in the co-pilot's seat, aware that though he does not still have his blaster pointed at you, you can feel the animosity radiating off of him. your jaw clenches - you can't trust him, either. he was the one who threatened to kill you.

you suppose the reason he seems to accept your company is the knowledge that, should the situation present itself, he could still kill you with barely one twitch of an arm.

you shiver. "an FTL fetcher. or a retrieval droid that is capable of DNA convalescence." you say, biting your lip. slowly, his mask turns to stare at you in your peripheral. you swallow, picking your nails in anxiety as you finally stare back. what, does he not know anything about information coding services? his silence is your answer, so you sigh, "i need somewhere that has a datachip library, somewhere like- like the data libraries on Naboo. or Coruscant." you say quickly.

you think he may be angry; though, you feel like he's been angry this whole time. he says nothing, turning to punch things into his coordinate system that is concealed by a broad shoulder. you busy yourself by strapping into the seat and watching the cold defrost from the Crest's windows as the sufferably silent man next to you selects your track.

there is no warning from him when the Crest takes off besides the sputtering of thrusts and engines and a shooting force that propels you backwards into your seat. you bite your arm to conceal your surprised yelp at the abrupt takeoff, unwilling to show the Mandalorian any more fear than you've already exhibited. he doesn't scare you. your fingers graze the marred skin of your forearms slicked in scars of silver and gold. you stare straight ahead.

you aren't afraid of a tin can. you aren't.

the Crest hums gently when it's in hyperspace, but you can barely notice the noise.

your jaw is nearly unhinged, all the breath gone from your lungs as you stare out the windshield; the lights.

the stars are everywhere, blinking, shining, smiling down at you. you've never seen lights this beautiful in your whole life as they speed past you, lifetimes passing you by and filling up your lungs, pumping you full of yearning.

at the sight, your blood is a song, a thrumming of hope and precious gems and revenge and fear violently running through your ear canals as you watch in awe at the rushing of thousands of stars as you pass them by. you haven't seen anything like this since you'd been taken away from your home; up until now, the process of transportation was unwelcome to you, a final signature on the rights to your life, signing them away to be buried with the rest of history.

now, there is hope. there are stars, and they dance and sing ancient hymns of freedom as you pass them by.

but the Mandalorian seems unphased by it all as he pilots. his cape sits on either side of his large, beskar-clad thighs and though they're caught and torn at the end, the strands of the cape are thick and woven with the souls of each bounty he'd eliminated in his years. he's a statue, cold, shiny, unyielding: he's so broad, you realize. his body is so large against the cosmic wonders outside the windshield that they project themselves onto his armor. yet he is unmoving, not even a breath of wonder from his mask as he travels through the galaxy. you wonder, then, if anyone so rigid could ever be enraptured with the natural beauty of the stars.

your body thaws; the heaters in the Crest seem to be one of the only things that aren't decrepit and junked. as you gently peel off your outer layers, you smile; it'd been years living with the deep, settled cold in your bones. it shoots a burst of optimism through you, a feeling that was welcomed: it prompts you to use your voice for the first time in the hours you'd been traveling. "where are we going?" you choose to ask, your voice though out of the blue not even making the Mandalorian flinch.

he doesn't move. the cockpit is silent for a moment, "Ryloth. there is an outpost that will have an FTL fetcher. after you decode the information I will let you go."

"let me go?" you ask suddenly, lifting a brow. he says nothing, and it tempts you again. "am I your prisoner, bounty hunter?" you ask, gritting your teeth. you refuse to be another captive. you don't really feel like a prisoner, sitting next to him, unchained, with information he needs.

"no, you're not. but you are collateral." his voice is authoritative. it instills dread deep within you somewhere as you look on at the man, icy armor littered and glittering in the stars that surround you. collateral.

you can hear the intimidation in his voice. you wonder if he wants to scare you, to make sure you knew that he was a killing machine, a weapon, and you're a freed slave with nothing but your DNA to give. it's all people want in this universe, you'd realized long ago. to keep others down.

his intimidation boils your blood and you let out a bitter huff.

"I'm not afraid of you. and I never will be." you mutter defiantly, a lie straight through your teeth, "because you need me to do this job." you reason with yourself.

it's silent for a beat, heavy as it sits in the cockpit. it's like he knows you're lying: he may get to hide behind his armor, but you're exposed under his stare, the fear surely manifesting underneath your eyes and in the gnaw of your lips. then, quietly, the modulator crackles. "don't say never."

the silence he brings with him, the inhumanity- it instills a type of trepidation in you that you have not felt in any of your long years of life. fear has guided your life to this point - your memories of the name or location of the planet you were from were completely erased the minute the Ark'uz'iman syndicate got their slimy grasp upon your throat; after that, you were a toy for Zuca to torture, by dangling your past above you just out of eyesight. he knows where your family is, of course. but he'd never expected you to get out, let alone find him.

but the Mandalorian's words - collateral... you shiver as it washes over you. if all else fails, he was going to turn you in to whoever casted that puck for Zuca. your fate rests in the hardened, blood-spilling leather gloves that currently hold the jumpdrive stabilizers in an iron, machine-like, emotionless grip.

