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hopefulfuturenovelauthor · 2 years

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Can you write some Percy de rolo x reader? Some jealous and protective Percy.

hi, I hope this meets what you expected. its not very angsty, but i thought it was kind if cute and funny. hope you enjoy, and please do not copy my work! thanks!!!

Jealousy

Percy de rolo x reader

You obviously didn’t mean to be hit on by the tall, slender, handsome elf, and you certainly weren’t trying to draw attention to yourself. After all, it's not as if you had eyes for anyone other than the gunslinger of your group. You didn’t care to learn the elf’s name, though you were sure he brought it at some point in the one-sided conversation. He continued rambling on about something so utterly boring and unimportant while you simply nodded.

The only reason you were even present was because you were required to attend the formal gathering with your colleagues and fellow mercenaries, Vox Machina. You had all arrived decked out in your fanciest attire, the luscious green and black fabrics adorning your body like the muse of an ethereal painting.

In the beginning, you had all been together, but Scanlan broke off from the group first, then Grog joined the gnome, Vax and Vex were drawn away by admirers, Pike decided to sit and watch the event, Keyleth chose to explore the room, and Percy was led off by a group of mechanical and technological admirers. You, being you, went looking for a drink to dull the edge of the surrounding crowd.

The drink did dull the edge of the crowd, but sadly the wine served at this event was not enough to take away the buzzing of the elf beside you. Unlike most of your friends, you did not like to be rude. However, in most cases, you would have already made a bit of a scene, but Percy had asked you all to be on your best behavior so you stayed silent in your seat. The room was filled with chatter and banter, but for the life of you, you couldn’t help but want to do anything else than interacting with these people. Honestly, you would slay another dragon if that meant you could leave this place.

The elf made another advance on you, placing a hand on your forearm. You tensed, but did not shrug it off. If he became too handsy you would most certainly have him pushed into the bar with a knife to his easily accessible throat. Once more, you didn’t want to make a mess out of this event like your colleges had the last several, so you searched the crowd for your escape. Pike was chatting with a noble, grog was munching away on appetizers, Scanlan was somewhere, and Percy was still surrounded by admirers and possibly some potential investors.

It was Percy that noticed you, and his eyes met yours with ease. When they left yours, they were filled with a little rage and something else that the gunslinger had never shown before. It was a look you were unfamiliar with his face showing . His eyes were locked onto the elf that had leaned closer to you without you noticing it. It seemed from your perspective that Percy had excused himself from his conversation and was making his way over to you. Your lazy posture became abruptly aware and excited to be saved from the drag of a situation you were in. You popped up from your seat just a little, as Percy stepped before you.

“Hello there Y/n,” Percy smiled down at you while you smiled back. Percy’s attention turned towards the elf that had been gnawing off your ear with his conversation, “and …” Percy trailed off waiting for the elf to give his name.

The man beside you held out his hand for Percy to shake, “Idril, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Percy grunted a little but shook the elf’s hand. “Well, Idril, you don’t suppose I could steal Y/n for a second now, do you?”

“Oh,” Idril looked at you, “actually we were just in the middle of a conversation, I’m sure you don’t mind if we finish first.”

“I suppose you can finish whatever you were talking about after I speak with them,” Percy smiled smugly, neither of the men looking at you anymore.

The two were becoming quite passive-aggressive, while you were just becoming aggressive. “I really feel like the discussion you are both having should involve me a bit more than the two of you. After all, shouldn’t it be my decision when it comes to what I do?” you asked them in such a way that if they said anything other than yes, they would have both had their asses handed to them.

“Of course, you are entirely correct,” the elf responded.

“Yes, obviously,” Percy huffed out. You raised your brow at his demeanor and quickly rolled your eyes.

“Percy, why don’t you go wait over there,” you gestured to an empty spot of the room, with two chairs available, “while I finish up here.”

Percy did a curt nod, annoyance clearly showing in his eyes, “fine.” The man walked away and toward the spot you had pointed out.

You turned to the bartender of the event and kindly asked for two more glasses of wine. The elf beside you smiled. “It has been lovely talking to you, Idril,” you spoke.

“As is the same for you, darling.”

“I’m very glad we were able to meet,” you continued as the bartender returned with the two glasses of wine you had asked for. Idril reached out for one, but you quickly grabbed both and stood up, “I truly hope I see you again one day.” You left the elf sitting alone at the bar and made your way over to Percy.

You fell into your seat with a thunk, seeing as you were already exhausted from the night. “Here, drink up,” you handed a glass to Percy and then downed the entirety of yours.

“How was the ever so charming Idril? I’m certain he would like to see you again,” Percy’s tone was odd, but it didn’t throw you off. He seemed angry for whatever reason.

“I don’t know, I didn’t listen to a word he said until you showed up,” you glanced at your companion.

“Really?” Percy asked skeptically, not entirely believing you. You did not appreciate the accusation in his voice.

“Yeah really,” you snapped back. You winced at your own voice and sighed. “Sorry, these events always get me so worked up. I hate them.”

“Well for someone that hates them so much you are quite good at them. Much better than the others I assure you,” his voice became softer and less targeting.

“Please, the others aren’t even trying to be good, I on the other hand constantly want to punch people in the face at these events.”

“Why don’t you?” Percy asked after taking a sip of the burgundy liquid sloshing inside his glass.

“Because,” you started and paused, “because, they are important to you.”

“Not important enough for you to feel this obligated to fit in and drain yourself internally,” he responded with faint concern lacing his features.

“Please, you are the only one of us that belongs in a place like this. Even I find Scanlan embarrassing at these events, I can only imagine what you must feel.”

“I don’t care how others view us. I care infinitely more about how you view us,” he said honestly. From him, it sounded like a confession, like a secret you were never meant to hear.

You smiled, “good because if one more person here hits on me and enters my personal space I will threaten them.”

“Good, I’d be happy for you to do just that,” Percy straightened up.

“You really would, wouldn’t you?” you moved closer to him, “based on the way you acted earlier, I would say you were jealous. Now I could be completely wrong, but simply based on observation-.”

Percy turned his face, and he went a little red from embarrassment, “please don’t, I was not jealous.”

“Really?” you questioned teasingly.

Percy turned back to face you, “yes really.”

