lavenderprose

[lavenderprose]

She laughs, pulls him down onto the meditation couch and says, "Shh, quick, quick."

His mouth covers hers, pulling out another high giggle for him to catch on his tongue. The sensation of his small, neat mustache against her lip is new and exciting, as is the taste of his mouth--clean, vague tea. He tastes like his own wise words and the way that he smiles. Intense and gentle all at once. He tastes like this stolen moment, and fun secrets, and not as much like death as one might think.

She can't remember how they got here, or what she was doing before. It feels a little like her life began when he knelt between her thighs.

"C'mon," she says into his mouth, his searching tongue, and she hikes up the hem of the skirt she doesn't remember putting on. The smell of him is amazing, heightening the experience of his body against hers in a way that feels almost intoxicating. She is so desperate to feel him inside her that every second between now and their iminent coupling seems to stretch for an eternity.

"Sweet girl," he says against the hollow of her throat, and her back arches off the couch as pure reflex. He's face-down in her tits now, sucking a bruise onto one of them while his beringed hand skates up the swell of her thigh, dips underneath her ass and pulls her leg snug against his waist. Her hips accommodate the shape of him effortlessly, like they were hewn specifically to cradle him in the heated curve of her sex.

She thinks he was wearing trousers and a sash, as he usually is, but they are both gone all at once. In fact, very suddenly they're both naked aside from the tantalizing drape of her bright red skirt around her waist and his gold, clinking and singing as his body moves. She feels the head of his cock slide against the inside of her thigh, hot and damp and erotic. The anticipation of being fucked, being fucked by him, strikes through her body from the back of her throat to the depths of her cunt.

"Fuck me," she breathes, arms around his shoulders, thighs spread. "Please? Please?"

"You needn't beg, my love," he says, reaching down--his rings slide against her, cool amongst her heat. She shudders and giggles--ticklish despite herself. He smiles, a gentle curve to his lips and an echoing one in the facial hair above his lip, and there is so much love and sex flooded in her belly that she feels almost sick with it. His eyelids flutter as he slides into her. The apple in his throat bobs. She drags a kiss onto it.

"Yes," she sighs, head falling back against the couch cushion. "Oh, yes."

She wants him to go fast--because there's a feeling in the back of her head, though she doesn't know why, that they don't have much time. She thinks it has something to do with the door hiding behind the back of the couch, or the number of hours in the day. She wants him to go slow, because she feels safe here. He is inside her, around her, and she has never felt more cherished.

"Oh, oh," is all she can bring herself to say. She curls her fingers into the dip of his shoulder blades, indenting his skin with her blunt nails. He gasps against her ear, a shaking hand ghosting down her side and coming to rest around the thickest part of her thigh.

"I love you," he whispers. "Oh, I love you."

She groans, finds his hair with one hand and digs all five of her fingers into it. She has never felt so fucking wanted--

"Rook."

It falls away. Everything spins and, when she refocuses, she's on that Maker-forsaken cliffside. The gray expanse of Solas' Fade prison stretches out before her, stale air suffocating.

Mortifyingly, she can still feel the ghost of Emmrich inside her. The spectre of his hands and cock. Wetness between her thighs brought on by the dream of him.

"Fuck completely off," Rook snarls at Solas--the looming visage of her stoic, dis-a-fucking-proving God lurking on the other side of the crevasse. "I'm not talking to you right now. Are you kidding? Let me wake up."

Because he doesn't know what's good for him, Solas opens his mouth. "My apologies. I am not privy to what dreams your slumbering mind offers you before our link establishes itself."

"I'm sure you can assume," Rook says, patting at her body just to make sure her clothes are back. They are, as usual in this place, her Watcher's apron and armor. She wonders what her face looks like. "Fuck off, Solas. Let me wake up."

"You are in control of that particular function."

Rook offers him a middle finger for his trouble, and then she seems to fall face-forward.

Waking from the Fade prison is usually jarring. She snaps up, still dressed, sweating and hot as hell. She is still aching for a fuck--for the dick of a man who has never touched her with anything approaching lust.

"Shit," she breathes, palming her face. "Oh...dammit."

It isn't even the memory of his mouth and hands that stands out from the rapidly-fading dream. She has no way of knowing if the shape of his rings against her or the length of him are true--they are estimations of her dreaming mind. But she knows what his voice sounds like. She knows his smell from a few occasions where he'd stood too close.