"Ryloth." you say instead of pushing more, "is that Inner-rim?" you ask hopefully. all you remembered was that your own homeplanet was somewhere inner-rim; it'd be easier to find your family once within the correct rim, as you have nothing but the memories of waterfalls, villages outside a large city, and harvest festivals with wooden figurines.

a crackle from the modulator has you pulling your eyes from the alluring glitter of space. "no. it's in the Gaulus sector, Outer Rim." he states. your face burns in embarrassment, not having much navigational guidance. "didn't get out much from Csilla?" he states, but it doesn't feel like a question. "I didn't ever leave." you admit. until now.

"i, um..." you don't know why you're talking; maybe it's just how nervous the Mandalorian makes you. "I didn't live the most desirable life back on Csilla. seems I always had problems that couldn't go away."

"well, you seem to still have no problem finding trouble." it's an off-handed comment, but you can't brush off the implications. you glare at the stars, how could he possibly think you'd employ yourself willingly under Zuca? "clearly the trouble found me, Mandalorian." your words fall from your lips before you can consider them, and you immediately glance at his side-profile, unsure of what will set him off.

he says nothing, so you resign to the fact that he clearly was finished with the scrap of conversation you'd tried to spark with your uneager host.

it's quiet yet again as the Mandalorian turns to check his flight tracker. "it'll only be a few hours. you should get some rest."

you blink; in your memory of walking through the ship, there was no spare cot, barely any space to put your few belongings. you say nothing as you leave the cockpit with your satchel, finding a section clear enough to drop your things down in the cargo bay, sectioned off from the rest of the hull by crates of supplies. your eyes are heavy as you spread your parka on the ground, lids closing the moment you curl up on the cold floor.

as you drift off, a gurgled coo echoes from behind the shut door of the Mandalorian's quarters, just above your head up in the main hangar area. you wonder if you dream it.

you wake as the Crest lands, bones aching and creaking as you stand shakily. you're unsure how long you slept for, but you woke up several times to phantom noises in your ears and one face, lingering as evil as death itself, in your mind's eye. the Mandalorian is strapping bombs, knives, and blasters to his belt from an excessive collection in the wall when you walk into the hull on quiet feet.

"what's the plan?" you ask, the Mandalorian still not merely jumping at your sudden words. you wonder if he heard you come or if he's always just ready; always on alert, always prowling. you shiver.

"had to land farther than expected from the outpost. we'll have to walk in to town." and then he's hitting a button and the onramp descends into hard, dusty earth, your eyes squinting at the sudden change in light.

this planet is extreme in its climate, but completely different than what you're used to from Csilla. it's rough, a rocky walk to town that seems to take everything from you: you realize too soon that your longsleeve that you'd been wearing since your liberation was too much for this climate; the air thin and brutal as it absorbs every single drop of moisture from your body. your clothes stick to you like sap on cheesecloth.

the Twi'leks who are native to this planet part in a pathway silently when you step into town. you and your escort walk through town, seeking the outpost datacenter that sits in the middle of the information sector, and you can't ignore the prying eyes as they slide over you and the Mandalorian. you know the look: fear. clearly the reputation of a Mandalorian precedes him no matter where he goes: he walks, they cower. one turn of a beskar helm, they're gone, inside the shadows.  

but soon, you're pulled into the datacenter unceremoniously with the Mandalorian's unforgiving grip on the crook of your elbow. his fingers are rough against your soft skin and you have to grit your teeth; what are people going to think when this man drags you in to retrieve a DNA retrieval circuit? it makes you turn on your heels to face him.

you crane your neck as you hold your hands up, "wait," you say, looking around, "this isn't going to work." you gulp. a tilt of his helmet suggests he is impatiently unsure of what you mean. you wipe the sweat that pours down your neck as you gesture around you, "these aren't the kind of people that are used to seeing- well-" you don't want to anger him, so you stop your sentence from finishing. instead, you retry, "-they're scholars, businesspeople," you mutter, biting your lip, "if I have you following me around, it'll look suspicious. someone would alert us to the authorities." you convince. the beskar gleams in the light of the suns, the room of the datacenter lightened with wall-to-wall windows.

"no." his voice makes your teeth grit. if the Mandalorian is anything, he is surely frank. and stubborn.

"you can stay here, keep an eye on me or whatever," you nod your chin towards the corner of the foyer, "-and i'll be quick." your eyes fall to the short line of people retrieving information from the DNA-kiosks. "this is the only way. I already stick out here." you watch as his visor tilts down slowly, taking in your ragged, unprofessional appearance. you shift under the scrutiny until he scans the building of people all formally dressed. "fine. do not get into any trouble." he says curtly. you roll your eyes, "it's fine. I'll be quick." you reason, shaking your head. he's unbelievable.  

it's a crowded room, but you can't shake the burning feeling of the Mandalorian's gaze. he's in the farthest corner from you, leaning against a wall on his right hip, arms crossed. he's like a winter storm: imposing, dark, dangerous, leaving nothing but silence and fear in his wake. his gaze does not leave your body for a millisecond, and the scrutiny of the statue in the corner lights something in you on fire. in a way, his presence triggers your fight or flight and your fingers tremble as you slide your finger towards the DNA acceptance mechanism, the retrieval circuit slicing your finger.

the datachip is in the machine, your blood DNA is collected quickly. you don't even flinch. you smile bitterly to your reflection in the shiny retrieval machine metal; all of this, all the pain, the years, the loss of your family, your life: all for a two-minute retrieval of data.