“Alright, I guess I believe you,” you said, “I could use some food, how about you?”

“Food sounds nice.”

“Good,” you kissed his cheek, “I’ll be right back.” You stood up and winked at him before you made your way to the selection of appetizers on display. Percy’s face turned a deep red as he watched you gracefully make your way to Grog.

You both ate together before trying to hurdle up the others so you could leave. The rest of the night went fairly smoothly, other than a few smashed plates due to you and one broken elf nose due to Percy. For once you had enjoyed the night and it seemed Percy genuinely enjoyed it too. You both laughed as you left the uptight party to return home with the rest of Vox Machina. On the journey back you and Percy passed a wine bottle you had snatched. Even returning home the group lulled creating a peaceful vibe across your shared home. You and Percy walked together to the hallway where your bedrooms were located. Sharing a short kiss in the moonlight, you said your goodnights and went to get some well needed rest.

#percy de rolo #percy de rolo x reader #percy x reader #vox machina #vox machina x reader #requests open #jealousy #x reader #…#idk what else #seriously no clue #I’m going to try and sleep now #Ha who am I kidding #That isn’t happening #See you at 1 am

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inventors-fair · 3 months

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Minor Miracles: NPC Runners-Up ~

Our runners-up this week are @corporalotherbear, @curiooftheheart, and @feyd-rautha-apologist!

@corporalotherbear — Paratroopa from the Mario Bros. series

Well, that's about as clean as it can get. Like the Headcrab before it, Paratroopa stands out by just how natural the mechanical transition from one IP to another feels, which is pretty impressive for a card drawn from a 2D platformer. Frankly, I don't have a whole lot to say about this one besides "it's really good," which isn't a bad thing. It's a compact package of effects that does exactly what you would expect a paratroopa to do, and it does that masterfully. If you'll allow me to play the nitpicker for a second, though, I do think the effect could be worded out slightly better. Rather than entering with a flying counter and protecting itself with flying counters, I personally think it would be more intuitive if it instead entered with a shield counter on it, and had flying as long as it had a shield counter on it. That would represent a notable power increase, as shield counters are generally stronger, and often easier to replenish than flying counters.

@curiooftheheart — Jack Frost from the Shin Megami Tensei series

A name like Jack Frost doesn't seem all that nonlegendary at first glance, but as it turns out, the Shin Megami Tensei universe has a whole lot of jack frosts running around. Go figure. I love the little twist on the typical tap-and-stun mechanic, allowing you to forgo tapping something down to put something that's already tapped even further on ice. That's the kind of versatility these effects are often lacking, and tying it to a perfectly reasonable body certainly makes for a very effective and attractive common. All-around solid, and cute as a button to boot. Hee-ho indeed!

@feyd-rautha-apologist — Shai-Hulud from the Dune series

Bringing up the rear of this parade of rather modestly-sized creatures is something truly colossal. It's impressive that you managed to create something this large while retaining the impression that there could easily be many of them (although any amount higher than zero is too high as far as I'm concerned). I do slightly raise an eyebrow at the inclusion of the Elder type on a nonlegendary creature, but if the metallic dragons from Baldur's Gate can pull it off, I suppose there's no reason this can't. While the wurm's entry is certainly explosive (or maybe "calamitous" is more the right word) the real point of interest here is that active ability. A giant creature with the ability to reveal itself from your hand and set up for its eventual emergence calls to mind Tetzimoc, Primal Death, but the Shai-Hulud decidedly carves out its own niche, alongside the presumable miles and miles of tunnels. An effect that prevents untapping without actually tapping anything down is unusual, but very fascinating. You're punishing enemy creatures for exerting themselves, potentially keeping them locked down indefinitely if you've got mana to spare. It is somewhat of a concern that you would be happy to just never cast the wurm and activate wormsign every turn instead, especially when you have the freedom to hold it up for as long as you want. A sorcery speed rider—or even a restriction to your upkeep—would solve a lot of the issues, I feel. And as an aside, I don't really feel anything particularly green about this beyond simply being an extremely large creature.

Here endeth the podium. Commentary to follow (eventually). @spooky-bard

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #inventor's fair #commentary #runners up #npc contest

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penig · 2 years

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When I first read Dracula, lo these many years agone (40 or so; I wonder who lives in that house now, where in the winter the cold was cupped inside like something precious and I read curled up in bed at night or in a chair in the sunroom?), I came away astonished at how good it was, yet a bit disappointed by the climax. It seemed anticlimactic to me, raised with cinematic climaxes even in my books; so many pages, so much tension, dissipating on the turn of two sentences into dust and Quincy’s blood on the snow and the minions and wolves sensibly fleeing into darkness as the sunset falls on Mina’s stainless forehead, and Mina didn’t get to use her gun.

Today, I feel very differently about it.

Today I have been crammed full of long, drawn-out, cinematic climaxes. I revolt against them; I begin to think about the lines in the restroom and will the mid-credit scene be worth the sitting? (It won’t.)

Also, today I have participated in Boss Fights many times; and this is how they go.

I played D&D back then, but it was a very different flavor of D&D, all dungeon crawls and party composition shifting randomly depending on who showed up, no continuity to speak of, no goal but to fight the next monster, solve the next puzzle, loot the next treasure, pile up the experience points for that next hard-earned level. It was fun but it had no pay-off, no plot, very little strategy because next session would be entirely different, or even teamwork, because next week Charlie’s parents would be visiting and he wouldn’t be able to come and the DM would have a research paper due so you’d be in a different dungeon with the person currently playing the 12th level monk behind the screen, running a dungeon he’d generated to test a computer program he’d written for his Trash-80. Whether you were fighting a horde of orcs or a Huge Ancient Red Dragon or even the actual BBEG at the bottommost level of the dungeon, you and your ragtag group of adventuring buddies would have at most a patchwork history with the enemy or the rest of the party or the dungeon itself. The thief would listen at the door and check for traps, you’d go in, and you’d do the best you could. And that’s not a boss fight.

