#hozier drabble challenge

[lotusbxtch]

Sunlight

Song: Sunlight Character: Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x gn!Reader Summary: Joel Miller has avoided love, pushed it away at the first sight to stay in the darkness. But then he meets you, and he wonders if he was wrong after all. Word Count: 578 Rating: Mature, mentions of smut Warnings/tags: post-outbreak, takes place in Jackson, vague mentions of smut, angst, Joel hates feelings, everyone loves Reader, grumpy sunshine trope incoming, heavy use of Hozier lyrics, no use of y/n, not beta’d

a/n: This is my entry for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge! This felt like the perfect pairing for the song, so thank you Gin! Hope I did it justice.

Ever since the outbreak, since losing Sarah, Joel has shunned the light of love of any kind. He preferred to stay in the cool, detached predictability of a life without it. It was dark, but it wasn’t dangerous for his heart. That was, until you showed up in Jackson.

A veritable ball of light, you charmed everyone in the settlement. Your bright smiles, cheerful demeanor, and deep kindness easily helped you become a pillar of the community. You helped out in any way you could, even if it was something on the more physical end, like construction. People asked you to teach them some of your hobbies: baking, knitting, painting. You helped every single one with a smile on your face. He knew you were nothing but goodness personified, and yet he shunned your light. He stayed cool and quiet, avoiding you just like he’d been doing for longer than he knew. Until one day, he witnessed your sunlight directed towards him.

It was a Sunday, and you’d snuck up on Joel on his porch late at night, strumming absentmindedly on his guitar, listening to the hum of night. Suddenly he heard “I didn’t know you played guitar!” come out from the dark bushes. He jumped slightly, startled, until you popped your head up, eyes shimmering with amusement. He sighed, disgruntled, and said, “Yeah, I don’t usually play for an audience.”

“How about an audience of one?” you suggested coyly, intertwining your fingers with each other, looking down and then back up at him expectantly but shyly. He searched your eyes, so bright. His defenses were screaming at him to be a jerk, to push you away as usual, but a small voice in him said, “play for them.” He swore it sounded just like Sarah. So he sighed, and situated the guitar in his arms. As he played, you slowly wandered up the steps to his porch, keeping your eyes locked on him the whole time. He finished the song and looked up, his breath catching in his throat. You had the most spellbound, enraptured look on your face.

“Joel,” you breathed, “that was so beautiful.”

He was at a loss for words, because he realized that for the first time, he was experiencing your sunlight for himself. He was lost to you, lost in your radiant sunlight, your bright effervescence of love and joy. And he realized he could not be without you for the rest of his life.

After that, he willingly drowned like a falling Icarus into the sea of your love, wax wings melting fast. He gorged himself on your light, drawn like a moth to the flame. You spent days in his bed over the next few weeks, the two of you unclothed most of the time, sighing and moaning and screaming in pleasure, learning about every cell in each other’s bodies. You bathed him in your sunlight, warming his weary bones, soaked in the cold rain of loneliness, bringing him back up to the surface. He let you crawl your way under his skin, living there, searing into his heart. Soon enough, you would rise with him each day, his home now also your home. 

He knew that love meant pain, meant hurt and suffering if it were ever taken away from him. But he was addicted to you, to your sunlight. He’d gladly put himself into a death trap for you, and he knew you’d do the same for him.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

What Can Still Be Known

A/N: This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge... which I meant to have finished weeks ago, but since it's May the 4th, today seems like a good time to post it even if it is later than I originally planned. Thank you so much to Gin for putting this together! I love music prompts, so this was right up my alley. I can't wait to catch up on the other stories written for this event! Make sure you all go check them out, too! You can find them here.

Prompt: My song was Butchered Tongue from the album Unreal, Unearth, and my character was Din. I was delighted to get this prompt, because that song speaks to my soul. It's melancholic and beautiful, and I think it fits Din so damn well, so I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: angst, mentions of canon typical violence, mention of death of parents/family, you know, Mandalorian stuff.

Word Count: 3,545 (oops.)

Summary: Din doesn't remember much about his parents or his life with them... but that doesn't stop him from wishing it were different.

Nevarro’s sun burned bright and hot as Din crossed the scrubby stretch of flatlands that separated the town from the Mandalorian encampment. Shifting the crate he carried under one arm, he tilted his head down to where Grogu hopped along beside him, using the Force to propel himself every few steps to accommodate for his father’s much longer stride. The sight, along with the string of happy gurgles and babbles spilling from the kid’s mouth, made a smile sprout beneath the man’s helmet. 

“It’s good to be back, isn’t it buddy?” 

Grogu looked up at him and squealed happily, nodding and pointing one clawed finger at the semi-permanent settlement growing closer with every step they took. 

Though the efforts to reclaim their homeworld had been successful, a small group of Mandalorians remained on Nevarro during the rebuilding process on Mandalore - mainly those responsible for teaching and raising the foundlings and other young children that were not yet ready to start their trials. There were two combat instructors, two teachers whose focus was on the tenants of the Resol’nare, one additional teacher who was responsible for teaching Mando’a, as well as a dozen or so students and their guardians. Eventually they’d all join the rest of their people on Mandalore, but until things were more solidly settled there, Nevarro was as safe an option for an outpost as could be found in the Outer Rim. 

Din chuckled. “I’m sure your friends will be happy to see you again, too.” 

That response sent the kid bouncing with excitement, hopping high enough so that he could fit in a flip before touching down again, the rondel and small pauldron he wore clinging together like chimes with his motion. 

“Go ahead,” Din urged him, jutting his chin out in front of him. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll be right behind -” But the child was gone before the last word left his lips. He sighed and shook his head in amusement. “-You.” He watched through the tinted screen of his visor as Grogu darted towards the sparring grounds, no doubt in search of Ragnar.  

It had been a few months since they’d been back on Nevarro, Din busy taking Grogu through his apprenticeship, teaching him skills that he would need in order to move on in his training. Tracking, hunting, navigation, survival, negotiation, just to name a few. Every lesson took them to a different planet, some of them coming with the added bonus of coinciding with a bounty or paid favor. The most recent one, a lesson in tracking on Rodia, had resulted in uncovering a stash of beskar ingots that had been defaced with an Imperial stamp. 

Immediately after finishing up on Rodia - Din showing Grogu how to incapacitate an enemy without killing them - they’d taken the recovered beskar back to the Armorer on Mandalore, so that she could fashion it into new pieces for the foundlings. It was strange, but good, to see the glass encrusted planet so teeming with life. It was a relief to know that what his people had fought for for so long, what so many had given their lives for, was finally secure. Finally theirs. 

But despite the fact that the Mandalorian people finally had a safe place to call home, Din had yet to feel that sort of connection with the planet. Unlike Bo-Katan, he hadn’t been born there, nor had he spent any time there as a child. He’d heard stories about what the Great Forge had been like in its glory, how lush the gardens of Sundari had been long ago. But to him, a foundling Child of the Watch who had never set foot on Mandalore until he was a grown man, they’d always felt like stories about some fictional, far off place. He wondered if that would change, if he would ever feel at home in a place that brought him no nostalgia or warmth. 

A part of him hoped that it would. Because it wasn’t just Mandalore that he felt that absence of connection to. It was everywhere he went. A side-effect of losing every home he’d ever had, it turned out, was not knowing where your roots would grow if they could grow anywhere they chose. 

He knew he had a home once. A true home, one where he could have collected a whole life’s worth of memories, enough of them so that when he returned there they’d all come rushing to fill his heart with warmth and welcome. He knew he had a family before the Tribe had become that for him, too. A mother and father who loved him so fiercely that they sacrificed their own lives to save his. When he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could still find their faces. His father’s was easier to recall because he himself wore so many of the same features. Every time he saw his own reflection he was reminded of the man who carried him through the battlefield that their village had become. 

His mother’s face was more difficult to recall in detail, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten her. He remembered her thick, dark hair and the way it curled at her shoulders. He remembered the texture of the red robes she wore, remembered tracing the intricate pattern of woven stitching on the cuffs of her sleeves with the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t be sure, but he had the thought that he must have remembered these things because she was the one who comforted him when he was hurt, sad or scared. That what he really recalled when he thought of his mother was the feeling of safety and warmth that her embrace provided. 

He remembered the tone of her voice, soothing but strong. His father’s was full and confident and always sounded like a smile was about to appear. He remembered that the two of them sang often. Sometimes he’d be hit with a snippet of a melody, the lyrics lost, turned to dust and ash like the rest of his homeworld, but he’d find himself humming and realize that it was one of the songs his parents used to sing. 

