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theresattrpgforthat · 10 months ago

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It would be awesome if you could recommend some solo ttrpgs! I've been getting into them a lot lately and want to know more of what's out there. Especially journalling ones, as I enjoy creative writing. So far I've looked into (and will probably buy soon) Firelights, Apawthecaria, and Fox Curio's Floating Bookshop.

Also, I love this blog a ton. Already there have been some awesome games I've learned about from you, including the one you're currently working on. Excited to give it a try sometime! Keep being amazing 💜.

Theme: Solo Journalling Games

Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm certainly excited to run Protect the Child for folks, play-testing it so far has been really fun!

As for your ask, solo games and journalling go hand in hand. These next few games are just a sampling of what I've added recently to my Solo Games folder on Itch.

Cats Know Things, by Mushroom Witch Games.

CATS KNOW THINGS is a light-hearted game meant to tell a humorous story of intrigue, all while pretending to be a very nosy cat.

But you are no ordinary cat.

You are a very special feline who, through some magic you cannot explain, can communicate with your human, an individual who wishes to make their mark in society by any means necessary. The two of you decide to start a society page, (a very fancy type of tabloid newspaper dedicated to a particular location) revealing the glitz, glamour, and inner turmoil of the town’s most notable individuals.

Use a d6 and a d10 to generate numbers, and sneak into places to listen into secret or private conversations. Then bring this news to your human companion, so that they may relay this gossip in the local society page. You need to find 6-8 scintillating stories before the week is up, so that your human has enough to print.

If you want a game full of scandal and cute furry little rumour-mongers, this might be the game for you!

Lingering, by Meghan Cross.

The last thing you remember, you were dying.

Now, breath fills your lungs once more and your eyes open, slowly shifting side to side as you attempt to regain your bearings. You are alive. But you are…changed. Your human form is gone, and in its place is one that is different, foreign, animal…

In Lingering, you play as a person who has died, only to find yourself alive again in an animal form, unable to move on to your eternal rest until you settle business left unsettled from your life.

Throughout the course of a game, you will make several attempts to communicate with a chosen human, hoping to convey a message to them so they can assist you and help you move on once and for all.

This game uses a deck of cards and some guiding adjectives to determine how your attempts at communication will go. Over eight rounds, you’ll flip cards while guessing as to whether each card will be higher or lower than the previous one, and a successful guess means a successful interaction. The details of those attempts are what you’ll be journalling, and Lingering provides a number of questions that you might try to answer with each attempt.

This game takes place over eight rounds, so it’s excellent if you want a short, contained game. It also has a two-player option if you want to try this game out with a loved one.

Dragon Dowser, by HatchlingDM.

Dragon Dowser is a solo journaling RPG using the Carta SRD by Peach Garden Games. You play a mysterious character known as a 'Dowser'. Your aim is to locate abandoned dragon eggs and return them to your Sanctuary. If you succeed before expending your resources, the hatchling you rescue will be reared to change the kingdom forever!

This is a lovingly crafted game that uses card suits to represent four different kinds of ways your character will be tested, as they interact with different cultures, explore new landscapes, and dea with various conflicts, both human and nature-made.

You’ll travel across a grid of cards that provide you with journaling prompts as you travel. You’ll expend resources to overcome obstacles, looking for a dragon egg, represented by an Ace! Once you return this egg to a sanctuary, you’ll journal about your experience of raising the hatchling. Based on the games you’ve mentioned so far, I think Dragon Dowser is right up your alley.

EDEN, by blasez-faire.

You are Judaiah Clark, the Head Botanical Researcher at the Southern Sector of Eden. You are here for exactly 10 days, and were a last minute choice after the sudden disappearance of ■■■■■■ ■■■■■, the last person to hold this position. You are not here for work. Investigate.

EDEN is a single-page game that takes place over the course of 10 in-game days, with two questions that you will have to answer in your journal for every day. You are expected to write up a report with detailed notes, so much of the extrapolation taken from each pair of questions is going to come from your own imagination. To help with this you might want to come up with names for other characters, draw a map of the Southern Sector, or go into detail about the plants that this research station grows.

One thing is for sure - this is going to be a horror story. If you like games that give you a lot of room to stretch your creative wings, and you also like writing terrible endings for your characters, you might like this game.

Black Mountain Numbers Station, by Simon de Vet.

You wake one morning to the sound of a voice on the radio reading a series of numbers. On impulse, you jot them down. These numbers will become your life.

Black Mountain Numbers Station is a one-page, solo-journaling game about a mysterious broadcast, and about finding patterns in randomness. Using a unique dice mechanic to prompt you to describe your journey, you will tell a short story of obsession, frustration, and discovery.

This game is uses a 6x6 grid with boxes that you’ll need to fill when you roll a pair of dice. You’ll trigger evens when you roll doubles or find a certain pattern on the grid as you fill it, and in both of these cases, you’ll write special journal entries. The game ends when you fill your Frustration track, which symbolizes listening for too long without learning anything new. What exactly you learn, however, is up to you.

Bound, by K Ramstack.

Bound is a single player setting agnostic game about the connection between two people as they travel to a destination through the destruction of the world on a journey they will most likely not complete.

You will create two characters, their relationship to one another, the destruction that haunts them, and the motive for them to move forward.

During the game, you will be asked to write scenes in first person, switching perspectives between characters, and using their personality traits and subjective conceptualizations of each other to answer prompts.

Bound has a single and two-player version, and uses two decks of playing cards, one for each character. Each card will relate to a prompt on the prompt table, but only the highest ranked prompt will be answered. Each prompt will ask a question about the relationship, and how it changes.

If you want a deeply emotional game with a beautiful layout and lovely art, this is the game for you.

The Narrator Paradox, by psychound.

The Narrator Paradox is a one page solo-narrating game where you try to tell a story … if your protagonist will let you. In it, you determine the five acts of your story based on an oracle, then make rolls for your plot beats to see if you can wrangle your protagonist into the prescribed narrative. If you can't, they defy you and take the story into their own hands. Wrestle the story into shape against a rebellious hero, or lose them forever and have to finish the story without them in it.

Using the Major Arcana of a tarot deck, two six-sided dice and a coin, The Narrator Paradox has a number of different ways that you’ll try to keep your story on track. However, with so much randomness, your protagonist is sure to have a mind of their own. This feels very much in tune with how many writers talk about their characters as if those characters have their own desires, so if you’ve ever related to that you might enjoy this game.

Also Check Out...

My Solo Games tag! I use this tag for every recommendation post specifically for solo games.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg #solo games

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prolifeproliberty · 1 year ago

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Reminder that today is Epiphany, the day we celebrate the Wise Men visiting baby Jesus to bring gifts and worship Him.

Do not let the D.C. swamp creatures overshadow this holiday with their “insurrection” fear mongering.

Do not let “January 6th” become the new “9/11”

Go get (or bake) a king cake/Rosca de Reyes. Go to church (today and/or tomorrow). Sing We Three Kings. Ignore people who want to make this day about politics or about “extremists”.

Today is about recognizing (as the Wise Men did) the true eternal King of kings, the Prince of Peace, not about political powers that will rise and fall and cannot last forever.

#Epiphany #January 6 #j6 #January 6th #1/6

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wri0thesley · 2 years ago

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home - hawks x reader (6.7k)

you miss him when he's not here.

cw: not sfw. reader is afab but no gendered language is used. chubby reader, insecurities mentioned. established relationship. possessive hawks. blood, injury (mild). cunnilingus, scratching, biting, multiple orgasms.

this was a commissioned work.

There are drawbacks to being a Pro Hero’s partner.

