#do I have a writing tag?

[redinkofshame]

JSYK just because I don't write it/post it, doesn't mean my thoughts aren't still filled with Solavellan smut on the daily. So when I saw this perfectly innocent comic my thoughts... Wouldn't leave me alone. So here, smut be upon ye.

Keria Lavellan x Solas (in the head of) x purple!mRook

🍋 explicit

Two-and-a-Half-Some

“Nice tits, by the way.”

Rook had led Keria to one of the bedrooms in the Lighthouse to show her a sketchbook full of images of herself. Unlike the rooms they’d passed on their way up, full of sentimental knickknacks and evidence of camaraderie and constant use, this room was all but barren. Clean. Sparse.

Solas’ room.

It made her heart ache, to see how alone he’d been all this time.

She raised her eyebrow at the younger man, who flushed. His expression wasn’t flirtatious so much as ‘I can’t believe I said that out loud’.

“…Sorry.”

The poor kid. He’d clearly only been trying to make a joke to ease the tension of the moment when she’d flipped from a series of tasteful nudes to… Some positions that left little to the imagination.

At least he hadn’t commented on the appearance of her anus.

She shut the book. “Don’t be. They were pretty nice back then. His sketches are a bit outdated now, though. I’m not as young as I once was.”

Rook’s eyes went unfocused for a moment, and then he said, “He, uh, he says your hard-won wisdom only makes you all the more beautiful today.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed, heart thudding. “He always was a sweet talker. It’s true then. You can hear him?”

He nodded and pointed to his temple. “Yep. Whether I want to or not.”

“And he can hear what you hear, obviously. Does he see through your eyes?”

He nodded.

“Interesting…” She took a step closer to him and raised her hand suggestively to the toggles of her shirt, designed to be easy to use one-handed. “Would you like to see an updated version? For the sake of improving the accuracy of the sketches, of course.”

His eyes went wide. “You… Want to show me your tits?”

She smirked. “I want to show Solas my tits,” she clarified. “You getting to see them is just an enjoyable side-benefit.

As long as you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

“Who in their right mind would say no to seeing the Inquisitor’s tits?” he asked, and she almost laughed at his incredulous tone. Then he added, “He’s, uh, unusually quiet. He’s not going to, like, turn me into a statue for this or anything, right?”

“He was never the jealous type,” she assured him as she began unfastening her shirt. “What about you? Any partners that would have a problem with this?”

“No. Well, partner yes, but no, we’re, uh, open to…” He trailed off, watching her hand distractedly.

She finished with the last toggle, but pointedly didn’t remove her shirt yet, waiting for him to answer.

“We’re not the jealous types, either,” he said quickly once he caught on. Then he jerked his thumb towards the door to the rest of the lighthouse. “I could go get them?”

She did laugh at that, shrugging off her shirt at last. “I think two and a half is enough for now.”

He didn’t answer, focused on her exposed skin. She arched her back prettily and ran a hand over herself, teasing her own taut nipple.

“Wow. Definitely still great.”

Keria had never though of herself as beautiful — at least, not until she’d seen the way Solas looked at her when they made love — but she’d never been particularly self-conscious either. She was surprised that some small part of her preened at the younger man’s approval.

She closed the distance between them and gently took his hand and placed it on her breast. The warmth of it and the way it moved timidly over her had her flushing with sudden need. “And can he feel what you do?”

“Who? Oh, uh, no.” Growing bolder, he had both hands on her now, kneading her breasts, thumbing her nipples delightfully.

“That’s a shame.” She ran her hand over the bulge of his britches as she said it and his breath staggered. Then she pulled back. “Unsurprising, though.”

She started on the fasteners of her own pants and Rook watched, waiting for an indication of what came next, like an eager little puppy.

Once Keria was fully nude she did a slow spin, giving both men a fully view of her decade-older body.

“I can’t understand what he’s saying,” Rook told her. “It’s elvhen. I think it’s poetry.”

“Elvhen always sounds like poetry,” she said said, affection tugging her lips and memories of him reciting beautiful words she didn’t understand while he held her against him.

She went to work on the laces of Rook’s pants, and got on her knees once his erection was freed.

Solas was always dedicated to her pleasure when they made love, rarely allowing her to do the same for him. He couldn’t stop her now, though. So she took her time and made as big a spectacle as she could, maintaining eye contact with this stranger whose head held the love of her life. She stayed focused on those eyes as she ran her tongue along Rook’s shaft, then twirled it around the head, as she took him deep, as she left long trails of saliva whenever she pulled back. Neither man said anything she could hear, though Rook’s groans were satisfying.