The forgotten lyrics were only a small part of a larger loss, though. They were written in a language that had died when the population of Aq Vetina had been snuffed out. So he could remember his parents’ voices. He could remember the melodies they sang. But the things they said, the words they used, the meaning behind them? All of that was gone. For all the languages and means of communication he did know, the first one he’d ever heard and learned escaped him. And in all of his travels since leaving his homeworld in the arms of an armored stranger that had become his Buir, Din had never met anyone who spoke his native tongue. 

It made him wonder if anyone else had survived the attack on his home that day, or if he was the last living member of a completely slain culture. 

Before he could ruminate on that thought for too long, though, Azil, one of the combat instructors, saw him walking towards the sparring grounds and waved him over. “Olarom, Djarin!” He pointed at the crate Din carried, tilting his helmeted-head in question. “Gifts from home?” 

The contents of the box shifted as Din handed it over, newly cast cuiresses ringing together in answer to Azil’s inquiry. “New beskar,” Din responded with a nod. “Freshly forged on Mandalore,” he added in answer to Azil’s question about where it came from. “I was told to deliver them to you for distribution to your students.” 

Azil set the crate down and clapped one gloved hand to Din’s shoulder. “Vor entye, vod.” 

Returning the gesture, Din did the same. “This is the Way.” 

“This is the Way,” Azil echoed, and then immediately set about unpacking the box of armor, sorting it by size, leaving Din to see where Grogu had gone. 

It didn’t take long for him to find his son. The long, green ears were a giveaway, sure. But so was the small crowd of other children gathered around to watch him levitate a black chunk of volcanic rock while Ragnar Vizsla practiced blasting it with training darts. With each successful hit, the other kids would cheer, a collective sound of amazement coming from them each time Grogu managed to evade the blast by redirecting the rock. 

Din stood watching for a few moments, silently appreciative that these children had this opportunity to laugh and learn and grow together somewhere open and safe and free. He could remember playing similar training games and showing off new skills with the few other children in his covert, though then it was all done underground, in hiding. But he couldn’t recall the kinds of games he might have played with friends in his village. If there were any nursery rhymes or tall tales he might have known once, they’d long since faded from his memory. 

It made him wonder if he’d eventually forget what little he could remember about his native culture. Would he lose it piece by piece? Until not even a familiar tune or the color red or his own reflection sparked any feeling? He hoped not, but it seemed inevitable. 

At least, it had. 

Suddenly - from a different group of children than the one gathered around Grogu, much to Din’s relief - a small child went darting by his boots, arms outstretched in front of her, the distinct sound of sniffles and cries trailing after her. Turning away from the training grounds, he watched as the child was scooped up by a woman who had just stepped out of one of the tents. He assumed that whatever sent the girl running was just the result of one of the other kids being a little too rough. Or perhaps one of Nevarro’s reptilian species had frightened the child. Either way, it was clear that there was no real danger and that the woman had things under control, so he started to turn back towards Grogu and Ragnar’s shenanigans. 

But then he overheard the woman begin to soothe the young girl in her arms. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

It stopped him in his tracks and sent his head swiveling back in the direction it came from. His heart pounded beneath the elongated diamond stamped into the center of his chestplate as he felt something unlock in his memory. 

He’d heard those same words before. So long ago that he was stunned when he recognized the phrase. So long ago that the meaning behind them was lost. But he knew they were spoken to him as comfort. He knew that they were words steeped in love. He watched the way the woman cradled the child to her armored chest, his eyes catching on the piece of red fabric that was pinned to the cowl of her flight suit. 

No matter how impossible it seemed that the words he’d just heard had survived what a whole settlement of people hadn’t, no matter how unlikely it was that it was there of all places that he’d heard it, no matter how slim the odds were that the tattered scarlet linen was the same fabric that he remembered from his home, Din found himself drawn to her. 

To you. 

—  —  — 

You were rewiring the com device in your helmet when you heard Tira’s cry. 

Though you knew that she was probably fine - there were dozens of other Mandalorian adults present in the settlement, and you knew that none of them would allow any real harm to come to the children - you immediately set your work down and stepped outside, senses heightened. But as soon as you saw her running towards you, you relaxed. She wasn’t hurt or being chased. She’d likely just been knocked over by one of the bigger kids while they played one of their games. Tira was small, but didn’t like to be told that. And since her older brother had begun his trials and wasn’t there as often to make sure she didn’t get pushed around by the others, she’d been having trouble adjusting. 

It didn’t help that less than a year ago, she and Maj had lost both of their parents in the battle to retake Mandalore, which is how the children had come to be in your care. 

As a former foundling yourself, you were more than willing to step in and raise them as your own, just as the Mandalorian who rescued you the day your village was attacked and your parents were killed would have done had he not been able to reunite you with your kin. You’d been brought to Corellia, where your mother’s sister lived with her family, and they’d taken you in and raised you instead. It wasn’t until you became an adult that you rejoined the Mandalorians and took the Creed, choosing to commit your life to the very people who had saved it. 

But though you mainly spoke Galactic Basic and were muddling your way through learning Mando’a, it was still your first language that came to you when you scooped a sniffling Tira into your arms and cradled her to your armored chest. It was still the words your parents - and then your aunt - had spoken to you when you’d been hurt or scared that you used to comfort the girl. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

You’re safe with me, sweet one.

You knew Tira and Maj didn’t speak Aquitto. They only knew the meaning of that one phrase because you’d taught it to them. And since your aunt had passed away, you knew that you were possibly the only person left in the galaxy who would even recognize it let alone speak it. As far as you knew, there hadn’t been any other survivors from your village that day. It struck you that every time you spoke it could be the last time it was ever uttered. 

Pushing that thought from your mind, you focused on Tira, kissing her cheek and letting her clutch at the sculpted pin that held a piece of red fabric - a remnant of the hooded robe you’d been wearing the day you were rescued on Aq Vetina - in place on your cowl. The pin had belonged to your mother, the woman pressing it into your hand before disappearing to go try to fight off the monstrous machines with the rest of the village. As a child you would trace the design on it with your fingertip whenever she held you, whenever she made the same promise you were making Tira. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

By the time you’d said it a second time, the girl had stopped crying. The words themselves weren’t magic, but the sentiment in them was. Even if they were the last scraps of the Aquitto language to live on, you hoped that one day Tira or Maj would pass them along to a child who needed to hear them, too.

Whatever had brought on the sudden storm of tears had passed, and Tira wriggled in your hold as she caught sight of some of the other children watching as the Jedi foundling levitated chunky rocks for Ragnar to blast with darts. You chuckled at her eagerness to get back out there with the big kids. “Okay, necta. But watch out for yourself, got it?” You set her back on the ground, stooping down to her level and ruffling her hair. “I know you’re a tough one, but you still have to be careful.” 

She nodded enthusiastically, telling you that she would be, and then she was gone, scurrying back across the crusty flatland towards the other kids. When you stood back up, you were met with the dark visor of Din Djarin - a man you’d never personally met, but who you’d heard a great deal about from the others in the settlement on Nevarro. You knew he was the Jedi foundling’s adoptive father. You knew he had previously wielded the Darksaber and that he was instrumental in helping Bo-Katan Kryze and the others take back Mandalore. You knew that he was responsible for reclaiming the beskar that your armor had been forged from. 

– – – 

“Oh, hello,” you greeted him, a small laugh in your voice that he figured was a result of the way he’d caught you off guard. You lifted a hand and reflexively tucked the piece of red fabric at your collar into place. “It’s Din, right?”

“Yes. Din Djarin. I’m sorry I don’t know your name, I-” 

You waved him off and introduced yourself. Smiling, you pointed in the direction that the little one you’d just set down had run off in. “That’s your son over there, isn’t it? Tira was excited to see him.” 

Din turned his head to follow your finger, though he didn’t need to look to know that you were indicating Grogu. “It is,” he confirmed, facing you again with a small shrug. “He likes to show off.” 

You laughed at that. “I would too, if I could do what he can.” 

“He’s a special kid,” Din replied, and you smiled again. 

“He is.” You nodded, and it was clear to him that you were still unsure of why he had approached you. “Is there-”

“Can I ask you something?” He tilted his head, hidden eyes fixed on the fabric at your neck - and on the sculpted pin that held it in place, the designs so familiar to him he could feel them on his fingers. 

You furrowed your brow, expression turning serious. “Of course. Not sure if I’ll be able to help you with it, but-” You held your hands up, palms to the sky. “Ask away.” 

“The words you just spoke to that little girl… Tira?” You nodded so he went on. “How do you know that language?” 

He watched your eyes widen with your blink. “You… You’re familiar with Aquitto?” 