Oh, there are some positives, too - the nice things that you get sent, sometimes, in the hopes that you’ll post them on social media and the business in question will get some extra footfall from being papped on the significant other of the more popular Pro Heroes (putting aside the occasional frustration of paparazzi always tailing you, the free clothes and free tech and free gear and free meals are very nice). The fact that Keigo has a sizable fortune that he mainly uses to make sure that you and he have the best life he can provide. The swell of pride that rises in your chest when you think about him, and all of the lives he has saved, all of the people who are grateful for him.

The sunshine in Keigo’s face, too, when a small child tells him how much they look up to him - how they want to be just like him. The money that is funneled back by Keigo into charitable institutions for children. The fact that you’re doing a small part of good in the world despite your reasonably useless quirk (making flowers bloom at a touch is only useful when the flowers are not yet in season, after all - it’s a quirk that you can use maybe three months out of the year, and you’ve noticed flowers don’t seem to last any longer just because you’ve grazed them with your fingertips) by making Keigo happy, the way he deserves to be.

But there are plenty of negatives.

Those same paparazzi who sell photographs of you and Keigo to gossip magazines and comment on your appearance, your hair if it’s messy, your figure that you’re already not all that confident in. The online gossip-mongers who spend their time bemoaning how much of a better fit they’d be for a man like Keigo, if he’d just stop ‘pitying’ you enough to date you.

The nights you spend stroking Keigo’s hair as he buries his head in your neck and all of the ugliest parts of his job fall out of his mouth; the fear of being a pawn for the HPSC for the rest of his life, the things he’s asked to do that remain secret except in whispered gasps into your ear, his hands clinging to you so tightly you think about talons puncturing your skin. The long, long nights when he’s out doing hero work and you fear that he may never come back to you. The way time stretches interminably on when he says he’ll be gone for a little while and you don’t know if it will be days or weeks or months.

You wouldn’t trade anything for him. Keigo makes you feel seen and beautiful and loved and cherished in a way no other person could ever compare to. You get butterflies when he smiles at you. You cannot imagine a life in which you did not find each other, somehow.

But tonight, your bed in Keigo’s penthouse (big glass windows, so he can feel like he’s flying - a huge bed, with room for his wings) is empty and cold. You wear a too-big ‘Hawks’s Baby Bird’ nightshirt that falls down to your knees, a gag gift from one of your friends who is a member of your boyfriend’s fan club. The little cartoon depiction of him is not enough to make you feel as though he is there with you.

Tonight feels like one of those nights that might last forever.

You roll over in the bed uncomfortably, legs tangling in cool sheets that you wish were warmed by your partner. The space seems to stretch on for an eternity without Keigo’s wings there for you to good-naturedly grouse about as he laughs and pulls you in even closer.

You think not hearing anything might be the worst.

You know what he does is important, you know that he doesn’t always tell you where he’s going because he’s worried about you - you know that being shrouded in secrecy is better for both of you. But not knowing where he is or who he’s with or what he’s doing makes all kinds of worrying scenarios play out in your head as you wonder if you’ll ever see him again, or if the last time you kissed him on the cheek and told him to be careful (and he looked at you with all of the love in the world lighting his gold eyes, his gaze saying far more than his easy laugh and his promise he would come back) would be the last time.

Ugh. You flop onto your back and stare up at the ceiling.

Maybe you should try making yourself a hot drink; distract yourself from the thoughts swirling around your mind and the loneliness that’s eating at your edges. That sounds nice. You swing your legs over the side of the comically oversized mattress, the soft hem of your nightshirt riding high on your thighs - and then you hear a familiar sound, and your heart feels like it swells to double its size in your chest.

You quickly walk from the bedroom into the lounge, following the sound of beating wings and displaced air and something clinking against glass. There, on the balcony outside, stands Keigo - still in his hero costume, red wings in the process of being tucked behind him, keys tinkling in his hand.

Through the window, he catches sight of you - and his smile is so wide it could split his face in two, eyes crinkling at the edges. He fumbles even quicker with the keys, eager to get inside and back to you - and you walk across the room, your feet warm on the cold tiled floor, to meet him.

Up close, you can see that the night has not been kind to him.

Despite the smile that lights up his eyes and transforms his face, there are grazes all over his face; a rip in his hero costume at the sleeve, where he’s bleeding a little. His wings seem fine, but high on the left wing the feathers are bent out of shape and uneven as if he narrowly avoided trapping it somewhere. Your stomach drops somewhere in the region of your feet - and then, Keigo is through the window and it’s clinking closed behind him and you are embraced by all of him, all red feathers and fur jacket and arms wrapping so tightly around you that you can barely breathe.

“Keigo,” your voice comes out in a choked squeak. “Keigo, you’re hurt--!”

“I’m so glad to see you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, his normally light tone heavy with emotion. “I missed you so so much. I . . . I thought I might not see you ever again--”

His gloved hands cling to your generous hips, squishing into the soft flesh there, dragging you against him. He noses against your neck, breathing in your scent, as if he’s trying to reassure himself that you’re real and true and there.

“Let me look at your injuries--” You try to say, but Keigo instead pulls you into a searing kiss that makes your knees feel weak. Despite his relatively small stature - compared to most other Pros, anyway - he trains long and hard, and he pulls you into him as if you weigh nothing at all, the softness of your curves and pudge not presenting the smallest of problems. His mouth is hot and beseeching against yours; this is a kiss that says ‘I am alive, and I thought I wouldn’t be’. Fear is still rolling hot through your stomach, but it’s hard not to melt into him when he knows every spot of your mouth and every nerve of your lips as well as he knows his own. His teeth nip needily at your lower lip and you open your mouth for him - let his tongue mark you out as his, sliding across that spot behind your front teeth that makes you full-body shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t seem to matter to him that the two of you are in full view of the windows (not that any paparazzi would be fool enough to try and photograph from here, after the last time) - all that matters is that the two of you are entwined, that Keigo is there and you are there. His hands slide down your hips to knead at the soft globes of your ass, a motion that’s meant to be teasing but instead simply feels desperate.

You break apart from him with a gasp, your heart beating frantically against your ribcage.

“Keigo,” you say, hoping you sound more sure of yourself than you feel. “I need to clean your w-wounds.”

He looks at you all half-lidded and wanting, his mouth swollen from the kiss - actually, you don’t think his gaze has strayed from you once since he first laid eyes on you.

“I needed to kiss you,” he says to you, and he cracks a small smile that doesn’t quite mask the wildness in his eyes. “I needed to remember exactly what you were like. Remind myself you were mine, birdie.”

“The kiss could have waited,” you say, exhaling in a way that’s part laugh and part exhaustion. “You’re hurt.”

One gloved hand raises to your face; his thumb strokes over your cheek. The smile on his face is so sad and so wanting that it makes you ache.

“I could never wait to kiss you,” he says. “Not a second longer than I have to.”

You tug gently on his sleeve; there’s dirt all over the tan fabric. You wonder what happened to him on this mission, but you don’t ask - Keigo never wants you to have to worry about things. He keeps you as safe as he can - makes sure you can work from home, insists that if he can’t go shopping with you groceries are delivered . . . on another person, it might be suffocating. But on Keigo . . .

He hasn’t told you much about his life pre-Wing Hero: Hawks. Still, he has told you more than almost anybody else in the whole world knows, and you understand why he clings to the vestiges of a home he’s managed to build around himself. It’s hard not to be flattered that he considers you home - and you, in return, feel exactly the same way about him.

“Come on,” you say to him, a little more forcefully this time, and you give him a gentle smile so he doesn’t feel like he’s worrying you too much. “Let me clean these scratches and get your uniform off, and I promise you can kiss me as much as you like for as long as you like.”

He lets out a soft laugh but lets himself be tugged across the room anyway.