"excuse me." a voice from behind you makes you jump, body turning to shield prying eyes from the sensitive information downloading on to your holopad. blood trickles down your fingertip as you swallow, blinking at the magenta Twi'lek man who stands before you. his eyes are red and your hackles raise immediately when you notice he used Basic to communicate with you - though this planet was predominately Twi'leki.

"I can't help but notice, your machine is flagged." he gestures behind you, and your eyes follow to his suit, the badge signifying his membership to the Rylothian government. "this encrypted data you're retrieving is flagged by the Republic's sensors. I'm afraid I'll have to take this from you."

your throat dries, glancing over to see the download at 97% completion. your neck is dripping with sweat as you try to send him your sweetest smile, "oh- I'm sorry, my-my father sent me this letter. he's off-galaxy currently, it must've been corrupted in transmission." you're glad for your quick thinking as he sends you a smile, his sharp teeth glinting in the sharp suns through the windows, "I'm sure that's all, miss. if you don't mind," and then he's reaching for the holopad and you jump quickly to stop him, "no!"

you're half-turned now, panicking, "please, I need-don't." you hope you sound like a girl desperate to read a note from her father, and not a woman desperate to track a warlord down.

the man's eyes raise then behind you, a shadow covering you as you feel his presence. even in the hot, unforgiving and wicked air that is so unlike what you'd grown accustomed to, your stomach flips and a shiver runs down to the base of your spine when he presses behind you.

he's cold against your back as the Mandalorian speaks demandingly, "give her the holopad."

the man's eyes are flowing with fear, but he straightens his suit, holding on to the last semblance of professionalism he may have, "I'm sorry, but I'll have to take it in for examination first."

there's a rough nudge on your shoulder, and you're stumbling to the side suddenly as the Mandalorian forces himself between you and the Twi'lek, "no, you won't." the Mandalorian states. his voice is final.

the man is stuttering and you watch in awe as the mere presence of the Mandalorian has people cowering away; soon the man nods, clearing his throat, "I-I will... go find my superior officer." he states, turning to scamper off. the wall of beskar turns to face you, the anger seeping out of his mask despite it all and you have to look away as your hands shake, wringing your fingers. a sigh crackles from the modulator that somehow swirls indignant guilt in your chest - you could have handled that without him.

"let's go, kid." the Mandalorian gruffly mutters, shoving the datapad and used chip into his bag before storming off, leaving you no choice but to follow. kid? you glare at the back of his head in anger and your face twists in irritation, "i'm not a kid, Mandalorian." you spit as you stumble after him, embarrassment creeping onto your cheeks in the childish way your voice whines.

he's unphased as he keeps walking, his cape flowing in the wicked winds of the planet. you aren't a kid - sure, you have no idea his age, but you're much more than over the age to be considered a kid, and the idea of it makes you fluster in anger. you know he said it to put you down, to keep you down, and you won't let that keep happening to you; spitting residue sand from your parched, dry lips, you jump in front of him yet again. it seems this is the only way to get this bounty hunter's attention. you effectively halt his tracks as you make it to the outskirts of the post and he stands in front of you, the sun glinting into your eyes from the metal. his anger is apparent in the deep, heavy sigh that falls from his modulator. he waits for you to do something, clearly fed up.

in your irritation, your hands smack into his pauldron in a shove; your fingers immediately ache at the impenetrable hardness of the armor and you try to hide your groan of pain. your finger, raw from the DNA retrieval, leaves a small smudge of blood over his otherwise untarnished armor in your anger.

at your abruptness, his helmet levels to your face; the rise and fall of his chest tells you he's trying to contain his irritation. something about him has lit your veins in a different kind of motivation and anger than you've ever felt before.

"just to be clear, I did not do this for you." you spit coldly, glaring at the helmet that hovers in front of you. "Zuca deserves to never see the light of day again, and i don't care if you want to bring him dead or alive. I know there's money in it for you, and from the looks of your tin-box of a ship you clearly need it, but this is for me. this is about my life, Mandalorian. I am doing this to find my family and to return a lifetime of suffering back to him. so do not patronize me." you say with venom in your words, surprising yourself with your anger. your heart is pounding fast in your ears, but the Mandalorian stands more than a foot above you, hands clenched at his sides as he breathes.

he leans forward then, so close that you see yourself in his visor, your eyes wide in shock as his gloved hand points directly in your face, inches from your chin. at his words, your legs tremble.

"do not put your hands on me." his voice is threatening, deep, low. "ever."

your throat dries, the fiery confidence you'd just had blown out instantly by his icy cold words, a cold wash over your spine in the heat of the planet.

he turns to leave, not before tossing you a handful of credits, "that's enough for a night at the inn at the outpost." he says, the dryness of his voice like the parched tongue as it rolls over your teeth. "you can find work in town, i'm sure."

what? panic settles in your stomach, bubbling upwards.