Din sighed, giving a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t even remember what it was called, but… Yes. Or, that phrase, anyway. How do you know it?”

You let out a breath. “I… I was born on Aq Vetina. It was the language my parents spoke. It…” Again your fingers came up to the pin and the fabric that it secured. “It was my first language. I was lucky that my aunt knew it, too, or else I would have forgotten it completely after our village was destroyed and-” Something dawned on you and your eyes widened again. “You said you were familiar with it?” He nodded. “How?” 

You asked the question in a way that made him think you already knew the answer, but you needed - or wanted - to hear him say it. So he did. “Same as you. I was born there. It was my parents’ language. But I haven’t heard it spoken since the day droids raided our home.” He blinked, somewhat stunned that only moments before he had been mourning the loss of his native language and culture only to find a source of it right in front of him. “I didn’t know there were other survivors.” 

Your mouth fell open slightly as you stared up into the visor that hid his eyes from view. When you spoke again it was quiet, your words equally full of disbelief. “Neither did I.” Your lips twitched into a small smile despite the way your eyes had started to water. “I’m glad we were both wrong, Din.” 

“I am, too.” He felt a tightening in his chest, but it was unlike anything he felt before. It wasn’t from sorrow or anxiety, it wasn’t to alert him to a threat or caused by regret. It felt more like a connection forming - like meeting you had brought him closer to his own heart somehow. Instantly, a thousand questions popped into his mind for you, and he imagined you might have had some for him as well. But there was one thing he needed to know first. “Can you tell me what it means? What you said to Tira? My… I think my parents used to say it to me, and…” He trailed off, waiting for your response. 

“It means, ‘You’re safe with me, sweet one.’” You smiled again. “It literally translates to ‘You’re in my heart’ though. It’s… It’s what you say to the people you love most.” 

Just then, Grogu and Tira came tearing over, Din bending down to pick up his son and you settling your hand on the little girl’s head as she clung to your side. “Hey, Buddy. Remember when I told you about my parents and what I remembered about where I came from?” 

“Patu.” His head moved up and down, ears flapping with his nod. 

“Well, this lady comes from the same place that I do, and she just taught me how to say something in my old language. You wanna hear it?” 

“Patu!” He spread his clawed fingers over Din’s chestplate. 

Din looked over at you - at the warm smile on your face as you smoothed the little girl’s play-ruffled hair and gave him an encouraging nod - and then back down at Grogu. “Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know in an ask or message, or you can fill out the form on my masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor ​ @pheedraws​ @beautifuldesastre​ @alraedesigns @valkblue

@dihra-vesa @marauderskeeper @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @stevie75

@nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth

@thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80

@hp-hogwartsexpress @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito

@jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharinee @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle

@severin-proud @vickie5446 @jessthebaker @ael_xander

[wannab-urs]

Hozier Drabble Challenge Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome to the Hozier Drabble Challenge. Each writer was given a song and a pedro boy and challenged to write a drabble based on that. Please heed the warnings on each fic! Happy Reading!

Main Masterlist | Fanfic Events | AO3 | Kofi

Hozier

The Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To by @freelancearsonist - Joel

In a Week by sweetercalypso - Marcus Pike

Sedated by @luxurychristmaspudding - Dave

Cherry Wine by @julesonrecord - Whiskey

It Will Come Back by @beskarandblasters - Max Phillips

Foreigner's God by kewwrites - Dave

Work Song by @eupheme - Dave

Like Real People Do by fhatbhabie - Frankie

Wasteland, Baby

Talk Refined by @ohforficsake - Ezra

Sunlight by @lotusbxtch

Nina Cried Power

Moment's Silence by sp00kymulderr - Oberyn

From Eden

From Eden by planet-marz1 - Dieter

Unreal, Unearth

Butchered Tongue by blind-assassin-12 - Din

Given a Name by @missredherring - Oberyn

De Selby Part 1 by beardedjoel - Frankie

Eat Your Young by jksprincess10 - Marcus Moreno

Damage Gets Done by burntheedges - Max Phillips

Unheard

Too Sweet by missredherring - Din

Fare Well by @nerdieforpedro - Dieter

[nerdieforpedro]

Fare Well

For @wannab-urs Hozier Song Drabble Challenge

Dieter Bravo x plus size female reader (Sweet Pea)

This fic is for those 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 1.8k (Yeah so…I went past Drabble 👀)

Summary: Dieter has been working so hard. He still has an issue that might be because of his mind. What can he do about it? Do anything else.

Warnings: unhealthy coping, sexual dysfunction, sex work, teasing, pet names, sexual activity (actual and implied I think? I should know. 🙃)

Notes: I listened to this song 5 times in a row because I didn’t really listen to Hozier (now I do). The color this fic is purple or violet, whichever you wanna say it. 💜 I bolded lyrics I was able to put in the fic. 🤗 Thanks to Gin for giving me two Dieter fics to write back to back. ☺️ That little trash panda is always so giving.

Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist / Writing Challenge

Tapping his foot on his hardwood floors, Dieter Bravo is in an all too familiar place. He’s been purposely busy. Keeping occupied except for when he’s completely exhausted has kept him out of trouble, even in the tabloids. People are saying he’s changed for the better. He knows he’s keeping clean, keeping in the straight and narrow.

Bravo has run into a snag on his progress.

The last few paintings had done well in gallery showing, even selling for double than asking price, his last movie was well reviewed. These are both very good things, wonderful. He’s happy, proud even. Bravo is having plenty of sex, mountains of it. In his head. Reality has played out much differently. All this work he’s doing, he hasn’t been able to chase a different high. One he’s used to replace the drugs. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find people to have sex with. He’s been more careful about it, not something he’s been concerned about prior to his new leaf. In doing so, acts he’d normally attempt weight more heavily on his mind and keep little Dee from swelling when needed. Bravo knows the rumor that might be going around but it’s not true! Since his mind is clearer, he actually thinks about who he’s having sex with more and little D isn’t always on board. You know, one of those words his therapist mentioned – cognitive dissonance except it’s happening with his partner in pleasure little D. Big D when he’s feeling in the mood.

He knows he could just go to one of those discreate clubs, seek his needs out there, but he always assumed he wouldn’t need one. The Oscar Winner keeps looking for different projects, in his studio trying out new paints, trying to learn the saxophone (it was a bad idea, but sounded great at three in the morning when he called his assistant and told him what to buy), he then went to a spin class and damn near passed out after fifteen minutes and tried a cooking class but was kicked out for causing an oil fire.

Nothing was working so he called and asked to stop by, check the place out. The owner of course said that was fine – he’s Dieter Bravo, they’d love to have him. Dieter told the owner,

“I’ll take any high. Any glazin’ of the eyes. Any solitary pleasure that masks my sorrow. No drugs though, I’m not willing to backslide over it.”

The owner said they understood and had the perfect person for him.

So now Dieter waits in this room. It’s an array of different purples well violets since this is a more classy place. He wanted to undress to his boxers but was told by the front desk to leave them on. He did remove his shoes, socks and jacket, but otherwise he’s dressed. Simple black slacks and a white button-down shirt that had bellowing sleeves with a deep v-cut exposing his chest down to his sternum. He felt like dressing up a bit but still kept it simple, most of the clientele were in suits and dresses that Dieter saw. Soft guitar music played in the background, he closed his eyes as he waited curious who they might have matched him with based on what he asked for.

Dieter heard the clicking of heels first. Then smelled a deep woodsy fragrance, it approached slowly, matching the pace of the heels. They stopped in front of him and he caught hints of citrus and a flower. Using his aquiline nose to sniff closer to the source, feeling body heat radiating from whoever was in front of him. “It’s faint but you smell like a sweet pea.” He released a deep breath he’d been building from taking in and trying to identify the different components of their scent.

“Welcome Mr. Bravo. I hope my fragrance invokes pleasant memories. I’m told you want to rid yourself of sorrow. Correct?” The voice embraced him as soft fingers coiled around his neck, thumbs pressing into his chin.

“Yes, please. I need to forget, just for a bit. Then I might be able to get my body to function properly. Everything is fine, great even.” He kept his eyes closed and he felt them. Lips on his forehead, warm and plush. They lingered, “Can I touch you, please?” No answer was given as hands left his neck and were placed on each side of a torso. His palms roamed slowly tracing the lace that wrapped the body he had in his hands.

The lips left his forehead and he was tempted to reach for them, but kept his eyes closed, he would wait, trying to keep his breathing even. “Is this alright Mr. Bravo or do you want someone who might-“Dieter wildly shook his head.