“My uniform off?” He asks, lightly teasing, the edge of desperation slowly ebbing away now that he is with you and knows you are safe. “Why, birdie, you’ve only gotta ask! Little forward, but I’m not gonna complain--”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh all the same, as the two of you enter the kitchen and you bully him lovingly into taking a seat on one of the stools by the long breakfast bar. You reach up onto your toes to reach the first-aid kit kept in one of the high kitchen cupboards, feeling the hem of your shirt rise up to reveal the thin red satin underwear you wore to bed--

“Are those Hawks brand, too?” Keigo asks. You can’t see him, but you can just imagine the shit-eating grin that’s painted itself over his face. “Look, I know you want me to stay still whilst you tend lovingly to me, but you’re making this really difficult--”

“Shh,” you tell him, turning around with the little metal tin tucked beneath your arm. “You’re just trying to get out of the antiseptic swabbing, aren’t you?”

It takes you by surprise how quickly he’s shed his garments. You suppose that speed is his greatest asset, but still - you’d heard only a little rustling, and yet Keigo is suddenly sat behind you totally shirtless with his uniform discarded on the stool beside him. You can see almost all of him; the lean muscles of his pectorals, dotted with old scars - the corded forearms, the surprisingly strong hands . . .

You’re grateful to see that the wounds and scratches are only surface-level. They’ll need cleaning and bandaging up a little, but that’s all - he’s not at risk of any infections, doesn’t need to go see any healers or hospital workers. You’re glad - you don’t want him to be out of your sight for any longer than he has to be now that you finally have him back for a while.

You cough as you rifle through the medical kit for anti-bacterial wipes, feeling your face heat up at his proximity and his nakedness. Keigo laughs softly, angling his body closer to you.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says to you, his voice low and soft. “C’mon. See something you like?”

“Could you stop flirting for one second?” You ask him, as you wipe over one of the nasty grazes on his arm - you don’t think you could look into those golden eyes right now without falling into them like molten pools. “I need to get this cleaned up.”

“You’d be flirting if the prettiest thing in the whole world was touching your naked body,” Keigo says to you, reasonably; and he laughs again when you fumble with the bandage you’re trying to affix to the spot in question. “C’mon. You’re even wearing my merch! How’m I supposed to just sit here and let you look after me when I’m thinking about pinning you to the breakfast bar and having my wicked way with you, huh?”

“Have your wicked way with me when I’m done,” you tell him, and now you have no choice but to turn your hand to the grazes on his cheek - and looking at Keigo’s pretty face takes your breath away in the same way it always does. His eyes are liquid gold, burning you as you gently wipe the blood from his sharp cheekbones. At the touch of your fingers on his face, he takes a sharp intake of breath - and one strong hand lands on the outside of your thigh, thumb pressing softly into the skin there. Your own breath stutters in your chest.

There’s a bloom of heat low in your core, to be looked at like that. Possession and adoration and hunger all mixed up in his gaze, your own body screaming at you that Keigo wants you and you want him and everything else should be thrown to the wayside in pursuit of the pleasure the two of you are clearly longing for.

He breathes out after a moment that feels like it lasts a week, and his voice has dropped a semitone into something rich and low and starving hungry.

“You’re nearly done now, right?” He asks, swallowing, the bob in his throat visible. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stop myself.”

You do not break eye contact as you drop the gauze, as you close the lid of the first-aid kit.

“I’d think a Pro Hero would have more control,” you say to him breathily. “Stop yourself from doing what, exactly?”

He smiles up at you with a wickedness that makes you weak at the knees, and you feel all of your concern about his grazes and bruises and the feathers that have been bent and ruffled in his wings melt away in favour of the persistent pounding in your core.

He moves lightning-fast; utterly deserving of all of his accolades, and before you know it you’re pressed against the breakfast bar, your ass pressed flush against the rim of the surface, and Keigo has dropped down onto his knees.

“Stop myself from eating you all up, birdie,” he says, with a grin bright and hungry, as he presses his nose softly against the plumpness of your thighs. “You’re looking delicious, and I’m starving after being away for so long. Won’t you let a guy have a taste?”

You gasp as he moves his face; as his nose nudges at your mound through the Hawks branded underwear. He breathes in deeply, savouring the scent of you on the air.

“I can tell you want it too,” he teases you. “I can smell you from here. That’s how I know how delicious you’re going to be.”

“Keigo,” you breathe out lightly, but there is no complaint in your tone. Your boyfriend takes this the way it is; your consent for him to do whatever he wants to you, and his smile is knife-sharp in the darkness as his fingers hook into the elastic of the underwear and slowly begin to edge them down your legs.

“Spread for me, angel,” Keigo murmurs, dropping a kiss just above your knee, peppering the skin he can currently get to with more feather soft touches of his lips. “Show me how much you want it. Let me see you; I’ve missed you. Feels like a century when I don’t see you for a day.”

You fall over yourself to please him. You’ve missed him just as much; too deeply for you to care if you seem desperate, when you spread your legs further and let him see the wet mess between your legs. Keigo’s eyes go half-lidded and wanting as he trails the pad of one of his fingers up your thigh to dip between the lips of your sex and into your slick.

“Look at you, pretty birdie,” he says, low and awestruck. “This is all for me? Aren’t I the lucky one? Aren’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen?”

Your face heats up at the compliments; Keigo is never shy about giving them, of course, but when the position is so intimate and he looks so fascinated it’s hard not to feel woozy with the want that drips off every syllable. Keigo moves his face closer; kisses at the plump spill of your very inner thighs, where they’re damp with your own arousal. Teeth bite into the flesh gently, nipping at you until you gasp.

“Y-you were being serious about eating me up, then?” You ask, a huff of laughter on your lips, as Keigo shifts his attentions to the other thigh, sucking love bites into the soft flesh.

“Just making sure you know you’re mine,” he says, breathless. “Marking you up so you know who you belong to. After I’ve eaten you up, I’ll get on to eatin’ you out--”

He kisses over your sex this time; his breath fanning hot against your most sensitive parts. Your knees almost buckle, and you have to cling to the rim of the breakfast bar to stop yourself from just falling onto him completely. You feel a couple of well-placed breaths away from collapsing onto the floor.

“Is that a . . . a promise?” You ask him, and Keigo chuckles and the vibrations seem to travel from between your legs and right up your spine.

“For you?” He murmurs, and his tongue darts out - laps up your cunt from perineum to clit, and you swear you see stars. “Of course it is.”

Once Keigo has had a taste of you, there’s nothing you can do. You know it from past experience sprawled out on the bed beneath him as he works you over until you’re putty in his hands - when he wants someone, when he wants something, when something is his and it’s his responsibility . . . he will not rest until he’s wrung several orgasms out of you and you can barely move. The kitchen is a brand new development for this kind of thing, but Keigo is more than a little possessive and when you’ve murmured in the heat of the moment about christening every surface in his apartment it’s always gotten him going--

So it’s all you can do, really, to let him eat you out like he’s a man starved and he’s having his final meal before his untimely end.

To let your fingers curl around the rim and to give yourself into Keigo’s mouth as it hotly works you over; his tongue dragging through your folds as if he’s trying to drink you in. Your own mouth falls open as your breath escapes you in little surprised gasps; it seems that for every slow lap of his tongue, he manages to do some kind of swirling trick of athletics that makes you feel like you’re melting into a pleasured mess.

In between the licks and the sucks, he turns his attention back to the soft fullness of your thighs; drops little growling interludes of;

‘Mine’. ‘So beautiful’. ‘So good’. ‘You’re mine’. ‘Mine, mine, mine’.

Kisses and bites and licks and mumbles, the soft abrasive scratch of his scruff making you dizzy and light-headed as you feel all of the pleasure that he brings you work itself into tight knots in your stomach. Sometimes he bites just a little too hard, as if he wants to ensure that the mark takes - and though on another partner, you might push him away, with Keigo it’s hard to not just let your lashes flutter and a soft moan escape at the thought of just how much he wants you to be his.

There’s something to be said about having the mark of ownership of a man like Keigo upon your skin.