No, for a Boss Fight, you have known for some time that you’d be coming up against the BBEG whose evil machinations have been making you tear your hair out since Level 1, whom you loathe with every fiber of your being even if you haven’t ever laid eyes on them before - you, and your seasoned party of close comrades. You know what they can do and you know what each and every one of you can do and you have discussed to death every countermeasure, every contingency. You have poured out your treasure like water to have the right equipment, the right buffs, the right protections in place. You have bribed and intimidated and persuaded and scryed and spied and burned the midnight oil to have every scrap of intelligence it is possible to glean. You have deployed your forces to maximize their effectiveness. Your game mechanic and your rules lawyer have found the exploitable loopholes and closed the loopholes the DM was hoping to exploit. You’re all of one mind. You’re ready.

You go in. You roll initiatives. You move, in deadly unity of purpose, you each do your job, you strike, and some of you miss and some of you hit and the BBEG’s minions try to distract you but you will not be distracted and They Are Gone, The Evil is Defeated and most of the time? If you did it right? If the dice aren’t cursed and the game mechanic and the rules lawyer are any shakes at all? The party is unscathed, the BBEG never got off a single attack. Anybody who did take damage probably got it from a trap or a minion, and it was probably a sacrifice move on the PC’s part to enable a bigger gun to get their hit in or to make sure that the PC’s own attack lands with full force on the actual target, denying them any chance of escape, recovery, or retaliation.

And Team Get Dracula did it letter-perfect.

The only reason Quincey died was because the mechanics of the system in use didn’t allow for massive HP accumulation or magical healing. Jonathan straight-up critted his Intimidation rolls so he didn’t have to deal with minions at all; one minion critted on Quincey and got through his parrying rolls and Quincey either didn’t have a mulligan left or decided to use it in a way that ensured he’d reach the coffin, when according to the mechanics evading the crit would have cost him either a precious round of movement or the to-hit bonus he was counting on to make the heart-strike.

And Mina didn’t get to use her gun but that’s okay, because she knows, and they all know, but no one will say out loud, that if the plan didn’t work, if it came down to her using the gun, it would have been part of failing, or at best of Pyrrhic victory. In the circumstances of this combat, Mina was the weakest link. If the sun had gone down on Dracula, odds are good that his first act would have been to exert (or try to exert) control of her. She was inside the protection of the holy circle which might or might not have worked to protect her. She was bait, and distraction, and part of a Hail Mary play, and she knew all about that. She was the game mechanic and Van Helsing was the rules lawyer. Probably she had a Charisma-based feature that allowed her presence to provide bonuses to die rolls. She had done her bit in the planning and organizing and information-gathering stages. I have been in the Mina position and let me tell you, the satisfaction isn’t any the less for not having had to roll a single attack.

This time around, I am satisfied.

#dracula daily #Dracula as RPG #quincey morris #jonathan harker #literature is educational #gaming

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supportivecircle · 1 year

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Sonic Wisps Warlock Patron Homebrew Part 1: Level Features

I recently posted about the Sonic-themed DnD Campaign I ran over the past year (and some few months in 2020 before a year break). If you’re in the center of that venn diagram of “Sonic the Hedgehog” and “Dungeons and Dragons”, know that you are not alone and I am here for you my sweet angel chao (tiny celestial, lawful good). Good ol’ Circle Dad has some content to quench the thirst of content for us weirdos. In the post I showed a snippet of the Warlock Patron subclass for the wisp alien creatures of Sonic, directly inspired by Whisper the Wolf, and to be used by one of my players who was drawn to the warlock class. I can’t confidently say how balanced it turned out. Outside of any major stuff that was already adjusted in the document as we played, I don’t think it was too crazy, but the player was not a veteran DnD player who could probably find stuff to break here. I’ll post the individual pages and give some blurbs about how they shaped up in practice.

So starting off, the expanded spell list. The player immediately took to the flavor of Chaos Bolt, but if I recall I don’t believe they took any others from the list outside of Haste, and we had gotten up to player level 9, so they had the whole list to pick from. Spiritual Weapon I wasn’t sure of, and never got to effectively test outside of Whisper herself using it early on at a lower level, it wasn’t too crazy cause its damage scales every 2nd level and Warlocks only get 2 slots per short rest so they’d be dedicating their resource to a longer damage over time spell compared to a full on Lightning Bolt. The flavor is perfect though for people who like to get creative with integrating wisps into the weapon appearance. Creativity was the main goal with this subclass because I knew the player would want options without being overtly super powered. The Variable Wispon feature gives them a similar function to the Order of Scribes Wizard in allowing for damage swapping of spells. In theory, this allows for lots of fun flavoring of spells to match the different wisps energies. In practice, it was good, but my player also made it a goal to never repeat a wisp between short rests and to cycle through them cause they loved their wisps equally. Some wisps will probably be more appealing in general to players who are looking to capitalize on gameplay vs character flavor and RP. It could be adjusted to have a limit per day of how many element swaps you can do if its a problem. Easy fall back is always Prof+CHA per Long Rest if it’s a problem for whatever reason. Maybe keep it free to use on EB so the player can always have that feel of their subclass playing a role. A personal note for knock-on effects of this ability is that the player felt a bit of freedom in picking spells because it was no longer having to so much look at damage types, but rather what the spell straight up did. Fireball vs. Lightning Bolt has the element taken out of the equation and for the player it became about damage, AoE, durations, and extra effects. Certain spells became more appealing because they wouldn’t be locked behind an unwanted damage type. The flavor we used was the same as how Whisper’s weapon functioned of the wisp flying into the gun, and turning the handle knobs to get different effects n stuff. Mechanically, a Warlock can still cast spells without their focus, so if a player is found without their focus in combat it can be flavored as the Wisps just unleashing direct hell on enemies compared to focusing through the gun. If your player ends up upgrading their focus or being given a new experimental version, it will make sense thematically that raw Wisp spells are weaker because their focus will have a +1/+2/+3 and be built to enhance them. Food for thought.