She can still hear him say that he loves her.

"Fuck," she says, mourning the dream--and a few tears fall into her palms.

[lavenderprose]

Oh this is very interesting! I knew cunt was the older word but I honestly didn't know pussy was that much newer. If pressed, I would have assumed that there was a romantic/latin origin to pussy whereas I've always thought of cunt as being very anglo in origin. Interesting to have that somewhat confirmed.

I had honestly never considered pussy to be a childish word--pussy-cat is not a common phrase where I'm from, and in fact my mother told me never to say it simply because of the conflation with genitals. This was from a purely protective standpoint; she was always worried about me being perceived as older than I actually was and being a victim of predation that way. So pussy has always seemed a very mature word to me for that reason.

Now that you've made that point though, I can totally see it. I think I partially just got caught up in rolling my eyes at the alternative words for the vagina/vulva on that list--they're far too flowery and euphemistic for my taste. And I feel like there's this...unwillingness? To use a word to directly refer to the vagina? There's definitely some amount of implication out there that erotica with the word cock is all well and fine but pussy/cunt is for PORN or else just straight up profanity with no place in well-written erotica. That could just be me making things up, but with general societal opinions of vaginas vs. penises (Including but not limited to preoccupation with the general impression of cleanliness/appearance that differs with these two things) it just. Makes me wonder.

Anyway! [Dismounts soapbox] I love it when people take one of my throwaway rants and do something actually useful with it! Thank you!

Why is pussy such a divisive word. It's on the list of most hated AND most loved erotic words from that survey. I love using the word pussy. Insane neo Puritanical behavior to love the word cock and sleep on the word pussy. Pussy supremacy babey.

[lavenderprose]

Ngl i prefer the 2016 version purple on the right.

[lavenderprose]

Why is pussy such a divisive word. It's on the list of most hated AND most loved erotic words from that survey. I love using the word pussy. Insane neo Puritanical behavior to love the word cock and sleep on the word pussy. Pussy supremacy babey.

[lavenderprose]

For @aldisobey and her Rook, Worne 💜 I regret to inform you that I'm in love with Worne and I might fight Emmrich for him

My Dearest Catastrophe,

What in the blazing, Maker-forsaken hells were you thinking?

No—don’t answer that. I already know. I can hear your voice now, smug and righteous, likely bruised and bloody, muttering something like “he deserved it.” And perhaps he did. But, Worne, my love, my calamity incarnate—you nearly killed him. In Orlais. Without me.

Do you have any idea what it’s like to receive news from a diplomat before breakfast that my beloved fiancé—who swore, swore, mind you, he’d be gone for two days and “behave”—has instead been jailed for attempted manslaughter in an Orlesian courtyard, with two cracked ribs and one smug expression to show for it?

Of course you do. You’re probably sitting in your cell, legs spread like you own the place, grinning at the guards like it’s a performance. I loathe you. I adore you. I am torn between throttling you and sinking to my knees the moment I see you.

Because, Worne—my brilliant, feral, ridiculous man—I have never been more in love with you.

Only you would nearly kill a man for saying something unkind. Only you would defend a stranger’s dignity with fists instead of words. Only you could make a prison cell feel like an extension of your reign.

And yet. And yet.

I have not slept. I have not eaten. I have spent the last twenty-four hours in a storm of legal documents, diplomatic favors, and creative threats I sincerely hope no one documents. I will be there before the trial. I am coming for you, and not just metaphorically.

When I arrive, I hope they let me through the bars, because I am going to make a scene. I do not care if it scandalizes the guards or embarrasses the judges. I am going to kiss you until you forget the names of your cellmates, and then I am going to drag you over the nearest surface and show you exactly how much I missed you.

You absolute menace.

Do you recall the last time you left bruises along my spine? Because I do. Vividly. I have not slept through a night since without recalling the scrape of your teeth when impatience overtook you, nor the sound—Maker help me—you made when I at last yielded and let you have me. Your hands, Worne. I want them on me. Not tomorrow. Not after the trial. Now.

But no—of course not. You had to charge into righteousness like it was a lover, fists swinging and consequences be damned.

You had to remind me why I fell so hopelessly in love with you in the first place. I do hope you're pleased with yourself.

