#god i feel like i had so many thoughts for what to say to this ask (i almost said email lol) when i saw it in my email n was like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amethystarachnid · 2 days ago

Note

hi! i’d like to request a loki x fem!reader

can you base it on “we can’t be friends” by ariana grande. something related to the music video in the sense that reader tries to erase her memory in order to “heal” after Loki turns into the god of stories and she is practically alone now. sorry its not angsty i can’t help myself 😩

hope this is okay! thanks queen

MEMORIES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst, like a lot of angst

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: You thought Loki was your forever, the man with who you'd spend the resto of your life with, but he becomes the God of Stories you are left with nothing but memories of him, maybe you should get rid of those too.

ᯓ★ Word count: 8k

ᯓ★ TW(s): hinted depression, sleeping a lot to stay in the dreams and not eating because of this so weight loss

ᯓ★ Okay so, I need to tell you all the truth...I haven't watched Loki...But!! I've started it and I'm currently on episode 2, truth is me and tv series don't really go hand in hand so I don't know if I'll actually finish it. But to write this fanfic I tried to get as much information as I could and I hope you like it!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air is cool, tinged with the earthy scent of rain that had fallen just hours before, leaving the world fresh, like a new beginning. You sit on the balcony of your apartment, your legs tucked under you as you sip your coffee. The city below hums with the soft buzz of life, but up here, it's quiet. Just you and him.

Loki’s presence is a constant now. At first, it was a dangerous thrill — the God of Mischief, the trickster, the god of lies and chaos. But over time, you had come to know the man behind the myths, the one who spent far too many sleepless nights overthinking, doubting, and regretting. The one who, despite his flaws and his ever-conflicted nature, had let you in.

You can feel his gaze on you, even before you turn to face him. He's perched at the edge of the balcony, the golden light from the setting sun casting soft shadows on his face. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and he’s watching you with that look — the one that makes you feel as though you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.

You smile, the warmth in your chest a stark contrast to the cool evening breeze. “What?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, Loki steps closer, the air shifting around him in subtle, magical currents. He always has this way of bending the world to his whims. But right now, he’s just… himself. Not a god. Not a villain. Just Loki.

“Nothing,” he says, voice low, almost like a secret. “You just look… peaceful.”

You blink, surprised. Peaceful isn’t a word you’d ever associate with yourself, but you can’t help the way it feels with him beside you. It’s like the world is calm — for once, there’s no grand scheme or looming threat. Just him. And you.

“You’re the one who always looks so intense,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Like you’re plotting world domination.”

Loki’s eyes flicker with mischief, but there’s something softer in the way he regards you, something tender. “I don’t plot world domination. Not all the time.” He shrugs, as if the matter is trivial.

You laugh, but there’s a quiet moment between you, an unspoken understanding. You know what he means. Loki has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The responsibility of his past, the expectations of his future. And yet, when it’s just the two of you, he lets it slip away.

You let your coffee rest on the railing and, without a word, turn to face him fully. Loki’s smile, small but genuine, tugs at something in your chest. You take a step closer to him, the distance between you shrinking as you reach out, your hand brushing against his.

It’s always like this, these quiet moments — when words are no longer necessary. His hand envelops yours effortlessly, and it’s like the universe settles into place. This is the calm you didn’t know you needed, the simple comfort of being in each other’s space.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you ask, your voice hesitant, unsure if you’re ready for the answer.

He watches you carefully, as if weighing your words. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a crack in the façade of the god you’re so used to. He tilts his head, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand.

“Of course, I think about it,” he admits softly. “But I’ve spent so many lifetimes running from it, from the choices that will define me. The future… It’s complicated.”

You can hear the hesitation in his voice, the way he never fully commits to what’s ahead. Loki is a god of chaos, after all. He’s never been good with stability, with the idea of permanence. His eyes search yours, as though trying to read your mind.

“And you?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. “I think about it too, but… I don’t know. The future feels like a blurry mess sometimes.”

He steps closer, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a soothing motion. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that takes you by surprise. Loki, the god who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, including his own family, is now standing before you, offering his loyalty in a way that feels… real. No tricks, no games, just the promise of something honest.

“Together,” you repeat softly, the word tasting different on your lips when it comes from him.

His eyes flicker to the horizon, as though he’s considering something, before he looks back at you with a soft chuckle. “And if the future is full of chaos, we’ll make it our own chaos.”

You laugh, but there’s something in your chest that tightens at the thought of a future with Loki — with all that he represents, with all the uncertainty and danger that follow him like a dark cloud. But in this moment, you push it aside. There’s no room for fear when he’s beside you.

Loki takes your hand and leads you toward the edge of the balcony, his fingers never leaving yours. “Come,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Let’s watch the sunset. Together.”

As you sit side by side, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in warm shades of pink and gold. The world around you may be shifting, always changing, but here, in this moment, everything feels still. The weight of time feels distant. The future feels like a far-off dream that you can’t quite touch.

You rest your head against his shoulder, the soft sound of his breath steadying your own. Loki shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on your back in an almost protective gesture. The quiet between you stretches, neither of you needing to speak.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The world, the chaos, the future — it all fades into the background, and all that remains is the calm. The love.

But deep down, you can’t ignore the feeling that this peace is fragile. Like glass, it’s delicate, and even though you’re holding onto it, you wonder how long it can last.

That peace doesn’t last forever.

The memory of that moment — the quiet between you, the warmth of his hand in yours — is the last thing you want to hold on to.

After everything has crumbled, after everything has changed, you find yourself sitting in a quiet, empty room, staring at the walls. The apartment feels hollow now, the silence too loud. The city outside moves on, unaware of the storm raging inside you.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But Loki had become the God of Stories, and with that title came unimaginable power. The ability to rewrite fate itself, to shape reality, to weave his own narrative — and in the process, he’d lost himself. Or maybe it was you who had lost him. Maybe you were the one who didn’t fit into his new story.

You can still hear his voice in your mind, soft and warm, whispering that you would face the future together. But how could you face the future with him now? How could you stand by his side when he was no longer the Loki you knew?

It’s a bitter thought. One that claws at your chest. And the worst part is — you still love him. Even after everything. Even after the gods, after the chaos, after the mistakes, you still want him.

But it’s too much. The memories are too vivid, too painful. You can’t bear to remember him — not when every time you close your eyes, you see his face, and it’s like a stab to your heart.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’ll erase it all. Every memory of him.

The love. The pain. The warmth.

You’re not sure how, but you’ll do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll never move on. You’ll never be free.