So the rest of the subclass features. Level 6 is where the Wisp Patron is meant to pop off and change gameplay style substantially. Unfortunately, this is rather late if you are starting at Level 1, and until this moment, most of the subclass’ feature is the element swapping. For someone like me, I’m straight pogging. I have an Order of Scribes Wizard already penned up entirely for the next campaign I’m playing in and I’m all about modifying spell descriptions. For others, it could be underwhelming. There is a “solution” later in the document in the form of an invocation that gives 2 free uses per long rest. I put “solution” in quotes because in all the games I’ve played in with my friend groups, warlocks get the Agonizing Blast invocation as a core-kit feature because of how integral it has become in the modern Warlock equation. So logically, having AB frees up an Invocation slot for something like this to let the player have more fun with bonus actions/wisp stuff outside of reflavoring spells. There’s a lot going on with the wisps in this, I wanted the Color Powers to be fun but not amazingly strong, they are meant to be half-spells as you’ll see in the following pages. We didn’t get to Level 10 but it’s a damage resistance it’s nothing insane. There’s flexibility in it cause it’s the name of the game for this subclass. I followed the general pattern of Warlocks having a defensive feature at 10, and some flavorful cool stuff at 14, which in this case is mostly aping off the big damage of stuff like Fiend but with a Blind feature as opposed to “disappear for a turn as you hurtle through Pinhead’s summer home”. Blind can be rough against some enemies, but this late in the game, a lot of tougher enemies might also just have Blindsight. Like I said I can’t say how balanced a lot of this is in the average game.

I’m not going to go into all the Wisp Powers in this post, but I wanted to post a little teaser of one of the pages, cause I really like how it turned out visually. There’s four pages of these to look forward to, along with the accompanying blurbs. I’ll post that part tomorrow. I’ve got a lot to say about how some of them turned out in practice, and almost nothing to say about some others that didn’t get used cause it wasn’t in that player’s playstyle. When the whole thing has been uploaded across three posts (Level Features, Color Powers, Invocations+Familiar), I’ll post the whole PDF in its entirety, or just a link to a copy of the Google Docs file so people can copy it and edit it in browser as needed on their own. I don’t know jack about using the images from the comic, but I ain’t making any cash off this and it was just meant to be a little homemade subclass with spruced up visuals. Hope that’s all good. Please don’t come at me SEGA I’m just a little circle guy im jus a small widdle circle noooo im just a little birthday boyyyyyy nooooo.

#idw sonic #whisper the wolf #sonic wisps #wisps #dungeons and dragons #dnd #d&d #dungeons & dragons #warlock #warlock patron #homebrew #sonic the hedgehog #dubiously balanced #dnd dm experience #go easy on me ive lurked for years and never posted #im just saying dont BULLY ME #SUPPORTIVE CIRCLES #sonic idw

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wildmelon · 1 month

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Is Baldurs Gate 3 a game that you think is worth buying and playing? This is coming from someone who has never played the game before and I’m not usually into fantasy and things of that nature but it sounds like a fun game.

this is honestly just so subjective i can't give a short answer 😭 but i'll try to help 🩷

do you like rpgs in general? in my opinion, it's always worth trying out games from genres that aren't your usual favorite. i'm personally not drawn to sci-fi basically at all but have loved every game i've given a chance with those vibes, so i wouldn't write it off just bc it's fantasy.

are you familiar with dnd mechanics? they were pretty foreign, intimidating, and overwhelming to me at first, and i can see that putting some people off. but if i can get the hang of it truly anyone can, just go in knowing there'll be a learning curve.

as far as content, i think it's great value. especially in this day and age. it's a huge game, visually beautiful, expansive, and comprehensive. very solid experience for the money.

do you enjoy headcanoning? this has been the most fun part for me tbh, i think i love bg3 so much bc it opened me to the wider world of dnd. i generally prefer the storyline of, say, any dragon age game to bg3's. but those games didn't encourage me to roleplay and flesh out every detail of my characters like bg3 did. 🤷🏼‍♀️

i personally think it's worth buying and playing overall. gameplay is usually pretty low on my list of priorities (1. characters 2. story 3. setting, list goes on) but i love bg3's gameplay. the mods are also amazing and got me to care about lore and weapons more than ever before lol. i also end up wandering act 3 basically cozy gaming with intermittent quests, just shopping and kissing my love interest and taking pictures lol. the characters are great.

you can always do the steam return thing if you don't like it!

#ask #anon

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in-my-feels-probably · 11 months

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Hi!!! congrats for 1200 followers! So last time I couldn’t take part in your event, congrats for your 1000 followers as well btw, but I’d like to participate again this time! Obviously only answer this if you’re okay with me participating again! I’d like to request a matchup for Bridgerton (even someone from Queen Charlotte is fine if you think they suit me better) <3

I’ll send my description again!

my pronouns are she/her and I’m asexual biromantic so any gender is fine. I’m an ESFJ and a Gemini. I have green eyes and brown hair, I have a mullet with blue strands. I dress with vintage/fairy grunge clothes. I wear lots of rings and love to exchange them with others.

I’m the mom friend of the group, always there for everyone and my friends say that I’m really good at comforting people. I’m also calm and responsible, I usually am the one that takes care of other people. I’m very optimistic, I always try to see the good in everything and I often put other’s needs before my own. I love making others laugh to lighten the situation. I don’t like when people tell me what to do and I’m not afraid to stand up for myself or for someone else. I also dislike when someone is too serious and really can’t take a joke as I tend to use humor as my coping mechanism.

All my friends tell me I’m very smart, I get very good grades and I do well in school. I also try to help my friends with study and school as much as possible. I’m also very ambitious, I always try to achieve my goals.

My love languages are, receiving, physical touch and words of affirmation and giving, quality time and words of affirmation.

I absolutely love listening to music, it helps me relax and I really like reading. I also love watching horror movies even though it’s impossible to scare me. I also play Dungeons and Dragons with my friends anytime I can. also, I absolutely love musicals and I’m definitely a theatre kid.