He rubs his cheeks against your thighs, uncaring of how your slick is fair dripping from your sex; covering himself in your scent the same way he tries to cover you in his own. You’ve heard him complain when you switch shower gels or perfumes or shampoos; you know he can’t get enough of the natural scent of you. He never cares about cuddling up to you when you feel sweaty or gross - in fact, a couple of times, you’ve thought that it really gets him going--

It’s getting much harder to think the longer Keigo uses his mouth on you.

It’s hard to think of anything other than the sensation of his tongue, the prickling pleasant heat that’s running through your veins, the groans of pleasure that he keeps putting forth with every new lap and suck and kiss of your clit. Your fingers twitch, your thighs shaking wildly, as you hover on the precipice of your orgasm.

“That’s right, beautiful,” he murmurs softly. “Come on. Come for me.”

There’s no question of doing anything but.

Your entire body goes taut all over, like a string waiting to be plucked - and then snaps, as your orgasm washes over you in fierce waves, making your body tingle like fireworks are being set off beneath your skin. You don’t try to muffle your noises - Keigo had coached that out of you with kisses and begging and telling you how much he loves hearing you - so soft whimpers and moans come issuing forth from your mouth, bouncing against the kitchen walls. Keigo makes his own noise in response; a coaxing kind of reassurance that you can let yourself go with him, you’re safe. His mouth is still pressed against your sex, though, his tongue still drinking in the slick you’re pumping out with every clench and pulse of your release.

He stays there even as the orgasm slowly subsides and feeling returns to your extremities. You’re sensitive, your thighs shaking - and Keigo chuckles, pulling back and looking up at you with his eyes all blown with adoration.

“I’ve missed the way you taste,” he tells you, tone teasing. “I’ve missed the way you sound, too. I’ve missed . . . all of that.”

“I’ve missed you more,” you say to him breathlessly. “A-are you going to let me repay the favour?”

Keigo laughs again, and the sound makes happiness bloom in your chest.

“No,” he says, sounding very sure of himself. “I’m not done with you yet, birdie. I need to make sure that every perfect inch of you remembers me; I need to make sure that you’re always with me, that you’re imprinted onto every part of me, that you know just how much I love you and I need you and that I can remember every part of you with my eyes closed--”

Your cheeks are hot at this profession of adoration. It’s not that Keigo is shy about these things - he said ‘I love you’ before you did - but . . . he’s not always prone to these big, grand gestures. He holds your hands and pulls you close and keeps you next to him, plays with your hair and remembers your favourites and checks in on you to make sure everything is alright as often as he can. Love story confessions are not his style--

And that’s how you know that he means every single syllable.

“Th-that’s not fair,” you say weakly, as Keigo takes your hand and tugs you through the apartment instead, a mirror of you taking him into the kitchen to clean his wounds. “I want to do all that for you too--!”

“Ah, but you didn’t get to saying it before me, did you?” He shoots you a broad grin, pulling you into the bedroom. The sheets on your huge bed are still rumpled; he raises one eyebrow. “Not sleep well without me, birdie?”

“You know I never do,” you whisper, and his face goes impossibly soft. He pulls you closer to him, pressing his nose against your own so that the two of you are staring directly into one another’s eyes.

“I love you,” he says, plain and simple. His hands go to touch your hips, to slide up to your waist and to your chest, his touch reverent like a sculptor and his masterpiece. “I love everything about you. If it were up to me, I’d spend every waking minute with you - I’d never let you leave our bed. We’d have everything we need. I . . .” He swallows. “I want to be with you forever.”

“I want to be with you forever, too,” you breathe out - you bring your hand up to stroke over his shoulders, to delicately curve over the musculature in his back to where his wings stand proudly out. He lets out a soft noise of pleasure at the soft touch of your fingers on the downy feathers at the base, his cheeks going pink.

“Then let me take care of you,” Keigo murmurs, softly. “Let me come inside of you so many times you don’t remember what it feels like to have anything inside of you but me.” He takes a shuddering breath - and despite your earlier orgasm, your breath catches and your pulse beats between your thighs as if it’s agreeing that he can do whatever he wants with you. “Please.”

“Keigo--”

“Say I can, birdie.”

His touch gets desperate. His thumbs dig into the soft meat of your waist, the plump pudge there. You make the mistake of flickering your eyes away from his gaze, to between you and below your eye line, to see the way that his cock is tenting the front of his pants in need. You think about Keigo’s cock - about how it feels inside of you, about how perfectly it fills you up, about the sensation of having him come inside and keep going, keep pumping himself into you--

“Keigo,” you breathe, eyes flicking back up to him. “Of course you can.”

As much as you want to get on your knees for him and bring him the same pleasure he’s already brought you today, you can tell that this means a lot to Keigo - and so you’re not surprised when he groans out loud and pulls you back into a fierce kiss. Your lips are nibbled on, your tongue danced with, your entire body dragged into a kiss that Keigo puts every muscle into - until he pulls back, breathless.

“Can we get this off you now?” He asks, tugging at your nightshirt. “Kind of weird to be looking at myself right now, even if I do look very cute as a cartoon--”

You laugh as you pull the dark red cotton over your head. You have a brief moment of doubt - that same flash that comes across you every time you fully disrobe in front of Keigo, a voice in your head saying that you’re not good enough or pretty enough for him - but it’s a doubt that Keigo quickly dispels as he pushes you back onto the bed and begins to pepper every inch of your newly exposed skin with bites and kisses.

“I love these,” he murmurs, palming at your chest with rough calloused hands, plucking your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they stand to stiff attention. “They’re so pretty.” A pinch, and you whine, back arching. “And so sensitive--!”

His tongue follows the path of his fingers, swirling around the nipple and sucking on it with a soft pop until you’re whining even louder, spreading your thighs apart for him in a silent plea to get on with it.

“You’re being needy,” he tells you, with a bite to the swell of your breast that you can tell will leave a bruise. “And I love it. Ask me nicely, pretty birdie--”

“Please fuck me, Keigo,” you say, breathless with need and want and the dizzying desire to have him inside of you. “Please, I want you inside of me--”

He kisses you fiercely again; fabric is displaced lower down his body as he works his trousers off without for a moment breaking the contact of your two lips. His cock slaps against the roundness of your tummy, leaving wet precome in a smear over your navel - hard and long, stiff and aching to find anchor in your port.

“You have no idea what hearing you say that does to me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “Spread wider, angel, alright?”

You obey him, spreading your thighs so wide that it’s almost painful.

The two of you have had to experiment with positions many times - Keigo’s wings provide an interesting challenge for ensuring that both of you are comfortable. Even now, in this simplest of positions, his wings make a canopy over you and give a soft red-warm glow to everything beneath them. Keigo smiles at you so softly that it feels like melting, and then his cock is nudging the lips of your sex apart and slowly slowly slowly sinking inside of you.

It’s gratifying, to finally be full. His tongue felt good, but there’s a kind of intimacy in this that it can’t replicate - a feeling that the two of you are melding together, hearts beating as one. Keigo’s eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping his pretty mouth.

“You have no idea how you feel,” he chokes out. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you--”

“You feel like home,” you say to Keigo, and he whines and sheathes himself fully inside of you.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you up so you’re not just laid directly on the bed. His nails - fingers a little sharp, like talons - rake down your back, scratching into you, as he gets used to feel of you hot and tight and wet around him. The two of you are both panting, your own arms wrapping around his neck so you’re as close to him as you can possibly be.

He crashes his lips against yours at the same time as he begins to move his hips in hungry little circles. He isn’t yet fucking in and out of you in wild abandon, but this is still overwhelming after being without him for a few nights and forgetting all of the places inside of you that are stoked like a brand new fire by his cock, stretching you out. You move your hips against him in tiny increments, his abdomen rubbing against your swollen clit in a way that sends pleasant little frissons of electricity up and down your spine.

