#race neutral reader insert fics

[just-here-for-the-moment]

My own reblogs strive to be 100% POC-friendly/race-neutral reader insert. And I only reblog OC fics that are clearly labeled so that readers can filter their own experiences.

I no longer reblog any reader-insert fics unless they are free of white coding ("blushing," "red marks," & etc. the usual suspects).

JHFTM Fic Recs for Pedro Pascal characters

As a white writer, I am happy to pre-read and filter safe fics for my POC friends! (I hate that there's a reason to, but if it helps someone else have a better reading experience I'll happily do it!)

On the subject of white coding in fandom creations

It’s no secret that whitewashing and white coding is a huge issue in reader insert fic and art. It feels like it’s actually gotten worse lately to the point where I’ll save 10 fics in my drafts but only reblog 2 cause the rest are white coded. And almost all art uses a white and thin girl as ���reader.” No matter how much poc in fandom shout for y’all to be inclusive it feels like it falls on deaf ears. And it feels like the white people in fandom just don’t care. It’s hurtful and upsetting and poc are getting frustrated and fed up with this.

I feel like we’re not asking for much. And it’s really not that hard to be inclusive with your reader insert. Just literally take out any skin/hair/language/relation descriptors. That’s it. Background is something you have a little more flexibility on because yes it is fiction but at the bare minimum just don’t use descriptors for your reader character. Yet it feels like whenever I (or others) bring it up, we’re met with defensiveness and abrasiveness or we’re told we’re overrating or being too mean or nit-picky. Or there’s one excuse or another why it’s too much of an ask. We’re not asking for the moon here, just think about who else may be reading/seeing your art that doesn’t look like you.

Yes I understand mistakes happen, we’re human, no one is perfect. It’s impossible to include every single person who could possibly read/see your art. People are just too diverse and too different. It’s impossible to be aware of every single nuance out there. But all we’re asking is to try. Take a look over of your work and really look for things and think from another perspective.

I’ve also heard the complaint that poc are too harsh with criticism of whitewashing. Perhaps it was your personal first time making a mistake like that but I guarantee it isn’t the poc’s first time coming across it. But you also have to understand that at least 90% of fic and art is white coded. It’s frustrating to see over and over and over again that you aren’t thought about and that you aren’t welcome here. So it’s not a personal attack on you at all.

Yes this is all meant to be self indulgent. But when all you think about is your own whiteness, poc fans can’t have that indulgence either. Poc deserve to have that level of indulgence too. Poc deserve to have that level of escape too. We belong here too.

Yes fandom is very white but that is part because so many poc are bullied and pushed out of the fandom or made to feel unwelcome. Poc creatives are ignored in favors of white ones. Imagine how disheartening it feels to come into a fandom space expecting to be invited and accepted only to be pushed out. It sucks.

Especially in the fandoms of a poc too like Pedro and Oscar. (This post includes all fandoms but I mention these in specific cause I see it a LOT here and they are men or color themselves so it’s extra important)

So please, try to be better. Listen to poc. Boost our voices, don’t ignore us or push us out. Think about being more inclusive in your work. Imagine how upset you would be if it were the other way around. So please try. Try to include others who don’t look like you. Try to think outside your box. Try to make others actually feel welcome in fandom spaces, since fandom constantly preaches love and acceptance.

To the write creatives who read this whole post and to the ones who do try: thank you. We appreciate your thought and effort.

[inclusivepedro-oscarlibrary]

Welcome to the Inclusive Pedro & Oscar Library!

ID also in alt txt.

[ID: The banner for our blog! On top of a peach pink cloud background with sparkling stars are two rows of six circles, filled with characters played by actor Pedro Pascal. In the top row from left-to-right, are characters: Din Djarin/The Mandalorian, Javier Peña, Javier Gutierrez, Oberyn Martell. In the fifth circle there is cursive text reading: “The Inclusive Pedro Library.” In the sixth and last circle of the row there is a photo of Joel Miller. In the bottom row from left-to-right, are characters: Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey, Dieter Bravo, Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike, Pero Tovar, and Frankie Morales. In the bottom right corner there is text reading: “Tumblr: @inclusivepedrolibrary​.” End ID]

~

We recognized a need for an inclusive space for Pedro and Oscar fans on Tumblr, so we decided to start a curated list of fanfics and fan art.

We carefully screen all reader-insert fic recs to avoid white-coded language (such as flushing/blushing, red marks on skin, white-coded hair, etc).

We also want to build a library of POC and other underrepresented authors and artists, and curate fics and fan art featuring Pedro characters with queer and/or POC OCs. (We do not read or reblog RPF, we only accept fics about fictional characters.)

This blog is for 18+ friends only. Minors DNI. Thank you.

Please read the submissions guidelines before sending anything in!

~

Fic Recs * Fan Art Recs

POC Writers/Artists * Queer Writers/Artists * Over 30 Writers/Artists * Those who write/draw Plus Size * Disabled Writers/Artists

Tag Navigation

Inclusivity Resources

Meet the Mods

Note- Everything without a link is coming soon! Thanks for your patience as we get things up and running!

[just-here-for-the-moment]

The Escape

This grew out of an unhinged convo that @deadhumourist and I had over DMs ages ago. Now that it’s wintertime and very cold where I am, I decided to write it up for her. Hope the rest of you enjoy it as well!

Word count: 1400

Rating: Mature, 18+ only (no minors)

Outline: Old West AU? Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x You (race-neutral, blank slate female reader insert; no racial description, no physical description, no name, no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: Yearning and anticipation on both sides; mentions of Jack rescuing you and helping you to escape from some kind of vague danger; Jack affectionately nicknames you “Bluebonnet”; mutual lusty pining; both characters imagining “what if”; mentions and imaginings of sex acts; cranking up the heat on this wintry day

***

The mustang’s hooves clop slowly across the hard ground as Jack guides you to safety through the barren forest. The dry, frozen air of mid-winter makes the sound seem louder than it is, echoing off nearby trees and bouncing back to your ears.

Your focus shifts as your heart rate slows. The adrenaline from Jack scooping you up onto his horse has dribbled out of your veins, bleeding into a numb calmness as he puts distance between you and your hard circumstances.

Your hand aches, clutching at the rough, wool saddle blanket that Jack had wrapped around you both, ordering you to keep it closed for warmth as his rough breath warmed your ear. The sharp, direct order had cut through your fear and you had followed his directions to the letter. You kept the blanket closed over your sternum tightly. An hour into the journey and your fingers were aching, but you refused to let go. You wanted Jack to be proud of you for following his order, for keeping his arms warm and his hands free so that he could steer properly. You wanted to be smart and useful to him.

You tried to ignore the gentle rocking of his thighs against yours where they cupped you, holding you steady on his mount. After everything, you are shocked that your mind is wandering to such lusty images, and you attempt to chastise yourself out of thinking about such things…but the rough denim of his pants conceals a bulge that rocks gently against your ass with every step the horse takes.

For his part, Jack is fighting lusty thoughts of his own. As his breath slows and the horse’s gallop changes to a saunter, Jack tries to ignore the soft curves of your hips under your long winter skirts, and the summery scent of your perfume… delectable notes of lily of the valley and rose that waft up from the heat of your body and tickle his nose. 

It makes him want to find a safe haven, some little culvert or cabin where he can build a fire and put the thick, warm blanket to better use, perhaps as a bed where he can take you gently and show you what good love is supposed to be… if you’ll have him. Maybe after what you’ve been through, he shouldn’t be thinking such things, but the rage that flared in his gut at seeing you in need of rescue has boiled down to a simmer, and he needs to let off steam one way or another. 

He clears his throat and reassures you, “Won’t be much longer now, Bluebonnet.”

“Why do you call me that?” 

“Your scarf,” he brings his left hand gently up to your face and tugs affectionately on the fabric that you’ve wrapped over your head and knotted under your chin, hoping to keep some warmth around your ears. 

“You were wearing this the first day I saw you. Same color as a field full of Texas bluebonnets.” Then, as if that’s all that needs to be said, he trails off into silence. 

You reach back in your mind and try to remember that day, but the time and distance from that moment make things fuzzy. You remember cradling your hard-won harvest of berries in your scarf, tied around your waist like an apron as you emerged from the edge of the forest. And on the road were Jack and another man riding toward town, the sun beating down on the brims of their hats, shadows obscuring their faces. 

If you had been prescient of everything that would transpire between that moment and now, you’re not sure if you would have done things any differently. 

It all ended up with you here, feeling the warmth of Jack’s body against your back, the muscles of his thighs as they tense and squeeze against yours. He’s more relaxed than when the first lengths of galloping put distance between you and that terrible town, but his breath still comes in heavy sighs, and you can tell he’s holding something back. 

“S’that all it was? The color?” You chide yourself internally for sounding hard, ungrateful for the compliment in how he compared you to a pretty sight from his home state. 

You hear Jack’s breath hitch, and then his voice comes deeper, tickling down your neck in warm puffs and up your spine in electric zig zags. “And your strength.”

You think that’s all he’s going to say, but then Jack surprises you, adding, “They go to seed, dig themselves into the dirt in th’ autumn… they grow best in hard soil, rocky places… they bide their time, gettin’ strong all winter, an’ in springtime they bloom blue and pretty and soft… whole waves of ‘em, far as the eye can see.” 

He ends it there, and your mind reels. 

This man sees you… you wonder at that, and your normally quick tongue is stunned into silence as your brain picks over all the golden threads he’s just revealed. You follow the words with your mind, chasing them around in your brain as the horse slows, then stops. 

There’s a clearing just ahead, and Jack turns the mustang slightly sideways, assessing whether it’s safe or dangerous before he approaches any further. His breath comes hot and hard against your ear through the thin material of your scarf, and you fight a whine when his left arm grips you tight around your middle. 

His hand drifts down to your left hip, and he squeezes you hard: a silent message to keep still as he shifts, perhaps making moves to dismount. You want to squirm and rub yourself against the saddle, give yourself friction and action to combat the heavy silence and the frozen air. Your heart is beating so hard you want to faint. 

You breathe in a slow drag through your nose, and that makes it worse. You can smell frost and leather and the living animal underneath you, and layered in with everything is him… smoky, manly soap and fresh sweat and his morning coffee. You turn your face away from the clearing and tuck your ear against his shoulder, and lean into the comforting warmth of Jack as he guards you and protects you. 

Jack watches the clearing and sees a slight movement and he freezes, his massive hand grips your hip harder, and you forget yourself long enough that a small, “Mmh,” escapes your lips before you stuff it back down. 

Your bitten-off moan coincides with Jack’s realization that the movement is a deer, seeking leaves where none have been for weeks, and he relaxes with a chuckle. His laugh vibrates through his chest, pressed against your back, and you exhale a sigh of relief. 

Jack’s distraction subsides and a puzzle piece falls into place. Your noise, that mewl when he gripped your hip through your skirts, and the slight shift of your hips… Jack knows what desire looks like and sounds like from a woman, and he’s happy he hasn’t been nursing a one-sided infatuation. The minute he gets you to safety he’s finding the softest bed and the warmest fire, and he’s going to make sure you don’t have to muffle those noises. He wants them all, just for himself, and he’s damned if he’ll let you hide them from him again. 