The box feels heavier than it should as you lower it to the floor, your knees protesting the motion. A single lamp casts its warm glow across your apartment, but the light feels muted, swallowed by the shadows pressing in from every corner. It’s late, and the city outside seems quieter than usual, as if the world knows the significance of what you’re about to do.

Loki’s things are scattered around you in a mess of memories. A black scarf you once teased him about for being far too dramatic, a small leather-bound notebook filled with strange symbols and half-formed ideas, a gold trinket he’d magicked into existence one lazy afternoon to make you laugh. Each item holds a piece of him, of you, of you and him.

Your breath catches as you sit back on your heels, staring at the pile with a sinking feeling in your chest. It’s almost funny. You thought gathering his belongings would make it easier, like pulling off a bandage quickly to avoid the sting. But it’s worse. So much worse.

Your fingers tremble as they brush over the scarf. You remember the first time he wore it — the way it swept dramatically over his shoulder as he smirked at your teasing.

“Trying to impress me, Mischief?” you’d asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

Loki had leaned closer, that familiar spark of mischief lighting his green eyes. “Is it working?”

You’d laughed, shoving him lightly, but your heart had skipped a beat all the same. He had a way of doing that — making the smallest, most mundane moments feel like they belonged in an epic tale.

You shake your head, pulling yourself back to the present. The memory is too vivid, too sharp, and it slices through you like glass. That was before everything changed. Before he became something… unreachable.

Your fingers curl around the scarf, tightening as the memory threatens to drag you under. For a moment, you consider keeping it. Just this one thing. But no. You can’t. If you start keeping pieces of him, you’ll never let go.

You toss the scarf into the box, the action more forceful than you intended. It lands atop the notebook, the trinket, and the small collection of Loki’s things that have woven themselves into your life.

The notebook catches your eye again, and before you can stop yourself, you’re flipping it open. The pages are filled with Loki’s handwriting — sharp and elegant, like the man himself. Most of it is incomprehensible to you, written in Asgardian runes or some ancient language you don’t recognize. But on one page, near the middle, you find something familiar.

It’s your name.

Your breath hitches as you stare at the word, the letters carved into the page with a deliberate hand. Beneath it, a single line in English:

"You are my home."

The tears come then, hot and relentless, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You clutch the notebook to your chest, your body shaking as the weight of it all crashes over you. He said those words to you once, late at night, when the world had felt quiet and safe.

You remember lying in bed together, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. “You are my home,” he’d said, the words carrying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “In all the realms, in all the chaos, I find my peace in you.”

And you had believed him. God, you’d believed him.

The notebook slips from your hands as you bury your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body. You’d thought you were strong enough to do this, to let him go, but the memories won’t stop. They cling to you like shadows, refusing to release their grip.

It’s not fair. He had no right to carve himself into your soul like this, to leave behind pieces of himself in every corner of your life. How are you supposed to erase someone who’s become a part of you?

You sit there for what feels like hours, the box of Loki’s things staring back at you like a silent witness to your unraveling. Eventually, the tears subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, but you force yourself to move.

Gathering the box, you rise to your feet, your legs unsteady. The plan is simple: take it to the small clearing behind the building, set it ablaze, and watch the memories burn. Maybe then the pain will ease. Maybe then you’ll finally be free.

You step outside, the cool night air biting against your skin. The clearing is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You place the box in the center, your fingers brushing over the edges one last time.

You light the match.

The flame flickers to life, small and fragile in your hand. You hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is it. This is the final goodbye.

But as you stare at the flame, something inside you cracks. You think of the sunsets you watched together, the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft, unguarded moments that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Can you really do this?

Your hand shakes as you lower the match, the flame dancing dangerously close to the edge of the box. The scent of sulfur fills the air, and for a moment, you think you’ll go through with it. You’ll let it all burn.

But then, the match falls from your fingers, the flame snuffing out as it hits the damp grass.

You drop to your knees, the box still untouched, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. You can’t do it. You can’t erase him, no matter how much it hurts to remember. Because the memories aren’t just painful. They’re beautiful, too.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

The bar is crowded, the kind of loud and bustling place you would never have chosen for yourself, but your friends insisted. “You need to get out,” they had said. “Meet people. Forget about him.”

Forget about him.

As if it were that simple.

You sit at a small, high table near the back, a drink cradled in your hand. The music pulses through the air, the bass thrumming in your chest, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughts that swirl endlessly in your mind. Around you, your friends laugh and chatter, their voices a blur of encouragement and reassurances.

It’s been months since Loki left — or, more accurately, since he became something else, someone you could no longer reach. Months since you tried to burn his things and failed, the box now tucked away in the corner of your closet like a secret you can’t bear to part with.

And yet, even with all the time and distance, the memories still haunt you. He’s still there, in the quiet moments, in the back of your mind, a shadow you can’t escape.

A new drink appears in front of you, courtesy of one of your friends. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she whispers, nudging you with her elbow. You glance toward the bar, where a man stands with a confident smile and sharp cheekbones. He’s attractive, you suppose. Objectively. But as your gaze lingers, the comparisons begin, unbidden and unstoppable.

His hair isn’t as dark as Loki’s. His eyes aren’t as piercing. And when he smiles, it doesn’t make your chest tighten the way Loki’s did when he let his walls down and gave you that rare, genuine look that was only for you.

“Go talk to him,” your friend urges, her tone light and encouraging. You hesitate, but the expectant looks from the rest of your group leave you feeling cornered. With a reluctant sigh, you slide off your stool and make your way toward the bar.

The man notices you immediately, his smile widening as you approach. He introduces himself — James, or Jake, or something that doesn’t stick in your memory. You force a polite smile, nodding as he talks about his job, his hobbies, his plans for the weekend.

But you’re not really listening.

Instead, you’re thinking about how different he is. Loki’s voice had a way of wrapping around you, rich and velvety, with an edge that hinted at mischief or danger. His words weren’t just conversations; they were an invitation to step into his world, to see the universe through his eyes.

This man — James, Jake, whoever — is ordinary. Normal. And maybe that’s what you’re supposed to want now, but it feels hollow.

He says something that makes you chuckle politely, and for a moment, you catch yourself wondering what Loki would think if he saw you now. Would he be amused, watching you try to piece yourself back together with someone so utterly unremarkable? Or would he feel that flicker of jealousy, the possessiveness he always tried to hide but never fully could?

The thought twists something in your chest, and you excuse yourself quickly, claiming you need to get back to your friends.

“Not your type?” one of them teases when you return, her grin playful.

“No,” you say simply, sipping your drink. But the truth is more complicated than that. It’s not that he wasn’t your type. It’s that he wasn’t Loki.