The electric mixes with the scratches of Keigo’s hands, an overwhelming symphony of sensation that is at once too much and not enough. You lose track of time - you lose track of anything but the feel of Keigo inside of you, the pleasure of being stretched and fucked and taken and knowing you are loved.

His lips against yours, his words against your ear with whispers of how much he loves you and how beautiful you are and how good you are for him. Your own words, coming out slurred and breathless as you both chase your orgasms, wanting to crest that hill together.

“Keigo,” you’re whimpering. “Keigo, Keigo, Keigo.” Chants of his name spilling out of your lips like prayer beads, prayers that he drinks up with his kisses and his own soft entreaties of your name.

“I’m going to--”

“I want you to--”

“Fill me up, please--”

“Fuck--”

You both lose track of who is actually the one speaking; the words come out in a spill that’s mirrored by the twitch of your thighs and the coil of heat in your stomach. Your orgasm hits you like a train, and your fingers curl into Keigo’s short hair at the same time as he digs his teeth into the soft place where your neck meets your shoulders and his cock pulses inside of you, spilling his seed into your sex, marking you out as his. Your own release gushes over his cock, your cunt clenching around him as you pant and whimper. You’re light-headed and dizzy as you chase your aftershocks, gyrating your hips on his softening cock to eke out every last drop of pleasure you can. Keigo’s hands stay on you, sliding to the small of your back, encouraging you as he sucks and kisses on the bitemarks and lets his own pants fill the air.

The comfortable silence that follows your releases lasts only a moment.

He’s come inside of you once, and your body feels full and satiated with your own orgasm, but that’s not enough for Keigo. Even as he pulls out, his cock is already hardening again, a soft groan falling from his mouth as it slaps against the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

“Tell me I can fuck you again,” he murmurs. “I want you to be full of me, birdie. I want you to be dripping with my come for weeks. I need t’fill you up so bad--”

You manage to screw up all of your left-over energy - not that there was much of it - to roll over, gathering yourself up on your hands and knees, spreading your legs further apart and balancing yourself on your elbows. It’s a position the two of you have used often, made all the more comfortable by Keigo’s expensive bed. It means that you don’t have to do much more work than stay there and thrust your hips back into him - and, crucially, it means that Keigo gets so deep inside of you that you swear you feel him in your stomach.

“Yes,” Keigo breathes, already gathering himself up onto his knees. He drops kisses onto the places on your shoulder blades and spine he scratched earlier, soft feather-light whispers of how much he adores you. “Fuck, angel--”

He fits inside of you like a glove; your earlier exertions making him slide inside of you so easily you barely feel the stretch. Your fingers clench into the sheets as you moan out a prayer that sounds like his name, as Keigo continues to drop wet messy kisses all over you. He’s rambling now, about how beautiful you look like this and how good you feel.

“I should fuck you on every surface in the house,” he whispers, as he begins to work his hips back and forth, sliding easily into a rhythm. “I should christen every single one of them, so it feels like home--”

“Okay,” you breathe in return, moving your hips as much as you can. You’re going to come again, you realise, embarrassingly quickly. He just feels so deep inside of you - like there is no end to where he starts or you begin, like there’s nothing in the universe but the two of you and the places you’re joined. One of his hands slaps over yours, holding it as best he can in the position you’re in.

“I need to fill you up,” he’s panting. “I need you . . . need you to be mine, need you to know how much I love you, need you need you need you--”

“I need you,” you reply, in a whimper that feels like a sob as he adjusts his hips just so and oh, the spots he hits inside of you with every thrust . . . You feel born anew again; like this is the first time Keigo has fucked you and you’re as sensitive as a virgin. You squeeze your eyes closed. “I need you more-- please fill me up, I want to be yours, please please please--”

“Say my name,” Keigo begs into your ear, the words broken up with pants. “Say you love me.”

“K-Keigo--!” Your voice pitches as your orgasm clenches all up inside of you. You feel yourself tighten around him. The feeling of him inside of you, the wet glide of his cock, the sting of the bites and scratches from your earlier extremely enthusiastic love-making, all converging together until you can do nothing but let the white hot feeling take you over completely. “I l-love you--”

A moaning whimpering groan of your name, and the two of you are coming together. Keigo’s cock is twitching inside of you, spilling more thick ropes of his come as deep into you as he can to join his earlier load. You moan as you feel it trickle down your thighs, as he fucks it in deeper chasing the aftershocks of his orgasm and your body collapses into a jelly-like mass of nothing but feeling. Keigo lets you collapse and follows you down, breathless laughs turning into moans as you lie there for a few moments sweating and panting in the afterglow of your lovemaking.

It takes a little while for the two of you to disentangle yourself fully; for Keigo’s cock to pop out of you (followed by a little rush of your mixed fluids), for him to drag your sweat-soaked body against him without caring for how you must be messing up the sheets.

“I love you too,” he says, a belated reply to your call as you’d come. Your face goes hot at the reminder.

You curl up against his chest shyly, cheek pressed to his beating heart. Your fingers come up to trace patterns over his skin, and he makes a noise low in his throat almost like a chirp, pleasure at your touch melding with the pleasure of what has transpired between you both. He’s always a little more bird-like in this state; relaxed and sated and happy.

A phone rings somewhere in the distance, and he groans. Eyes fluttering shut.

“It’s in my pocket,” he mumbles in annoyance. “It’ll be the Commission.”

You make a soft noise of displeasure at the Hero Commission already wanting to monopolise his time when it feels like he’s been home for an hour or two at most.

“I’d hoped we’d have a bit longer this time,” you say, and you hope that you don’t sound petulant. You don’t want to resent Keigo’s job! You know he’s one of the top heroes for a reason! But curled up in bed, it’s hard to reconcile Wing Hero: Hawks and Keigo, your boyfriend, your lover, your home. You want longer with him. You want to keep him for yourself.

His mouth twists. Resolutely, he wraps his arms back around you.

“We will,” he says, as he continues to ignore the ringing. “We’ll have more time. They can wait a day. I still have more things I want to do to you.”

“Unfair,” you say, hiding your smile in his chest. “It’s my turn to do things to you.”

He laughs and presses a kiss on the top of your head. The scratches and bruises and bites from your earlier exertions sting pleasantly; a reminder of home, a reminder of Keigo, a reminder of belonging.

“Okay,” he says, with a faux sigh. “It’ll be a challenge, but I’ll take one for the team. I guess you can do things to me next time.”

Both of you laugh and snuggle in closer to one another.

The bed feels so much more right with Keigo in it beside you.

#commissioned work #writing #not sfw text #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks x reader #hawks smut #bnha posting #chubby reader posting #bnha smut #mha smut

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gacha-incels · 1 year ago

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I hope no one is falling for the same horseshit Korean misogynist men try to barf up when they want “logical” westerners to be on their side regarding 🤏. The thing that always strikes me when they fear-monger about the defunct megalia website is this: if these women writing “cruel” things online and engaging in mirroring techniques is enough to brand them man-haters and have them become some eternal boogeywomen, why aren’t the men stabbing, killing, raping, witch-hunting, sexually trafficking and beating women - because they are women - branded as extreme women-haters in turn? Surely these targeted attacks that have happened, and continue to happen frequently, are enough to label these men extremist misogynists whose actions and texts are dangerous to Korean society? But instead, as we have seen recently, their deranged misogynist thoughts are carefully listened to and their delusions are catered to by major companies.