You turn as far around as you can and lift your eyes to look at Jack, and when your eyes meet you can’t breathe all over again. 

Jack’s deep brown eyes are boring into you intently, and you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are… how all you want to do is nuzzle the tip of your nose into the little hollow just under his earlobe and trail it up to his sideburns, because you know that that's where a man smells the most like himself. You want to brush your lips over the stubble that's dusted over the curve of his jaw, feel the contrast of it against your soft lips… press a kiss into the skin of his throat and feel his heartbeat as it moves blood through his jugular before you flick the tip of your tongue out to taste the salt of his skin… but you can’t, because you're still fleeing everything that he's rescued you from. 

You’re grateful for that, but you're so desperately aroused and so tired from running that all you want to do is turn and sit sideways across his lap, snuggle into him for warmth and safety and let him hold you and fuck you until you fall asleep. 

The moment passes, and Jack flicks his eyes toward the clearing before prompting the horse with his heels. 

“Won’t be far now, Bluebonnet, I promise.”

You turn your face toward the future, and let Jack guide you there. 

***

[formula-nyoom]

Rookie Reflections | LS2

Platonic! Logan Sargent x Rookie!Reader

Summary: Being the only new addition to the grid, it may seem intimidating to try and introduce yourself to the other drivers. Logan remembers exactly what it's like to be the new rookie and doesn't want a repeat of what happened to him to happen to anyone else.

A/N: Pronouns weren’t specified so I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible. I still haven’t decided if I want to write in 2nd or 3rd person, it really depends on the fic/request. Previous reader inserts I have written have been done in 2nd person so I defaulted to that with this fic, but do let me know which one you prefer. Logan, my favorite driver, I’m glad my first request is for him. Also I have no hate towards Daniel, it just made a lot more sense to me for the reader to take his seat. 

Silly season didn’t come with a lot of shake ups like people expected it to. The only team to switch up their driver line up for the upcoming season was RB, with Daniel being replaced by the newest Formula 2 champion after not delivering the results Red Bull had wanted from him.

You had met Yuki for the first time during the car launch before pre-season testing, but with all the cameras, interviews, and excitement surrounding the new car launch, you were unable to find the time to properly get to know each other. You had hoped to get a chance to maybe sit down with Yuki and get to know your new teammate, but now in Bahrain with all the drivers in one place it seemed that all of them had already split off into their pre-established friend groups that had been built up over years of racing alongside each other, Yuki included. 

That’s the thing with being the only new driver for the season: All the other drivers already knew each other well enough that you felt too intimidated to approach any of them. Going to Formula 2 where you knew almost all the drivers to Formula 1 where you knew no one, it was like being the new kid at school. And that seemed even more evident during the pre-season photoshoot. 

Yuki still had some last bits of data to go over with his engineer so you arrived at the photoshoot without your teammate. While you did arrive early, most of the drivers were already there, either talking with each other or members of their team. A few gave you curious glances, maybe an awkward smile or two, but none felt the need to approach. Not wanting to risk bothering anyone, you decided to find a spot secluded from the various groups of people while you waited for either Yuki to show up or for the photoshoot to start. Maybe when the photographer started to position people for the photos, you could possibly strike up a conversation with whoever was placed near you. But for now, you felt content standing off to the side where no one would really approach you. Or so you thought.

Logan had forgotten something in the Williams garage, making him arrive at the photoshoot after Alex. And while he could have walked over to his teammate, who was currently chatting with George, he noticed you standing off to the side. You were away from everyone to where you wouldn’t get in the way as you scrolled through your phone.

Logan knows that move. He did it many times during his rookie season because of how out of place he felt. But he also wasn’t the only rookie during his season, unlike you who was the only new person to the grid. He can probably guess how nervous or out of place you may seem. Logan knows that feeling. He hates that feeling and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. 

Maybe that’s why he had decided to approach you. Or maybe it was because he didn’t have anyone else to talk to since Alex was busy talking to George, and Oscar was busy talking to Lando. Either way, he thought it was a good idea to introduce himself.

 “Hey,” Logan said, getting your attention. “You’re the new RB driver, right?”

Logan already knew the answer to that question, but he thought that was a better question to ask than pointing out the fact that you’re the new rookie. 

 “Yea, I am.” You said. Guess you were wrong about people not approaching you as you looked at the man standing before you.  

“I’m Logan.” He said, holding out his hand for you to shake. You already knew his name before he introduced himself. Hell, you knew all drivers names on the grid but that was another intimidating reason why you hadn’t tried to approach anyone. 

 “I’m (Y/N).” You said, shaking Logan’s hand. 

“So, are you excited for the upcoming season?” Logan asked. 

 “Yea. The car seems to be a good contender with the testing we’ve done so far. Hopefully I’ll be able to score some points by the end of the season.”

 “What makes you think you won’t get points at the beginning?” Logan asked.

“Well I am the rookie this season. I’m still getting used to the car, it’s a huge difference from the F2 car I was driving last year. Plus everyone else has been racing longer than I have. It's gonna take me a while to catch up.” You explained.

 “Oh come on, don’t doubt yourself this early. Trust me, it doesn’t help.” Logan said. You shrugged.

“I guess you’re right. I mean, I’m gonna try my best no matter what, but the highest I can see myself getting for the first race is P15.” You told him.

 “That’s a good start. “ Logan said. He smiled and you couldn’t help but smile as well. The two of you ended up talking about what you both did over the winter break and your expectations for the season until the photographer called for the photoshoot to start. You hadn’t even realized Yuki had arrived until the photographer positioned you two next to each other.

 “I saw you and Logan talking earlier. I hope it was a good conversation.” He whispered as you waited for the photographer to take a picture.

“He was just introducing himself. We talked about our expectations for the season.” You told him. Yuki smiled a bit.

 “Logan’s always been nice. I’m glad you’re getting to know some of the other drivers.”

~~~

“Come on Yuki, pick up!” You mumbled as the call went to voicemail again. After pre-season testing had wrapped up, you had finally managed to get to know Yuki by going out to get dinner together with the rest of the team. He had promised that the two of you would walk together through the paddock on the first day of the season, but after arriving at the entrance you saw no sign of your teammate. And the fact that he wasn’t answering his phone didn’t help either. But looking around towards all the cars pulling in towards the entrance, you did however see Logan arriving.

 “Logan!” You quickly walked over to him as he got closer to the entrance.

“Hey. What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be with your team?” He asked, noticing the lack of anyone from RB with you.

 “Well me and Yuki were supposed to walk in together, but I can’t find him anywhere and he’s not answering my calls.” You said. You looked past the turnstiles at the entrance to the paddock. “I don’t really want to walk in by myself.”

 “Do you want me to walk in with you?” Logan asked. You looked back at him.

“If it’s not too much to ask.” You said. Logan just shook his head and smiled.

 “It’s no bother.” He said. He gently ushered you towards the entrance and the two of you walked through. It was an understatement to say that you were nervous to greet the cheering fans that stood by the barriers with things to sign. But knowing that Logan was right next you signing things as well and taking pictures with fans made you less nervous. You even got to take some pictures with him and fans as well. 

 “If I wore all these friendship bracelets in the car, I think I would add an extra pound.” You joked as the two of you walked past the various team garages.

“Soon you’re gonna end up having a full storage closet at your house just full of stuff that fans have given you.” Logan said. You smiled at that idea.

 “Hopefully I won’t develop carpal tunnel from all the stuff I’m gonna have to sign over the year.” Good thing being a Formula 1 driver consists more of driving cars than signing things.” 

 “You say that now, but just wait until the RB merchandise team sits you down in a room filled with driver cards you have to sign. Your wrist is going to be so sore afterwards.” Logan said. You let out a chuckle. 

 “(Y/N)!” You turned to see Yuki, coming from the RB hospitality, running over to the two of you. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry. They put me in the press conference at the last minute. I had to come early.” Yuki explained.

 “It’s ok Yuki. Logan walked in with me.” You said. You turned back to Logan. “Thank you, by the way. I should probably go see my team.”

“Like I said, it was no bother. I’d be happy to walk the paddock with you anytime.” He said. “I’ll see you two on the track.”

He waved goodbye and then headed to the William’s garage as you headed with Yuki back to the RB hospitality to get ready for the upcoming practice sessions. 

~~~

“Ok (Y/N). We’ve been knocked out of Q1. You are P17.” Your race engineer said through the radio as the qualifying session ended and you slowed your car down for a cool down lap. 

 “Not the result I had hoped for, but it’s something I can improve upon. Did Yuki make it to Q2?” You asked, making your way into the pit lane.

 “Yes, Yuki did make it into Q2.” Your engineer said. 

“That’s good. Hope he can make it into Q3.” You pulled into your designated pitlane and flipped up your visor to let some air into your helmet as the pit crew pulled your car into the garage. 

After changing out of your race suit and fireproofs, you put on a pair of headphones and joined the crew in watching Q2. You were happy to see that Logan made it into Q2 as well, and was secretly hoping he would make it into Q3 along with Yuki. Both of them did good laps during Q2 but Yuki unfortunately was only able to place P11. Logan barely managed to get by into Q3, but couldn’t place any higher and ended up in front of your teammate, placing P10 for tomorrow’s race. After congratulating Yuki on his placement, you left the RB garage to go look for Logan to do the same thing. You didn’t have to look far, as the American driver was exiting the William’s garage as you approached.

“Hey, nice driving today!” You said, giving Logan’s shoulder a congratulatory pat. 

 “Thanks. I’m shocked I was able to make it into Q3. I thought I was going to get knocked out in Q2, I didn’t expect Lance to get his lap time deleted.” Logan said. “Where’d you place?”

 “P17. I wasn’t able to gain enough speed on my last lap to get myself to a higher placement.” You said. “But that’s ok. I just need to overtake the 7 cars in front of me to get to P10 and get into the points. How hard can that be?”

You laughed, your last sentence meaning to be a joke. Logan let out a small chuckle, but he was taking what you said seriously.

 “I think you can do it. But only do it after I’ve overtaken a couple cars myself. I’d also like to get some points during the race.” He said.