The pattern repeats itself over the following weeks.

Your friends take you to new places, introduce you to new people, all with the hope that one of them will spark something in you. And each time, it ends the same way.

You meet someone kind, someone charming, someone your friends swear would be perfect for you. And each time, you find yourself comparing them to him.

No one holds a candle to Loki.

No one has that sharp wit, that clever tongue that made even the most mundane conversations feel electric. No one carries themselves with that effortless grace, the confidence of a god who knows he’s meant for greatness but still chooses to share himself with you. No one looks at you the way Loki did, like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve, a mystery he could never quite unravel.

And the worst part is, you know it’s unfair. You know these men deserve more than your half-hearted attempts at connection. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop measuring them against him.

One evening, your closest friend pulls you aside after another failed attempt at setting you up. “You’re not giving them a chance,” she says gently, her concern evident.

“I am,” you argue, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not entirely true.

She sighs, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “I know it’s hard. I know you miss him. But you deserve to be happy, too. He’s not coming back, and holding onto him like this… it’s only hurting you.”

Her words cut deeper than you expect, and you find yourself blinking back tears. She’s right, of course. Loki isn’t coming back. The man you loved is gone, and the person he’s become is far beyond your reach.

But how do you let go of someone who’s etched into your soul? How do you move on when every part of you still aches for him?

“I’ll try,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.

Your friend nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

But as the night goes on, as the world moves around you, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts, into the memories of a man who can never truly be replaced.

And in the quiet corners of your heart, you know the truth: no one will ever compare.

The apartment feels colder than it should, the kind of chill that creeps into your bones and refuses to let go. You sit curled up on the couch, staring at the flickering glow of the television, though you’re not really watching it. The sound is just there to fill the silence, to keep the walls from closing in.

But it doesn’t work. Not really.

Because even in the noise, you can hear his voice.

It starts small, the whispers of his tone weaving into the spaces between your thoughts. At first, you think it’s your imagination. Of course it is. Loki isn’t here. He’s not coming back. You’ve told yourself this a thousand times, clinging to the words like a mantra.

And yet…

The scent of leather and the faint trace of cedar linger in the air. The couch dips slightly beside you, a barely-there weight, but enough to make you glance to your right.

He’s there. Sitting casually with one arm draped over the back of the couch, his long legs crossed, and that infuriatingly familiar smirk playing at his lips.

“Miss me, darling?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing, as if he hasn’t been gone for months. As if you hadn’t been tearing yourself apart trying to forget him.

Your heart lurches, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it’s real. You can’t help it. The sight of him is so vivid, so perfect. The sharp angle of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his green eyes — it’s exactly how you remember.

“Loki…” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, a mixture of disbelief and yearning.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Yes, my love?”

The words hit you like a wave, the tenderness in his tone unraveling you completely. Your vision blurs with tears, and you reach out, your hand trembling as it moves toward him. But the moment your fingers brush the air where his hand should be, the illusion shatters.

He’s gone.

The couch is empty. The room is still. The silence is deafening.

You pull your hand back slowly, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. “No,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no.”

Your voice breaks, the sound foreign to your ears. You clutch at the blanket draped over your lap, holding it tightly as if it could anchor you to reality. But it doesn’t. Nothing does.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you murmur into the empty room, your voice raw with anger and grief. “Why can’t I let you go?”

There’s no answer, of course. Just the echo of your own voice bouncing off the walls. But that doesn’t stop you from talking. It’s becoming a habit now, these conversations with no one.

Some nights, you sit at the dining table, setting out two glasses of wine even though you know the second will remain untouched. You’ll tell stories about your day, laughing softly at jokes that only you can hear. You’ll look toward the chair opposite you, expecting to see him lounging there, his sharp wit ready to match yours.

And some nights, like tonight, you’ll sit on the couch and swear you can feel him beside you.

“Loki,” you whisper again, the name tasting like salt on your tongue. “Why did you leave me?”

The apartment remains silent, but in your mind, you can hear his response. You can hear him apologizing, explaining that it wasn’t his choice, that becoming the God of Stories meant giving up everything he loved.

But it’s a lie. A lie you tell yourself to make the ache in your chest bearable. Because deep down, you know the truth: he could have stayed. He could have chosen you.

And yet, he didn’t.

The illusions get worse as the weeks pass.

At first, they’re fleeting — a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, a phantom touch brushing against your shoulder. But soon, they’re more vivid. More real.

You’ll hear his voice calling your name, soft and intimate, like he’s standing right behind you. You’ll turn around, your heart leaping with hope, only to find nothing but empty air.

And then there are the nights when you swear you feel his arms around you, holding you close as you drift off to sleep. Those nights are the worst, because when you wake up, the loneliness is suffocating.

Your friends notice the change in you, though you try to hide it. They don’t understand. How could they? They never knew him the way you did. They never loved him the way you do.

“You’re spiraling,” one of them says gently, her voice laced with concern. “You need help, Y/N. This… this isn’t normal.”

You nod, pretending to agree, but you don’t believe her. How could you need help when the only thing keeping you sane is the thought of him? When the illusions are the only moments you feel whole again?

One evening, you sit on the floor of your living room, surrounded by the box of Loki’s things you couldn’t bring yourself to burn. You pull out the scarf, holding it close to your chest as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper into the fabric, your voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”

The room feels colder than ever, but as you close your eyes, you imagine his warmth enveloping you. You imagine him kneeling beside you, his hand brushing your hair back as he murmurs reassurances in that velvety voice.

But when you open your eyes, you’re still alone. And the scarf in your hands feels unbearably heavy.

You clutch it tighter, rocking slightly as the weight of your grief crashes over you. The world outside continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in this moment, all you can feel is the absence of him.

It’s a pain that no one else can understand, a loss that no one else can ease. And as the illusions pull you deeper into their grasp, you can’t help but wonder if letting go of him is even possible — or if you’re destined to carry this ache forever.

The dream begins the same way every time.

You’re standing in a golden field, the tall grass swaying gently in a breeze that carries the faintest scent of lavender. The sky above is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, a perpetual sunset that feels both warm and surreal. And there he is, waiting for you.

Loki.

He’s standing a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the dreamy backdrop. His dark hair is tousled just so, and when he sees you, that familiar, crooked smile lights up his face. He opens his arms, and you run to him, your heart soaring in a way it hasn’t in what feels like forever.

In your dreams, there are no goodbyes, no insurmountable barriers. Here, you are just two people who love each other, untouched by the weight of reality.