When she felt she’d teased enough, (and that Rook might not last much longer,) she pulled back and stood, swaying her hips artfully as she moved to the bed. She climbed on and mirrored one of the positions in the sketchbook, half-propped against the headboard with her knees spread wide.

He continued to stare after her as she stroke her slick core, displaying herself. She wasn't sure if his glazed look was from trying to hear Solas speak, or simple lust.

“Rook,” she said finally. “Take off your clothes and come here."

He jumped to it, almost tangling himself in an attempt to remove both his pants and shirt at the same time, half-tripping as he removed his socks while getting on the sheets. She used a hand on his jaw to guide him over her, in case he got confused about that, too.

He knelt between her legs and took his time admiring her, and she wondered if it was Solas that told him to run his hands up and down the insides of her thighs, to try gripping her hips and waists in different spots, to cup her breasts again. She whimpered with heat by the time Rook ran the head of his cock up and down her folds several times, wetting it before finally plunging into her.

She kept her eyes open and on him when normally she’d have closed them to enjoy the full feeling, the friction, the energetic thrusting his hips against hers. But though it felt odd to look so deep into a stranger’s eyes as he fucked her, she wanted Solas to see her.

Fortunately, the man spent most of his time watching his cock moving in and out of her and her fingers circling her clit, or her bouncing tits.

Then there was a flash, a flicker of blue spirit light, and suddenly his thrusts became pounding, movements becoming equal measures controlled and intense.

She gasped. “Solas?”

“Mah vhenan,” he breathed in the wrong voice, and then he was kissing, biting, sucking on her neck as he moved in her.

Her hand moved to his head but it was wrong, the hair was wrong, so she gripped his back instead and closed her eyes so she couldn’t see Rook anymore, just Solas, her Solas. She came almost immediately, the tension in her releasing with waves of pleasure rushing over her.

He rode her through her climax and then slowed, still, and kissed her. He hadn’t finished, still hard in her as he kissed her harder still. His tongue teased hers, plunging deep, like he couldn’t taste enough of her. She wrapped her arm around him as tight as she could, kissing him with a decade of frustration and longing.

When they pulled back for air she kept her eyes firmly closed, and perhaps he understood because he pulled out and she was suddenly moved, turned over so she was positioned on her knees. She arched her back exaggeratedly, still putting on a show for him. He ran his hands along her thighs, grabbed handfuls of her ass, ran fingers through her folds as he lined up his borrowed cock. He gripped her hips with both hands as he plunged into her, and she moaned his name, and, “I love you, I love you, ar lath ma.”

Whatever he said in breathless elvhen was lost on her as he pounded into her again and again, taking her like an animal. When she came a second time she finally felt his movements become less controlled, insistent and clumsy as he chased his own climax as last.

His movements slowed, stilled. She stopped propping herself up on her shaking arm and allowed herself to collapse on the mattress, and he came down with her.

“Are you still in there?” she panted.

“Yes, vhenan.” For some reason part of her was still surprised the voice was wrong. He rolled them onto their sides and she gripped his arms hard around her, unwilling to let go.

“How long do you have?”

“Not long.” He pressed feather-soft kisses against her shoulder. Then he sighed. “But I can’t leave before I tell you how sorry I am. For everything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, unwilling to waste this precious moments on his constant guilt. “Var lath vir suledin. I’m going to find a way to save you.” To free him from his prison in the Fade. To be together in this new world he’d made.

He kissed her shoulder again, and she thought it sounded like he was smiling when he replied, “I know.”

I know. Not ‘I know you will try’’. Just ‘I know’. He believed her.

“Solas…” she started, but she trailed off.

It didn’t feel like him anymore. Somehow, she knew he had gone.

“Rook?” she tried instead.

“Uh, yeah” he said as he awkwardly pulling his limp dick out of her. “I’m back.”

Keria bit back her disappointment to put on a satisfied smile as she turned to face him. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “Hey. You doing okay? That was… Unexpected. I didn’t know uncontrolled horniness could lead to a spontaneous possession.”

He laughed, and settled back comfortably. “Yeah, neither did either of us.”

She ran her hand along his chest. “Are you feeling okay about it? I just want to check because we didn’t discuss the option before hand.”

He nodded. “Definitely. I think… I think I could have stop it? The possession. It felt weird, kind of like a build up of pressure, but I think I could have stopped it.”

“Why didn’t you?” As a mage she'd been taught to protect herself against possession her whole life. She couldn’t imagine just letting it happen.

Rook shrugged. “I wanted to see what would happen.”

Her mouth was open, but she couldn’t think of a response to that. At last, she shook and said, “Varric said you’d be trouble.”