 “Deal!” 

~~~

It was officially race day and your nerves seemed to be bouncing as fast as the cars that would be on track soon. You had felt confident throughout the week, being on the track and going over data with the team. But with the race starting in a couple hours, the fact that you were about to debut in your first Formula One race was starting to become very real. 

 “You squeeze that water bottle any tighter, it’s gonna explode.” You were brought out of your spiraling thoughts by Logan as he approached you from the side. Looking down, you did see that the water bottle you were holding was almost ready to burst from the steel grip you had on it.

 “Sorry, I’m just thinking about the race today.” You said, loosening your grip on the bottle.

 In a similar scenario to pre-season testing, the two of you were waiting to start the drivers parade.

 “It’s ok to be nervous about your first race. Every driver is.” He said.

“What if I crash the car?” You asked. Logan shook his head.

 “You won’t.”

“What if I can’t overtake any cars and finish last?”

 “You won’t finish last.”

“What if-”

 “Hey.” Logan placed his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him. “You’re going to be fine. You drove well during testing and practice. You can overtake the cars in front of you. And even if you finish last, so what? It’s your first race. You’re going to make mistakes and that’s ok.” Logan said. His hands on your shoulder and the speech he just gave you seemed to steel your nervous a bit as you took in what he said. 

 “Just try to have fun. Can you promise me that?” Logan asked. He held up his pinkie and you almost laughed at the childlike implications. But the serious look on Logan’s face stopped you.  You linked your pinkie with his and nodded.

 “I promise.”

The two of you ended up staying next to each other during the drivers parade, waving to fans as the truck drove by. Interviews were also happening during the parade, and with you being the new rookie, you had to be interviewed.

“So (Y/N), you're about to make your Formula 1 debut in your first Formula 1 race. How are you feeling?” The interviewer asked.

 “I’m both very nervous and very excited. I’m starting at the back of the grid, but I’m gonna try to do my best.” You said.

“I know, with being the newest addition to the grid, you may feel like you stand out. Besides your teammate Yuki, have there been any other drivers that you’ve gotten to know during pre-season testing or this weekend?”.

 “Logan actually introduced himself to me during pre-season testing and we’ve gotten to know each other a bit.” You told the interviewer. “It feels a bit intimidating being surrounded by these great drivers that I’ve always hoped to have a chance to drive alongside, so I’m really grateful to Logan for being someone on the grid that I can talk to and get to know, besides Yuki of course.”

 “Have you guys talked about anything in particular? Any expectations for your first race?”

“Logan actually gave me a really good pep talk before the drivers parade. It really helped calm my nerves down a bit. I’m gonna take Logan’s advice and try to have fun.” You said with a smile. The interviewer thanked you for your time and moved on to interview a different driver as you made your way back over to Logan. After waving to a bunch of fans, the parade concluded and you and the rest of the drivers got off the truck.

“What are you going to do during this race?” Logan asked you before the two of you departed to get ready for the race.

 “Have fun!” You said. 

“That’s right.” He gave your shoulder a reassuring pat and left for the William’s garage while you headed back to RB, your nerves seemingly having lessened. 

Logan’s pep talk seemed to be exactly what you needed. You ended up finishing the race in P11, just out of the points but only two spots behind Yuki. 

 “(Y/N) that was a fantastic first race! Well done!” Your engineer's voice came through the radio as you waved while driving around the track.

 “Oh my god! Thank you so much! That was so much fun! I couldn’t have done it without you or the team!” You said enthusiastically as you pulled into parc ferme. You sat in the car for a couple seconds, taking in the feeling of making it through your first Formula One race. Then, you took the wheel out and stepped out of the car.

Some of the pit crew workers gave you pats on the back or the shoulder, congratulating you on making it through your first race. As your eyes scanned the pit lane, looking for your team, they landed on the familiar America-decorated helmet of Logan.

 “Logan!” You called as you jogged over to him. His eyes lit up at your approach and met you halfway.

 “Nice one champ! P11 on debut!” He said, raising his hand for a high five before bringing you in for a brief congratulatory hug. 

 “I was so close to getting into points but I couldn’t catch up. You drove amazingly though! Congrats on P5!” You told him.

 “Hey, don’t put yourself down for being “just” out of the points. Next race, you and I are going to be in the top 10.” He said. “Did you have fun?”

 “Yea!” You exclaimed. Both your smiles seemed to grow.

“I told you! Come on, let’s go get weighed and you can tell me everything about the race.” Logan slung his arm over your shoulder as he led you over to the weigh stations. 

The two of you spent the rest of the night recounting each of your guys' events of the race, every overtake and every mistake either of you made. Eventually exhaustion started to hit both of you and the two of you decided to head back to your hotel rooms.

“Thank you.” You said to Logan as you stood infront of your room after Logan offered to walk you back.

 “For what?” He asked. 

“For introducing yourself to me during pre-season testing. I honestly didn’t think I would be able to get to know anyone on the grid this season. All the other drivers seem to know each other really well or are just really intimidating.” You said, fidgeting with your fingers for a bit before looking back up at him “But I’m really glad to say that you're the first friend I’ve made on the grid.”

Logan’s smile seemed to lower and you grew concerned. But he noticed this and quickly change his expression to reassurance.

 “I know how hard it is to make friends in this sport and I also know how isolating it can be. I didn’t want what happened in my rookie season to happen to you.” He told you. “I’m glad that you’re my friend too.”

You smiled, touched by what he said and happy that he considered you a friend as well. You held up your pinkie towards him.

 “Promise that we’ll both be in the points next race?”

He linked your pinkie with his and matched your smile.

 “I promise.”

[tmnt-tychou]

Alright! I am starting my fic for spooky season, since I have no idea how long this story is going to take. I saw "A Quiet Place: Day One" and was inspired. I wasn't sure which iteration I wanted so I'm using the Brotherhood boys. I felt like this was good neutral ground for any TMNT fan to enjoy. Turtles is turtles. For those familiar with the comic, this takes place before they beat the Shredder. They are 20 years old. If you haven't read the comic, there is no need to in order to understand anything going on in this story. But the comic is here if you want to to read it.

This is a female reader x turtles fic. Reader is referred to as "Name" and you can insert whichever name you like.

Don't Make a Sound

Part 1

April chopped vegetables in preparation for dinner, watching the New York skyline from her apartment window. It was mid afternoon. Her upstairs neighbor was playing music at a volume loud enough she could feel the base. She hoped it wouldn't wake Casey who was in the back bedroom sleeping. Her boyfriend worked nights and often her dinner was his breakfast. They would often pass like ships in the night but they were making it work.

The small kitchen window was open, letting in a breeze. April both heard and saw three military jets fly over the city. And they weren't the first she had seen in a very short amount of time. Was there an event going on today? Some government bigwig visiting the city? Maybe she would look into it later.

Then, there was...a boom. Not like an explosion. Like something very heavy hit the ground. Something big enough to be heard for miles. Then there were more. THUD. THUD. THUD. She saw something falling from the sky out the small window. Another thud.

This one was close enough that she felt the shock waves of the impact. It was enough to set off nearby car alarms. They began screaming their displeasure as April leaned her head out the window, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Were they under attack? There were thuds, but no explosions. What did that mean?

“What the unholy fuck is going on out there?” Casey demanded as he stumbled out from the hall. He was barefoot, dressed in sweat pants and a tank top. Bleary-eyed, hair a mess, he had enough presence to have a baseball bat in his hand.

“I don't know,” April said, still watching out the window. “Maybe we should check the news.” The last word came out of her mouth and there were suddenly things on the street below. Dark grayish, skin like burnt trees. Neither animal nor human, with no resemblance to either. Her brain could barely take in the bulbous heads and long four-legged limbs. She had never seen such a thing before in her life.

And they swarmed, attacking the...cars? The first thing they attacked where the cars. The ones screaming in alarm. Then there were screaming humans. On ground level, people cried out in fear and horror as they saw the creatures. Nightmares without faces. And whether the screams were cars or people, the nightmares lurched toward the sound and decimated the source. And, when the people looking out their windows began to scream, the monsters scaled the buildings at an alarming speed.

As she saw them effortlessly climb the building, racing toward her, April backed up away from the window. One of the creatures crawled right up to the kitchen window and then past it as she heard the shrill scream from her upstairs neighbor. There was the crash of a window and then, both the scream and the music they had been blaring were instantly silenced.

Something clicked for April in that second. Despite the horror of what was happening, her mind put it all together. Sound. They were attacking anything that made sound.

“What the fuck!” Casey's deep, male voice boomed behind her.

She turned to him, eyes wild and wide at the sound. As she ran to him, she heard the window crash behind her. As soon as he was close enough to touch, her hand was over his mouth. With her other hand, she ripped the bat from his grip and threw it back to the kitchen. *********

Casey saw the thing burst into their apartment. His first instinct was to fight; protect. But April came at him, causing him to pause. A hand to his mouth, he wanted to rip it off. But, it was April. Any instinct for violence always dissipated when she was near. And when she threw his bat, when he saw and heard it clatter and the monster instantly going for it, he got it. They were blind. They attacked sound. They decimated sound.

His bat was splinters when screams came from the hallway outside their door. Casey's protective instincts kicked in. His neighbors were in trouble. People he knew. Some he even liked. But the monster heard them, too. It crashed headfirst into their door like a charging bull, ripping it right off its hinges and out into the corridor. Though April desperately tried to hold him down, Casey stood and walked to the door. He had to do something. Anything.

He made it to the doorway, screams echoing from both ends of the hall. Then, gun shots rang out. He ducked at the sound, but wasn't surprised. It was New York, after all. One of the monsters raced past him toward the sound of the gunshots. Casey had a front row seat to the creature taking a direct hit with a bullet. There was no blood. The bullet couldn't pierce the hide. The creature screamed in rage, still charging, and the panicked man with the gun was suddenly down, a gaping wound in his chest. The monster already had moved on, blindly attacking the next noise. Most of it was people.

Casey backed into his apartment, pale. Feeling more useless than he had ever felt in his life. There was nothing he could do. If bullets didn't stop those things, then what hope did a brawler with a bat have against them? He had to focus on the things he could do. Like getting April to safety. And warning the guys.

There were too many monsters in the building now. Too many things making noise. But April had another idea. She went to the broken window above the fire escape with a blanket in her hand. Despite the chaos around them: the screams, the violence, she had the presence of mind to move slow and silent as she set the blanket over the broken window glass and carefully climbed out. She motioned for Casey to follow.

He knew they couldn't stay there. Getting underground was their best shot at surviving. Careful and slow, the two made their way down the rickety old fire escape, one careful step at a time. More of the creatures raced up the brick wall of the building for them, following the sounds of the screams. Casey lunged forward, pulling April out of the way as one tore its way upwards inches from her. It also tore up the fire escape as it went.

The metal ripped from where it was bolted to the wall. They swung out wide before the whole framework began to fall. Neither made a sound as they felt the metal give way and they were dropped. Casey grit his teeth as he grabbed April and jumped off, landing on the next platform below. They each remained there, tense and silent. There were so many other sounds around that they were invisible to these unearthly predators.

Carefully, they continued to climb down to ground level and silently slipped into the sewers, leaving the horror above them. *********