“Missed me, darling?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm as he pulls you into his arms.

“Always,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest. His scent surrounds you — leather and cedar, with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s intoxicating, grounding, and you never want to let go.

The dreams are your sanctuary, the only place where the ache in your chest quiets, where you feel whole again. You wake up every morning wishing you could stay there forever. And slowly, without realizing it, you begin to chase that feeling.

At first, it’s subtle. You let yourself sleep a little longer each morning, lingering in bed even as the sunlight streams through your window. Then you start skipping plans with your friends, feigning exhaustion or sickness so you can curl back under the covers.

The more time you spend in your dreams, the less you care about the waking world. Food becomes an afterthought, meals skipped in favor of lying in bed, hoping to drift off again. Even your appearance begins to change — your cheeks hollowing, your skin growing pale. But you hardly notice. All that matters is Loki.

Your friends notice the change in you long before you do.

“You’ve barely eaten,” one of them points out during a rare outing, her eyes scanning your face with obvious concern. “You’re so thin, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, forcing a smile. But your voice lacks conviction, and you can tell she doesn’t believe you.

“You don’t look fine.” Her tone softens, but there’s a firmness beneath it. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been isolating yourself, skipping meals, avoiding everyone…”

“I’m just tired,” you say, cutting her off. “That’s all.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. You can see the worry etched into her features, but you’re too far gone to care. You’re tired of the concern, the pity, the endless attempts to pull you out of the darkness when all you want is to stay there, wrapped in the illusion of Loki’s presence.

One night, your friend shows up at your apartment unannounced. The moment she steps inside, she freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in the state of the place.

It’s a mess. Dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail scattered across the counter, curtains drawn tightly to keep out the daylight. And there you are, curled up on the couch in a hoodie that hangs off your frame, your eyes hollow and distant.

“Y/N,” she breathes, her voice breaking.

You barely look at her, your gaze fixed on the floor.

She sits down beside you, reaching for your hand. “You’re not okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “Please, let us help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you whisper, but even as you say it, tears spill down your cheeks.

“Yes, you do,” she insists, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been shutting us out, and it’s killing you. You’re wasting away, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her words pierce through the fog in your mind, and for a moment, you consider telling her the truth. Telling her about the dreams, about Loki, about the impossible grief that has consumed you. But the thought of saying it out loud feels like admitting he’s truly gone.

“I just need to sleep,” you say instead, pulling your hand away.

Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t press you further. She stands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t force you to let us in,” she says softly. “But I’m not giving up on you.”

After she leaves, you crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over your head. The dreams are waiting for you, and that’s all that matters.

But even the dreams begin to shift.

The golden fields grow dimmer, the sunsets less vibrant. Loki’s voice, once so warm and reassuring, takes on a melancholy edge. He holds you close, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks one night, his voice soft but filled with anguish.

“What do you mean?” you reply, confused.

“You’re losing yourself,” he says, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I just want to be with you.”

Loki’s expression breaks, his own tears shimmering in his eyes. “But at what cost, my love? You’re fading away.”

The dream dissolves into darkness, leaving you gasping as you wake up. For the first time, the comfort of sleep feels like a betrayal, a reminder of how deeply you’ve sunk into the illusion.

And yet, the waking world offers no solace. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the weight of it all.

Because no matter where you are — asleep or awake — the pain remains. And you don’t know how to escape it.

It’s late afternoon when your friend arrives at your apartment, a determined look on her face as she steps inside. She doesn’t bother to hide her shock at the state of you. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the television. Your hoodie hangs loosely on your frail frame, and your skin is pale, almost translucent under the dim lighting.

“Y/N,” she begins, closing the door behind her and walking toward you. There’s no judgment in her tone, only a desperate kind of concern. “I’ve been doing some research… and I think I found something that could help.”

You glance at her, your expression unreadable. “Help?”

“Yes.” She sits down beside you, her movements careful, as though she’s afraid you might shatter. “It’s… unconventional, but it’s worth considering.”

From her bag, she pulls out a pamphlet and places it on the coffee table. The bold lettering on the front reads: The Haven Institute: A New Beginning.

You eye it warily, your stomach twisting with unease. “What is this?”

She hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “It’s a clinic. They specialize in memory modification. They… they can help you forget him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Forget him? The idea is so foreign, so unimaginable, that it feels like an affront to everything you’ve been holding onto.

“No,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, please just listen—”

“No!” You push yourself up from the couch, pacing the room with frantic energy. “I can’t. I won’t. He’s all I have left. If I forget him, then what? What’s left of me?”

Tears fill your friend’s eyes, but she doesn’t back down. “What’s left of you now?” she asks softly, her voice breaking. “Look at yourself, Y/N. You’re not living. You’re barely surviving. This… this isn’t what he would want for you.”

Her words strike a chord, but you shake your head, unwilling to let them sink in.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I can’t lose him again.”

That night, you dream of Loki again. But this time, the dream isn’t a golden field or a serene sunset. It’s your apartment, dimly lit and suffocatingly quiet.

He’s sitting across from you, his posture relaxed but his expression serious. There’s a weight to his gaze, a sadness that mirrors your own.

“You know she’s right,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

Loki leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “Do you think this is what I want for you? To see you like this, wasting away, consumed by grief?”

“I’m not wasting away,” you argue, but your voice lacks conviction.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Aren’t you? Look at yourself, darling. You’re a shadow of the person I fell in love with. And it’s my fault. I see that now.”

“No,” you choke out, clutching at the fabric of your hoodie. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who can’t let go.”

“And that’s why you need to let me go,” he says, his voice breaking. “Not because you don’t love me, but because you do. Because holding onto me is killing you.”

You collapse onto the floor, sobbing into your hands as the weight of his words crashes over you. “I don’t know how,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to let you go.”

Loki kneels beside you, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “You can,” he says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And if erasing me is the only way to save you… then so be it.”

The dream begins to fade, his voice lingering in your mind even as the golden light dissolves into darkness.

You wake up gasping, tears soaking your pillow. The words from your dream replay over and over in your head, like a mantra you can’t escape: You need to let me go.

For the first time, you take a long, hard look at yourself. You walk to the bathroom and flick on the light, wincing at the reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are hollow, your eyes dull, your once-vibrant presence reduced to a frail shadow.

Your hand trembles as you press it against the mirror, your breath fogging the glass. This isn’t you. This isn’t the person you used to be.

And Loki — whether he’s a dream, an illusion, or a memory too stubborn to fade — is right. You’ve let your grief consume you, and if you don’t do something soon, there won’t be anything left to save.