"wait- don't leave me here." you gape, eyes wide in shock. he watches you silently, always silently. "my DNA was just used to run the coordinates for Zuca on a public net, they'll find me instantly. they'll kill me." you say, fighting the desperate panic that rises like bile in your throat. as much as you hate to admit it, you'd be stuck without a way off this planet - you can't defend yourself.

"you can make a new life for yourself." he says in irreverence. you fume, "I spent almost nine years with him. he knows my face, i-" your voice almost cracks, but you refuse to cry in front of this man, this- this weapon. you try a new tactic. "you liberated me, you helped me escape. I owe you." you try to reason, "-let me help."

"this information is enough to settle the score." he argues, arms crossing.

you shake your head, no. no, he doesn't seem to understand how heavy the weight of your newfound freedom was pulling at your shoulders. "I thought Mandalorians were supposed to keep their promises."

it's a low dig and you know it - you were never one to play on someone's beliefs, but you were utterly desperate. you hate to admit it, but you are alone, scared, and the only way to find your family - to find the people who love you - is to leave with this bounty hunter.

"I never promised you anything, girl." he's unforgiving as he speaks into the wind. your nails dig into your palms as he adds, "I gave you a cut for your trouble."

glaring up at his mask, your angry, watery eyes search the black abyss of the visor, looking for any signs of humanity- any sign that there is a living being under the helmet who could sympathize with you.

"well I don't need credits, I need justice." you snap, tossing the coins back to him.

they pang against his chest piece, most of the noise swallowed by the wind that whips his cape and your hair around. "I'm your best bet at finding him. and I don't want the reward, because I don't hunt bounties." you glare. your eyes stare back at you in his reflective helmet, alight with a determination that you've never seen before. you know he won't leave you - because as he's said: you're his collateral. he needs to keep you until he can get his hands on the real bounty.

he says nothing to this, but you can tell he's realized the same thing you're thinking. then a sigh again swallowed up by the wind, "fine."

and he walks away.

the silence stretched beyond your re-entering of the Crest and up until he finally gathered you from your nesting spot. "hey." his machine-like voice calls you from the cargo bay that you rest in, cowering from the very voice that calls to you.

you raise your head to peer up to him, blinking as you release your grip from your knees. "I need to do something. stay here." he calls again, turning to walk out of sight. do something? is he leaving the ship without you? you scramble up, climbing to follow him, rolling your neck to work out the kinks; but he's nowhere to be found once you make it upright.

"hello?" you call, frowning.

a voice from behind you makes you nearly jump from your own skin, "there was movement outside. I need to do a perimeter search. don't leave." he says, wielding a blaster as he turns to open the door from the hull. your heart still rushes in your surprise as you catch your breath. the hull shuts with hisses and you huff as the dim lights from the Crest flicker, leaving you alone in the ship for the first time.

you grumble to yourself as you walk along the hall, finger trailing on the metal. the dust that collects under your fingertips conjures up visions of lonely nights; the Mandalorian clearly works alone, he seems much too distrusting to have a crew. does he have any friends? family? you shake your head with a huff - do bounty hunters have things like that?

but then, a soft, squeaking noise.

your ears perk and your legs still, straining to see if you could hear it again or if it's just your imagination. you feel almost as you did yesterday (or was it just this morning?) when you’d first stepped onboard, as if the cold breath particles swirl around the air as you creep towards the sealed door: the door you have yet to see the other side of.

and you’re nearly positive something is alive on the other side.

is it dinner, you wonder? he is a hunter, after all - perhaps he'd caught a fresh next meal. you glance across to the kitchenette, where the small spoon rests next to the two bowls, and another gurgled threat from the closet has you slowly sliding your hand down to your boot, unsheathing your pathetic metal scrap, holding it in front of you as you follow the source.

one fell swoop has the door sliding open, your arms holding your makeshift shiv in front of you, right up towards a - you frown, stepping closer with disbelieving eyes.

you curse under your breath as your wide eyes meet a pair of the largest ears you've ever seen - green, covered in wisps of gray hairs. the breathy laugh tumbles from your throat before you can even think, be it from relief or disbelief you’re not sure. you smile, cooing down at the tiny little creature that stares up at you. hundreds of thoughts swirl in your head - what is this thing? does the Mandalorian know it's here?

you look closer, noticing the hovering pram it’s tucked snuggly into, and how the creature clutches a large, black sock in its tiny claws; yes, the Mandalorian must know about him. why is he keeping him a secret? your finger slowly reaches out, hovering tentatively - what if this thing bites?

it doesn't though, it lets our a chortled laugh, gurgling as it reaches one green claw out to graze yours. you bite your lip in awe, cooing back to it. but then, for a third time since meeting the Mandalorian, he appears soundlessly and scares you enough to yelp, jumping back as you lift the wire towards his chest in a pathetic attempt of self-defense. "Maker's ghost!" you yelp, "can you stop doing that?"

the Mandalorian steps forward, "what are you doing?" he asks, menacing as he towers over you. frowning, you blink from him to the tiny creature that is now reaching to tug on the cape of the man next to it, its eyes wide and babbling as it stares up at him.