The turtle's lair was nearly soundproof and nearly impossible to find if one didn't know how to get to it. But even then, there was a horror that came with stepping into the lair. It was so full of sound. The TV was blaring. Splinter's tea pot whistled as the water was ready. In the back, the sound of Michelangelo playing his guitar. From the lab, Donatello also playing his own music at a robust volume. There was never not noise being made in the lair.

After creeping through the sewer at a snail's pace as to not make any noise, April nearly lost it at the sudden cacophony. She ran over and switched off the TV, interrupting Street Fighter.

“Hey!” Raphael barked, as he had been winnning. Similar protests came from Leonardo.

“No noise!” April hissed urgently at them. “We can't make any noise!”

She quickly ran off to the next source: Donatello's lab. There were a few clangs and bangs, and then the music was cut.

“April!” Donatello's voice called, but she had already run off again to rip the guitar from Michelangelo's hands.

“What the hell is she on?” Raphael asked no one in particular as a curious Splinter walked in.

“You guys don't know what's going on out there?” Casey asked in a breathy and very un-Casey-like whisper. He was silently panting.

“Case, you okay?” Raphael asked. Michelangelo was complaining at April in the background while she tried to shush him. “You're bleeding.”

Raphael touched his arm and Casey finally noticed the cut on his shoulder. It was from either the rusty fire escape or one of the monsters. He had been in fight or flight mode the entire time and hadn't even noticed. His entire attention had been on getting April somewhere safe.

“Woah, what happened to Casey?” Michelangelo suddenly blurted loudly and was immediately silenced by April as she tried to put both her hands over his mouth.

“Shut up! All of you shut up!” she hissed at everyone in the room. “There are things out there! They attack anything that makes sound! You guys are going to get us killed!”

But it was Splinter's serious motion for silence that ultimately caused all the turtles to stop making noise. April and Casey both told them about what was going on in the world above. The chaos, the death, the fear. All four turtles brought out their phones, searching the internet for proof of what was happening. As soon as screams began to play on the videos they found, Aprils snatched them up.

“No noise,” she hissed.

“The lair's practically soundproof,” Donatello insisted. “If we lock it down, it will be soundproof and impenetrable for...whatever these things are.”

“Then we lock it down,” Leonardo announced. “At least until we figure out what's going on and how to deal with it.”

“So we just hide while everyone in the city gets wiped out?” Raphael protested as he rather insistently made Casey sit on the couch. Splinter had already stepped away and come back with a first aid kit.

“Only until we figure out what this is and how to fight it.”

“Guys?” Michelangelo spoke up. “What about Name? She's still in the city.”

The color drained from Leonardo's face.

“Shit,” Raphael hissed. “We have to go get her.”

“Guys! You can't go out there,” April begged.

“They are ninja,” Splinter insisted. “They have been trained to be silent as a shadow. They will be safe.”

Donatello pulled out his phone and then cursed. “Her phone is off. I can't track it. She probably let the battery die again.”

“She'll either be at home or at work around this time,” Leonardo said. “We'll have to split up into teams and hope one of us finds her.”

“Okay,” Raphael agreed as the others nodded. “Who's going where?”

*******

How will the turtles split into teams? You can help decide by answering this poll.

And I'm hoping there will be more opportunities for the reader to decide as the story goes. Thanks everyone for reading and participating!

[mothwingwritings]

Dreaming Of World's End

Reader X Zenos Yae Galvus

Waaah it has been so long!!! I apologize for the absence! I have been working on and doing all kinds of stuff (fics included) as of late so I did one of my classic dip outs there for a moment, but I’m here! Just plunking away as usual. :)

With Dawntrail coming up I have been focusing a big chunk of my free time on trying to beat Endwalker (I am slow in all things, video games included lul) because I wanna be there with the herd with Dawntrail comes out!!! I have no idea if I am gonna make it, but I am doing the best I can to catch up!!!

That being said: Zenos brainrot propelled this fic from my brain, to my computer, to you. Was I and am I also writing a bunch of other things? Yes. Is this the only thing I could momentarily focus on writing-wise because I have been compromised by my love for this fucked up man? Also yes. I’m sorry. It’s bad. I was already obsessed with him in Stormblood and now that I am deep within the clutches of the Endwalker msq… It’s over for me guys. It was a good run, but rip to me. My WOL may be playing hard to get, but I’m sure not. Zenos if you are reading this, you can just have me.

So without further ado, here is a Zenos fic I have been working on! My love for him aside, I think Zenos is a super fun character to write for, so I really hope I did him some justice! This is a reader insert fic, but you are the Warrior of Light in it so feel free to insert your OC’s and WOL if you like! I tried to keep the reader neutral, but I will say it’s def aimed more at a female reader/character and if you are a shorter race like a Lala it will probs be a little wonky, so my apologies. Also, I am about half way? A little over half way? through the Endwalker main story, so potential spoilers up to that point. This fic takes place sometime between post Shadowbringers and the first part of Endwalker.

Nothing overly explicit, but due to the nature of this fic it is 18+ please!

Thank you so much for reading!!! <3 I truly hope you enjoyed!

WARNINGS: Unhealthy relationship (if you can even call it a relationship), intense infatuation, implied noncon, noncon mentions,  a lot of fighting and mentions of fighting, mentions of death and the end of the world, unwanted touching, Endwalker spoilers.

It was always the same dream.

Amaurot. The end times. Death, destruction, chaos. Streets tainted by endless misery, stifling woe permeating the air as people ran about frantically, picked off left and right by horrendous, nightmarish monsters. Screams pierced the air as the remaining survivors struggled in vain, desperate to escape a fate that they could not avoid.

Just as any other night, he would watch it all unfold with cold indifference. Walking through the crumbling, fire charred lanes of this shell of a once bustling city, he would take it all in at a leisurely pace, maintaining a stride no more rushed than if he were taking a pleasant stroll. His features would be void of distress or malaise, his face a blank slate as he paraded down roads lined with bodies and devastation.

Zenos could say it was because he had grown accustomed to it, have the same dream each night and the grisly scenario that laid in wait past your closed eyes was bound to no longer shock you. But that would be a lie, as this ghastly nightmare had never truthfully bothered him to begin with. He simply didn’t care, not about the dying planet, nor its inhabitants that suffered the same fate. This scene from another time, this moment from a faraway place that no longer existed, he couldn’t bring himself to feel any form of remorse for the phantoms left to wallow helplessly in this endless, hellish loop, even if his own star was on track to share the same fate.

An echo of the past was just that, to dwell on it was a fool’s errand.

But tonight, it was not the end of times that greeted him when he closed his eyes. In its place stood an immaculate hall appearing to belong to some manner of grandiose castle. Pristine and orderly, he sat upon a large throne questionably positioned in the middle of the walkway, facing so that a vast expanse of the hall was clearly within his view.

Had he been here before? It was hard to say, having been trapped by palace walls most of his life they all blurred together after a certain point. Perhaps this wasn’t even a castle, but some manner of fortress. The varying weapons displayed neatly along the surrounding walls certainly made it feel as if this was more than just a mere abode for royalty to live out their boringly opulent lives, perhaps it doubled as an armory of sorts? Every sword, spear, and battle axe looked immaculately cared for; their blades so sharp simply looking at them made you feel as if you had been sliced.

His time to dwell upon the mystery of his surroundings was quick to dissipate however, as he felt a familiar presence approach him from behind. He remained still when a delicate hand was placed upon him, crawling from his arm to slide unhurriedly across his broad shoulders. The caress occupied the entirety of his thoughts, manicured nails scratching lightly against his flesh as they raked across his back, pressing just hard enough that they left a pleasant burn in their wake.

“There you are,” a deceptively alluring voice purred in his ear. Phantom arms draped themselves loosely over his shoulders, their fingers moving to trace a swirling pattern upon his chest. Goosebumps littered his arms at the brief contact. “Were you hiding from me?”

A small smile spread across his lips. What elation merely hearing your voice caused.

Were he not already aware of it, he would recognize he was in a dream from this interaction alone. You, only you, would be welcomed to touch him this way. But even were he to offer invitation, you would never do so of your own free will. There was a mixture of pride and revulsion that kept your interactions with him void of skinship, save for the fleeting contact that occurred when you were locked in combat.

His motivations, the way he chose to experience the world, your differing values and opinions. Like night and day, they barred you from reciprocating his feelings towards you. Because of this, he was left to revel in your touch exclusively in the realm of dreams.

“On the contrary,” he hummed, “you have been the one to keep me waiting.”

A low chuckle reverberated from your chest, sending a shiver down his spine. You rose to your full height, pulling away slowly until you disconnected from him completely. Even if the contact was nothing more than an attempt at provocation, he missed your touch the moment you detached yourself.

“Well then I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, my lord,” you enunciated his title tauntingly, the playful lilt in your voice exciting him further. He heard you take several languid steps away from him before you spoke once more. “That is, if you even have a heart that can offer forgiveness.”

Zenos rose to his feet, turning to finally face you. Your back greeted him as you stared up at the myriad of weaponry covering the back wall, the hand that was moments ago atop his chest now gracefully running across the hilt of a long sword. Your fingers lingered on the handle, moving as if you were going to grip it, but never completing the task.

Zenos smiled. You were toying with him.

“You jest,” he spoke, taking a measured step your way, “if anyone has intimate knowledge of the existence of my heart and whom it beats for, it is you.”

Your posture stiffened in acknowledgment of the insinuation, yet you refused to turn his way.

“Is that so,” your voice seemed distant, as if you were unwilling to accept the burden of the intense desire he held for you, “Forgive me, I must have misread the situation. Due to the nature of how our meetings always end, I figured you only ever wanted one thing from me, and that is my blood.”

A low chuckle rumbled from within him, his eyes crinkling in amusement. For all that you were, all the skills and knowledge that you held, you could certainly be dense.

“I desire all you have to offer,” he answered plainly, “Your fury and malice, your rage and rancor, your disdain and desire,” he continued to approach you, each step slow and deliberate as he closed in on your staunch form. “Your love and affection are no different. I want to consume your every thought, just as you consume mine. I want you to taste me in the air you breathe and feel me crawling under your skin, even when I am far removed from your presence.”

He stopped several steps away from you, keeping his distance but lingering close enough that it bordered on intrusive. He raised his hand calmly, reaching out to grab a stray lock of your hair between his fingers. He gingerly caressed the silky strands, smirking when he noted that even such slight contact caused a shudder to lurch your otherwise statuesque form.

“You can play the fool all you want, but you cannot hide the fact that the same beast that dwells in me is also within you. They call out, craving each other to the point of madness.  We need each other. This dance we share must continue in perpetuity, lest our fierce yearning for each other’s presence turn us to savages incapable of rational thought, driven to the point of committing mass, undiscriminating destruction as a means to appease ourselves.”

He smirked, placing a gentle kiss atop the tendrils in his hand, before letting it slip from his grasp completely. “And you would do anything to divert that misfortune, would you not hero?”

Your shoulders began to quiver, shaken by the threat of violence he could and would commit simply to be by your side.  An impatient sigh escaped his lips, “So come, what better way is there to quench each other’s thirst and prevent calamity than through a mutually beneficial rendezvous? Surely even someone as set in their way as you are is in agreeance.”

“I was under the assumption that you planned on battling me until the world was torn asunder, regardless of if I entertain your perversions or not,” Your voice dripped with disdain as you spat your response at him, “If that is the case, pray tell why I should not cut you down where you stand? Why must the dance continue if the outcome is all the same?”