The next morning, you call your friend.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go to the clinic.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with emotion. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I can’t keep living like this.”

Your friend comes over that afternoon, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let her hold you as you cry. It’s a small step, but it’s a step nonetheless.

The pamphlet sits on the coffee table, a reminder of what’s to come. And as you stare at it, a part of you wonders if this is the right choice — if erasing Loki from your mind will truly set you free, or if it will only leave another kind of emptiness in its place.

But for now, you cling to the hope that it might bring you peace. That maybe you can find a way to start over.

The clinic is sterile, unnervingly clean, and entirely too quiet. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead sets your teeth on edge as you sit in the waiting area, clutching the scarf in your lap like a lifeline. It still smells faintly of him, though the scent is fading. You know it’s your imagination more than anything else, but you don’t care. It’s all you have left.

The receptionist calls your name, and you stand, legs trembling as you follow her down a long corridor. Your friend is waiting outside in the car, insisting she couldn’t bear to come in. You told her you’d be fine, but now, as the door to the consultation room closes behind you, you’re not so sure.

The doctor is kind, their voice calm and reassuring as they explain the procedure once again. You listen, nodding at the appropriate times, but your mind is elsewhere — lost in the memories you’re about to give up.

“Do you have the belongings?” the doctor asks gently, gesturing to the small box you’ve brought with you.

You nod, setting it on the table with shaking hands. Inside are the remnants of your life with Loki: a book he loved to read aloud from, a pair of cufflinks he’d left on your dresser, and the scarf you’ve been holding onto for dear life.

The doctor notices your grip on the scarf and tilts their head. “You don’t have to let go of everything,” they say, their tone encouraging. “We can modify the memory tied to an object if you’d prefer to keep it.”

You glance down at the soft fabric, your fingers tracing the intricate weave. The thought of losing this piece of him entirely feels unbearable, but the idea of it being tied to him — tied to your grief — is equally suffocating.

“Can you… can you change the memory?” you ask hesitantly. “Make it something else?”

The doctor nods. “Of course. What would you like it to mean?”

You think for a moment, your mind swirling with possibilities. Finally, you settle on something simple, something that feels safe. “A lucky charm,” you say quietly. “It’s a scarf I’ve had for years, and I keep it for good luck.”

The doctor smiles gently. “We can do that.”

Before the procedure, they give you a moment alone to say goodbye — not to the belongings, but to the memories themselves.

You sit on the chair in the dimly lit room, the scarf draped across your lap. The illusion of Loki appears before you, as vivid as ever, his expression unreadable.

“So, this is it,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “I guess it is.”

Loki steps closer, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure this is what you want, my love?”

“I don’t want it,” you admit, your voice trembling. “But I need it. I need to move on. And I can’t… not like this.”

He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, though you can’t feel his touch. “You’ve always been stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “Stronger than me, even.”

You let out a shaky laugh, fresh tears spilling over. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists, his eyes glinting with that familiar intensity. “And now, you’ll prove it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You simply look at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every nuance of his expression.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His smile is soft, bittersweet. “Goodbye, my love.”

He fades slowly, the edges of his figure dissolving into the air until there’s nothing left but an empty room.

The doctor guides you into the operating chair, the soft hum of machinery filling the space. They place a device over your temples, adjusting the settings as they explain what to expect. You barely hear them, your mind still caught in the aftershocks of saying goodbye.

“This will be painless,” the doctor says gently. “You may experience flashes of the memories as they’re removed, but it will be quick.”

You nod, gripping the scarf tightly.

The machine begins to whir, and the first memory surfaces.

It’s the night you met him, his sharp wit and charming smile disarming you instantly. You remember the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room.

The memory dissolves, and another takes its place.

Loki teaching you magic, his laughter filling the room when you accidentally summon a puff of smoke instead of a flame. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet,” he had said, pride gleaming in his eyes.

That memory fades, too, replaced by the time he held you under a canopy of stars, his voice a soft murmur as he told you stories of Asgard.

One by one, the memories play out, each one tugging at your heart until it feels like it might break entirely. But you let them go, because you have to.

The last memory is the hardest. It’s the day he left, his hand brushing against yours for the final time. You see the pain in his eyes, the love he couldn’t put into words, and it nearly undoes you.

“Be happy,” he had whispered, his voice cracking. “For both of us.”

As the memory fades, you feel a strange sense of peace. The pain is still there, but it’s muted now, distant.

When the procedure is over, the doctor removes the device and places the scarf in your hands. “It’s done,” they say gently.

You hold the scarf close, feeling its softness against your skin. It’s just a scarf now — a lucky charm, nothing more.

And as you leave the clinic, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the world a little brighter.

It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s a new beginning. And for now, that’s enough.

Life after the clinic is quieter, simpler.

You wake up each morning to sunlight streaming through your window, the warmth of it brushing your face. Your days are filled with routines now — a job you’ve rediscovered a passion for, weekend brunches with friends who are no longer burdened with worry over you, and quiet evenings spent reading or listening to music.

On the surface, everything seems fine. You smile more, laugh more. Your friends notice the change and comment on how much better you look. “It’s so good to have you back,” one of them says during a coffee date, her eyes brimming with relief.

You nod, sipping your latte, and try to believe her.

But there’s an ache in your chest that you can’t quite place. A dull, persistent tug that makes itself known when the world grows quiet — when you’re walking home alone in the evening or lying in bed just before sleep takes you. It’s not sharp or overwhelming, just… there. A void you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.

Your apartment is different now. Cleaner, brighter. The curtains are drawn back to let in the sunlight, and the once-cluttered surfaces are neatly organized. You’ve even picked up a few plants, their green leaves adding life to the space.

And yet, sometimes, when you walk into the living room, you pause, your eyes lingering on the empty chair by the window. For a moment, you feel like something — or someone — should be there. But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes, leaving you puzzled but not overly concerned.

The scarf has become a part of your everyday life. You wear it on days when you need a little extra confidence, its soft fabric a comforting weight around your neck. It’s your lucky charm, though you can’t quite remember where you got it or why it feels so important.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you find yourself holding the scarf a little longer than necessary. A strange, bittersweet feeling washes over you, like you’re on the verge of remembering something — or someone — just out of reach.

You shake it off, folding the scarf neatly and tucking it away in your drawer.

Dreams come to you occasionally, hazy and fragmented. They’re filled with flashes of green and gold, the sound of laughter you can’t place, and the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you.

You wake from these dreams with a strange mixture of comfort and longing, your heart aching for something — or someone — you can’t name. But the feeling fades as the day goes on, replaced by the mundanity of everyday life.