I really hope I did this right, have a great day :)

hi!

thank you for participating, nice to see you again :)

since you have no gender preference, i’ll tell you who i ship you with out of both the boys and the girls, and then do the full thing with who i think you’re better suited for.

i ship you with eloise and king george!

i’m gonna go with george for this, i hope that’s alright with you.

i think he’d be drawn to you visually. you’d strike him as interesting, and when he got to know you, he’d fall completely. you’d be very inviting. he needs someone calm and positive, someone caring and loving. everyone needs a mom friend, and he certainly wouldn’t turn one down. he needs someone to make him laugh and smile when he’s having a rough day—or a few rough days. you’d be like charlotte. able to stand up for him and make him feel safe when he needed you to be stronger than him. but he’d also never let you feel undervalued, and he would always make sure you were doing alright too. i think he’s got a way about him that makes him easy to open up to. you’d know you could tell him anything, and he’d know you could always work things out together.

i think george would enjoy a little bit of academic rivalry with you, or rivalry in general. he’s very well educated, especially in the sciences, and i think he enjoys being a knowledgeable person. he’d appreciate someone who could match his level of banter and intellect, and hed love a challenge. i do think overall, though, he’d appreciate a curious mind. he’d love that you were interested in learning new things, and your ambition would make him proud. if you showed any interest in his interests, he’d love that even more.

i think touch is a very special thing to george. they can be so innocent and pure. a comfort, and nothing more. his tremors would make him a bit nervous to initiate touch, though, and if you cleared his mind of any doubt by taking his hand like nothing was wrong, he’d consider it a very special thing between the two of you. i think another love language of his is words of affirmation. praise goes far with him, and he’d know that it goes far with you too. quality time is probably his third. he would like being alone with you and doing simple things. talking, fleeting touches, going for walks around the garden. hed look forward to those times when he didn’t have to worry about his duties as king and he could just be with you.

the best part of his day would be seeing you after a long day. he’d take you for a walk around the gardens, his hand in yours. he’d smile when he could fill you fiddling with one of the rings on his fingers.

“what did you do today, love? get any more of that book read?”

“i finished it,” you’d smile, making him grin.

“we’re going to need a bigger library at the rate you’re reading,” he’d tease, squeezing your hand. “did you enjoy it?”

you’d nod, gushing to him about the ending. he’d grin, seeing how excited you got talking about the characters and the story.

“i knew you’d like it.”

you’d raise a brow. “and why is that?”

“because i read it first. i had to make sure you weren’t wasting your time on something that wasn’t any good.”

you’d feel your heart flutter at his thoughtfulness, pressing yourself closer to his side. “what about you? what did you do today?”

“nothing worth talking about.”

you’d look up at him, slowing your pace. “are you sure? i’m here to listen.”

he’d smile down at you, shaking his head. “i’m sure, love. i’m having far more fun talking about you.”

—

thank you again for participating! i hope you liked this :)

#king george #king george iii #bridgerton #queen charlotte #1.2k followers celebration #1.2k followers #followers celebration

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pixiemage · 1 year

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9 and 24

[For the Fanfic End of the Year Ask Game]

9. Longest WIP of the year

D'you wanna know something? I was honestly surprised by the results of this one. I was 100% certain it was going to be Through a Crack in the Void. It you only count what I posted to Ao3, it stands at 30,587 words, but if you add what I've also posted to Tumblr beyond that, it adds up to a whopping 38,217. That's about half the length of the first Harry Potter book, and it's still sitting near the beginning of its plot. (Which isn't the longest fic in my roster overall, because my Iron Dad Marvel fic is sitting at a over 130k words and, again, it's not even half finished akdjbakbjwkaf.)

HOWEVER, I thought I'd check Domino Effect because - ya know - I started them both around the same time so I was curious.

39,456 words, which means it beats out TaCitV by a meager 1,239 words. Unlike TaCitV it's also sitting in one Google doc, which means I can also tell you that it's 76 pages long and counting. Geez!

24. Favorite fic you read this year

I'm gonna recommend three, because they're all amazing and I can never pick one fic. (And I'm sure you've read at least one of them.) There ARE a few others I contemplated for this, one of which is the Take A Chance On Me AU I've talked about before, and one of which is a DSMP fic where Tommy respawned as a crow...but I'm not gonna bog down this post with a million fic recs lmao.

1) Adaptive Nature by @scribbling-dragon (WIP)

It's an Empires S2 fic (with Team Rancher) that's all told from the POV of The Sheriff. From what I recall he has never once mentioned his name, though we know it's meant to be Jimmy. There are no Minecraft mechanics in this AU to my knowledge, so no respawn, no inventory, and no communicators. But basically - the Sheriff is drawn to some ruins in the mesa beyond the border of the newly-founded Tumble Town. He finds a dragon statue there, is affected by it somehow, and finds himself...changing, though I won't say how here for the sake of spoilers. He also meets and befriends archeologist Pixlriffs, through whom he meets another member of the archeology guild, Tango, both of whom teach the Sheriff about something called "the corruption" that happened centuries ago. (AKA Empires S1) It's so well written, and there are so many mysteries still unsolved! The Sheriff is secretive about his past which he left behind, there's some skulk thing that Pixl is studying, there's something to do with a dragon - dude. Just - if you haven't, go read it. It's stellar.

2) Covet by Oceanbreeze7 @digitalta (WIP)

An AU in which Grian never joined Hermitcraft, but Pearl did. Grian has been missing, presumed dead, ever since Evo. Now - in Season 8 of Hermitcraft - the Boatem crew have broken ground into the void below the Boatem Hole...but the hole isn't as empty as it seems. Something is lurking beneath it, and while at first the shy and elusive creature they've named "Scout" is nothing more than a friendly and gift-giving enigma, he becomes so so much more once they start trying to figure out what exactly their strange guest is. This one is hauntingly beautiful in its writing, with some pretty poetic chapters and some gorgeous imagery. There is body horror in this, so be mindful of that, but - holy moly. It's so so good, with a pretty fantastic balance of angst and fluff and reveals, and - yes. So much yes.

3) To Hoe Where None Have Hoene Before by tablrcloth

Otherwise known as that one fic where Tango and Jimmy try to get all the husbandry achievements in Double Life. It's - guys, it's cute as shit. It's short and sweet, very sweet, and I've reread it like three times. <3

#Ask the Mage #Ask Game #Hybbat Asks #Fanfic EOY Ask Game #I might have to go through my bookmarks after this and find some old faves

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master-tonberry · 1 year

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Good grief, we have lots in common! Well, I'm really glad I sent my silly survey now because I have some very exciting ideas percolating for you present. :)

Thanks for taking the time to answer all my whimsies!

MY FAVORITE SONG IS "MERCY"!!! You made my heart so happy reading that. Hyungwon's songwriting skills are unparalleled for me.

Night owls represent!!!

I had to google that book, and now I want to read it. It tells me much about you. My favorite novels are Handmaid's Tale and Alias Grace, both of which I read in my femlit class in college. My other favorites are Pride & Prejudice and the His Dark Materials books!