“Don’t you go anywhere Sweet Pea. Stay right here with me. Just like this. Maybe more. Can I look at you?” He pulled the body toward him, sniffing more. “Call me Dieter. Mr. Bravo is the one having issues with his little D.” He made himself chuckle knowing what a stupid joke it was. Fingertips graced his cheek and tipped his chin upward.

“Look at me Dieter. How do you want me to drown your sorrows tonight? I usually go by Violet due to the room, but I like Sweet Pea when you say it. It makes me sound cute.” The giggle from this celestial being has Dieter wondering if she’ll still giggle if he’s buried between her legs. He wouldn’t need to come up for air, just search for what would be his reward: her moans and his tongue squeezed by her pelvic muscles. His palms ran around to her back, feeling the different rolls of her body.

“I want to see if I’m going to go into a coma from drowning in your nectar Sweet Pea. Can I be your first casualty? If I was going to go, I’d want to be surrounded by thick thighs and a woman’s cries I offer her.” Slipping her left heel off, Sweet Pea places her leg on the bed beside Dieter’s right leg. His hand slowly makes its way across the curve of her wide ass to her thigh, his large fingers dipping into the small holes of the fishnets, tugging on them. “Let me show you gorgeous.”

Smiling, Sweet Pea gives his lips a quick peck before bending to reach between his legs, “Seems just the thought is enough Dieter. Why come to me? I’m sure you’ve got many offers, especially if you’re asking like that.” She lowers her leg and stands back up, turning her back to him but looking over her shoulder to meet his eyes. The glint in them makes her lick her lips, she could ask him to do it, just to see if he will. Given how desperate he is, he might. He won’t say it, but his body betrays him, he said that ‘little D’ was having trouble but that didn’t seem to be the case at all from what she felt. Maybe it’s the scents, the atmosphere and that what happens here will remain here until he comes back. She crosses the room and drops her black thong, stepping out of it and her other heel, sitting on a violet velvet loveseat with her legs open wide. “This is what you want right Dieter?” Her elbows are on her knees with one hand beckoning him. “Come to me, but undress and crawl.”

Bravo doesn’t want control right now, nor does he want to think. He just wants to act, to perform. In this moment, he isn’t thinking about how lonely he is or how his career could crumble on some whim of culture or random video. There’s only this purple room he can melt into as he removes his clothes, making himself bare to Sweet Pea. Dieter’s actually hard, dripping onto her carpet as he lowers himself onto the floor on all fours. His knees are burning as he makes his way across the padded carpet. It’s worth his goal though, into her tender folds. “You like to see a man work, huh Sweet Pea? That’s more than fine.” Halfway there, his bobbing swollen cock made a mess of the carpet and his belly. Upon reaching her, he placed his hands on her knees and looked up to her, balancing himself on his knees so little D was at full attention. He wanted to show her what she’d been able to bring out of him so far. Something changed though, he was smiling but Violet recognized it. She used her fingers to rub circles into his biceps and shoulders before tracing the pronounced vein on his neck.

“You adorable man. This isn’t what you want. At least not now. You can’t seem to decide between the two Dieter.” Fingers run through his hair, and he knows she’s right but couldn’t she had said so after he’d had his fill, hear her cries?

“You’re not wrong, but I still need this. Need you.” He dipped his head to nibble on her thigh and she hummed but pushed his head back. In standing, she also helped him to his feet and brought him back to the bed, removing her lace corset and climbed on the bed.

“From behind, I’m not going to have your tears dripping where I can watch while you fuck me.” Now Sweet Pea was on all fours and Dieter’s sorrow returned. It was inescapable, but he wanted to see her face. He could block it off, just for a short while he tried to get the sunshine.

“No, I need to see how your face changes as you take me.” Crawling across the bed behind her, he pulled her back flush to his chest and turned her chin over her shoulder, capturing her lips. Slipping his tongue in, the warmth felt good. He hadn’t had it in months, he didn’t know why now, in this place with her, but he’d accept it. All of it. “Pleasure to mask my sorrow is why I’m here, Sweet Pea. Have me bask in the sun.”

Their kiss broke as Sweet Pea turned to put her arms around his shoulders, kissing his forehead once again as Dieter laid back on the bed, she fell forward as he took her hair out of the high ponytail it had been in. Her hair fell around her face, her wet folds grazed his shaft and he moaned. “I’ll be your dawn until the light shines on you Dieter.”

Coming unbound, feeling elated and devastated when he had to leave, Dieter had been able to bury his sorrow in pleasure for a time. Another appointment was made for later in the week. To quote Bravo, “I’ll deny me none while I’m allowed because I wouldn’t fare well.”

Bad ideas that Dieter could use: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @titlee78 @tinytinymenace @magpiepillsjunior @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @heareball @laurfilijames @maggiemayhemnj

[wannab-urs]

I love everything about this. The shaving, the knife play, the control switch, the choking, the relationship dynamic AGH

Sedated | Dave York x f!Reader

gif from @iamasaddie

summary: you and dave are no strangers to this business, to death. so there can be no harm in relying on each other in times of need.

pairing: dave york x f!contract killer!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. divorced!dave. knife play, breath play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie. descriptions/mention of blood and injury. vibes are kinda weird idk

wc: 2.5k

an: this fic is a part of @wannab-urs hozier drabble challenge (although, alas, it is not a drabble). head to gin’s page for more!

Just a little rush, babe, to feel dizzy

To derail the mind of me

Just a little hush, babe, my veins are busy

But my heart's in atrophy

~ sedated, hozier

The only sounds in the bathroom are the dripping of the tap into the tepid water of the sink and the scrape of the razor across Dave’s stubble.

He sits, back straight, on the closed toilet - shirtless, in only his sweatpants, large hands hooked beneath your thighs as you straddle him, your body rocked back to find the perfect angle to shave him at.

He watches you with hooded eyes as you draw the razor over his skin, stretching it taught where you need to be careful, gliding it over the plain of his throat. He feels like he’s barely breathed the whole time, not a word being said between the two of you. But this is routine now. 

The quiet moments after a contract, nights where one follows the other, no matter where you had come from, no matter where you were staying. This half-tender care, so different from anything he’s experienced before - the bravado and camaraderie, or the mute mission of patching himself up, clotting his own wounds.

It must have been a serious kind of injury to draw you into each other, but when he tries to, Dave can’t remember. Something that needed to be patched up by someone else, too much blood making your own fingers slip, too deep for yourself to plug. Sometimes, it’s difficult to remember a time before you were here - before you found each other. The nebulous, shrouded years that seem to expand well beyond their perimeters. They should stop before reaching too far back into Carol and the girls, but they linger over even those happier times, back and back until it feels as though every year of his existence has been shrouded in darkness.

Those months after the divorce, after Mac, all spent feeling outside of his life until you had shown up, until you had proved a constant in the fucked up world he found himself in. And despite the nature of the person he has become now, there’s still a desperate, warm little part of him that wants you out - wants to drag you away from it. Wants you far away from this, from him, wants you unharmed and safe in the world that Carol and his daughters inhabit.

Wishful thinking - and it’s an awful thought to consider where being without you would leave him.

Lost, even more so than he already is. You do not make the darkness brighter, do not make it easier to see. But you hold your hand out to him, tell him in not as many words - I feel it, too.

This does not scare you the way it should.

He knows you now, in the way only someone like he can. Has seen what little fear you have. Has watched you push bullets through flesh, through brains, so the body matter spreads and splatters where it must. Has witnessed the plunge of a jagged blade into a stomach, watched you rip upwards, slash and maim with precision. It gives him a thrill, a dark satisfaction to witness a job so well done.

You continue your gliding movements, breathing steady, gaze focused, while Dave studies your face. The depth and glitter of your eyes in the half light, the crook and curve of your nose, the bow and twitch of your lips. You know he’s doing it; always do. You tilt his head with a palm on the side of his neck, using your other to hold the blade of his razor tight to the thrumming artery on the opposite side for a second too long. His dark eyes find yours, pouty lips posing an unvoiced question. You ask another.

‘Do you ever think about how easy it would be?’

Dave says nothing, unable to move his mouth as you use your thumb to press the razor into the soft underside of his jaw. You use enough pressure for his heart rate to spike before you scrape away the hairs there like you’re carving wood, cutting an apple. When the blade meets his chin, he speaks.

‘No.’ 

You meet his eyes briefly.

‘Don’t lie.’

You scrape away the remainder of his whiskers before twisting your body to wash the blade off in the sink. You keep it cuddled in you fist as you use two fingers to tip his chin into the light, gripping his jaw softly to turn his head this way and that, inspecting your work. He’s warm beneath you, firm and achingly hard. A pleased smile slicks across your lips, and keeping one hand cradled to his throat, you press the tip of the blade to his sternum and wait for any kind of reaction. Any twitch of a muscle, any change in the pace of his breathing, any flickering of his eyes. Instead, he keeps them trained on your mouth, heavy lidded, nostrils flaring, wanting.