Your words made the smile on his face grow, stretching his lips to an unnatural degree. Taking another step forward, he leaned in until his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. Placing his hands firmly atop your shoulders, he gave a tight squeeze as he responded.

“Because we share one destiny,” he pressed his cheek flush against your head, inhaling deeply before releasing it in a slow, shaky sigh, “even now as you try so hard to deny me, our fate is intertwined, my warrior. You cannot escape me, and I have no desire to escape you. The dismantling of this world as a result of our conquest is all but inevitable and I welcome it with open arms.”

“I won’t let the world crumble to ash.” Your bold declaration was spoken as if it were fact, the conviction in your voice sending a surge of wanton excitement coursing through his veins. “Say and do as you like, the future you seek will never come to pass.”

Oh, how he adored you.

“Hmm,” he hummed, “You can try and stop me, but you cannot escape what has been predestined.”

During the course of the conversation, your hand had had traveled to the base of an axe, your fingers wrapping around it to grasp the handle in a constricting hold. All of the anger that had been bubbling up reflected in the whites of your knuckles, the tremor of your hand becoming more apparent as your composure slipped further and further. The cool demeanor you initially donned had completely shifted, overridden by the immense agitation his presence was inviting.

The axe was ripped swiftly from the wall, lacking fluidity. There was no care for keeping the wall in tact or making sure all the other weapons that surrounded it stayed in their spot. You ripped it down with one great tug, bits of stone and surrounding armaments clattering noisily into a massive steel heap on the ground as you finally spun around to face him. Zenos had seconds to react as you swung down in a wide arc, the finely sharpened blade slicing easily through the decorative tiling that coated the floor, decimating the ground where he once stood.

“There we are,” Zenos growled in anticipation, sizing you up with a bloodthirsty grin, “you are a vision to behold when you let your ferocity consume you.”

You deigned to answer him, your icy countenance his only response as you straightened your posture, considering your next move.  Your distaste for him was clear as you hefted your axe from the ground, dust settling around you as it was freed with a mighty yank. Weapon in hand, you came for him in a relentless torrent, striking at him in a flurry of breakneck swings. In the ensuing madness, he grabbed the nearest weapon he could reach-a sword that was more ornate that functional, but it would serve its purpose for the time being.

The enmity increased as he reciprocated your attacks. Parrying each blow with a steady hand, he responded to your blows with calculated strikes of his own, expertly countering your aggression. The air around the two of you had become electric, charged with hostility and fervor as you hacked away at each other time and time again.

Though frantic, the assault was far from inelegant. Each swing of your axe and swipe of his blade was an orchestrated maneuver befitting the couple who performed them. It was as beautiful as it was fierce, a true force of nature. To an untrained eye the activity would appear as nothing more than a blur of chaos, annihilating all that was in its wake. But to Zenos, a man who had dedicated himself to your study, it was a sight that made his heart ache.

He was witnessing a glorious preamble, a promise forged in battle between himself and his righteous and powerful hero, the only person with whom he ever felt a true connection. This battle, amongst all of its other perks, gave him purpose.

Fighting you, he felt alive. To be the sole receiver of all your ire, your discontent, your undivided attention… it was like a dream. He realized this encounter was most likely just that, a conjuring of your presence from his sleep addled mind, a side effect of his constant ruminations of you. You already occupied each of his waking thoughts, it only made sense that having you visit in his dreams would soon follow.

Be that as it may, the knowledge that this moment lived solely in his mind did little to dissuade his desire to get lost in it, to get lost in you.  If he couldn’t have you in the waking world, his dreams would have to suffice, at least for the time being. Besides, there were things he could accomplish in his dreams that would never be plausible elsewhere, moments of intimacy he could forge that would never present a chance of happening in reality.

A particularly rough blow sent Zenos reeling. The sword knocked from his hand scattered just out of reach, his body lurching to an abrupt stop as he collided with rubble that had piled up behind him. A quick glance your way revealed a small smirk ghosting your lips, a hint of satisfaction shining through your hostility. He could see the assurance reflected in your eyes, a swell of pride over the victory you would soon be relishing.

Zenos mirrored your glee, pleased you were having as much fun as he was.

As you hoisted your axe high, thoroughly preoccupied with your pending achievement, Zenos took the moment to strike. Launching himself from the ground, he rammed his body against yours, hitting you hard and fast. The speed at which he closed the gap astounded you as much as the collision had, causing the axe to topple from your hands, skittering out of your reach. A pained grunt escaped your lips as you collided with the ground, Zenos following suit atop you. His hand cradled the back of your head as you fell, catching hold before it could crack against the stony floor. It would do no good to have you suffer injury and pass out now, not as things were about to get truly interesting.

Positioning himself atop your fallen form, his body caged you in as you lay beneath him, panting and exhausted. Splayed amongst the rubble, your confusion morphed into a look of annoyance as you realized your situation had drastically changed. Your success had been stolen from you and now the thief had you cornered, trapped right where he wanted.

“I wish you could see yourself as I see you in this moment,” Zenos spoke between his own labored breaths, pressing into you ever further as his face hovered inches from your own, “Disheveled and feral, transformed by your bloodlust, you have never been more breathtaking.”

“I’m not like you,” you retorted sharply, “I don’t revel in such acts of savagery.”

Zenos chuckled, “And yet you seemed quite delighted moments ago when you were convinced victory was within your grasp.” You frowned as his hand found purchase on your chin, gripping it in a tight pinch to keep your focus fixed his way, “But here you are now, bested and at my mercy.”

You grimaced, “I have yet to lose to you. I refuse to concede defeat.”

In response to your bold declaration, he gave a throaty, booming laugh. How was it that you always knew just what to say to drive him absolutely mad with desire?

Unable to contain himself any longer, Zenos smashed his lips to yours, capturing you in a heated and hungry kiss. Your brain took a moment to comprehend the abrupt action, but as it did you began to struggle against it, thrashing and clawing at him in an effort to create distance.  Zenos remained firm, making it clear that you had expended far more energy than he had, leaving your assault lacking the power needed to stop him. Whines of displeasure snaked from your mouth as his grip tightened on your chin, squeezing so roughly you couldn’t help but gasp in pain. Eagerly seizing the opportunity, he muscled his tongue inside of you, lapping at the inside of your mouth aggressively. He groaned as he savored the taste of you.

When a need for air arose, he pulled back slightly, staring down at you with lidded eyes. Your saliva coated his lips, giving a glossy sheen as they curled into an offputtingly tranquil smile. His hand moved from your chin to drag languidly across your cheek, the brief touch of his rough finger tips sending a shiver down your spine. Your gaze wavered the longer you stayed trapped in this awkward position, your eyes brimming with uncertainty. You seemed unsure of where to look, what to do, how to escape. In his wishful thinking, Zenos wondered if perhaps you were even unsure if you truly wanted to escape.

Amongst your numerous charms, Zenos found your enigmatic personality to be one of your most appealing. Being such a virtuous being, your motivations, ambition, and drive were all easy enough to sort out. You are Hydaelyn’s chosen, the Warrior of Light, the people’s champion, and you live up to those titles and more. You are a hero through and through, a source of salvation for those you protect and a complete nightmare for those that offer opposition. There is no doubt that you are a force to be reckoned with, no matter what the encounter or situation may be.

And what good hero is without a nemesis? It’s a role the disgraced Prince and betrayer of his kin plays well. In his illustrious life he had gone through the motions, donned many hats, played countless roles, many of which were not of his choosing. But of all his grand titles, your adversary is most certainly his favorite, the only one that gives him any sense of pride. Your existence gave him purpose, and for you alone he kept up the hunt.

But he knew it was different for you. Though cut of the same cloth and driven by destiny to engage him, your feelings did not completely align with his own. You were driven by more than barbarity, more than a duty to save your people and your planet. There was something inside of you, something that made you YOU, that he could never truly know, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

You were his greatest conundrum, a true mystery, and when you look at him as you were now with those eyes that swirled with anger, uncertainty, grief, and something yet unspoken… What was he to do but become a slave to this maddening, consuming attraction?

He gloated about being the victor, but it was clear you would always have the upper hand.

“Get off of me.”

The demand brought him back to the present, sheer determination replacing the conflicting emotions that fought for dominance within you. He could tell by the bite in your voice that your vigor was returning, and given a bit more time and provocation, the battle would gloriously resume.

“Eagar to carry on with our dance, are you?” He responded, an almost teasing lilt to his voice, “Or is it that you just can’t stand the thought of defeat at my hands?

“I already told you, you didn’t defeat me,” you glowered, your rage becoming palpable the longer his unwanted presence loomed, “I came here to end this farce and I plan to do just that.”

A beat of silence passed, followed by a sigh. Parting your lips to speak, your voice came out quieter, more desperate than it had previously.

“I wanted to keep this is civil as possible and respect your wishes as best I could, no matter how twisted they may be. But even for your own benefit, you refuse to entertain the notion of making this situation even the slightest bit amicable. You speak of such lofty things as fate and destiny, but all I am witnessing is you causing unnecessary suffering, hiding behind my name to do so.”

For a split second, another flash of uncertainty danced across your features. You bit your bottom lip in vexation, a glimmer lighting your eyes as they swept across his handsome face, “There is more to this world, more to this life, than waiting for its untimely end. To live out your days perpetuating death and blind havoc is no way to exist, it’s a tragedy. Why can’t you see that? Zenos, I-“

As if taken by surprise, you cut your own words short, silencing the previous thought that had been brewing. Zenos felt as if you looked pained, staring at him with pleading eyes, face scrunched up in frustration. Even with all the hate you carried for him, you were still trying to understand him, still clinging to the hope that maybe you could save him too.

Here, on the cusp of annihilation, you were doing all you could to fulfill the role of hero and protect the people that you loved. In order to fulfill that duty, it meant he must be defeated. There could be no other ending, the inexorable conclusion to all of this was always cold and endless death. Whether it would be all of humanities or just his own was still to be determined, but it did little to change the fact that there was no future to plan for, only a violently rapturous and melancholic end.

To be cherished by you, to feel your love as if he were one of your dearest companions… It was a thought not meant to be dwelled on, but one he found hard to completely shake from his head. How would it feel to be earnestly and unequivocally loved by you? Perhaps in another world, another time, your souls would be reborn and given another chance. A fresh beginning to grow together, an opportunity to nurture something more than the misfortune this world had thrust upon you. Maybe in some alternate telling of this tale the two of you were together and happy, with nothing but a bright future awaiting you on the horizon.

But that was simply a foolish daydream. All that he had, all he could hope for, was the here and now.

You sighed again, steeling your resolve with a shake of your head, “Never mind. You have already proven to me mere words cannot move you, so I will save my breath.”

Raising your torso as much as his hold on you would allow, your eyes bore into his, fully accepting the challenge that lay ahead. Though still restrained, there was an aura of dominance that surrounded you. It was a warning to Zenos that your binds were temporary, whether he released you willingly or otherwise was his decision, but regardless the outcome would be the same.