Winter is my favorite season, and I abhor summer. Like you, I love the cold. I'm happiest when it's snowing heaps and I know can play in it (I never grew up, to be clear lol).

My husband and I started watching the Willow series this weekend! He had never seen Willow, so we watched it, and he LOVED it. Like you, it was a staple of my childhood, along with Goonies and The Neverending Story. I love a good quest! And as I mentioned, HDM is one of my favorite books, and the series is so lajdfljasfldjaslfdjlaskdjf. FINALLY, someone did it justice! I CANNOT WAIT TO WATCH THE FINAL BOOK COME TO LIFE.

Aw, I didn't see Wheel of Time, but you're right, I didn't read good things about it either. :(

YOU LIVED IN ICELAND??? Pump the brakes! In 6th grade, that was the country I picked to do a travel report on, and I have been obsessed ever since though I've never been. It's both so alien and primordial and fantasical. What was that like that you can remember? Where else have you lived?

I am fascinated by big cities--their ebb and flow and all the possibilities available--but as an introvert, I feel like it would zap my energy every day. My city is a small-market, but I love it dearly. (I'm in the US, and I assume from your previous asks that you are, too?)

Since you didn't mind my barrage of questions, let me close this with a few more.

Fantasy, sci fi, comedy, or documentary:

Favorite character in the Willow movie:

Favorite character in HDM:

What kind of video games do you play?

What's your favorite story trope:

You're part of a quest. What role do you play? The leader, the comic relief, the planner, the silent but skilled expert, the troublemaker, or the one everyone thought was just a regular nobody but has a power that awakens unexpectedly to save the day?

Have fun! No rush! Get back when you can! :D I'll be waiting for my new friend.

xoxo mbb Secret Santa

omg no way, Alias Grace is one of my favorites!! I love Margaret Atwood, and if you like her you'll definitely like Sheri S. Tepper!

And holy shit Goonies 😭😭😭 That's my all time favorite movie ever! I watched that and Willow and Neverending Story and Last Unicorn over and over lol. And the animated Hobbit, which turned me into a massive LotR nerd and led to a debilitating D&D habit.

And yes, I'm in the US! My father was a pilot before he retired so we lived in some cool places. Iceland was great, I was pretty young so I don't remember a lot, but I do remember going on road trips and visiting lava fields. It was like being on a different planet. We also lived in Germany for a while, which was also wonderful and I also want to go back and visit lol.

Okay, questions now!

Fantasy, Sci Fi, Comedy, or Documentary: I like all of them but I'm most drawn to fantasy.

Favorite Character in Willow: This is like choosing one of my children!! I love the brownies so so much but also Sorcha oh my god. I adore her.

Favorite Character in HDM: Lee Scoresby, easy lol. I was born in Texas so I'm partial to Texan characters, especially noble pilot types.

Video Games: I like all kinds of games! I play cozy games like Stardew Valley and Animal Crossing, rpgs like Final Fantasy, Dragon Age, and Mass Effect, big dumb shooters like Gears of War, basically anything that has a good soundtrack and interesting gameplay mechanics.

Story Trope: Probably found family. Most of the games, books, and shows that I'm into involve it in one way or another. I also dig a good enemies to lovers lol

Role in a Quest: I would probably be the planner lol. I have that super power combo of ADHD and mild autism plus anxiety, so if the mission goes wrong, I guarantee I have already stressed out about it and come up with at least four contingency plans for that exact scenario 😂

I hope your week is going well so far, and I'm looking forward to your next ask! 💗

#mbb secret santa

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anotherfacelessjournal · 2 years

Text

I’ve been having this one, recurring daydream for a while now.

That fact, on its own, is nothing remarkable. Daydreams have been my coping mechanism of choice for longer than I can remember. According to my parents, I used to beg them to read to me multiple times every night, so clearly my head was lost in the clouds before my age ever broke double digits. Ever since, I’ve been incredibly quick to slip into fantasy whenever the real world becomes too difficult to bear. When my parents were arguing in the next room over, I’d be befriending dragons and slaying monsters. Whenever class was too boring, or exercising became too difficult, I’d pretend I was studying magic, or training for some sort of duel. Whenever I felt like nobody cared about me, I’d dream up an overly dramatic scenario where I sacrificed myself for those I loved. A way of giving my life meaning, while simultaneously granting my wish for death.

I’d replay the same scenarios in my mind, over and over, like I was watching a movie. Whenever familiarity bred boredom, I’d just revise the script a little. Change details or add in new elements, while keeping the core premise the same. I could entertain myself for hours, until the real world inevitably called me back. Usually to my own disappointment.

In hindsight, this habit probably caused a lot more problems than it solved. If anyone had bothered to take me to a therapist, they probably would’ve called my daydreams maladaptive, long before I’d ever heard the word. While I never truly stopped, I like to think they’re less of an issue now. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I can force myself to focus while I’m at work, or visiting my family. I save my fantasies for the small hours of the night, when all the people I rely on to distract me are asleep, and I’m left alone with the worst of my thoughts. They’re a drug I use in moderation. Less an addiction, and more an old friend that I rarely have time to visit, but am always overjoyed to see.

Recently, though, it feels like something has changed. While my daydreams used to be the result of careful design, a new one came to me unbidden. At first, I didn’t think to question it. I just let myself indulge. This fantasy, though, isn’t content with secret meetings in quiet moments. It forces itself through the cracks in my focus, and washes over me at times I don’t normally allow anymore. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to keep it away. I’m not always sure that I want to.

It always starts out with me doing something mundane. Usually something similar to whatever I’m doing in real life. I’ll be lying in bed at night, or waiting for an appointment, or slaving away mindlessly at work. Then, without warning, something changes. There’s a subtle shift in the air, one that I feel more than see, and nobody else ever seems to notice. Then I begin to change, too. After a few moments, I’m not human any longer. Instead, I’ve become one of the fantasy creatures that I’ve always loved so much. I abandon whatever I’m doing without a second thought, fly or teleport or swim away, and leave my human life behind forever.