He grinned. Then, looking a little apologetic, he said, “I was ‘there’ the whole time, you know. Like, I could still, uh, feel everything.”

She made sure to smile comfortingly so he’d know she wasn’t upset by this. “Side benefits indeed.” She kissed him — Rook, not Solas. He deserved to feel wanted, too. “Thanks for the tour of the lighthouse. Glad to be part of the team.”

[maxdurden]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by the lovely @johaerys-writes!!

tagging forward to @dearestaeneas @sarcasticbeanie @deadchannelradio and whoever else wants to share a wip fic or fanart or literally anything (also no pressure to the people tagged lol)

this is. literally the first time i've ever posted writing about any of my ocs publicly. and also it's really kinda long so it's under the read more lol

Wes carefully counted the paces–all sixteen of them–until they were standing in front of their grandfather’s desk. If he were any smaller of a man, it would have dwarfed him. It stood long and wide enough that Wes could have easily slept comfortably on it, though the methodically ordered surfeit of knick-knacks and photographs would have made that difficult. They grinned back at themself from a photo framed in sleek black, riding on the back of the family dog Titus. A small sea of family pictures smiled back at them, actually. They weren’t the stuffy, overly formal things kept in the foyer, but candid and sometimes blurry pictures of their entire family. Half were turned out toward whoever might sit across from Bruce as if to say Look, look at my happy family. Don’t we just look delightful? And the other half were turned towards the tall backed office chair where Bruce sat. 

The stuttering sound of a throat being cleared pulled Wes’ attention back to their grandfather. He sat with his back perfectly straight, his expression was the picture of seriousness. Even without the mask, Wes knew they were speaking to Batman, not their grandfather who had laughed and snapped a picture of them riding on Titus’ back. It was times like these that Wes thought Bruce looked most like he belonged in this sad, old house. 

Wordlessly, he gestured for them to take a seat across the desk. The chairs here were plush and, ordinarily, Wes let themself sink into them but today they sat at the very edge of the leather upholstery.  Under the desk, they fiddled nervously with the zipper on their hoodie. If this was meant to be good news, it didn’t feel like it. But their grandfather had never been particularly good at expressing joy or pride. There was a chance, however slim, that this would be good news coated in a heavy handed reminder that lives depended on them. 

But Wes was starting to feel that chance slipping away. Just before Bruce opened his mouth, a sour thought congealed in their mind: Jason being here was a consolation prize. Or worse, they weren’t going to L.A. They were being sent until they worked through whatever fit they were going to throw. 

Their heart tightened itself into an impossibly small and painful ball in their chest as Bruce spoke, “Dick and I have been talking.” He said, and Wes resisted the urge to fling themself over the desk. Spit it out. “I understand you’ve been… Hopeful about the possibility of becoming Robin.” 

Fuck. Dread had been lingering in the back of their head, but it suddenly settled on them now like a bag of bricks. If this were good news, if they were going to be Robin, they would have been getting this news in the Batcave. They stood but the motion was more like a muscle spasm than a conscious choice. Bruce’s eyebrows inched closer together in preemptive concern. It was already almost enough to be stifling.

“Wes.” Bruce’s tone was gentle, but it was a warning too. “I think I’m too old to take on another protege. I wouldn’t be able to provide you with all the training and attention you’d deserve and, regardless–”

“‘Wouldn’t be able to provide me with training’? Bullshit! You’re Batman!” It was the kind of outburst that Wes had been trying to get better about. Really, they’d been working on it since they moved into fancy mansions and apartments with a new family who at least liked to play act like they were polite, decent people. They hadn’t made much, if any, substantial progress. 

“Regardless,” Bruce droned on, a little louder now and through gritted teeth. “Dick has done an incredible job himself. Nightwing and Bluejay make a good team. There won’t be anymore Robins.” 

Wes stared down their grandfather, as if he might admit it was a joke or take it back. Blinks had to come in rapid succession, because they’d be damned if they were going to cry in front of him. They had half a mind to pinch themself. It wasn’t that they felt entitled to the mantle–far from it. They had never worked harder for anything in their entire life. They had never wanted anything more in their entire life. 

They opened their mouth, and no sound came out. There was too much weighing down on them all at once. The past three years hadn’t exactly been a waste; Being Bluejay was the best thing that had ever happened to them, and regardless of what name they took, they wanted to help people. But it was starting to feel like it had all been a lie. How long had Dick known he was training them for a day that would never come?

The perfectly practiced neutral expression on their uncle’s face moments before danced in their vision. He had known. And what about Jason? How else could they have possibly convinced him to come all the way to Gotham? 

Wes blinked faster now, hand curling into a fist at their side.