Secondly, these guys like to portray the women they go after as having dangerous opinions by saying, oh the pinched fingers means they’re megal and therefore it’s a secret signal for all these “hateful” thoughts. However the “radical, hateful thoughts” the men trawl through these women’s social medias to find have always ended up being basic women’s rights: the right to have an abortion, being against sex trafficking, being against molka, condemning misogynist hiring practices, etc. These extremely basic tenets of feminism are what these men consider radical and dangerous to society. When they try to pull the wool over your eyes by saying “feminism is different in korea it’s extreme and evil” THESE are the things they mean. Saying “it’s a megal symbol for crazy female supremacy” is a smokescreen for misogynist men to punish women who want basic human rights. The smaller group of women engaging in 4B there try to live their lives in a female-centered way, away from men. These are the women that misogynist men revile so much that simply existing as a woman with short hair is enough for them to violently attack you with a knife. So how does this make sense? The women branded as evil misandrists live their lives avoiding men and uplifting other women. The men who hate women do the complete opposite: they go out of their way to physically and sexually assault women and get them fired from their jobs. The misogynists in that group who witch hunt women are not labeled extremists, but rather catered to by companies like Nexon. Don’t fall for their shit.

#misogyny #male violence #gaming industry #korean gaming industry #4b

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mywitchcultblr · 6 months ago

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Saw your posts abt the shadow of the erdtree writing and wanted to say thank you for being open abt your opinions on it because I feel largely the same but everyone I've encountered has an tantrum if you critique the writing. Like lets be honest radahn came out of nowhere & I wouldn't even be that disappointed abt it being him instead of godwyn if there was any build up to it in the base game but there isn't.

Miquella feels like they legitimately didn't know what they wanted to do with his character which is a shame bc hes was probably my favorite demigod before hand.

His motivations are wack as fuck. He wants to make the world a gentler place but his consort is a war monger and simps for godfrey, who, mind you, led a genocidal campaign against the giants on markia's behalf??

I swear even the tarnished would have been a better choice for consort. And why imply he was torrents former master if that wasn't the case? It would make sense, melina literally tells you '' torrent has CHOSEN YOU'' so if miquella needed a consort, why not pick the tarnished who has the ability to kill actual fucking gods and isn't inherently a blood thirsty warrior.

biggest disappointment for me is mesmer, hes so cool and his lore is super interesting but he feels like his presence and relevance is side lined or just diminished. Idk. Felt like he had so much potential only to be forgotten in the wake of radahn somehow being alive and back again.

Sorry for rambling but really thank you, your posts really said what i couldn't articulate before.

Also the fact that Radahn being Miquella's consort doesnt make sense because THEY ARE VERY DIFFERENT.

Miquella desired a world of peace, so peaceful there wont be any war or conflict while Radahn is a man of action who relished in bloodshed, he's a relentless warrior who idolized Godfrey.

Him wanted a glorious battle against Malenia before settling down with Miquella, turned Radahn into NOTHING BUT GODFREY'S CLONE. Its one thing for him to idolized the first elden lord, its another thing for him to just become another carbon copy of his idol.

A cheap replica, first elden lord from wish dot com...

This weird arrangement with Miquella is detrimental to not only his Caelid arc (the whole festival thing, letting go, and putting him to rest) but also for Radahn as a person. Also if Radahn became Elden Lord (and marry Marika? Or Ranni? Or Malenia?) his age wouldn't be an age of eternal/total piece that Miquella desired, it has to be a world where warriors could not only survive but also thrive.

A world that Miquella would never approve.

"Oh but its about the symbolism of repeating Godfrey and Marika-" Symbolism for the sake of symbolism that ruined Radahn? Yeah its still shit... And yeah I dont get why Miquella would insist on marrying Radahn, while the STRONGER LORD AKA THE TARNISHED WHO BESTED COUNTLESS ENEMIES IS RIGHT THERE!

True, Mesmer should have been the main big bad, I dont care what anybody said, its such a waste that he was so hyped as this living embodiment of heresy and just ending up as not that relevant in the grand scheme of thing, like this guy has 0 impact on the main title.

I really dont want to see this DLC as canon :(

"Mr. Stark I dont feel so good."

#elden ring #sote spoilers #shadow of the erdtree spoilers #shadow of the erdtree #elden ring spoilers #mesmer the impaler #starscourge radahn #miquella the unalloyed

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liesinmyeyes · 1 month ago

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hey, so I'm a new pagan witch and one who has barely practiced anything yet/ has only like 10 pages filled in their book of shadows

i am seeking advice on what to do with myself and my craft and practices, or just hoping someone has felt/currently feels the same way I do because I'm the only pagan witch I know irl and have no one to tell this to.

practicing witchcraft makes me anxious? I haven't really done anything aside from wearing crystal necklaces and sleeping with an amethyst below my pillow, but i'm lowkey afraid to do much more than that because whenever I do research across the internet (don't worry, I don't only take one pinterest source at face value, I make sure to look at other sources on the internet and always check with multiple witchy forums/threads or just simply history sources if the practice is closed/appropriated or should be done as a beginner) - but here is my issue. There's soooo many sources on the internet that tell you so many differing opinions. Some sources will say "NO WAY DON'T EVER DO THAT" while others will go "it's okay and totally safe". I haven't ever read a book abt witchcraft because I know how much TERF-y and culturally appropriate-y agendas they have and the amount of misinformation in a lot of them. I almost got radicalized once before and I told myself "never again", so i'm too afraid to pick up a book half the witches praise for being so good and accurate and half condemn for including TERF bs. I know I should form my own opinions on magic(k) and how I percieve witchcraft but i just get this BOUT of anxiety whenever I see a post anywhere on the internet saying "DONT EVER DO THAT AS A WITCH" or something along those lines... i can never tell what's just gatekeepy fear-mongering and what's an actual closed/dangerous practice anymore and it makes me too afraid to pursue anything because I fear bad things happening to me more than anything. I think it's a side effect of my neurodivergent self wanting to be told exactly what I can and can't do (considering my ethnic identity) and how and when to do it, what moral code to abide by, which is a tough ask in something like witchcraft.

i often feel swayed and get these bouts of guilt for NOT being christian. I grew up areligious in a very christian country with an added sprinkle of shaming people for being religious (which i dont agree with obvs). When I was agnostic and not giving any thought to religion at all, it was fine and dandy. But now that I identify myself as a pagan who worships the greek gods, I often feel, idk, ashamed of it? I'm friends with some very devout christian gals and whenever they talk about going to church or getting their sins forgiven I just feel so guilty and kind of like I'm sinning myself. I feel like I shouldn't be believing in the Gods and should be christian instead, even though SO many of my world views don't align with christianity's teachings and frankly, I don't want to be christian? I want the Gods to be real and I want to worship them. But I often doubt my faith in them and feel the guilt of not being christian like everyone else in my country. Is this a faith issue? On some days I won't doubt the Gods existing at all and feel all happy and uplifted and sure in my faith and on other days I'll be sitting around all day, questioning all my morals and beliefs and questioning whether I'm going to hell for praying to the greek gods. Maybe it's because of all my sorroundings (multiple churches in my town, Jesus statues everywhere, very christian friends) that I feel that way, but if anyone could tell me how to stop these thoughts I'd give ANYTHING to do that. (Not that there's anything wrong with christianity or finding comfort in it, its just that whenever I think about it I get anxious because the concept of eternal torture just for enjoying life on earth scares me. On the other hand, I DO find comfort in worshiping the greek gods. I feel more beautiful, inspired to write, so on and so forth...)