I sent flowers, incidentally. I do not expect they were permitted past the first sneer of authority, but the gesture stands. A quiet offering, however futile, for the man who has rendered me utterly bereft.

We are going to be married, Worne. And when we are, I am going to take my time with you—drag every sound from your throat, every plea from your lips, until you forget your own name and remember only mine. I want to feel your need tremble against my tongue. I want to hear you beg. I want the walls to remember us.

Come home. And when you do, be ready to answer for every second I have spent wanting.

- Yours, always, in fury and devotion,

Emmrich

[lavenderprose]

I did not send it to you three times I'm sorry if it was very annoying. I only send messages once. -tiktok anon

No problem my darling <3 I'm quick to frustrate at times and that's not your fault. I figured it was Tumblr jank.

[lavenderprose]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTjJLp3wU/

Emmrich coded

This is actually very funny anon and I didn't respond immediately because I was irrationally frustrated by getting this message THREE TIMES but I'm going to assume that you didn't actually mean to send it to me three times. I forgive you completely if it was Tumblr jank. If you actually meant to send it to me three times? I also forgive you but. Please don't.

But yes Rook is a trash compactor racoon and Emmrich would absolutely curdle with dismay at her eating habits.

[lavenderprose]

i like working at plant store. sometimes you ring up someone and there's a slug on their plant and so you're like "Oh haha you've got a friend there let me get that for you" and you put the slug on your hand for safekeeping but then its really busy and you dont have time to take the slug outside before the next customer in line so you just have a slug chilling on your hand for 15 minutes. really makes you feel at peace with nature. also it means sometimes i get to say my favorite line which is "would you like this free slug with your purchase"

[lavenderprose]

[Eats a hot dog] Oh yes what a meaty little treat.

[Eats a single solitary bite more of hot dog within the next six calendar days] The idea of consuming food is disgusting to me now. Indefinitely.

[lavenderprose]

[lavenderprose]

I will never get over this game putting in a running Goodbye Earl reference, who did the devs think they were lmfao

[lavenderprose]

Actually Manfred is probably some variety of extremely poorly bred doodle. He makes Emmrich's life hell but he is also, unfortunately, the only thing keeping him sane. He has an intricate system in place to prevent Manfred's constant escape attempts. His condo is dog-proofed to an almost unusable extent and still he ends up averaging one emergency vet visit a month. Rook comes over for the first time and sees the child locks on the cabinets, the carnage of dog toys and the multiple safety gates. Looks at Emmrich like. Bitch you live like this? Manfred watches her upside-down from the coziest spot in the room, strikes a cute pose, and then goes batshit ballistic for the next six minutes because someone on a dirt bike goes riding by at the perfectly acceptable time of three o'clock in the afternoon.

[lavenderprose]

The little 'oh, for real 😳?' shocked face that emmrich does every time rook flirts with him drives me insane!!! like sweetie gorgeous you know you eminently bangable right? RIGHT???

They knew exactly what they were doing when they decided to make him go Shocked_Pikachu.jpeg every time you compliment him. They knew we would see that and immediately experience a need so intense that starvation would seem a minor inconvenience in comparison. The devs in charge of Emmrich are in possession of the forbidden knowledge of how to create within the heart of every player a compulsion to biblically know a widow's peak. They said "Make this man so so wantable with a single facial expression" and boy howdy did they.

[lavenderprose]

Who is the hottest Chief Science Officer?

Intermission Poll

Jeez, Burnham and Saru have been pretty much everything.

[lavenderprose]

WIP Wednesday

It's that time of the week again. I am finally done shambling through this first bit of Convenience Marriage AU, which finally has a name!

Drumroll please...

✨To Be Youthfully Felt✨

I'm still not 100% on this one so if you'd like to offer feedback, you're encouraged. It's a line from a Hozier song that slapped me right upside the face a little while ago and I've been playing with it like a cat ever since.

Anyway, onto the WIP. I am so glad to be (mostly) done writing Varric's POV. I love him but I cannot get inside his head for shit.

[lavenderprose]

To all my writers who have a tough time with smut terms and not knowing which ones to use, I have found the holy grail for us.

This reddit user took a poll of 3,500 people and went really in depth with asking their favorite terminology, along with actual pie charts on what the readers preferred to see in their smut.

Here's the direct link to the Google doc with all the info!

[lavenderprose]

Why am I like always just a little bit imagining Emmrich in Pope Fashion.