“Frankly, you struggle with taking instruction.” Was Bruce completely oblivious? Or did he revel in the ability to lord this over them? Or was it actually possible he believed further explanation would help? These were questions Wes had pondered before and they were questions that would continue to haunt them for most of their life. Their fingernails dug into skin–they wouldn’t cry in front of him. “You’re impulsive. You rush into danger. Dick has done well tempering this in you and he works better with Damian than I ever managed. I don’t want you to be discouraged, you show great promise, but–”

“But what? You only do well with kids who already act like perfect fucking soldiers?” In any other situation, Bruce might have chided them about their language. Wes had never paid that much mind before–they were eleven years old, for fuck’s sake, and Jason had been cursing in front of them since they were adopted–and they certainly weren’t going to start now. “Not much of a mentor then, are you?” The heat of tears pressed at their eyes and clawed at their throat and they dug crescent moons into their palms until crimson seeped under their nails. 

And then there were plump, embarrassing and hot tears streaming down their face; and they were being crushed by the realization that their uncle had known and sent them in here anyway; and they spat the most venomous, awful thing they could think to say, and they meant it with every fiber of their body: “I quit.” 

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[daisywords]

One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

[theoldaeroplane]

worried that thing you put in your art or writing or game or music is too self-indulgent, too self-referential, too niche for anyone but yourself? fear not! you can do whatever you want forever. and you should.

[questioningdragons]

It's absolutely bizarre when you think of a scene and think a character will feel one way about something, but then you start writing it and find they actually feel something different.

[rejectedbytheempty]

actually, ykw? imagine if simon had a civilian s/o and bc he’s constantly away and the partner is there most of the time anyways, he lets them decorate the place.

they make it so cozy with a million lamps with stained glass lampshades and tapestries on the walls and an unexpected number of stuffed animals on the bed.

one time, simon invites tf 141 to his flat and their jaws dropped, bc ofc simon didn’t warn them about the absolute pinterest board that his place was.

in fact, he hadn’t mentioned a partner at all, or to you that his team would be coming over so you’re still in one of simon’s raggedy old t-shirts with a handful of dry cereal halfway to your mouth.

it’s generally a shock for both parties, simon excluded, who seems to settle himself right in, kissing the top of your head, eyes crinkling slightly as he grins, looking rather like a cat showing off the bird he dragged in.

you had some choice words for him later, but for now, you brushed the crumbs off your face and wiped your hands off on your shirt before sticking your hand out to the team to introduce yourself.

surprisingly, it goes rather well. all things considered. the team is charmed by you and your ability to make ghost blush and smile endlessly. and you’re absolutely enamored with the fact that they keep complimenting your decor.

[bishy437]

he won

bonus:

[chipper-smol]

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[erabu-san]

I enjoyed every second of this quest

[This art has platonic intention. Thank you for not tag ship!]

[unicornpopcorn14]

So we all know by now that Dazai is comfortable enough around Chuuya to show nervousness/worry.

Enough times for Chuuya to pick up on that pattern. The pattern, may I remind you, that doesn't have evident correlation to either nervousness or worry to most people. One that can even be interpreted as misplaced given the situation.

Which means that Dazai has done this in front of Chuuya so often, that Chuuya at first was hella confused, before he finally made a connection between when and why it happens. And still remembered that connection after four years of separation. Which gets us to my point:

What if this isn't the only emotion Dazai displays weirdly?

What if he has multiple unconventional patterns he displays for sadness, frustration, content, or disgust? The times he really feels them, and they become too strong for him to just deal with normally? What if these are the only times he's actually being genuine with his emotions?

And Chuuya is the only one who is familiar with them all?

Dazai would be jumping rope and Chuuya would be like, "quit sulking, let's get icecream"

Dazai hanging upside down on the couch and Chuuya going, "It's okay, mackerel. You can cry."

Dazai actually crying, full on heart-wrenching sobs, and Chuuya unironically going, "What, good news?"

It's just... comforting, for one person in Dazai's life to read him like a book. Everyone else would look at him like he's crazy, displaying wrong emotions/behaviors at the wrong time, but Chuuya knows that it's just how he processes feeling properly, and thus he's the only one Dazai can count on to put things into context and understand, which makes him display them even more openly.

Because Chuuya never shamed him for his quirks, as much as Dazai never did his.

[abstractfrog]

Happy 1 year anniversary to Mr Sherlock Holmes! Here's a litttleee celebratory comic from me

[lucabyte]

monologue

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Look what we've become.

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[reineydraws]

✨️ BROTHERS! ✨️

(shouto will live out his idle childhood daydreams, even if he has to reverse their roles himself haha)