One evening, as you’re walking home from work, a sudden gust of wind whips through the street, tugging at your scarf. You clutch it tightly, a shiver running down your spine despite the warmth of your coat.

For a brief moment, you feel as though you’re being watched, as though someone is standing just behind you, their presence familiar and reassuring. You turn quickly, your eyes scanning the empty street, but there’s no one there.

You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you continue walking. But the feeling lingers, a warmth in your chest that stays with you for the rest of the night.

Time passes, and the ache in your heart becomes easier to ignore. You focus on the present, on the life you’ve rebuilt. You’re content, if not entirely happy.

But every now and then, when the world grows quiet, you find yourself staring into the distance, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over the scarf around your neck.

You don’t know what it is you’re searching for.

And maybe you never will.

ah yes, the angst! I love it, I've been crying for the last 2k words lol

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rafaslittleboy · 1 day ago

Text

older & wiser

big brother! sonny carisi x reader

summary: sonny overhears a private conversation between yourself and your older cousin mia about lack of self pleasuring tools and decides to take it upon himself to help you (ft. a dick mould that he got for his first year of college as a joke… but it comes in handy).

warnings: brother-sibling incest, use of small vibrator, clit play, reader isn’t gendered but has clit & vagina, kissing, fingering, sonny uses a very special dildo on you 😉

special thanks to the love of my literal life @noellawrites for editing this majorly for me. love you forever ❤️

Sonny nursed half of a beer can as he listened to his sisters talk, zoning in and out of their conversations. Baby talk, gossip about co-workers, talking about the ‘bad’ stuff their husbands have done (lack of washing dishes, not doing laundry—stuff the husbands should have been doing). Uninteresting conversations, to say the least. Nothing he could relate to.

His own relationship with Amanda had been… not the best. She was a piece of work and treated him like crap most days. Sonny thought being with her could settle some of his own internal thoughts, help him move on from someone that he really shouldn’t be falling for.

“Sonny, be an angel and go n’ tell ‘em both that dinner’s almost finished, you know how those two can be,” his mom told him as she pulled out a casserole from the oven, steam wafting in her face.

Sonny let out a strangled grunt as he sat up and placed his open can on the coffee table. He was getting old and any sudden movement strained his muscles—all those years running around as a detective really caught up to him now that his job is to sit down at a desk all day.

It had been a while since the whole family had come together. So many scheduling conflicts and Sonny’s hectic schedule always changing at the last minute; you never got to see your brother. Still living at home, you never got to see any of your siblings because they were far older than you—your oldest sister was in her fifties, while you were in your early twenties.

“--oh god, Mia,” your voice was heard through the cracked door, and he frowned at first but stayed behind the door to listen in. “That’s so embarrassing!”

“Oh my god,” she gasped, “is this what you use?” and a giggle followed afterwards. “It’s so small!”

Your face burned with embarrassment, “can we put it back now?” and you reached out to grab the tiny matte black vibrator but she held it back just enough that you couldn’t grab it from her hand.

“This is like… travel sized, I bring something like this with me on road trips.”

You groaned again, “please just give it back, it’s making me feel weird seeing it in the light.”

Mia finally gave in and tossed it back to you, “you should get a real one, something that can actually get you off. Like a boyfriend, to begin with,”

“Mom doesn’t want me to date yet,” Sonny hears a drawer open and close, “she says that ‘I’m her last baby and she wants me to do things right because everyone else didn’t’.”

“Like fuck?” Mia said, and he heard you groan. “Come on, it’s your life. She can’t tell you what to do.”

“I know, I know. I just… don’t want to go against her wishes.”

“You know, you could do other things with guys. When I started college, me and this guy jerked each other off—technically, that wasn’t having sex.”

Sonny frowned, he didn’t really exactly want to know about Mia’s sexual escapades and he should have really just told you both that dinner was ready–but something was stopping him. The buried, perverted part of him wanted to hear; but only for what you had to say.

Sonny knew it was weird, having these taboo feelings towards you. He tried to ignore the fact that he had watched you grow up and was still attracted to you. But with you in your twenties and single, he truthfully believed no one was good for you other than himself. That he was your soulmate.

That’s why he kept it all dead and buried. Secretly, behind all of his ADA work and previous detective work, he went against all of his own morals to harbor feelings towards his baby sibling. He was a pervert and he knew it.

“... Maybe,” you exhaled, “I just—the guy I want has a girlfriend, or is about to, anyway. I don’t just want to do something with just anyone. I want him.” Your voice trailed off into something Sonny identified as sadness.

Your reply had Sonny frowning again in thought. Who were you talking about? From the information from his sisters and mother about you, you weren’t seeing or talking to anyone. If you were to tell any of your sisters anything about your personal–personal life, you would always tell Bella. And unfortunately for you, if Sonny wanted to get any information from his little sister, she was the weakest link and would tell him with little pressure.

Who exactly were you referring to? The perverted side of him hoped it was him you liked.

After a while, Sonny decided he had been lingering long enough and was getting hungry. He stood straight and cleared his throat, opening your door.

“What’re you two doin’ up here?” as if he didn’t just listen to your whole conversation.

“Nothing,” Mia said with a stifled smile, “just… small talk,” and then she laughed and you pushed her shoulder in an attempt to get her to shut up. Your face went a few shades darker with embarrassment and you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Anyway, mom said dinner’s ready.” Sonny said, “‘ya better get down there before it’s all gone, ‘ya know how our sisters are.”

Mia got up first and her wide smile didn’t falter as she left, ducking under Sonny’s extended arm.

“You comin’?”

“Yeah,” you forced a smile, and half of it was genuine. You got up off your bed and followed down the stairs behind your big brother.

—

For the next few days, Sonny couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He saw you reaching for salad dressing and thought about you using that tiny vibrator to desperately get yourself off. You needed a real cock, someone who really knew how to pleasure you. And he knew it had to be him, your own big brother, as he jerked himself off in his childhood bedroom right next to yours in the middle of the night.

–

“Sonny, hey,” you said softly as you sat up, closing the lid of your laptop and pushing it off to the side.

It was late at night, nearing midnight and you were working on an essay for school before you put it off for too long and had to write the whole paper in one night before it was due.

“Jus’ wanted to check in on you,” he said, and he walked forward and sat down on the edge of your bed. “You uh… you doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m okay.” you reply, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, kiddo. I, uh, I got a gift for ‘ya,” he says, giving you a little half-smile.

From behind his back, Sonny pulls out a wrapped gift, slightly smaller than a shoe box.

“Wh-what—?”