“If it’s the end you want, it’s the end I will bring you,” your soft words clashed with the look of malice reflected in your eyes, your breath fanning his face as your noses nearly touched. For an instant your eyes darted to his lips, and Zenos wondered if it would be you to instigate the kiss this time.

“I will fulfill my role. I will be your end and your salvation.”

Your words pierced him, the proclamation sending sparks of excitement to course through him, igniting his soul. His whole body burned for you, intense and consuming, his need for you was beginning to show itself in ways beyond his control. Pressing his hips flush between your spread legs, he made his intentions known to you, a shiver wracking his body when you released a small gasp of surprise.

Clutching the remaining shreds of his sanity, he grunted as you writhed against his growing arousal, pulling your body up towards him until he had engulfed you in a tight embrace.

“Enough time has been wasted,” he snarled into your neck, his chest rumbling as his grip on you tightened, “let us deliver a ruin unto ourselves so extraordinary, so beautiful, that naught will remain but the scattered fragments of this forsaken world.”

Loosening his grip, he pressed his lips to your forehead in a chaste, yet gentle, kiss. Your brow furrowed at his touch, shoulders tensing as you drew yourself back from him, recoiling at the small display of adoration. He found the reaction endearing, even with his intentions laid bare and and his hardened cock pressed firmly against your core, it was the smallest token of his affection that caused you to squirm.

Repugnance, hatred, scorn- whatever you felt for him in this moment, none of it mattered, none of it deterred him. He loved you, and he would make that love known in the only way he knew how, while he still had time to do so.

“This shall be my final gift to you,” he purred into your ear, his grip latching securely to your tunic. With nimble hands he started to pull, exposing yourself to him bit by bit as the fabric turned to tatters in his hands.  “Let us relish it my friend, my warrior, my beloved. Destroy me, and I shall be your devastation in kind. ”

[flightlessangelwings]

While we’re in Latino Heritage Month, let’s stop assuming your reader doesn’t know/speak Spanish in your reader insert fics. Especially if you’re writing for Pedro’s, Oscar’s or other Latino characters please.

EDIT: After some criticism of how this was originally phrased, let me change it into a question/request instead- Can we as writers please try to be more inclusive with our reader insert fics so poc and others can feel represented and see themselves too? Including taking out a quick throwaway line about reader not understanding Spanish. (Keeping the original phrasing above so anyone who missed the post to begin with can still see how I originally phrased it)

If you have a throwaway line of “he said in Spanish that you didn’t understand” or something similar, just take it out. Have something like “you didn’t hear” instead and let the reader interpret how they want. Or use italics to indicate Spanish. Or have the translation right there without mention of anyone translating for them. Simple. Or if you don’t want to/feel you cannot change it, then please have something in with your warnings so Latinos/poc can skip it if they choose.

And let me tell you why this is so frustrating (even for me as someone who is not a fluent speaker). It’s because Latinos look to these characters and actors for representation. We see ourselves in them. And when you clearly do not have a Latino person in mind when writing, you’re saying we don’t belong here. In a space where we should feel welcomed and celebrated. Representation matters. Inclusivity matters. Please try to be more inclusive with reader fics so we can all enjoy and immerse ourselves in your writing.

ALSO EDITING TO ADD MORE FROM A REBLOG SO EVERYONE CAN SEE MY CLARIFICATION: (under a cut for length)

This is nothing new, poc have been asking for years now to be inclusive in fics and yet it’s still a battle. We’re not asking for a lot, and certainly not asking anyone to change their style or creativity or anything like that. Literally simple edits: take out the word “blush” don’t mention hair, don’t mention not understanding Spanish, not making reader blood related to a white character, etc. Literally tiny things that would not change the story at all but make a world of difference.

Here’s an example too: a few years ago it was not common for writers to label the gender of their reader as it was usually assumed the reader would be a woman. But, people advocated to label readers as f/m/gn/whatever to be more inclusive and asked writers to strive for gender neutral readers when possible so that more readers felt seen and welcome. Now it’s a common thing to do. Why is making the readers race ambiguous any different?

Yes sometimes posts like this come across harsh, but know that they’re not meant to be. Poc aren’t trying to demand anything, we just ask to broaden your langauge when writing reader insert so more can see themselves in your work. It’s incredibly frustrating to ask for inclusivity and be met with hostility and rudeness in return and a refusal to think about poc so yes sometimes the wording gets harsh out of that frustration. But I encourage y’all to focus on the message more and maybe think about why poc in fandom get snippy like this. We do need to have an open conversation, yes. Just look in the comments at the Latinos and poc who are upset by the exclusion and feel hurt by it. How you you white fans feel if roles were reversed and none of the fics included you? Not fun, right?

And to those who say write it yourself: I do. I’ve been a x reader writer for years now and I do strive for inclusivity in my work. But I’m only one person and this is bigger than any one person. This isn’t about what I personally find acceptable or what I personally what. It should be a collective effort among writers as a whole to strive to include as many as possible in their works and not white code your readers. It’s not about demanding writers write it a certain way, it’s about asking writers to consider others who don’t look like them who also want the immersion and the escape that your fic brings.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

CAS!!! Oh my god I'm dying!!!

This was so cute and flirty! I loved every minute of it. 💖 Thank you for taking the time to write this, and for making Marcus such a cinnamon bun!!! 🥰 (I love him, I want one, can I have a Professor Pike? 🙏 I'll take really good care of him!!)

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada och Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Dug, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[inclusivepedro-oscarlibrary]

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) fic recs

ID also in alt txt.

[ID: On top of a peach pink cloud background with sparkling stars are four circles, three of which are filled with images of Din Djarin, from The Mandalorian. The third circle is filled with cursive text reading "Din Djarin." In the bottom right corner there is text reading: “Tumblr: @inclusivepedrolibrary​.” End ID]

This blog and our fic recs are for 18+ friends only. Minors DNI.

Fic Recs Main Menu

Ambrosial by @spacecowboyhotch - Din x fem!black!reader. The only description of Reader is that her curls are long and loose enough to blow in the breeze. This fic is sweet and lovely and fluffy and warm 💖

[just-here-for-the-moment]

JHFTM Fic Recs - blank slate Reader Insert fic recs - The Joel Miller Edition

JHFTM Fic Recs Main Menu

February 18, 2023 fic recs

Blank Slate Reader Insert Fics - These are fics I've really enjoyed and where I did not find any racial descriptors of the Reader Insert character. No blushing, no red marks, no visible bruising, no white-coded hair or skin descriptors that I could see! 🌟🌟🌟

My own notes are added here, but please heed all author warnings. My blog and all fics that I recommend are for 18+ friends only. Minors do not interact.

Joel Miller

One Bed by @frannyzooey - Joel Miller x f!reader (blank slate, no physical description, no age description) - The clasic "there was only one bed" trope and goddamn it is HOT!

Construction Corner by @katareyoudrilling- AU/no outbreak Joel Miller x divorced f!reader (blank slate, no physical description, no age description) - An AU where Joel hosts his own construction makeover show and it is SO CUTE!!!! KAT!!! I LOVED THIS!!!

Mine by @toomanystoriessolittletime - Joel Miller x f!reader (blank slate, no physical description, no age description, one mention of her having her tubes tied pre-outbreak) - Joel REALLY likes it when you wear his denim shirt... Steph!! THIS WAS SO HOT!!!

Always Thought I'd See You Again by @ezrasbirdie - Joel Miller x bartender f!reader (no physical description) - You catch up with Joel and Tommy Miller 20 years after you went to high school together, and Joel is polite and sweet. Flirty!! LOVED IT!

[hellsburners]

def need some more perv!matt !! If u want to can u write some perv!matt x dom!reader ?

me and the devil

a/n: kinda related to my first fic but you can read it alone. pairing: matt murdock x gender neutral!reader word count: 930 warnings: 18+ warning, perv!matt, toy use, dom/sub themes, sub!matt, dom!reader, tonight you punish the devil

masterlist | more matt murdock

The devil’s heart raced because of the situation. He could feel the blood go in and out of its chambers rapidly, anxiety creeping through his skin. He felt the way you pressed into his thighs, your hands gripping on through his clothes. You were giving him gentle kisses on his abdomen, soft pecks on his hard muscles. Your fingers wandered to the hem of his trousers, where the fabric meets skin. Your fingers drew circles on his pale skin teasingly. You slowly raised his shirt, slightly licking your way to his chest and his hard nipples. You licked them and you heard him moan. The trail your tongue was making finally led to his neck, where the stubble felt rough on your cheek.

“You’ve been unfair,” you whispered to his ear, giving it a teasing nibble. “Playing with yourself without me. What should I do about that?”

“Deal with it,” he said begrudgingly. You continued your back down, leaving his compression shirt bunched up to his chest. Your hands caressed his chest and played with his nipples. You added more pressure to them, giving them a little pinch.

“And let it slide? You think so little of me Matthew,” You palmed the tent forming in his pants. “Here’s what we’ll do, you’ll lay here while I deal with this.” His cock throbbed from your actions. You began to undress his pants, his cock standing hard all thick and big, the head pink from the torture. You began to lick the base of his dick, he closed his eyes as you licked up the shaft. You began to tease the tip, tracing your finger on the sensitive slit. The devil cursed, you took this as a sign to take the head in your mouth, letting saliva pool in your mouth. You took him deeper, your nose hitting the base of his center, all seven inches in your throat. He places his hands on your hair to form a better grip on you. You quickly pinned them down to his sides. 

“No, love, your hands stay here, at your side. You’re not allowed to touch me,” he cursed from your order. You went back to sucking his dick, not forgetting to fondle with his balls. His body began to tense, his hands gripping onto the sheets, his teeth sinking into his lip. Your grip on his dick started to tighten. “No, no, no, Matt, loosen up I’m not letting you cum unless I say so.”

He tried to plead, calling The Father and The Son’s name. There was no god in these four corners tonight. No angel will come down to strike you, because tonight you had the devil in your hands, and he's here for you to punish. You let out his cock drenched in spit, the head leaking a white substance. Tonight you are to offer something to the devil, not yourself, no, he doesn’t deserve that yet. 

“Do you trust me?” you asked, he nodded in return. Behind your jeans pocket was a small black object, around three and a half inches or so. It was made with silicone and a silver button attached to its end. The devil could hear you lube the object in your hands.You began to draw circles around the rim of his hole teasing it. He began to whimper, a moaning mess in front of you. With your left hand you gripped his cock, your thumb resting on the wet tip, your other hand holding the black object, slowly inserting it in his hole. You could feel a resistance from the contracting muscle. You whispered some comfort to him, telling him to relax. The object began to go inside him smoothly. 

You continued to suck his dick afterwards, your arm gently pushing the object in and out. You could feel his cock throb more. He was fighting the urge to moan wherein the neighbors could hear. You pressed on the silver button once, he let out a strong moan, his forehead drenched in sweat. Tears start to pool from his eyes as you click on the button two more times, the vibrations of the object pulsating through his core. 

“I, fuck, I need to cum, please let me cum,” he begs. You tell him a little bit more, you’re not done with him yet. He curses, in his mind the devil was in heaven, the pleasure both good and bad. He jolts from the sudden thrust you made with the vibrator, you must have hit the right spot. You released his cock from your mouth and quickened the pace the vibrator had in his hole, your other hand quickly stroking his red leaking cock. 

“Do you want to cum now?” you said teasingly. 

“Yes, please, I need to, so bad.” He was shaking at this point. You started to stroke the sensitive head of his cock. The vibrator still pressing into his sensitive spot. 