The first few times I had this daydream, the changes were quick and painless. A brief flash of light, a moment of strangeness, and it was over. No longer. Now it’s a horrific process, drawn out hour after imaginary hour. I can’t help but torment myself with images of claws ripping my hands apart from within, or wings that burst from my back in a shower of blood and gore. Spikes and horns that puncture my own flesh as they emerge. Each rendition is slower than the last, and filled to the brim with new shades of agony. The pain never feels like a deterrent, though. I always embrace it, confident that the end result will be worth such suffering, and quickly forgotten once it ends. It’s a penance of sorts, I think. Welcome pain that absolves and cleanses, the same way Christians like to imagine.

I like to pretend that all my fantasies are meaningless. That they’re all just idle thoughts, designed to help me pass the time. Products of a bored mind, with no real meaning behind them. If I’m being totally honest with myself, though, I don’t think that’s the case. Just as a painter reveals more about themselves with every stroke of the brush, I think every daydream offers me a glimpse of my deeper self. If that’s the case, though, then what does this new fantasy say about me? I’m not sure I want to know. I don’t think I’m capable of that level of self-reflection. Even so, I feel compelled to try.

Perhaps I’ll let myself be an optimist, just this once.

Maybe it’s not death that I crave, but freedom.

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cryptocism · 2 years

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oooo what can you tell us about ur ttrpg characters??

oh man tons, almost every single one of them I created based on a silly premise I thought would be funny and then eventually evolved into a genuine character that I'm now extremely invested in

There's Captain Widdershins, (which u may be able to tell by the name was a joke character I made for a oneshot that eventually evolved into a full campaign) who's a weathered 500 year old pirate captain with a missing arm and a golden eye who is completely off her rocker and took her warlock patronage to the goddess of the ocean as a marriage proposal. She's insane and very in love with her ocean wife and I adore her.

Caisson is a half mechanical half humanoid inventor who builds medical prosthetics and has a tiny pet dragon named Kip. Their parents were world-class weapons manufacturers and were secretly working on a doomsday device before being mysteriously killed. In an attempt to draw the assassins out into the open, Caisson announced the weapon development and claimed that they were the one who built it. This instead resulted in Caisson getting the attention of the king, who hires them as a weapons manufacturer (something they are not) for a ~mysterious quest~ oooo

Ruby and Punch are a sort of Jekyll and Hyde duo I'm playing for a Legend of Zelda campaign. Ruby is a sweet little skullkid and a level 1 bard. He's got 10 hit points and a violin and he's just out here doing his best. Punch on the other hand is a cursed theatre mask with mad sorcerer magicks who only wants two things: attention, and extreme gratuitous violence. Mechanically, Punch is the better character to have in a fight, but he's also wicked chaotic evil and is extremely self-motivated. Ruby is genuinely helpful to the party and does much better with socializing/charm based shit. Ruby needs Punch in order to not get one hit K.O.'d, Punch needs Ruby because he's got no body of his own. They work kind of like a multiclass but uh, without a lot of the benefits of multiclassing lmao bc I specifically designed them so that they both need to switch off bc the other has whatever they lack. The GM and I have spent many hours homebrewing exactly how these two idiots work just so my dreams of playing a Sweet Boi and The Worst Kind of Theatre Kid can come true.

I did a comic about Sable from the dragon age campaign I was part of for a bit, who was an Orlesian university student that ended up becoming a Grey Warden during a research trip and continued to have an Extremely Bad Time as they fruitlessly tried to find a cure for the blight. They were also the youngest of 12 siblings because I thought the idea of that was hilarious, a real Cheaper By The Dozen scenario wherein they were around the same age or younger as a lot of their nieces and nephews. The GM for that campaign actually came up with a whole family tree and names/professions for Sable's siblings and niblings which was literally the coolest shit there was a plethora of family drama interwoven in there. A sheltered teen was also... probably the smartest character choice for me to play since I've never played Dragon Age and had no knowledge of the lore lmao. Sable's obliviousness was just my obliviousness in most cases.

And Aelios is the most recent. Basically my friend I'm playing with created a character who's the son of a massive crime family, and I entirely built Aelios' concept on that. They're a barbarian who got a job as a mob goon purely so that I can do the "yeah you got it, boss" thing whenever possible. They've also got a backstory with a husband killed by demons, very storied mercenary past, and an unhealthy addiction to the drug that the crime family holds a monopoly over, but it really did start out with me just wanting to play a total meathead since I am too often drawn in by the siren song of spellcasting.

#asks #anonymous #dnd5e #dnd #i like magicks what can i say #but listen the high of having a plus 10 to athletics as Aelios is unparalleled #they're fuckin STACKED

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jangofctts · 3 years

Text

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

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Robot Jon! ☺️

(ok, I've been off tumblr for a few days, but I went on early this morning and had an ask with a bunch of prompts because I said I'd be taking a break from my Bachelor fic - which is true, if not for another 3 chapters yet. I haven't answered that ask because I'll lose it and therefore the prompts, but it reminded me that I still had two prompts left from when I asked for them back in... December? I'm the worst. Anyway, I re-looked at those prompts, saw this one, and then couldn't stop thinking about it. So I'm coming out of my vague tumblr hiatus to write this.)

Thank you, as always, for the prompt!

Sansa has never liked amusement parks.

The sun that always burned her, no matter how diligent mom was about reapplying sunscreen; the fried food that always made her sick; the crowds and the noise and having to walk everywhere. But the worst part was the rides – oh, she didn't mind some of them, like the Ferris wheel or the teacups; she could even handle the swing ride. The problem was that the rest of her family wanted to go on the horrible rides – roller coasters, haunted houses, swinging ships; the ones that go fast and drop you from a million feet in the air. And since it was hard enough wrangling the amount of children in their group to begin with, it was impossiblefor one adult to split off with Sansa, who alone wanted to ride the gentler ones.

And so, it's sort of ironic that she works at an amusement park now.

She may not have a taste for most of the rides in the park, but she is good at designing them – not the actual rides, but the aesthetics of them. It's her (and her team's) job to come in after the engineers and the builders and take a bare-bones ride and turn it into an experience. She loves her job – she loves watching children exit one of her rides with glowing faces and excitement in their eyes.