“Jus’ open it, baby,” he urges, placing it in your hands. You follow his lead, pulling the ribbon off and unwrapping the box. You look up at him briefly before opening the lid. What you see inside almost makes your heart stop.

“Dude—“ your eyes widened at the object in the box. a dildo, a really real dildo, staring back at you. it was a deep peach color that faded to a red at the tip.

“Why?”

“…Mia might’ve said somethin’ to me,” he fabricated, it was the only excuse he had, really. And it wasn’t as if you were going to go and ask her, either. “About your… uh… lack of experience.”

“Oh, god,” you put your head in your hands to avoid looking at him. “She shouldn’t have told you anything, I shouldn’t have even told her about it.”

“Gotta tell ya, I’m a little upset.” Sonny placed the toy back inside the padded box and placed it away from you both. You peeked over your fingertips to look at him. “Would’a thought you would’ve come to me ‘bout all this.”

“Well… you’re my brother, I just thought you’d… I don’t know, judge me.”

Sonny tuts, “in my line of work, kid? I’m more approachable than our sista’s.” And he’s right, because you didn’t go to your sisters or your parents–Mia only found out by pure accident and a slip of the tongue.

“I—I guess so.” you say, lowering your eyes to the ground.

When Sonny lifts up your chin with his finger, your eyes meeting his in an oddly intimate gaze.

“I wanna help ‘ya, baby.”

“I dunno, Sonny. You’re… my brother,” you sigh.

“I’ll lock tha’ door, kid. ‘Ya ain’t gotta worry, hm? Jus’ gonna be between me ‘n you.” he hums.

He doesn’t wait for your response, hands moving to your sides and shimmying down your underwear.

As much as you hated to admit it, his touches drove you crazy. He looked at you so tenderly and it made your pussy throb. You never knew that your own older brother could make you feel so sexually charged.

“How’s this feelin’, baby?” he coos, running one finger up and down your slit while his other hand rests on your tummy.

“‘S-s’ good, Sonny,” you whimper, reminding Sonny of all those sweet moments you’ve shared as siblings. And now, you were moving so far away from that.

Sonny watched as your pussy juice dripped onto your bedding, leaving a little damp spot below you.

“Where’s ‘ya lil’ toy?” he asks, glancing at your bedside table.

“Uh–um…” you blush, reaching under your pillow and pulling out the tiny toy he’d seen you and Mia looking at a few days before.

He takes it from you gently, smiling as he goes back down to your pussy. He moves the bullet to your clit and savors your reaction, hips jutting upward as he presses the ‘on’ button.

“oh—Sonnnyy,” you moan, head falling back onto your pillow. Your older brother was making you feel better than you ever had, doing the same exact thing you’d tried countless times before.

Sonny moves the bullet downwards, inching it into your entrance as you gasp and try to keep yourself quiet. He slides it in and you can feel tears escaping your eyes at the blissful feeling of being fucked.

Then, the bullet died. You raised your head just enough to let out a single sob of discomfort, your eyebrows furrowing and thighs falling even further because of said discomfort. Your hips shimmy to get any sort of feeling back on your sensitive bud.

“Hey… s’alright,” Sonny said as he placed it on your nightstand, “I can use my fingers, see?”

Within a few seconds, Sonny had one fingertip on the outside of your underwear and was circling your clit in slow strokes. He heard you sigh in relief due to the brief absence of pleasure in your little bud. His fingertip was firmer than the plastic vibrator, you could feel the difference and preferred his fingers more.

Sonny was loving it more than he expected. Pleasuring you and making you feel good awoke something in him, and he never wanted to go back in holding back his feelings for you.

He used his free hand to turn your face so he could press a soft kiss on your lips, and your mind was so clouded that you kissed him back without a second thought. You let your own hidden thoughts and feelings about your older brother take charge (like they did when you touched yourself, but this time, you didn’t feel disgusted while it happened). Sonny’s lips were soft and by god he knew how to kiss, taking charge immediately and opening your mouth to him.

Sonny swallowed your sound of disappointment when he took his fingertips off your swollen clit and then he swallowed your moan when the same fingertips slid down to your dripping slit, feeling up and down the arousal he caused.

“S’this for me?” he asked against your lips and you nodded, “fuck–yeah, you–it’s for you,” and he smiled at your response. You’re so desperate.

When he reached for the toy, you were disappointed. You didn’t know why you expected him to pull himself out and fuck you; this whole time with him was supposed to be him teaching you how to use the toy he got you.

He placed the tip against you and slid it through your folds, your wetness coating his huge head. He bit his plump lip and his eyebrows furrowed together, now he was really imagining it being his cock–you were incredibly wet and he wanted to swap places with his molded cock.

“Shh, it’s just the head, you can take it,”

Sonny began slowly fucking you with the dildo, bringing it out until only the tip was inside you, to pushing it all the way back in until it barely kissed your cervix.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “just take it, relax…”

He smoothed his palm over your tummy and sprawled out his fingers. Sonny closed his eyes and tried—and he really did try—to imagine it was him inside you, making you make those little noises, making you feel good. To imagine pushing inside you and feeling your warm and wet hole contract around him.

Technically, it was. It was him inside you, making you feel so good.

You were taking his cock, despite it being a silicone copy. You were taking it like a champ, half of it being able to fill you and he knew that if he trained you enough you would be able to take all of it. Maybe that’s another activity he can do with you.

Sonny moved so he was between your legs and your eyes were transfixed to the very hard bulge in his gray sweatpants. Your pupils dilated even more and your mouth filled with saliva, legs spreading just a little more with pure want. You felt your insides throb at the thought of him inside you and you wanted nothing more than his body weight on top of you and his hard cock thrusting inside you until he was satisfied.

Your small hand wrapped around his wrist and he looked at you with soft, yet lust-blown eyes, “can I… can I see yours?”

It was a question he never expected you to ask him. He had obviously worked you up so much that lust had clouded your mind and you asked for what you wanted.

“You sure?” His hand rubs your bare thigh, and you felt the warmth from his palm on your burning skin and all you wanted was more. Your big brother’s fingers inside you again, and your eyes were locked onto the bulge in his sweatpants and your mouth watered at the idea of doing more than seeing it—but you had decorum (what was left, anyway) and you didn’t have the confidence to ask him to put it in your mouth.

“Yeah,” your voice came out as a hoarse whisper and you watched as Sonny’s thick and long fingers went to the waistband of his sweats and pulled down just enough that his cock slipped out and bobbed at the extra room–no longer being confined–and he heard your audible gulp at your first sighting at his very real, very erect cock.