He trusts you. And he knows you enjoy the power. Too much.

He can feel the heat, the wetness, leaking though your underwear already.

A soft growl slips from his throat as you trail the knife down, down. Down between his pecks, over the swell of his soft belly, through the hair that guides the way to his stiff cock. When you make it to the elastic of his waistband, you trace your initials against his soft skin - hard enough to leave red marks, but not so as to draw blood. When you lift your eyes, he is watching you; aching, panting. 

You bring the tip of the blade back up - circle his nipples, trace his clavicles, slide it along the base of his skull at the back of his neck. Killing him softly. When you press it to his temple, he knows the game is up. He knows you’re ready, the last lingering pulls of violence flaking from your hands as you lay the knife at the edge of the sink and wind your hands around his neck. You push your tits flush against him and press a dirty, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. Every one of his senses is attuned to every one of your movements, and he feels with keen urgency the movement of your tongue against his skin, the shapes you trace, your hot, damp breath, the minute scrape of your teeth -

You roll your hips, whining, soaked cunt dragging over the heft of his cock, and Dave grunts, standing so quickly that it makes you dizzy.

His palms are firm beneath your ass as he moves, taking leave of the bathroom to throw you down onto the deep mattress of the bed. The room is dark, the curtains not drawn - only a thin, orange light drains through the gauze covering the window, illuminating the curves and angles of your body.

Dave hauls himself over you, spreading your thighs, nipping any skin he can take between his teeth, your hands feverish over his bare shoulders, his back, his chest. He takes care to suck deep, hard marks into your neck, stripping you of your vest to bite into the soft swell of your breasts. You rock your hips against the thigh he's got nestled against your cunt, mewling softly, and the sound draws his lips to your mouth, licking in, molding, devouring. He presses a kiss to your jaw as he rolls his hips against you, and you moan, the noise throbbing through his body. With blindly moving fingers, he finds the bandage he had wrapped around your thigh tonight, the knife wound carved into you earlier in the evening by some son of a bitch he dispatched not seconds later.

Dave traces the shape of the bandages, the rough softness of the material, the bow he’d tied in mock of a garter. You were lucky he didn’t slice deeper - not that it seems to bother you now as Dave traces the indent of the cut, you nibbling his earlobe in response.

He presses his fingers deeper in to the wound only to feel you clench your thighs around him, numb to the pain, feeling only pleasure. He ruts into you once more before trailing back down your body, laving kisses wherever he can, only stopping to peel your underwear off, only pausing to cup your thighs and push them into your chest so he can spread you wide and take you apart with his mouth.

He eats you like he’s ravenous, like a man starved for days. His tongue is strong against you, working you easily, so easily you could be convinced he knows your body better than you do. He licks and bites, sucking bruises into the soft flesh of your thighs when you reel too close to the edge, and only when you beg, threaten, does he pull far enough away to spit down onto when you’re already dripping, spreading his saliva over your swollen pussy with his thick fingers. He reattaches his mouth to your clit, sucking and flicking, his slick fingers gliding inside you easily, pumping and curling until he can feel your walls begin to tighten and flutter. Your fists twist in his short hair and he moans lewdly against you, moving faster, harsher, wrenching something painful and hot inside you. You buck beneath him, back arching as he digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise to hold you still, gushing and clenching around his fingers. He loves watching you lose yourself like this, head thrown back in ecstasy, body glistening, twitching, sensitive. Loves watching the control slip from you, watching you slip into submission, give in. Give in to him.

He takes more, presses for more. He always does. His mouth continues to slurp greedily at your cunt as you sob, trying to push him away. But he’s immovable, insatiable, dragging a second orgasm from your body even as it continues to crash through the first. He wants to keep going until there is nothing left, until you are just as much a part of him as the need to harm and protect.

To love is to consume, to love is to destroy. Both are something you do, and do well - but the feeling itself is a dirty word in this dark hotel room. It is not a word he thinks of as he presses one last kiss to your sopping folds, not one that crosses his mind as he rids himself of his sweat pants, his cock hard as stone, slapping against his belly. He grips his base, dragging his fist over it once, twice, before he kneels between your slack legs. He leans forward to grip your chin as he notches himself at your entrance, pulling your face down so that you’re forced to watch him take you.

The first press into your cunt is always the tightest. Tight in anticipation, in need, and Dave is careful to let his mind fall blank so he doesn’t come too soon. You arch beneath him again, your hands reaching for his where they rest atop your thighs. He knows not to mistake it for something tender, but for the need to dispel your energy, your urges. The language is understood - when he rocks back, cock soaked with your arousal, and pushes in again, he follows the sound of your ragged gasp, leaning forward to take your mouth with his, biting your bottom lip, nipping at your shoulder. You take advantage of the position to sink your own teeth into his flesh, piercing and moaning. The sensation pushes him to pick up his force, his pace. 

Look at me. The only command he needs to give, the rest so ingrained now. When to come, when not to come, when and how to move. The only thing he ever needs to remind you of is where your eyes belong when he’s fucking into you like this, when it feels so good like this.

Tonight feels like more of a race than it usually does. You’re tightening dangerously around him, moaning, crying louder and louder as he drills into you, so warm, so wet, the noises your cunt is making so obscene that heat begins to coil threateningly at the base of his spine. He pierces you with his cock, tip knocking against your cervix with every thrust until tears gloss your eyes, your hands in a vice grip around the tops of his arms as you gasp out, unable to form a full word - oh, fu-, go-, Da-ave, ple-. He sneers down at you, a hand coming to cradle below your jaw again, throat held between his thumb and fingers, digits squeezing, constricting, restricting the bloodflow until your eyes are far away, blissed, body limp. Enough for a rush, enough for your mind to be derailed from its linear thinking - next kill, next kill, next kill. This is what you need, and he is proud that he can give it to you, gritting out a yeah, s’that good, little girl? Like that? before your eyes are rolling into the back of your head, your back bowed, your cunt spasming and gushing around him, your cry caught between your teeth as you try to roll away from him. He grips your wrists in one hand, bringing them high above your head as you twist and keen and throb, fat, hot tears streaming down your cheeks as he continues to fuck you, hard enough to make sure it bruises tomorrow. Your sobs come quieter as he moans into your neck, as he tells you how good you are, how tight you are, how you belong to him, how you’ll never get away, as he tells you to take it, take it, and you beg, plead with him - please, Dave, please - before he thrusts himself cruelly all the way inside you, gritting his teeth and growling as he comes, as you keen up at him. 

He wants to keep you full of him for as long as possible, all the time, but there are so many reasons why that’s not feasible. When he slips his softening cock from your pussy, you whimper at the loss. He ignores the sound and instead sits back to watch his cum leak from your used cunt, down to your asshole, before collecting it with his thumb and pushing it back in. He looks back up at you, eyes glazed, breath heavy, body sated, and finds a similar expression laid across your features. When he catches his breath, he stretches himself out beside you on the mattress, covering you both with the sheets. Both pairs of eyes trained to the ceiling, not thinking, not thinking, just feeling. 

But even in primal feeling, even when he snips at the gnaw in his chest, he craves it, needs it. Slave to your touch, your command, your control, your submission. It’s dangerous in a world like this, in a world like yours. 

When your chest settles into a regular rhythm, you curl yourself into him. Your body is warm and firm, still sweaty, your cunt still dripping as you hook a leg over his hip. You wrap around him like he is somebody you miss, somebody you wish to hold outside of this bedroom. Your breath crowds the side of his neck, and he closes his eyes to it, letting himself be swept away. Sedated by what your bodies provide, sleep laps like waves, submerges, drowns, and in the darkness Dave is not sure where he ends and you begin.