“Let go then,” as if those words were a switch, the devil’s body began to contract. The word fuck spoken repeatedly as thick spurts of cum shot from his cock. Your hand and his abdomen covered in the warm fluid. His moans turned growls and died softly as he rode his climax. You turned off the vibrator while slowly pulling it out. He looked like a mess, covered in both sweat and cum. You licked the cum from your hands as you laid next to him, his arm wrapped around your waist. He snuggles himself in your body giving thanks.

“I need you to do that to me again.” 

reblogs/feedback/likes are welcome all the time :>

if u want to get updated on new fics just tell me and i'd make a tag list

[just-here-for-the-moment]

You guys!!! This was so cute!! I loved it and I want to be Reader so bad. Go give @katareyoudrilling some love! 💖💖💖

(This is a Joel Miller AU with a race neutral/blank slate reader insert.)

Construction Corner (AU Joel Miller x Female Reader)

Episode 1: The Gutierrez Family

Fandom: The Last of Us/Pedro Pascal

Pairing: TV Host Joel Miller x divorced Female Reader

Summary: AU where nothing bad happened in 2003 and Joel is now the host of a popular home renovation show.

Word count: ~1.8k

Rating: Teen, but series will be Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Alternate Universe, inaccuracies about tv show production, filming, and construction

A/N: I had a lot of fun with this!  If I’m going to do an AU, I’m going to go all the way.  I hope you enjoy it!  Reader is divorced and in her late 30s, but is otherwise a blank slate.  Big thank you to @wheresarizona for her help with this idea and for beta reading!

Comments and reblogs very much appreciated!

Previous | Next

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – link in my bio and on my Masterlist

The first day of shooting always feels a bit like the first day of school – all nervous energy and possibilities.  You loved school.  You also really love your job as the producer of “Construction Corner with Joel Miller.”

The show started out on the local Austin, TX PBS channel, KLRU, a few years ago, but quickly got picked up by HGTV, which meant bigger projects and more episodes.  Also, more work for you, but that was just fine.

There’s a bounce in your step and a latte in your hand as you walk onto the homeowners’ property for the first episode.  Production always breaks over the hottest summer months, but now it’s October, and while the air is still warm, at least it’s not stifling.

Keep reading

[vhstown]

writing neutral readers; a guide

(neutral = unspecified gender, race, appearance, etc.)

hi hi here's vee, the one of (hopefully) many neutral fic writers for atsv, showing YOU how to write a neutral reader for your character x reader fic!!!!

this is mainly about romantic x reader fics!!

lil disclaimer: you don't have to write neutral readers if you don't want to! this is just for people who do and might want some advice :) all of these are what works for me — there are plenty of ways to write a neutral reader!

contents page for your sanity:

avoiding white-coding

being gender-neutral

re-direction / re-phrasing

my general thoughts and opinions

before we get started: why are neutral readers great?

inclusivity! a lot of the times it can be hard to find a fic right for you especially if they tend to be for a certain demographic

forces you to think outside of the box — you can't rely on describing the reader, so you have to describe character interactions more creatively (as you'll see me try to do a lot in this post 😭)

helps with immersion! a lot of the time overly-descriptive reader inserts can make it hard to... actually insert yourself into them

your fics can reach a lot more people if they're neutral (though this is just an added bonus lol)

some colour-coding for your wellbeing: blue = general advice + examples, pink = my personal input

1. avoiding white-coding

this is a big point i'd like to address first because it doesn't get talked about enough! and all of this is in reference to a post i saw like a week ago lmao

i haven't seen this term being used a lot but the general idea is when a piece of writing is catered towards a white reader (usually implied through description)

this is usually done unintentionally but avoiding white coding is an important part of writing totally neutrally!

general things to avoid

describing physical attributes such as hair + skin tone

for example describing hair as silky/smooth implies that it is straight + excludes the majority of other hair types / styles etc

also things like running your fingers through your hair can be impractical w certain hairstyles

i tend to just avoid hair in general ? if you want you can focus on other gestures (hand holding, cupping readers face or sumn)

or just reverse the roles entirely and have reader do the comforting gestures to the canon character

skin tone is definitely more subtle however it can be implied especially through things like blushing

people with darker skin tones DO blush, but it generally tends to be less visible or not at all

instead i tend to describe the feeling rather than the outward changes (face getting warm, getting flustered, heart rate increasing, sweating, stuttering etc)

2. being gender-neutral

okay this admittedly can be difficult to write sometimes

the general rule for a gender neutral reader is to avoid referring to the reader as male or female AND any physical description specific to a certain sex

gendered terms

some people like to use they/them when reader is referred to by other characters

instead of boyfriend/girlfriend you can use partner

i personally don't do these things as you'll see in my next point about re-direction!

there are PLENTY of gender neutral pet names in english

for languages like spanish which have masc and fem versions of words i tend to use nouns (usually non-living or abstract) which have a set gender (such as my heart, my love, etc — one of my favourites is cariño (darling) because it doesn't change based on gender)

though again i rarely write terms of endearment in other languages so i suggest you do your research!

physical terms (sfw only)

also for body inclusivity

again this mainly to try and avoid implying fem!reader but also body types just a tiny little bit

i tend to avoid mentioning body shape but if i do then i use something vague like "shape of your body" rather than "curves" or anything specific

you can just write down the body part without describing it physically (chest, waist thighs, etc)

eyelashes are ... unisex! no way!

you might want to avoid makeup but this is just a *general* suggestion

i tend to NOT describing clothing choices unless it's relevant to the premise of the fic — usually vague references like your school uniform, pajamas, shoes, favourite shirt, etc

you can also cheat this if reader is wearing the other character's clothes 😭 next point re-direction WOOO

3. re-direction / re-phrasing

(a personal choice of mine + totally optional)

re-direction is when you change the focus of a sentence in order to get rid of any words descriptions that may take away from the neutrality of the reader (as you see me talking about in the little pink text everywhere or in the little suggestions in blue)

Re-direction can be used for anything! I think there's a book that exists that uses no words with the letter e and a book that uses no pronouns at all (but don't ask me what they are because I have no clue)

It's not particularly easy or straightforward all the time and you might have to change more than one sentence but re-phrasing your writing can be a good challenge! (if you choose to do so)

for me i tend to re-direct to avoid using any sort of third person pronouns (he/she/they etc) or gendered terms and to avoid using insert tags like y/n

example on pronouns & gendered terms

for pronouns i usually change "he/she/they" to "you" or a noun

"She's not welcome here" could become "Your friend isn't welcome here"

Or the sentence may change entirely to convey the same meaning. The woman turned to you, speaking one simple command: "Get out."

I also tend to use more masc / neutral terms in casual settings like "dude" or "bro"

I also avoid the use of "partner" (though this is just nit-picky) ex. "Is this your partner?" might become "Oh, [character] talks about you all the time!" (entirely dependent on context and if you care enough lol — one of the less clear-cut redirections)

while you could obviously use they in this scenario i personally don't out of preference (to me they/them is an nb set of pronouns if the gender isn't ambiguous and blah blah blah) but it doesn't really matter

example on insert tags

"(Y/N), wait!" can become "Hey, wait!"

Or you could use "your name" rather than a placeholder. He called your name, running behind you. "Wait!"

like i mentioned before things like clothes and favourite foods all tend to revolve around the character rather than the reader. in a lot of cases writing about the foods the character likes or wearing the clothes the character owns can actually be more immersive than inserting your personal preferences into a pair of brackets (in my experience at least)

4. general thoughts and opinions

one big thing i wanted to point out is that it's actually good for your writing to "ban" yourself from using certain terms and descriptions. i find that i focus a lot more on describing events, emotions and character interactions rather than being caught up on the reader.

fem!reader and masc!reader are GREAT too! amazing beautiful wonderful keep writing those — but i think gender neutral readers help to avoid a lot of biases that might (albeit unintentionally) come with a specific gender

and being inclusive for all kinds of readers when you're writing a neutral reader is so important!

to conclude

if you exclusively write one type of reader that is absolutely fine :) write what you want and be happy doing it

neutral readers are GREAT but so difficult to write so pls don't worry if u mess up sometimes 👍

i am still figuring out ways to make my writing more inclusive and i wouldn't know without other people's input! so please feel free to drop ur personal gripes or advice

this post is subject to edits (cuz i always forget to add something and it is very ranty spammy random lol)

this post can be found in the "favourite posts" section of my navigation (pinned)!

reblogs r appreciated if u found it useful <3

[quartermera]

Things to know about tagging fanfictions

Canon convergent means you follow the essential plot lines. This can be used to write a fic set before, after or during canon, but the main elements need to remain the same. Examples: character deaths, the beginning and end of canon etc.

Canon divergent means you change essential plot lines. Keeping a character who dies, alive in your fic is canon divergent. This tag is often used in combination with others such as "X lives" or "Everybody lives".

This means there is no point in tagging the same fic with both canon convergent and canon divergent. Canon convergent refers to specific plot points, not just the general universe. It is the default for fics to take place in their canon universe, unless specified otherwise.

Speaking of, these fics set in non-canon universes are called alternate universes, AU for short. These are your typical "what if they went to high-school/college/the coffeeshop together" stories.

While on the subject of AU's, I will take the chance to speak of something else than tagging. Recently in a fandom I was active in, I was surprised to see plagiarism claims. However, these were thrown around much too fast in my humble opinion. Remember that when writing for a fandom, in particular big ones, you will be working with the same characters and mechanics as potentially tens of thousands of other people. What will make your work special is the way you combine certain elements, mixed with your personal style. Countless stories have similar plots if reduced to their bare bones. Don't be offended too fast.

Now I am addressing the OC and Reader Insert writers: learn to differentiate the 2.

OC's, or Original Characters, are the ones with a name, description, back story etc. As soon as your characters has a name or a detailed description, they are an OC. No point in tagging both OC and Reader in order to get more clicks, people will just leave if it does not match what they are looking for. Also OC's are not cringe. I remember a time where Reader Insert fics were the cringiest and look at us now.

Reader Inserts are meant to remain as neutral as possible. This means no name, no description, and as vague of a backstory as possible. No one wants to read about them having "luscious, long, blonde locks" if their hair is none of those. It breaks immersion.

And if something is a necessity for the plot (example, stories targeted at short/tall/fat/skinny/white/poc readers), mention it in other tags, the summary or the warnings section depending on your platform. A quick "short!f!reader" won't hurt anyone.

And vice versa, I encourage you to specify when a reader you write is gender and/or race neutral. As there is so little work targeted to POC and genderqueer or male readers, such works are gems and you will be thanked for it (I know I have been).

Since I made a post saying we should teach the kids how to tag, here I am. Yes, I am aware of the irony of this sentence when I myself have only reached the ripe old age of 23, but what can I say, I have been in fandom for a decade. Also these are just 10 points bc I don't like to make my lists too long and they are my main grievances/pieces of advice.

[ravennaortiz]

i need to know more about The Nanny fic <333 i will be happy with anything u can say ab it

Hello Sweet Anon!

Thank you so much for asking about The Nanny! I honestly cannot believe how well that moodboard wip for it has taken off! Please accept my humble offerings below that include things I'm still trying to figure out, background info on Clays Daughter and a little snippet from the story.