"i heard a noise." you shrug, "you- what is that?" you ask incredulously.

the Mandalorian nudges the creature's head gently with a gloved hand and you can't help your stare: it's the first remotely humane thing you'd seen the bounty hunter do. the little creature babbles something up towards the lifeless mask and you could swear you heard the ghost of a huff from the modulator.

but then he's shutting the door, a physical border between you and the little green thing causing you to finally look back at him.

"don't go into my quarters." his voice has no emotion, as always. you swallow dryly, "s-sorry, I didn't know- I didn't realize it was your space. I just heard a noise." you are honest as you nod at him, "I didn't mean to intrude."

there's just a nod before he turns on his heels towards the cockpit, seemingly accepting your apology. "come here."

you follow him, eyeing his broad frame in a new light after your happy little green discovery. "is it a pet?" you ask as you fall into the copilots seat. the Mandalorian pulls a blaster from his belt, "no."

he's polishing it with a rag as you ask the next question, "what species is it?" you'd never seen anything like it. it's eyes, the depth to them...

"i don't know." he says, tone already riddled with boredom. you don't care to notice, "how did you find it?" you ask curiously. it's not a pet, so is it... a bounty partner? "does it have a name?" you add curiously.

"do you ever stop talking?" he sighs finally, hands ceasing their polishing movements, shiny beskar tilting to examine you. taken aback, you look down, not sure what to say. you fiddle with the wire that you still hold in your hands for a moment, listening to the smooth sound of your breath against the quiet hum of the ship.

the air feels awkward after the uncharacteristic outburst and you nudge your boot up against the dash, settling your chin on your knee. the stars seem entirely out of reach as you stare off at them in jealousy.

after minutes of painful silence, the Mandalorian sighs.

"it's a long story of how he came into my care." the modulated, dry voice sounds odd when he finally admits something without your prodding: your brows furrow. care- he cares for it, however much a machine could care for something. your eyes fall onto his profile as he starts to input a star system into the searcher, "I don't know if he has a name. he was only called the Child."

you hum, "unique." you say dryly, picking your nails. there's a choked sound through the modulator - almost as if the Mandalorian was quelling a surprised huff. despite your irritation with the hunter's tenacity to upset you or intimidate you, it makes your face split into a grin. as you strap yourself in to prepare for the ship to launch, you smile smally at the console; something about finally being away from Csilla has reenergized you; breathed life back into your lungs, replenished your mind. your heartbeat thrums in your chest, this time with excitement, with the prospect of finally creating friendships or relationships, of finding something that you love in life, finding your family after all these years.

the Mandalorian's armor glints in the lights of the cockpit and as his fingers move to pop his knuckles under thick gloves, you smile gently. he lives a solitary life by choice it seems, and no matter how distant he is or how much he tries to intimidate you, he hasn't quite been unkind. he showed something about himself to you, albeit by accident - but you appreciate it all the same.

"we're going to make our way to the Trilon sector. the exchange was scheduled for Batuu." the Mandalorian reaches above his head, flipping a button and nudging a switch simultaneously. "it's farther away, we'll have to stop twice along the way for supplies. you will not need to leave the ship until Batuu."

despite the taste his words leave in your mouth, you take the moment to watch him; his hands move with the ship, fingers gently caressing the buttons as if greeting an old friend. there's a rhythm to his controls, the way he soothes levers, turns styles, presses gauges. it's almost as if the ship is a part of him, a part of how he survives. you realize that it is: he lives here. this is his home. it feels oddly intimate to be sat in here in such silence with him.

but quickly your thoughts burst into a vast cavern of nothingness the minute you're launched into the expanse of space; your eyes dance over every star, every galaxy that flickers past. you don't think you'll ever tire of it, no matter how many times you see it.

it's silent until the bounty hunter turns to you, "why don't you carry a weapon?"

there's an implication to his words; you can hear it in the words unspoken, swirling around you in tandem judgement and curiosity. why does a girl like you not carry a blaster? your derisive answer falls upon unimpressed ears as you grin bashfully, "i have this thing." you wave the wire shiv in his peripheral, but he says nothing - and even his breathing stays even from the puff of his modulator. briefly you wonder what he looks like underneath the helm - is he frowning? does he even have lips? you're assuming he's humanoid, due to the general broad shape beneath the thick layer of metal. but the absence of amusement in the cabin deflates you.

in his unamused silence, you can't help but answer honestly. "I never learned to use any. didn't have access to them." and then, "why do you carry so many?"

a pause. "because I like them."

"you like them?" your brow lifts, slightly amused.

"this is the Way."

you assume that's the end of it; what do you say to that?