#pagan #paganism #pagan witch #paganblr #hellenic pagan #witchcraft #witchblr #witch #magick #hellenic polytheism #hellenism #hellenic deities #hellenic worship #witches of tumblr #witches #witchcore #deity worship

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quackity1999 · 4 days ago

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if you were like, the pope. like right now. pope quackity the first. who would you canonize? as a saint or a martyr?

you'd think tommy would be a saint. he's got enough dirt on his elbows to polish up a dusty stained glass window, brighten the loneliest of places, invigorate even the most weary. but even then, he’s not some figure to be memorialized—tommy's too loud, too messy for an eternity of peace and soft rooms and altars that you kiss at the cobblestone and lipstick. he’s busy breaking things, smashing the war-mongering idols that others pray to, dragging himself through the mud with a chipped grin that shows all the shit he’s been through. the world won't stop for you, and tommy knows that well enough.

and while saint’s a word for the unblemished, for those who ascend, i know wilbur—he's always been a few more than two steps behind humanity for that. too flawed. the slow fade of his own ideals crumbling in the dirt. wilbur didn’t die for a cause; he died from the cause, choked by the smoke of his own wildfire, burning himself alive to prove something that no one would ever truly understand. i think i'd leave wilbur as the ghost of ambition, lingering in the rubble, a reminder that even those who build empires can’t escape the collapse.

i think the only person you could canonize on this shithole of a server is—

#quackitychirps #ask blog #ooc: grins. cliffhanger. no its more like a nod to how . theres so many narratives + perspectives in the dream smp that you cant rly ever #be correct on an opinion #but also i have zero fucking clue nobodys holy enough. tommys closest methinks but yk!#prophet's poems #WOO ANOTHER TO THE PILE!!!

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lanafofana · 3 months ago

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Snippet Sunday Funday

✨💖Thankies for the tag @roguishcat 💖✨

If you're here for BG3 content I'm afraid I've dipped my toes into Dragon Age Inquisition. Read on for some Solavellan Hell Mongering.

No warnings (other than DAI spoilers)

Context is that Inky has time travelled, dated the eggman and now Solas has dragged her ass to Crustywood.

Enjoy 😘

“Then what I must tell you…the truth–”

There. She can see it now, the tell she missed in her first life. The flicker in his gaze. The sudden realization and despair in the same breath. The weighty mantle of grim acceptance settling around him like a funeral shroud. She can see it all like a beacon of pain shining out from his eyes, the dip at the corner of his mouth, the furrow of his brow.

The gentle press of her fingers against his lips has startled him into temporary muteness. Stemmed the tide of this ill-fated evening but she knows it won't hold for long.

“The truth is,” she says quietly, staring at where her fingertips brush against the soft dry skin of his mouth to avoid his piercing gaze. “I know a liar when I see one.”

Solas’ lips part when he sucks in a breath.

“Even one who lies only by omission.”

The breath he releases is slow, controlled and steady, and hot against her skin. She sees him swallow hard, his lashes fluttering as his lids slide shut.

What could he possibly be thinking, she wonders with a thrill of fear.

Reconsidering what Leliana’s network of spies might have discovered and insinuated? Perhaps how to control any potential fallout with misdirection and a clever lie so mired in truth it tastes just the same when she swallows it.

Or, she thinks darkly, maybe he is judging the weight of the Inquisition's value against its potential liability. Dreading what she could possibly be leading up to.

She wishes she knew. Her stomach swoops like she's in freefall.

Wrapped in the safety of mortal flesh and bone, her heartbeat hammers to break free and scream.

“A mage with a mysterious past,” she begins.

Miraculously, her voice is steady, betraying none of the tremulous anxiety ricocheting around her gut, striking against her ribs like shrapnel.

“One with rare, intimate knowledge of the Fade; experience with warfare enough to find kinship with a battlehardend warrior.”

Still and stern he reminds her chillingly of the stone statues he once left in his wake. Is he even breathing? Is she?

“Canny enough to play mental strategy against the best Hissrad the Qunari could offer. And win.”

When she chances a glance at his face his eyes are still closed, his usually placid expression is tense. A wolf backed into a corner.

“An apostate that appeared at the right time, in the right place.”

Moving her hand from its delicate perch on his lips, Ellana cups his clenched jaw, tracing the laugh line at the corner of his mouth with her thumb. His eyes crack open slowly, pools of liquid silver in the moonlight. Mercurial and soaked in secrets. The Dread Wolf carries his own Wells of Sorrow on his face, as obvious as any vallaslin, borne in tandem with his terrible yoke of duty. The weight of them could crush her.

“Did you think I walked into your love blind, Vhenan?”

Solas’ eyes trace the planes of her face like it’s a map he’s never seen before. As quickly as he turns new information around in his mind he’s also memorizing every line and freckle, committing each fresh detail of her that's been revealed in this new light to his eternal memory.

“I have never pressed you to reveal your secrets or why you keep them. I do not intend to do so now.”

At this he can hold his silence no longer. “Vhenan–”

With terrible certainty she knows this is where he is trying to draw his line in the sand. The clean break to spare them both a worse fallout in the future. A desperate, foolish, stupid attempt to protect her that could only have been born from his deep tragic love for her. Idiot.

She can see his regret as clearly as she can hear it. It makes her want to tear it from his face with her nails and teeth. To rip it from him like a mask. Like she did in Tevinter, a lifetime ago.

A lifetime that ended in ashes.

When she’d thought she’d finally gained the upper hand for once and slid her fingers beneath carved porcelain. So naively certain of her victory. Only to reveal the face of a trusted confident staring back at her, also painted with regret.

Ellana hates regret. What good was regret when his hand was already buried to the wrist between her ribs, iron fingers around her heart.

No, the Inquisitor has no need for regret. And neither does Ellana.

Her voice, when she finds it, is a hoarse whisper. “Do not presume to make my decisions for me, Solas.”

He stares at her in surprise. Opening his mouth he hesitates and closes it again, rethinking what he wants to say. Completely incongruous with the heavy hearted seriousness of the moment she feels an entirely inappropriate burst of glee at catching him off guard.

The line of his shoulders softens and the expression on his face turns rueful. “Even in this, you surprise me.”

And then they have filthy depraved grotto sex.

TBC 😘

Tags: @feedthepheasants

#solavellan #solavellen hell #solas x female lavellan #solas x inquisitor #dai fanfic #dragon age fanfiction

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nyierys · 4 months ago

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Abrahamic religions are controlling. At their very core they’re schizophrenic controlling hateful mythologies.

All your holy texts were written by a man in the early centuries, they took their hate for women, children, animals and pagan religions out in these manifestos essentially.

They demonized earth spirits calling them evil or demons or angels. The demonized pagan gods and goddess as well as stole the practices, holy water, temples, prayers, veiling, etc.

They fear mongered and still fear monger and brain wash people into believing their lies of Hell or eternal damnation.

News flash hell doesn’t exist, the depiction of hell you see is one of Hades many gardens for the dead in Greek mythology. In Norse paganism Hell is one of the five realms of Asgard not accessible to humans dead or alive.

There’s alpha male Christian Jewish and Muslim podcasts with hateful and harmful ideologies of controlling women, children, and fear mongering people who aren’t swayed by the bullshit they’re spewing.

This idea that the god or Allah and the church is causing harm and putting you through torment out of love is bullshit. A god that is said to be all loving wouldn’t torture his followers or leave their prayers unanswered.

It wasn’t gods plan for people to be murdered, hated on, abused, tortured, colonized for who they are and what they believe but these holy books that are re written time and time again say the opposite.

Every major religion has colonized an indigenous group of people that did not want their religion.

A lot of us have been so colonized by it that it became ingrained in our cultures even after it has erased and killed so many of our ancestors and traditional beliefs.

You dare call out the bullshit and people are calling you hateful, anti semitic, or Islamophobic. It’s not any of those things to call out the bullshit and share your experiences with them.

“But the Quran is scientific” it has multiple scientific inaccuracies that can be proven.

Not to mention these religions support and allow child marriage, forced and arranged marriages, can deny divorces, and find it perfectly okay to deem your wife and children as property.

You don’t get to tell me my religious trauma at the hands of the big three or my ancestors religious trauma or my friends religious traumas at the same hands are “just bad experiences” and that “I’m sorry that happened but” No! You’re brainwashed, go spew your nonsense to someone who gives a shit.

#text post #nyi #tw religious themes #religious trauma #religion #judaism #catholicsm #christianity #mormonism #islam #islamic #Muslim

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angeldeviloshi · 4 days ago

Text

Mega Horsemen analysis thread compiled from my bsky.