A couple things I am still trying to think of /plan as I write the story.

I am trying to decide if I want Clays Daughter to be an OC or to be just reader insert clays daughter- I try to make sure my reader inserts are as neutral as they can be so I'm a bit worried needing to be more descriptive of what she looks like will be a turn off to readers

Am I releasing it as one big fic, multiple parts or make it chapters?

Who exactly is the guy: Just because I am who I am lol originally I was thinking Juice buttttt then I was like it should be someone outside of the club like a Mayan, cop etc.

About Clays Daughter: She does not have a great relationship with her dad at all. She has a lot of anger and resentment for how he treated her mom ( crow eater) and that only grows as he puts more and more rules on her. Her and Gemma never saw eye to eye and she hates her and is part of the reason she jumps at Taras offer to be a Nanny because she knows her not being able to see the kids hurts Gemma.

Now the thing is....she doesn't really like Tara either. You see Tara ratted to Clay and Jax about seeing her with a guy they would not approve of. Clays daughter felt deeply betrayed because she had always told Tara when Jax was sleeping around etc and thought of her as an older sister and looked up to her.

Now shes hell bent on revenge for a series of betrayals and the goal of being at the head of SAMCROS table being the last one wearing a crown.

Jax knew he should look away but he couldn't. His eyes were glued to your ass as you poured yourself a glass of wine. The underwear you had on leaving nothing to the imagination. "Want some?" you asked with a smirk as you turned to face him. Jaxs icy blue eyes snapped to yours before dipping down. He swallowed hard as he realized the cropped sweater also left nothing to the imagination as his eyes stayed glued to your nipples that poked through the fabric.

"Go get some pants on" snapped Jax as you started to walk towards him. Rubbing his face he turned and made his way quickly to his bedroom shutting the door. His heart racing and breathing heavy as the sight of you stayed in his minds eye. Glancing at the bed he saw Tara was already out cold. Fuck he thought as his hand moved down to his jeans were his cock throbbed painfully against the fabric.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

ANI!!! I cannot wait to read more!! 😍😍🤪 Just the idea of this guy climbing out of a dumpster 😆 You’re my favorite three raccoons in a trench coat 💖

YSC: A Game of Realities

It’s only fitting that the month of love is dedicated to the man who chooses love instead of choosing sides, right?  This is a dramedy to make up for the dark January fic. Thank you to @just-here-for-the-moment for encouraging my nonsense.

Summary: An unexpected turn in a battle with The Mountain has Prince Oberyn end up in a situation that he couldn't have imagined, and you have to help him through it. The ride is bumpy until you discover something that will change your perception of yourself, of Oberyn and of reality, forever. 

Part of the wonderful @yearofcreation2023 challenge!

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

Rating: Mature - language, later chapters will be explicit. 

WC: 1835

Warnings: Language, battle scenes, mention of death and burial, shaky boundary lines between sci-fi and fantasy, smells and Olympic-level sass because I'm three raccoons in a trenchcoat. Reader has no physical description, and uses she/her pronouns. Whole fic not beta’d.

Author Masterlist | Taglist in bio.

-----

Doran is seated in the centre of the plush sofa in his receiving room. The intricate patterns and warm, rich colours sit beautifully with the high-ceilinged space, giving it an air of grandeur, fitting for the royal family of Dorne. In the corner a lush palm sways in the light breeze, in stark contrast to the tense atmosphere between the dark-haired brothers. 

“I have been more than fair, Oberyn. You have visited the capital, said your piece - this unquenchable thirst for retribution will drag the people of Dorne into the fire if it does not end with you.” 

Oberyn scoffs at his older brother, bitterness simmering in his words. “Words alone will not bring Elia back.” 

“Neither will violence.” Doran snaps. 

He is tired. His younger brother has always been fiery, passionate to a fault. With vengeance blowing this kindling into an open flame, he has little hope of discouraging the man from his course of action. But he has to try. 

“Reconsider, Oberyn. It will not change what happened in the past, and you could lose your life in the process. Will you have me put both of my siblings into the ground?” he intones softer. 

His brother continues to pace the floor like a caged viper, seething with a rage so deep-seated that he himself doesn’t know where to go with it. His beloved sister had died at the hands of the Lannisters and it seemed like his brother was ready to break bread with them. 

“I am not retracting my challenge to the Mountain. I will spill his blood the way he did hers.” 

With one last look at Doran’s pained expression, he flings the door open and starts down the hall to his quarters. 

Concealed behind a corner close to Doran’s rooms, Ellaria stands stock still. She had stopped to listen in, having heard the loud exchange from the hallway. The Mountain’s reputation as a killer is known far and wide, and she is worried. She trusts Oberyn’s skill in a fight, but with the Lannisters you never know what surprises are hiding in the wings. 

“I won't allow you to leave me alone in this world, lover.” she whispers into the darkness before she turns on her heel and makes for the Maester’s chambers.

When she exits hours later, she is holding a black elixir which promises that Oberyn will come out of the fight unscathed. 

As she stalks to her private room, the glass vial burns in her hand - is new, otherworldly and unseen by anyone outside of the inner circle of Maesters. Oberyn will see it as a betrayal but she will keep him alive no matter the cost. 

The Maester had warned her several times during the consultation. 

“You are absolutely sure you want to play with dark magic, dear?” 

Ellaria nodded, watching him take down different bottles from his shelves. 

When he started pouring the contents of one into a mixing bowl, she gripped his arm hard. 

“A mere potion will not do, Maester, it needs to ensure that Oberyn stays alive.” 

He simply raised an eyebrow at her, continued and then swung round to heave a large grey grimoire off the same shelves. 

“And so it will.” 

Ellaria now clutches the vial closer to her as she increases her speed. She can’t help feeling unsettled about the liquid in her possession, even though she requested it. The Maester was insistent with his instructions. 

“Stand clear of the arena, and when the time is right, throw the vial onto the ground, so it breaks near the opponent. He will be transported by magic to a place where he can never harm anyone."

She regards him carefully, and he answers the question she doesn't ask. 

"It is dark magic, and the price will be exacted for such a request."

She knows he does not mean coin. 

Reaching her chambers, she closes the door behind her and places the vial among her jewels. 

As she hides the glass object, she hears the clanging of spears outside her window and a growling laugh from Oberyn, who seems to have bested his opponent, undoubtedly not for the first time. 

She closes her eyes and fervently hopes that this will work. 

—-

The Dornish procession proudly walks into the arena, parting like a golden, shimmering sea to allow their second-born prince to move to his place. Ellaria is already waiting for him there, where he fastens the last of his armour. He kisses her passionately before gripping his spear, and although there are tears in her eyes, she can’t bring herself to utter any words of warning or apology. 

He enters into the fight, spear twirling in the air, a fanciful prince intent on taking what was taken from him. Oberyn taunts the man, goading him into admitting to his crimes, while the clanging of metal echoes into the surrounding mountains. 

Ellaria knows Oberyn, she sees the minute gritting of his teeth while The Mountain fights the man she loves with sheer strength; he does not give an inch between them and does not give Oberyn the satisfaction of responding either.

She recognises her lover’s white-hot anger, unspooling like a tethered ball of thread dropped into an abyss, making him reckless.

The mountain’s spear catches the edge of Oberyn’s and with a sickening crackle of wood, the tip is snapped off. 

Ellaria gasps out loud, panic rising in her throat and stealing her breath before she can take it. 

She reaches into her thin mustard-coloured cloak, retrieves the vial and…throws. 

Her throw causes the vial to sail briefly on a gust of wind, and instead of hitting The Mountain, the vial crashes in front of Oberyn’s feet, creating a vortex of black smoke in front of him. It fizzes and crackles like sparklers set alight.

The vortex lurches sickeningly towards him and the next moment Oberyn is gone. 

As the black smoke dissipates rapidly the only sound heard is Ellaria’s anguished screams.

—-

With your chin resting on the heel of your hand, you marvel how it can feel like 19 hours have passed, when in reality you just cracked hour 5 of your shift. 

You are in a bad mood to boot. An earlier table had given you the run around and then didn't tip on a huge bill. Now you just want to get the hell out of the place, put on some pajamas and watch a series. 

You're about to get up when a loud clanging sound comes from outside the restaurant. The open area behind the restaurant is known to attract some troublemakers so this isn't exactly a surprise. 

Pete, the smarmy manager on duty stops in front of you."Go tell those kids to stop messing around here or we'll call the authorities."

Heaving a deep sigh, you get up and walk to the back of the restaurant, throwing the metal door open in front of you. 

You listlessly stomp to the dumpster, and stop, hands perched on your hips. 

"Okay dillholes, enough fun for today, get a move on."

You hear a plastic ruffling inside the dumpster.

Rolling your eyes, you check your watch. Good lord, the last 30 minutes of your shift is starting to feel like several lifetimes. 

When you look up, you see a leg swung over the side of the dumpster, followed by a brownish thing, which materializes into a human as it climbs out of the big metal container. 

The man shouts at you, looking around. He's clearly aggravated, his hair sticking up in all directions. 

"Where is The Mountain?"

You stare a long time before your brain manages to make your tongue move. 

"You're in the city buddy, there are no mountains here."

The man, seemingly satisfied that the geographical feature isn't close by, sniffs himself and pulls a face. 

"This place smells like week-old waste" he yells at you from where he stands, somehow managing to make the statement drip with distaste.  

The cheek of this guy is unbelievable and you feel your hackles rising at how rude he is. 

"Yeah? We'll that's rich coming from someone who looks like a fancy fuckin' armadillo!"

For a moment Oberyn is speechless. He's no shrinking violet but no one has ever dared speak to Dornish royalty like that. When he finds his tongue again, his hands automatically go to his hips and he cocks his chin out at you. 

“Come over here in your peasant clothes and say that to my face."

“I can see your damn face from here, and these are not..” 

You look down, taking in the uniform and apron with a few food splatters.

“...okay I’ll give you the clothes. What….were you dumpster diving then?” 

Finally taking a moment, he looks around, but everything seems wrong. Out of place. 

"This does not look like King's Landing, even if it smells the same” he says, now a little more subdued than when he first yelled at you. 

"Ummm…no. You're at the back of a restaurant and you were in the trash a minute ago. Listen, I don’t know what your deal is but you gotta go.”

Oberyn spins on his heel, looking around. "I would gladly, but it would appear I am not in any recognisable part of Westeros."

The name sounds like something you’ve heard before but you shake it off, trying to focus on the man in front of you instead.

“What’s your name?”

The man seems to be thinking about something for a while, then replies.

“Oberyn, Prince of Dorne.” 

“Okay, Oberyn, Prince of Dorne, as the song goes - you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. My shift is pretty much over, is there someone I can call to come get you?” 

He looks at you blankly. The man cuts a ridiculous sight standing next to the dumpster in his leather outfit, just staring at you like he’s trying to work out some impossible math problem.

You sigh, throwing your hands up. With this one it seems to have devolved into a process of elimination when it comes to getting any information, because he’s either coming off some insane drug-induced bender or he has memory loss. Either way he’ll need to be checked out, or at the very least take a goddamned shower. 

“Look, are you dangerous? Are you going to try to kill me if I take you somewhere in my car?” 

The man’s expression morphs from blank curiosity to disgusted.

“We do not hurt women and children in Dorne. You will be safe in my company, but where are we doing?”

“Home, my home. You can’t stand around out here like you just came from Comic Con or a Leather Daddy convention, and you don’t seem to have a clue where you are so…unless you have a better idea…” you jerked a thumb over your shoulder and started turning around to clock out. 

As you start to walk back to the restaurant, you hear the crunch of his books on the gravel  behind you and idly wonder if this is how those true crime episodes start. Finding a mildly threatening guy and loading him into your car. 

This might be a huge mistake.