(cool, but blasters kind of scare me. you kind of scare me, Mandalorian.)

you shake your head to yourself, settling to stare out at the unbounded prospects that blink back at you; lifetimes and eons passing before your own eyes like strobes of light through your vision. briefly, you wonder if the Mandalorian has a name. you recall once one of Zuca's subalterns had dealt with a Mandalorian during a heist years ago, and had referred to him as 'Mando.' you wonder if anybody has called your Mandalorian that.

a readjustment of your legs in the seat summons your attention to the hard lump that waits in your pocket. right. the excitement over the child and the Mandalorian's new dimension had you nearly forgetting the hard object, your heart flutters in anxiety and you weigh the options, once again, in your mind.

you should do it, right? you gnaw on your lip.

would he think it was weird? probably. you've seen this ship, you've seen him - clearly the Mandalorian's not one for nick-nacks or mementos. but it meant something to you; it was a way to set things right. because you know, as much as the Mandalorian insisted your assistance on this job was payment enough for your liberation, you know that it wont ever feel settled to you. especially after he's just taken you with him again to seek Zuca. you might as well be indebted to him for life, so maybe this token was a testament to your recognition of that fact.

an unspoken vow that his acceptance of your desperate company would be repaid one day.

but as you gaze out into the vast abyss, you think of your family. they're waiting for you out there; they're waiting to love you and accept them and protect you for the rest of your life. it sets you ablaze with determination.

something about the quiet dancing of the stars around your head makes your hand surge deep into your pocket, pulling out the small figure without another thought. it sits in your palm as you clear your throat. your lip catches between your teeth as your hesitant "um," has the Mandalorian turning to look at you, clearly observing the small symbol as it rests in your palm. a slight tilt of intrigue as his helmet shifts microscopically.

under his gaze, your mouth parts gently, your voice barely above a whisper. "this is a Sable. I wanted to-" but his stare is too much, and you're sweating. why are you sweating? you can't even see his face.

aborting your sentence, you start again. "where I'm from, I think these are meant to bring health and protection. it's, um, it's the way people express gratitude, from what I can remember." your explanation makes you feel vastly small, a blind woman trying to recall the braille of a familiar book that had long since been taken from her grasp.

it's melancholy that you're not sure you remember enough to tell him more than that. any language, name, location, or semblance of unique culture had been erased from your memory through an extractive hippocampus fragmenter the minute you were aboard the Akuz'im'an transport.

memories are fuzzy, faces forgotten. you knew you had a mother, a father, three sisters, a brother - you'd been the oldest. you'd left them with the promise that they'd have a better life in your absence; never did you imagine that your dreams of once again finding them would be so within reach.

"that's... all I can remember." you say sheepishly. taking a deep breath, you hesitantly pick up the figurine in between your fingers. your nail nudges through the ridges carved into its intricate yet simple face. it used to call to you, in your earlier years in Csilla when you still cried for your family in the blanket of nighttime. it'd brought you distorted, blurry visions of a temple, of a celebrative festival for thanks and gratitude with warm drinks, bright lights, and friendly people.

you can't bring yourself to speak about it anymore, overcome with a sense of relief to finally be rid of the burden of a forgotten relic of your past life. you bring your eyes to the cold Mandalorian and for the first time, find a small glimmer of peace within yourself. if the care of his shiny armor, his polished weapons, the honor and duty that drips from his very being say anything, it is that he is a devoted man. he believes in something, unlike you; you couldn't afford that anymore. so, with a resolute mind, you figure that at least an honoring man as himself could find solace in the value of the Sable. or, more likely, he'll reject it, tossing it in the compactor when you turn in for the night.

he's still as ever when you lean forward, gently setting the Sable on top of the dilithium launcher box that sits just to the right of his controls. the weight of the small figurine lifts off of your shoulders, and you sigh.

a piece of you sits there along with it as it stares up in awe at the stars just as you. the Mandalorian is silent as he turns back from you to stare out, too.

it could be two minutes later or twenty when the Mandalorian's voice cracks through the heavy silence the Sable and your words had created, pulling your thoughts back into the cockpit, back in with him and his guarded disposition. "if you were a captive, why did he allow you access to this kind of information at all?" the man asks you. the lack of suspicion in his words cause you to prop a leg against the window as you gaze out at the stars.

pain and hurt flash broadly from your chest and blossom out to the tips of your fingers. you lick your marred lips.

"it was kind of like a sick joke. like, when you give a Massif a bone and then tell him that if he so much as sniffs it, you'll blast him up to the Maker." you say numbly, fingers brushing the marred skin from the Mandalorian's brutal cauterizer on your wrist, lying fresh above a battlefield of older scars that riddle your arms, your body. his silence is almost as heavy as the chains that still threaten to fall back upon your wrists.

"I've never killed anybody, you know." your eyes search his emotionless mask, "not directly." you wet your chapped lips again, anxious. you eye the Sable and quickly look away as its eyes stare back lifelessly, the cool silence of the cockpit making your heart beat heavy.

his visor tilts to stare at you head-on, tilting slightly. you notch away in your head somewhere that that's his listening face.

"when we find him, if I- if I see him," your hands tremble with the wave of emotions that flood you, so you drop them unceremoniously into your lap to play with the tie of your trousers, you get so angry sometimes thinking about it all.

"I think I could do it." you admit smally, voice shaking slightly.

there's a heavy breath of air in which you catch yours and the Mandalorian exhales his.