Today, she also gets to do one of her favorite aspects of the job, which is costume design. The animatronic models have already been installed, and when she enters the new Dance of Dragons ride, she can already see the scene taking shape in her mind. The concept art has already been drawn up, it's already being advertised – a medieval world that everyone knows is meant to capitalize on the stunning success of the Aemon the Dragonknight series (which her employer does not own the rights to, much to their dismay). But concept art is one thing – reality is another, and it's not until the ride is complete that she can start to truly see it come together in her mind.

“Oh good, you're here,” Margaery Tyrell sighs dramatically as she comes to meet Sansa's team. Margaery is in charge of Marketing and PR for this ride and Sansa knows it's a big responsibility, so she's been even more high maintenance than usual. Margaery walks her through the ride that Sansa has seen so many times in drawings.

“This is our Aemon,” Margaery slaps a hand against the shoulder of one of the animatronic models. “Although we can't call him Aemon. Copyright and all that.”

Sansa looks at the robot and she's struck for a moment how lifelike he is. A lot of the animatronics aren't this detailed, though she guesses this one is because of how close to the ride it is.

“He's handsome, right?” Margaery flashes her a grin and there's something in her eyes that Sansa can't quite place. (Well, she can, it's mischief, Sansa just can't tell why it's there.)

“I guess, in the way that cartoons can be handsome,” Sansa laughs and takes another look at the model – the somber grey eyes, dark curly hair, and an equally dark beard. “You even gave him abs,” she points down at the robot's chest which does, indeed, have a very detailed set of abs. “Am I supposed to leave him shirtless?”

“Oh, no, obviously we want realism, like we talked about,” Margaery waves her hand dismissively. “We just couldn't help ourselves when we put in the order.” Sansa shoots her a confused look, which only gets a delighted laugh out of Margaery. “I'm guessing you don't recognize him?”

“Recognize who?”

Margaery gestures at the animatronic. “Jon!” At Sansa's blank stare, Margaery rolls her eyes. “Jon Snow?”

The name sounds familiar and it takes her a second to place it. “The engineer?”

“Duh! Seven hells, don't tell me you've never actually seen him?”

Sansa shakes her head – she usually comes in well after the engineers have done their part.

“Mormont let him take the lead on this project and he's so... ugh,” Margaery makes a noise that's half frustration, half delight. “So serious all the time. But somehow likable? It's infuriating, really. And no one should be that attractive for a nerd.”

“So... does he know you made him into a robot?”

“He does not,” Margaery grins. “We're all just dying for him to come in for an inspection and see it. In fact,” she pulls out her phone and checks the time, “if you wait around for a bit, you'll get to see it happen.”

Sansa shakes her head and they continue on through the set, Sansa writing down notes in her trusty notebook that she always carries with her. Lists of costumes, set pieces. She'll need to bring in Asha later to discuss the lighting options (right now the dark ride is lit with spotlights, giving the whole place a surreal atmosphere).

Margaery eventually leaves her to it and Sansa loses herself in going over the set inch by inch with Gilly and Mya following along with her. She's so lost in thought that Mya has to shake her arm to bring her back to reality, and they turn to see a group of what has to be engineers standing in the main Great Hall set.

“Oh come on, Jon,” Margaery is giggling as a man who must be Jon stands, staring at the animatronic. He's scowling at it, hands tight around the pile of binders in his arms that are... well, ok, Sansa can understand now why Margaery made the robot so well muscled.

Sansa edges closer to the scene, and she can see that his fellow engineers are laughing – one of them is red-faced from trying to hold it in while another is actively wiping tears from his eyes.

“It's already made,” Margaery says in response to whatever Jon had grumbled to her. “Replacing it would be an irresponsible waste of funds. Oh! And here's the team that will be styling you... I mean, styling not-Aemon because that's copyright infringement.”

Jon looks up and the scowl drops from his face.

“This is Sansa, Mya and Gilly are over there.”

“Hi,” Sansa greets and Jon shifts his binders into one arm and then holds out his hand for her to shake (she can feel her face heating up and she hopes the dark hides it). “I promise to try and do you justice.” She regrets her words immediately, especially when she sees a slow grin spread over Margaery's face. “Though it doesn't totally look like you,” she continues on to try and backtrack. “It... doesn't have glasses?”

She wants to sink into the floor in embarrassment, but the gods are not that kind. At least she doesn't spout out how much she likes his glasses. Maybe Margaery is right – no one who clearly cares so little about their appearance should be this attractive. His beard needs a trim, his outfit is painfully unstylish, his hair is pulled back into a bun. All of it should add up to something she hates, but she just... doesn't.

(And honestly, Margaery's description of nerd isn't so far off the mark, but Sansa finds this isn't a detriment – in fact, she might be more attracted to him because of the glasses and the multitude of thick binders organized with labels and tabs that he's got tucked under his arm.)

“I'd also hope real Jon isn't built like a Ken doll,” one of the other engineers barks out a laugh and points at the animatronic, which, yes, does not have any reproductive anatomy.

“Gods,” she hears Jon whisper, and the hand that he had used to shake hers comes up and covers his eyes. “This is a nightmare.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Margaery sighs and pats him on the shoulder. “Now, why don't you take Sansa around and make sure she's really taken care of, hmm?” At the words, Sansa feels her face heat even further and Jon drops his hand from his eyes and glares at Margaery. “I just mean,” Margaery grins, not even trying to pretend the innuendo wasn't on purpose, “it might help the design if she has a good understanding of the mechanics. I know there's some new things on this ride we haven't had before, you could show her.”

Jon opens his mouth, but doesn't get a chance to speak, because Margaery barrels on. “Sam, Grenn, you can chat with Gilly and Mya while that's happening. And I... well, I'll just be over here, minding my own business.”

With that, Margaery walks away and the other two engineers – Sam and Grenn, she guesses – head over to where the rest of her team stands, watching from afar.

“You don't have to,” Sansa starts, but Jon quickly turns from glaring at Margaery's back to her and his face settles into something less... scowly.

“I don't mind,” he says quickly and maybe it's the low lighting in here, but she thinks the tips of his ears are red.

“Perfect,” she gives him her best smile, which seems to throw him even more off balance and... and she thinks she could get used to throwing Jon Snow off balance.

#ask #jonsa #jonsa fic #prompt fic #i don't know how amusement park ride design works #just go with it #don't ask questions

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