When he wakes, still hours from dawn, the bed is cold beside him.

further an: while sedated was obviously the main catalyst here, i'd also recommend listening to massive attack's come near me while/after reading. happy trails!

divider from @saradika-graphics

[eeveesanddragons]

Someone New - Drabble Challenge #14

The pure delight of jumping onto the fallen leaves is one of my favourite things. My boots match the bright yellow or the deep reds, depending on which pair I decided to wear that day. I fall a little bit more in love with the world with every tree I see turning hues of russet and gold during autumn. Even more upon their return along with the flowers in spring. Watch the leaves twirl, and the…

[wannab-urs]

Gin you absolute genius

🌎 please 🧡

EEEEEE HI

Song: Damage gets done

boy: Max Phillips

the random number generator hath spoken. Godspeed 🫡

[hoziermicrofics]

daily prompts inspired by hozier's music. all fandoms welcome. tag @hoziermicrofics to be rb'ed

i made this mostly for my own benefit. i love hozier's music and enjoy writing drabbles—100 words exactly—as a writing exercise, and there was not a hozier microfic blog so i made one!

i challenge everyone to hold themselves to a specific word count: 50 word dribbles, 100 word drabbles, 250 or 500 word short stories, 750 word sudden fiction, and 1,000 word flash fiction

if you're inspired to create art, mood boards, or playlists, i'll rb those as well!

guidelines

one must: 1. include the daily prompt, 2. write 1,000 words or less, 3. include word count, 4. include content warnings, 5. create a work that can stand alone

ran by @juniperpyre

[skibasyndrome]

fic writing challenge - music edition!

Thank you so much for this amazing idea and for the tag @saynomorefic and thank you @enjoythesilentworld & @grapehyasynth for tagging me in this as well 💜💜💜 this seems super fun and I'm excited to read all the ficlets that come from this!

"Shuffle your on repeat playlist and let your followers pick their favorite of the 10 first songs WITH A CATCH!! You must write a five sentence fic (or drabble if needed) inspired by that song and / or containing a lyric!"

(jokes on you, half of these are already very much wilmon-ified in my brain 💅)

I'm lost track of who has and who hasn't been tagged and I also haven't found the moment to read the already existing ficlets I've seen but I WILL soooo, sorry if you've been tagged before! But I'm (no pressure) tagging @wilmonsfolklore @earlgrey-lateatnight @purplehoodiesandclementines @sillylittleflower

@willesworld @margotdanslebois @lollygirlpops @sillyunicorn

& since this probably also works with visual art if you feel like it @themarsbar & @alkalinetrios

[lotusbxtch]

Lotusbxtch's Master List

Hello darlings! Check below for a list of all of my fics, broken down by characters. I'll continue updating this as I write more, but since I reblog like a maniac, it's easier to use this to navigate my writings.

As a general rule, my writing is mature/explicit and 18+. Please check the ratings, warnings, and tags before reading so you know what you're getting!

I'm also on AO3 if you prefer reading there, at lotusbxtch.

Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe

Joel Miller - The Last of Us

Series:

-- SoCal to NorCal masterlist- Frankie Morales x f!Reader x Joel Miller (ft. Santiago Garcia) Joel is your rock, and Frankie is your ocean. So what happens when you bring the three of you together? || You and Frankie roadtrip up from Southern California to Northern California so he can meet Joel. A polyamory fic.

One-Shots:

-- Juno - Joel Miller x f!Reader

Your honeymoon with Joel is off to a bang.

— Lightning of the Blaze - Joel Miller x f!Reader

-- don't ruin this on me - Joel Miller x f! Reader

— and I lost you (Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge) - Joel Miller x f!Reader

— Sunlight (Hozier Drabble Challenge) - Joel Miller x gn!Reader Joel Miller has avoided love, pushed it away at the first sight to stay in the darkness. But then he meets you, and he wonders if he was wrong after all.

— a morning after drabble - Joel Miller x gn!Reader

— Joel Miller in the kitchen in the morning drabble - Joel Miller x gn!Reader

Frankie Morales - Triple Frontier

Series:

-- SoCal to NorCal masterlist - Frankie Morales x f!Reader x Joel Miller (ft. Santiago Garcia)

Jack Daniels - Kingsmen: The Golden Circle

One-shots:

-- Ocean's Gold: An Offering Of Frith Story - Jack Daniels x f!Reader [Offering of Frith Challenge] Jack Daniels, retired from the Statesmen, signs you on as the business partner for his new brewpub. Sparks fly, and you wonder if it could ever be more.

Javier Peña - Narcos

One-shots:

-- A New Year's Distraction - Javier Pena x f!Reader Javi doesn't know you have a surprise waiting for him at home.

Pero Tovar - The Great Wall

One-shots:

-- Preciosa - Pero Tovar x wife!f!Reader NEW! You would have never predicted that such a delicate thing would be Pero Tovar’s undoing.

Oscar Isaac Cinematic Universe

Poe Dameron - Star Wars

One-Shots:

-- The Best Ride in the Galaxy - Poe Dameron x f!Reader You have a thing for Poe's flight suit. He decides to be a cocky asshole about it. Sexy shenanigans ensue.

-- The Best Ride in the Galaxy, Pt. 2 - Poe Dameron x f!Reader You and Poe play bedroom games, but who ends up the winner?

Santiago Garcia - Triple Frontier

-- SoCal to NorCal Ch. 1: Malibu - Frankie Morales x f!Reader x Santiago Garcia You & Frankie visit your friend Santi at his Malibu mansion to kick off your roadtrip north, and you let desires guide the night.

Last updated: 02/22/25

[thedasweekend]

Prompts!

In order to avoid a mass-reblogging spree, and for future ease of access, this will be a growing masterpost of prompts. However, they will be queued and will slowly be added onto this blog over time.

Please feel free to send an ask to this blog with your own prompt list(s) if you would like to see them included!

DA-tober 2021

Kiss Challenge

Aug-Kissed Prompts

Veiltober

Swordtember 2024

Swordtember 2022

KissArtFebruary

Inktober Alternatives 2024 (masterpost) 2023 2022 2021 2020

Definitelynot-tober!

Blorbovember

Abisalli's Emotion Challenge

Halloween costume

OC Optics

OC Art Memes

Fankid Meme

Six Characters Challenge

Bondage Challenge

Kiss Template

DAI Hairstyles

Hawke Hairstyles

Hero of Ferelden Hairstyles

Inquisitor Art Meme!

Draw Your Mutuals' Rooks

Couple Meme

Draw Your OTP

Pose/Expression Meme

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Palette Challenge

Color Palette Challenge

Rare/Unusual Words

Heavy Content

DAVG Pantomime Prompts

Prompts - Emotions

Prompts - Reactions

Prompts - Associations

Meme/Prompt Masterpost - movies; romantic; dramatic; action; location; misc.; ooc

As Said By... (DAO) Alistair Therein Zevran Arainai

(DA2) Fenris Isabela Merrill Varric Tethras

(DAI) Blackwall Cassandra Pentaghast Dorian Pavus Iron Bull Josephine Montilyet Sera Solas Vivienne

(DAV) Davrin Emmrich Volkarin Lucanis Dellamorte

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Prompts pt.1

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Prompts pt.2

Inquisition Party Banter

Artifacts of Thedas

Artifacts of Thedas - Veilguard Edition

Rook Story Time Prompts

Rook Codex Writing Prompts

DAI OC Codex Prompts

Kiss & Tell

Alternate Universes

Hugs

"I have dreamed of you"

Drabble Prompts

Showing Comfort

Flowers and Prompts

Prompts for my Favorite Tropes

The Stranger (a collection of lyric prompts based on Billy Joel's 1977 album The Stranger)

Making Demands

Panic Attacks in Paradise

A Taste of Heavenly Light (Florence + The Machine lyric prompts)

Melt Into Me

Unreal Unearth (Hozier)

Cult Classics

The Dragon's Hoarde

Prompts for People Who Aren't Used to Kindness

Fluff Prompt List

50 Types of Kisses

20 Sleeping Prompts

Cuddle and Snuggle Prompts

What Are You Hiding From Me Prompts

Prompts for Patching Up Wounds

Circe - Madeline Miller Sentence Starters

Spirited Away Sentence Starters

Dragon Age Character Bingo

Chaos Gremlin Prompts

[arcane-vagabond]

Sailor-Aviator's Playlist Writing Challenge

Hello, hello!! Welcome back to another writing challenge! This one also had a lot of votes in the poll I posted, so I figured why not go ahead and release it?

The Concept

I have what some might call an eclectic music taste. What does that mean? I like a bit of just about everything! So, I compiled a list of songs from my playlists that I thought might make good fanfic inspiration! As with my Christmas Challenge, there will be a limited number of spots for each song! Just send me a DM/ask telling me which song you'd like to choose and for which Top Gun character you'd like to write for!

The Rules

You may sign up for more than one slot as long as there are slots available. However, you can not take up two slots for the same song.

Tag your fics appropriately! (Angst, smut, fluff, warnings, etc.)

18+ ONLY!

This can be a series, a one-shot, moodboards, or even a collection of drabbles! Just have fun with it!

You MUST use your song in some way in the fic. For example, if your song is Two Doors Down by Dolly Parton, then you could write about going to a party or about being a Dagger's neighbor.