"I could show you." the Mandalorian finally says, hand finding his blaster absently, large leather hand caressing it almost as one would the face of a sweet lover, or the remnants of a saint whose gospel was long forgotten to the stars. "if that's...what you need."

you look out to the stars, considering his offer.

when all is said and done, when this Mandalorian and you finally find Zuca, after he tells you where your family is; would you be able to do it? a blaster between the eyes, a blade to his throat?

for all the times you'd wished him dead, for all the horror he'd forced you to endure... could you take another's life?

you look to the Mandalorian: the amount of deaths he'd orchestrated in his time preceding even his name. his cape is knit with the names of those who'd crossed him, each twitch of a gloved finger over a trigger seemingly simple yet still a soul from the universe. his job was death, his creed was written on his armor, and he was a weapon. could you be like him, could you let go of your humanity?

he offers it in the understanding that this is something your soul needs, something you want in order for revenge. it's dirty, it's angry, it's a fire that is smoother than a storm, finding a home deep within your ribcage. the Sable catches the light of the stars in the cockpit as the Mandalorian's words settle. they burn. flames lick your chest and spread to your head, your arms, your heart.

( I don't need credits, I need justice.)

(I could show you. if that's what you need.)

his offer hangs in the air, incendiary in their allure. you call to the stars, to the trillions of voices wise beyond years you could even comprehend; you ask them if this is the right choice.

but the stars don't call back.

next

. taglist: @toobsessedsstuff

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #din djarin x reader smut #the mandalorian x reader smut #mando x you #mando x reader #mando smut #tremendum’s space cowboy✒️

[guywrestlingaddiction]

Double Team Triumph (almost): Jude Johns v Ty Garrison & Gilles Laurent (bgeast.com)

Consider this match a cuckold fight taken too far.  In theory it might be fun to show off your wrestling skills in front of your guy, just be careful it doesn't all blow up in your face.  

Jude Johns v Ty Garrison & Gilles Laurent (bgeast.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.  

The Backstory

We open on Ty and Gilles.  Are they boyfriends? Lovers? Whatever you call it, it's clear these two have some chemistry together when suddenly there's a knock on the door...

And we begin ...

The Triumph

Jude's body is a canvas of cut and sexy defined muscle, all of which became a formidable weapon as he swiftly subdued Ty. Unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of such punishment, Ty didn't take the loss lightly. In his mind, he envisioned overpowering his opponent, showing off his muscles, and perhaps celebrating later with his partner. Alas, the reality of the match unfolded in stark contrast to that dream.

Jude flashes a cocky look while Ty struggles against him.  

In a bid to salvage some honor, Gilles leaps into the fray, hoping to overcome the new stud, but it was all in vain. Jude proved to be an unstoppable force, a wrestler of such magnitude that both Gilles and Ty together couldn't match.

The Double Team

Every man has his breaking point and that last submission in French breached that point. Who the hell was this newcomer making him look bad and what kind of man is Ty if he can't protect his partner?  Ty isn't going to stand for this as he leaps into action to save his man.  

The match is over.  Jude may have won fair and square but Ty and Gilles was going to make him worship them as punishment for making them look bad.  

So what have we learned today? You can win the match but still lose yourself to your opponent(s). Jude is just a bit too cocky and arrogant, forcing Ty to summon his inner heel and knock him the fuck down. The line "Submit ... now in French" is the highlight of this match for me and the ultimate humiliation for Gilles. You see, while the wrestling itself may be average, the humiliation (and redemption) of these two men is an absolute triumph.

#gay wrestling #bgeast.com #Jude Johns #Ty Garrison #Gilles Laurent

[mvshortcut]

🌀👄🌀 (for the ask game!!)

lmaoo me when I stand up slightly too fast

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

I have not actually written the Girlboss Dr. Garrison crack fic yet but I have so many vague ideas frantically rattling around my brain. Basically the premise so far is that Dr. Garrison has a midlife crisis, accidentally acquires custody of a teenager, and discovers a fondness for pineapple mocktails.

also this one is just titled "war crimes <3" in my docs lmao

#dr. garrison #ask game #ty for the ask <3

[amysterywrappedinanenigma]

For the MBS character ask game: a mix of Constance Contraire and Dr. Garrison.

This is mostly based on your posts mocking Jeepers and Curtain's outfits (which were wonderful by the way 10/10). Which Constance would totally do to make fun of them (because they deserve it), and I feel like if Jeffers or Curtain saw those posts, they would be emotionally devasted and Constance would be so proud.

I also love you header and Dr. Garrison posts (which are also funny), and you have wonderful "I support women in STEM vibes". Though, to be clear, you remind me of Dr. Garrison in that your posts are well-made and well-thought out (not because of the fact that she's done crimes and cried in a root cellar).

Oh my god I love both of those, that’s so wonderful! (And the detail is amazing, you pulled sources and everything, I’m so impressed). And I feel like they suit me really well! The idea that Constance would be proud of me is truly SUCH an honor, I feel like I have a tiny constance in my brain when I make those posts, and I hope I get her vibes again for any future posts of that sort. 

And I love the comparison to Dr. Garrison! She’s always been very interesting to me, both in an analytical character way, and then half in a meme way, but I do really like her, so being compared to her is super fun! (Also thank you so much for saying my posts are well-made and thought out- that’s so sweet! I think the same thing about yours!) 

#ty for the ask! #constance contraire #dr garrison #asks #mbs

[faceofpoe]

Poe being left unattended with Andor again.