Kinda wondering if the prophecy might be foretelling that Death is actually being summoned by Kiga through the sacrifices provided by Falling and Fire.

And that the narrative of it being "the age of devils" implants the idea of war in people which in turn strengthens Yoru in a world where she can't derive fear from wars in humanity's history as we know it.

Which allows Yoru to maybe regain enough power to turn Pochita's heart into a weapon that can erase Death while allowing Denji to live a normal life with a human heart instead.

But to do that both Denji's despair and Asa's guilt are important ingredients for this plan to work (Pochita's summoning and Asa's weapon) Asa has no connection to Pochita, but Pochita is connected to Denji.

She just has to think of Pochita as Denji's heart with all the relevant contexts that fuel her guilt and love through her connection to Denji. Doing right by her own heart to save him.

And I guess this leaves the question of whether or not Kiga is an unwitting instigator in a self-fulfilling prophecy or a fear-mongering orchestrator.

Cuz I've also been toying with the idea that the prophecy is just a framing device to present the conflict of part 2 while also being an unreliable lens much like what Aki was in part 1.

In that Nostradamus prophecies are viewed as glorified hoaxes irl and that can function as commentary for how the faith in it in-universe reflects the faith towards the csm. In the way the people project onto him as a vague concept to reflect the truth they see about the world.

And also yknow the way csm fans irl also predict the manga as it's ongoing to put forth their own truth for csm's world.

And Kiga's continuing mystery while she spends her screentime stuffing her face as the deadpan comic relief feeds into that while the scale of death continues to escalate with stuff like Aging's contract.

(Different thread)

I'm thinking about the horsemen's abilities and they all have the common theme of perception reliance and using those that can be deemed as lesser to them.

Control can control anything and anyone perceived as beneath her.

War can transform anything she perceives is hers into a weapon.

Famine can command the starved. But while Control and War can actively perform their abilities by themselves, Famine is reliant on the circumstances of starvation to enact her abilities.

The devils she summon being weaker could be due to this too with maybe the exception of Falling due to being a primal fear even if she could be nerfed.

And I wonder if the secret she tells AsaYoru could have been this all along so they're left unaware that they're being controlled by her vs when it's explained to Nayuta.

Given that Kiga is the only one so far who is able to not only see BOTH Asa and Yoru but also tangibly interact with them. (Her spiriting Asa away into Eternity's pocket dimension without Yoru) especially given that both Asa and Yoru are already starved to begin with in their respective hunger, both of which she stokes when she entered Asa's apartment.

And it's interesting? How this particular detail is never addressed in-universe by Asa or Yoru, or even the fact that Kiga doesn't address them when they're in the presence of other people. Only addressing AsaYoru as separate entities when there's no one else around.

Or at least in a situation where it wouldn't be obvious like with the guards when Guillotine was summoned.

While the story shows us at the front the blurring of the boundary of AsaYoru's identity as they're being seen as a single person by others, especially Denji. (And I wonder if the lack of Asa's inner monologue or the presence of the other out of body, post devil center rescue was meant to illustrate this) because AsaYoru must remain starved for her plans, to keep them under her control, which could also explain why she needs the fear of War to bolster AsaYoru to compensate for the nerfing she imposes onto them. A sharpened tool she's able to wield.

The hunger only deepens with their eyes fixed on the sustenance she dangles in her hand. True cult leader behaviour. Her power is exemplified in the presence of mass hunger but for there to be mass hunger there must first be something to hunger for, insatiably so. And even predators will submit when they're starved.

That Kiga turns on Control too with the Church, with Barem and Miri's hunger, the public's hunger for blood in the wake of loss. Using both her sisters to hollow out Denji's heart in the sushi restaurant.

Even her getting Asa to be the Church's poster girl alongside the fake Chainsaw Man serves to stoke Denji's hunger to push him away from the fulfilment of a normal life. And in turn the hunger of his fans to see him as their hero, their saviour. Fumiko's timely appearance reminding Denji of the choice he made in ch.93. The steak and the girlfriend.

And with all that said. I'm wondering about where Death fits in this. I've talked about the meta of Death inspiring hunger as creation against finality in this thread (covered here)

You can see how this fits into there being an "age of devils" especially with the Chainsaw Devil outbreak and the "Justice Devil" contracts. Humanity's desire to transcend their limitations with the power of concepts. The fear of Death and the finality it represents as catalyst for creation.

But the base idea of this is also carried over from the thoughts I've had simmering in my head from my Gun Aki AU about a devil I've been conceptualising lmfao. The overlap is just there.

The horsemen thus far operate on the subsuming of agency, in control, in objectification, in following, the horror of human exploitation through the power of authority.

And with Aging being a sort of precursor to death, the fear of Death can also represent the fear of impermanence in power, in belief, calling for the need for sacrifice to extend its presence, impact, through the loss it necessitates.

The cabinet's and Aging's desire to have aging erased to 'extend' the potential of humanity while humanity is also treated as a resource of the state via citizenship and its assets like Public Safety. Death as currency and necessity for prolongation.

Just as hunger operates transactionally with Kiga for satiation.

If Kiga's fear invites hunger, then Death could be similar in its invitation of death as sacrifice, Kiga's hunger gives meaning, craving for purpose to live. And Death potentially works against that, in its nullification and stripping of life for a justified end. And Kiga wishes for a world where hunger persists so food can exist.

The creation of humanity that combats hunger, makes life feel fuller.

(Follow-up threads)

So I know the whole Fumiko as Death Devil thing is a meme at this point. But after the long ass horsemen thread I made... technically this morning lmao, I'm actually thinking about her situation foreshadowing Death as well.

In her perception of her life as disposable, her willingness to jump into the jaws of death for a greater cause at the expense of herself, hollowing herself out as her life's purpose.

This is not exclusive to her of course. But that she's somewhat at the forefront of this with both Aging and the cabinet adds to the framing of death as exploit.

And I think the existing horsemen all embody her in some way due to this commonality they share.

In particular, Makima's Control as the necessary evil anchors agents to the state, makes them give up everything for the cause, one that takes lives.

Yoru's conquest for War weaponises lives both literal and figurative, transforming its meaning into its capacity for destruction and utility, as resource.

Kiga's inspiration of hunger through the church as Famine starves the people into wanting, such that they would tear themselves apart just to be fed.

Fumiko echoes all of this, as the state agent advocating for control, as the tool of the state against devils weaponising herself, as the Chainsaw Man fan who hungers for purpose through him. And now she finds herself on the verge of death, the sum of these constructs to its logical conclusion.

Death as the eldest sister the horsemen take after...

Something something, Death has power over whomever views their lives as lesser, worthy of death. The value of life only humans can perceive.

That she's the master fear her younger sisters lead to thereby making her the most powerful and unbeatable.

Kiga saying that War can be made to win is interesting w this line of thought given AsaYoru's duality esp it taking place in Falling arc.

Asa sees no value in her living while Yoru is desperate to sustain her existence. That Kiga says her plan was to starve AsaYoru with Falling in Justice's stomach.

It's here that Asa is made to hunger for Denji, the Chainsaw Man for his kindness, connection. And Yoru is starved in her helplessness and weakness against Falling, her inability to possess Asa as they're saved by her enemy.

Asa inheriting Yuko's justice for the Chainsaw Man, Yoru's inflamed justice for her identity and what she's owed.

This hunger driving Asa's reason to live as she's enlisted into the Church by Kiga. The context of "selfishness" in AsaYoru's revival at the start of p2, for her to overcome death with her hunger, her conquest.

Both of which converging at Chainsaw Man, to turn him into a weapon.

#brainrot #csm kiga #fumiko mifune #csm fami #csm yoru #makima #csm nayuta #asa mitaka #asaden #csm #chainsaw man #chainsaw man analysis

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