HAVE FUN!!!

This writing challenge will not have a time limit, and you can sign up whenever you want! When you are finished (or started the series/collection), you can shoot me the link so I can tag it below. Also, please tag me in the fic and tag the challenge! The more the merrier! Now, there are some popular artists on here, but I encourage EVERYONE to listen to ALL the songs before making your decisions!! I will add more songs if I need to as well!

Tagging a couple of mutuals who I think would be interested: @goldenseresinretriever @bobgasm @mamachasesmayhem @hangmansgbaby @jupitercomet @seresinhangmanjake @number-0-iz

The Playlist

Songs below the cut!

Two Doors Down by Dolly Parton

@aworldinsideaperson w/ Jake Seresin

@alegendoftomorrow w/ the Dagger Squad

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Ends of the Earth by Lord Huron

alegendoftomorrow w/ Bradley Bradshaw

-

-

Work Song by Hozier

@devil-angel-winchester w/ Bradley Bradshaw

-

-

Darling by Halsey

@goldenseresinretriever w/ Tom Kazansky

-

-

The Death of Peace of Mind by Bad Omens

-

-

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Stolen by Dashboard Confessional

-

-

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Youth by Troye Sivan

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-

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Get on the Road by Tired Pony

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Littlething by Jimmy Eat World

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The Saltwater Room by Owl City

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Enchanted by Taylor Swift

@shinycupcakebaker w/ Bob Floyd

@seresinsbrat w/ Bradley Bradshaw

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Georgia by Vance Joy

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I'll Be by Edwin McCain

@powellssugarbaby w/ Jake Seresin

@sweetwhispersofchaos w/ Bob Floyd

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Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benatar

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New Religion by The Heydaze

@aworldinsideaperson w/ Bradley Bradshaw

alegendoftomorrow w/ Jake Seresin

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She Burns by Foy Vance

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Shrike by Hozier

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Dancing With the Devil by Short Stack

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Like Real People Do by Hozier

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Shut Up and Dance by WALK THE MOON

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Bright by Echosmith

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Someone to You by BANNERS

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WILD by Troye Sivan

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Stay With Me by ayokay

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Iris by Jada Forcer

goldenseresinretriever w/ Tom Kazansky

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Sunshine by Short Stack

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Tell Her You Love Her by Echosmith

aworldinsideaperson w/ Bradley Bradshaw

alegendoftomorrow w/ Bob Floyd

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Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac

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Too Late to Turn Back Now by Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose

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Leather and Lace by Stevie Nicks

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Mine by Taylor Swift

@bellaireland1981 w/ Bradley Bradshaw

alegendoftomorrow w/ Bradley Bradshaw

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Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

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Burn You Down by Short Stack

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Jolene by Dolly Parton

@dingochef w/ Jake Seresin

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Pretty Carolina by Jontha Links

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Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers

aworldinsideaperson w/ Bob Floyd

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Style by Taylor Swift

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Out of the Woods by Taylor Swift

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You and Me by Lifehouse

@bobgasm w/ Bob Floyd

seresinsbrat w/ Jake Seresin

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Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac

aworldinsideaperson w/ (TBD)

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[munsonownsmyass]

Birthday and follower celebration

I just hit 550 followers, so that's amazing enough in itself (thanks to all of you lovely little beans that want to follow me ❤️), but I'm also turning 34 on the 3rd of February, so I wanted to make a little something 😁

And what better way to celebrate than with some games, asks and requests? The little celebration will run from today until February 12th. I hope you'll come celebrate with me. And feel free to send in as many asks/requests as you like 😁❤️

Fuck/Marry/Kill

Send me 3 characters and I'll tell you who I'd wanna fuck, marry and kill. If you'd rather switch kill our woth kiss, feel free to do so.

Would you rather

This one is kinda self explanatory 😆

Top 10

Want a top 10 of my favorite songs? Favorite blorbos? Or maybe food? Just send it in and I'll make a little top 10.

Moodboard

I might not be the greatest at making moodboards, but I love making them.

Hozier requests

I'm so lucky that I got Hozier tickets for my birthday. So I had this idea that you can send in a hozier song and a character, and I could make a little drabble.

Fic requests

I would love some requests. You want a continuation to something? Or want it from a different POV? Let me know.

Or you want something new? Please send an ask. I have some prompt lists here, but feel free to add your own idea, if you want something ❤️

Fluffy dialogue ◇ smutty one liners ◇ subtle love ◇ angry love confessions ◇ lovers in denial ◇ roommates to lovers ◇ late night talks ◇ more smutty one liners

Characters I write for: Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Quinn McKenna, Ryan Yellowstone, Matthias Helvar, Billy Russo, Marcus Pike, Tristan Thorn, Joel Miller.

Characters I'd love to write for: Benny Miller, Will Miller, Frankie Morales, Mr. McCarthy, Zach Wellison, Terrence Swaino, Evan 'Buck' Buckley.

Or if you want to challenge me with something new, you can always ask 😉

Tagging some of the lovely people I've met here. Thank you to you all: @e-dubbc11 @itwasthereaminuteago @theradioactivespidergwen @chvoswxtch @murdock-and-the-sea @mattmurdocksscars @boliv-jenta @wardenparker @lucy-sky @sio-ina-bottle @yarrystyleeza @darlingshane @anna-hawk @jvanilly @k-marzolf @hellspart-timer @danzer8705 @chellestrash @scorpio-marionette @iobsessoverfictionalmen @feelmyskinonyourskin @writerwoed @misspearly1 @toomanystoriessolittletime @bunnelbie @absurdthirst

[jennysparksandtheauthority]

forever might be short (pricefield drabble collection)

Originally posted on AO3 as part of the International Fanworks Day challenge 2024.

Summary: Max saves Chloe and they leave the bay behind, but what happens after ten months? And ten years? And all the in betweens? Ten drabbles about love, loss, healing and learning how to navigate life together, in honor of International Fanworks Day 10th anniversary.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: F/F

Fandom: Life is Strange (Video Game)

Relationship: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price

1. ten months

They haven't lost the ability to smile, but they don't laugh the way they used to.

When it happens, ten months after the storm, it's random, spontaneous.

Max scrolls Netflix, Chloe is looking at her phone. Then, she reads something. Her eyes light up. She grins like an ass. 

"Hey, Max?"

"Yeah?"

"What’s the difference between a casual dinner party and a pirate orgy? The first one you come as you are… The other you ARR as you come!"

When Ryan and Vanessa come home they find them rolling on the couch, kicking each other, eyes watery, breathless with laughter.

2. the fury in your head

Max lets Chloe die, but the storm still comes.

She's in the lighthouse, screaming at it.

"Didn't you get what you wanted?! I did what you asked of me! Why is this happening? What more do you want from me?!"

The hurricane roars and Max wakes up. 

Chloe's arms engulf her in an instant, "It's okay. You're safe. We're in Seattle. I'm here."

Chloe never pushes her to share, she wants to spare her the pain. She imagines Max dreams about the innocent lives lost, the sorrow, the guilt.

But Max's nightmares are about one thing only: not choosing Chloe.

3. (finally see) what it means to be living

It takes them more than a year to find their footing, but it's bliss when it finally comes.

They get an apartment. Max goes back to school, and Chloe enrolls in an Associate in Computer Science program in community college.

They work most weekends, even though Ryan and Vanessa are helping them out. They even get a compensation from the Arcadia Bay Victims Relief Fund. Chloe calls it blood money. But they take it, because they need all the help they can get.

Still, their routine is hard. Seattle is always rainy. They study, they work, they get by. Together.

4. awake, dear heart…

They share a bed, so they technically sleep together, but they're not together. 

There are lingering touches, light kisses and even pecks on the lips, but they haven't done anything else. They haven't talked about it. They're both just so utterly afraid of messing up what they have.

Max finds a note in Chloe's pocket when she's doing laundry. It reads: My offer still stands. Call me? Erika xoxo. There's a phone number. She folds it and then leaves it on Chloe's nightstand.

When Chloe finds it, she doesn't say anything, but Max watches her throw it in the trash.

5. ...awake

"Chloe? You know you don't have to stay with me, right? You don't owe me anything."

It's Christmas Eve. 11 AM. They agreed to sleep in before they drive to Max's parents. 

Chloe immediately sits up on the bed and looks at her with so much concern you'd think Max's nose is bleeding.

"What the fuck? Where did that come from?"

Max grimaces, refrains the urge to cry, "It's just… sometimes… I wonder if—"

Chloe puts a finger over her lips, ever so gently. Then, she kisses her, deeply, intentionally. It's a statement.

When they part, Max wonders no more.