While in the shower contemplating a plot point for a potential fic I worked out some of my most enduring Andor puzzles which as it turns out are intricately interwoven: i.e. the question of why Bix isn’t a loose end worth a late night visit from Cinta and being disappeared into those retention ponds out in the wasteland, with a side of bafflement at “I don’t think many people know him” when the him is the son of a woman who seems to be something of a pillar of the community, with a side of how did Luthen never stop and consider Cassian might try and break Bix out of the hotel instead of taking it upon himself to thwack stormtroopers with Maarva’s brick when we all know Brasso can do it better.

But I’ve figured it out.

The clues are in the lines:

“Do you trust him?”

and

“I know Bix has her game”

and

“Either you’re an Imperial spy, you’re fronting for the person I really want to speak to…”

Bix has been lying her ass off the entire time about the fact that Cassian is anyone more than some sketchy dude who occasionally turns up who has something to sell (don’t we all?).

Maybe she’s giving the impression of a less personal relationship because Luthen is sketch as fuck and she doesn’t trust him; maybe she was just royally pissed at Cassian the time Luthen turned up and was like “Hey this is as good haul how’d you get it” and she was like “idk just some sketchy asshole who scams his way around Ferrix and once in a while I decide to humor/pity him and buy his shit” and Luthen was like hey sounds like Skeen I could use another one on this suicide mission now that I think about it.

And then Luthen wonders who else knows he’s from Kenari and she’s all “Ahh fuck me well I’m stuck in the lie now it probably doesn’t matter that Kenari is the community bicycle’s weirdly depressing but weirdly effective pity pickup line” so “Um well not many people know him” because he’s a sketchy asshole who scams his way around Ferrix and nothing else no sir.

And at the end of the day, the real trouble with Bix being a loose end is from a direction Luthen never seems to even see coming: tying the timing of Cassian’s disappearance and return to Aldhani.

Because even if Cassian popped back home for a spell, why the fuck would he drop in on the woman who sometimes humors/pities him and buys the shit he steals?

And why the fuck would that sketchy asshole risk taking on another garrison to sneak her out when he could be bashing stormtroopers heads in with his dead mother’s bricked ashes?

Unfortunately, I have now entirely forgotten whatever plot point I was on the verge of cracking.

#thank you for joining me on my unhinged ranting #andor #I'm going to be completely normal until/when season 2 airs why do you ask

[thestoriesthatweweave]

Omgg so glad you’re doing the wip ask game too! It’s hard to choose but I’m way too curious abt ”uncles of the year award” 👀😅 but if that was done already ”A Bridge of Ink” also sounds alluring~

Thank you!! I look forward to seeing your snippets :D I did "uncles of the year award" here already, but have an additional snippet:

Ouyang came into the room after the Third Prince had left. He looked at the soiled bathwater with an expression like he had smelled something foul, and said, "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" "Why," Baoxiang asked, "are you jealous? He does look a great deal like-" he broke himself off. The fragile peace their lives were built on rested on never mentioning Esen. He felt unmoored. He was never going to accept the drugs again, no matter how bad the pain got. The Third Prince's words kept echoing in his ears, and looking at Ouyang, Baoxiang thought, this will destroy him. The idea should have filled him with pleasurable, vicious anticipation, but all he felt instead was a sick dread.

A Bridge of Ink is the epilogue to the time travel AU. The title comes from the fact that I'm keeping a landmarks theme for the titles in this AU and from it being epistolary, and is also bit of a reference (if you squint) to the magpie bridge of Chinese mythology, which Esen also mentions in one of his letters:

We have been here for three months now. It is the double seventh festival today, and I find myself melancholic. How I wish for a magpie bridge to cross the divide between us!  In case you miss me too, I'll confess to a measure of foolishness you might find flattering, or at least amusing. There is only one man in this garrison worth a damn, a unit captain surnamed Jiang. He's clever, hard-working and has demonstrated impeccable taste by expressing admiration of your military victories during the founding of the Great Ming. Despite that, I have found he sets my teeth on edge, because he is precisely the sort of man you like: handsome, well-built and competent (I flatter myself with this last one). In short, I am terribly jealous of a man you've never met and will probably never meet. Just because he might get one appreciative glance of yours! But who can blame me, when I am so undeserving of you and when your appreciative glances are so precious? Every day I live in fear of you realizing how poor a bargain you have made in tying yourself to me.  (I can imagine your glare quite clearly! Don't worry, darling, I am quite secure in your love - or at least in your terrible taste. But feel free to reassure me at length of your continued and enduring affection! I'll be waiting.) 

WIP game here!

#my writing #ask game #the radiant emperor

[mitsuributmexican]

Small Smut HC #2

Matt tying you up with a vibrator on his bed as he sits on his desk dealing with Garrison work across the room from you. The vibrator now being soaked with your cum from being there for what’s felt like forever. You let out a loud moan, panting and sweating from the pleasure. “Aww I know sweetheart, it’s the worst, isn’t it? Just hang on a little longer for me, alright? I’ll give you a nice reward afterward for doing so well.~” he coos. You nod, wanting to get whatever he’ll reward you with. 

#matt holt #voltron #voltron legendary defender #voltron matt #voltron x reader #voltron smut #smut #matt holt smut #mod mitsuri writes