6. worship in the bedroom

They lie naked on a warm June morning, limbs intertwined, bodies sweating, hearts beating loudly.

"Damn, you're hardcore, Max," Chloe grins like an idiot.

"So I’ve been told," Max can't help a little proud smile.

They chuckle together, and enjoy the silence. It's not really silence – a Hozier song is coming from the speakers, and birds sing under their window.

"One of these days, Caulfield…" Chloe whispers absentmindedly.

"What?"

She doesn't answer. She pulls Max closer and replies only in her mind.

One of these days I'm gonna ask you to marry me. Not today, but one of these days.

7. (remember) to let her under your skin

They end up in New York because Max gets a scholarship there, thanks to her impressive portfolio. Her photos and her name are connected to Arcadia Bay and, painful as that is, it opens many doors for her. She wishes it wasn't like that, but… it's the blood money check situation all over again.

HBO did a documentary series, so everybody in class knows everything.

Well, not everything.

But they whisper — she hears words like survivor, so tragic, Jefferson...

It used to bother her. Yet, with each passing day coming home to Chloe, the pain seems to simply drift away.

8. the pleasure, the privilege is mine

It's Chloe's birthday.

Max plans the perfect party with their New York friends. They Skype Max's parents, David and Kate. Chloe drinks, laughs, cries. They eat cake. It's fun, and it ends with their apartment ruined.

Afterwards, they sit together on the couch, spent, heads touching.

"Thank you for today, babe," Chloe says softly as she looks at their intertwined hands. "For a girl that should be dead, turning 25 is kinda wild…"

Max gazes at her with sheer devotion, "I love you so much."

The smile that Chloe gives her might have the power to stop time, "I know."

9. this is now

After the pandemic (they'll always wonder if somewhere, someone was using some cursed, forbidden power), Chloe burns out. She quits her job as IT specialist in some big pharma company, and starts freelancing as a graphic designer. That year, Max hits 200k followers on Instagram. She signs a photobook deal. Chloe designs the cover. It's a wild success.

So Chloe spins Max in her arms one Friday afternoon, and blurts out, "Max, I think we're ready. We've been talking about it, let's just do it!"

Max laughs, nods.

They lock eyes, and yell it in unison, "Let's get a dog!"

10. ten years

Chloe's making spaghetti — her long, honey-blonde hair up in a messy bun, her arm tattoo covered in black ink. Max's watching her work, sitting at the kitchen island, playing with the white gold band in her ring finger. Deckard, their Labrador, sits at her feet.

They're talking about their day, complaining about shit, making plans.

There's three candles by the window: one for Rachel, one for Joyce, one for all the others. Today's the anniversary, but it doesn't get to them anymore.

Life's weird, thrilling, also boring at times. 

It's good too. 

They made it. And they will be okay.

THE END

author's notes:

Title from Emily Dickinson's 434:

To love thee Year by Year— May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease— However, dear, Forever might be short, I thought to show— And so I pieced it, with a flower, now.

Chapter 2 title: Spanish Sahara by Foals

Chapter 3 title: Fast Car by Tracy Chapman

Chapter 4 & 5 reference: “Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.” (Prospero, Act 1, Scene 2) —The Tempest by William Shakespeare

Chapter 6 title: Take Me To Church by Hozier

Chapter 8 title: There Is A Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths

Chapter 9: “Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted." —Sylvia Plath

[wannab-urs]

Oh my god this is perfect. The way he doesn't even know it's you until he knows it's you. Him literally crawling out of his watery grave to get home to you. UGH

— Work Song

Dave York x Wife!Reader

Rated M - 600 words

Prompt: Work Song + Dave York

Tags: Dave POV, divergent timeline, fix-it au, who’s carol?? (aka wife!reader), references to sex, canon-typical violence, blood and death, implied happy ending

A/N: my contribution to the Hozier Drabble Challenge by @wannab-urs! Dave is new to me in every way so thank you so much @morallyinept for this banger post & I hope this isn’t too far off the mark

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

In all his years as an operative, and then the ones that followed - Dave’s life had never flashed before his eyes.

Instead there was always the bone-deep ache of fresh wounds. Split flesh and the sharp spike of adrenaline - his senses firing too quickly for his mind to process, hurtling him into pure instinct.

Surviving by the teeth of his skin.

But he knows - if he had that luxury - what he would think of.

It would be of you.

You weren’t supposed to matter. Just another checkbox in his life, a means of distraction.

Job. Married. Kids.

He’s still working on that last part. Never one to leave a job half-done.

But here, at the end of all things, it’s all Dave can think about. Rewinding back over the years.

Nights spent in - a darkened room, the television hilighting the art that lines your walls. Takeout cartons tipped over on the table. The movie long forgotten, your thighs wrapped firmly around his waist as you sobbed his name.

It was enough until it wasn’t.

Until he became possessive. That small measure of stability in a life that had suddenly tilted sideways.

There’s a flash of white, yards of chiffon and lace. An ache of hunger, so wrapped up in each in each other that you completely missed the hors d’oeuvres.

His mother had said they were good.

He would have to take her word for it.

The oaken walls of the cabin close around him, now. The white of your dress turning into a blanket of snow. His one hidden place, the few times he could try to turn his brain off.

It never worked.

But out there, he didn’t find himself looking over his shoulder as often. Too set on the needy rock of your hips. The splash of water over the edge of the oversized tub, soaking into forgotten towels.

His fingers leaving marks, so different than the kind he’s used to. Your sweetness a honey that coated his thorns, dulling them within these walls.

The sunlight streaming in from above narrows to a single bulb, hanging in the kitchen. You always left it on when he was gone. Beckoning him home, a beacon in the storms.

Dave thinks about how the light will stay on now, until it finally burns out.

He shouldn’t care this much. His partners know him better than you do, even the one that took Dave’s knife between his ribs.

McCall’s face hovers now - that pinch between his eyebrows. The hoarse cry as Dave had twisted the knife, angling it deep. His vision narrowed down to one eye, dead set on ensuring mutual destruction. His own side oozing and aching by his own blade, forgotten in the struggle.

A sharp throb at the back of his head, gritted teeth and full of hate. Watching as the light started to dim in his ex-partner’s eyes.

Before the whipping winds of the watchtower followed him down - one last surge of strength, as he was kicked over. The rain above falling to join the ocean below.

It’s here that his lungs begin to burn - his eye opening to see the reflecting glint of the sun above, that heavy layer of clouds parting.

Limbs finally moving, propelling him to the surface. Heart pounding with a pulse that echos with an ache near his temples.

By all rights, he shouldn’t be alive. A near-miss of McCall’s blade. The rocks on the shore as he raced to meet them.

And maybe - maybe, it’s the blood loss. Maybe it’s the cold shock of the ocean. Of knocking on death’s door, only for it not to answer.

But it’s still you, as his legs kick. The thought that although you don’t know him - maybe it’s a sign that he could be the man that you think he is.

It lingers, as he’s left retching on the shores of the beach.

Sucking in air, as he’s given one more chance.

Perhaps McCall had been onto something. Because after all, he’s a dead man - right?

Maybe now he can finally go home.

[nerdieforpedro]

Dieter Bravo Mastetlist

Series:

Weddings 101 with Dieter (Ongoing)

Synopsis: Maya (plus size OFC) meets a man wearing crocs, pajamas and robe. This man has a goat in an airport. He is Dieter Bravo. He ensures that Maya can get to her little brother’s destination wedding. Does what happens is Hawaii stay in Hawaii?

A Safe Place for Us (Ongoing)

Synopsis: Dieter Bravo and Aisha have know each other for years, when fame and fortune was out of reach. Now that she’s more established, Aisha has one goal she’d like to complete: having a baby. Her prospects have been less than stellar so she’s thinking a sperm bank. Dieter has a lot to say on this matter.

He would like to help his dear friend out. Is it chaos or just right?

Dieter Bravo One Shots:

His place of Peace

Did you say Raspberry Beret or Tea?

The Day before was always difficult

Diddle your Dieter with Disco

Notes with Dieter (follow up to “The Day before was always difficult”)

A Poor Plan to Confess (Dieter Bravo Brain Rot Server Challenge)

Fare Well (Hozier Song Drabble Challenge)

Barefoot in a Twilight Zone (Dieter Bravo Brain Rot Server Challenge)

Just like the Picture (Roll-a-Trope Challenge)

One small step for man, One giant leap for Dieter Bravo (crack fic inspired)

Trash Panda Pals 🦝: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @titlee78 @tinytinymenace @wannab-urs @magpiepills @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @gwendibleywrites

Let me know if you’d like to join the Panda pals! ☺️

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