Sonny hoped you didn’t recognise the shape as he held his sex-toy-copy in his spare hand, but he watched as you tore your eyes from it and to his face; “it’s… big,” is all you said.

“Can I touch it?” You licked your bottom lip.

Without answering, Sonny took your limp wrist and placed your loose hand on his cock, your fingers curling around his thick cock and he groaned at the first contact. Your head tipped to rest on his shoulder as you familiarized yourself with his cock, fingers tightening and your fingertips just barely touching.

“I bet you get all the girls and guys,” you smile lazily, eyes half lidded as your teeth bite your bottom lip. You wanted nothing more than for that to be inside you instead.

“Ya’ jealous?” He smirks and rubs the tip of the toy against your opening, sliding it up to your clit then back down again, teasing you.

As you muffle your moan and tug on his cock, Sonny decides that he has to fuck you one way or another—and right then, he wanted to fuck you with the toy. He wanted you somewhat used to having something big inside you before he even thought about convincing you to let him guide his cock inside you and fuck you hard and soft.

“Fuck–jesus, oh my god,” your back arched slightly as he thrust the tip inside you, already pushing you to the edge. He moved his wrist slowly, working you open enough to be able to take the tip of the toy. Sonny had been playing with you for so long that he had your body hyper-sensitive and aching for an orgasm. “Sonny–it’s big–really big–”

Sonny smiled down at you and continued to softly fuck you with it. A soft squelching filled the room and his cock twitched in your loose grip, your fist squeezing down on it lightly when the tip entered you and hit against the spongy spot inside you that you could never reach on your own without an intense arm workout that ultimately failed in the end anyway.

Sonny brought his other hand down to your wet clit and used the pad of his thumb to rub small circles on it, making it impossible to hold the moan that was caught in your throat. It was louder than you thought and Sonny gave you a warning look. Too loud meant that either of you could be caught doing what you were doing and it would’ve been a horrible event to explain.

“Shh, baby… ya need’a be quiet, need’a keep ya tone down. I know m’ makin’ ya feel good.”

You nodded, letting out a really shaky sigh and closing your eyes as Sonny pleasured you. You had to bite your tongue when Sonny slid more of the toy inside you and put more pressure on your clit. “Sonny—” you whined, clenching your eyes shut.

You could feel an orgasm creeping up on you, and it felt different since it wasn’t yourself that was causing it. It was someone else, and more importantly, it was your big brother; The Big Bad ADA. It turned you on more than you’d like to admit, being fucked by a dildo by your own brother while you held his heavy, large cock in your hand and jerked him off the best you could while you were feeling so fucking good.

The pace of the dildo-fucking changed, and you felt it punching inside your wet pussy harder and just a little bit faster and god, you felt so full. You didn’t know how much you were taking of the toy, but it felt like a lot. You wanted to scream that it felt so good, but all you let out was a frustrated, muffled moan held back by your lips.

“Like that, baby? S’it feelin’ good when I fuck ya like this?” His mock-baby-voice and cooing made you feel as if you were a puddle, and you nodded in response. Your hips tried their best to thrust back on the toy, but everything you were feeling was building and building and building into something you couldn’t handle.

You nodded as he fucked you with it even harder and managed to fit at least half of it inside you, leaving a white cream every time he pulled it from inside you and a little damp patch on your blanket with just how wet you were. Your legs shook as he kept it up, his thumb on your clit rubbing hard and fast and the toy punching inside of you had you teetering on the edge and he felt it. Your fist squeezed tight around his cock.

It hit you fast and hard, a few more hard circles from his thumb onto your swollen clit had your tight walls squeezing so hard on the toy inside you, taking only seconds for him to make you cum—hard.

Your fingers squeezed down on his cock as you experienced the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, little spurts leaving your puffy pussy as he fucked the cock into you. The pressure of your fingers along with being painfully hard and turned on allowed Sonny to thrust into your hand and groan deep from his chest as he came. His hot, milky cum shot from the head of his cock and landed on your thighs, pussy and abdomen.

Sonny slumped down on an arm on top of you, breathing hard as he came down from his high and his cock jerking in your loose grip, getting the last bits of himself out and onto your hot, sweat-slicked skin. He let go of the toy inside you and let the tip stay inside you, your bottom half twitching in the aftermath.

“Christ, kid,” Sonny chuckled, wetting his dry lips. “Ya really wrung me out t��dry.”

You let out a breathy laugh along with him and kissed him, because god did you need it. Need him. In your state of mind, you didn’t care about any consequences. You loved your big brother and you were confident he definitely loved you back.

The kiss was sloppy, drool leaving the corner of your mouth as you moaned into each other. Sonny reached between you to slowly slide the toy out from inside you and used his fingers to touch your very oversensitive pussy, swallowing your gasp.

“Came real hard, didn’t ya?” He smiled against your lips, leaning his head back enough to look into your dazed eyes. You smiled and pushed his face away, “don’t get all ‘high horse’ on me, counselor.”

He kissed you again, “next time, it ain’t gonna be the toy.”

And god, you wanted nothing more than that.

#sonny carisi #law and order svu #peter scanavino #sonny carisi x reader #dominick carisi #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #sonny carisi imagine #dominick carisi imagine #raul esparza #tw: incest #incest fic #dead dove don’t eat

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phoenixfire7894 · 3 days ago

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Okay, this might be controversial but Hua Cheng is inherently not cool! And I don’t mean i don’t like him or anything, it’s just, the whole series is told via the perspective of Xie Lian and you know, Xie Lian thinks Hua Cheng is the most incredible person ever! He’s super biased!!

Like, mans made over ten thousand status to his crush he’s had since he was ten. Lowkey pathetic. Made an entire ghost town and named it “Flower City” because Xie Lian was a flower god. That is simp behavior. I’m a hundred percent certain that if we heard the internal monologue of Hua Cheng when talking to Xie Lian it would be him panicking cause he doesn’t wanna fuck up.

Now, the main reason I bring this up is that too many people don’t acknowledge that out of the two of them, Xie Lian is the cool one! Sure Xie Lian’s luck is garbage (hah pun cause he’s the trash god lmao) but he is inherently the coolest of the two.

Like, do you wanna know what is the most badass thing? It’s when the traditionally polite character loses their shit. Sure Hua Cheng burned the temples of 33 gods but that will never be as awesome as Xie Lian slapping Qi Rong across the face because he is typically level-headed and a lot needs to be done to make him react with such a way. There is nothing more badass than being calm and collected when the world goes to shit when you have the strength to resort to violence (excluding ur cousin being an asshole, this rule doesn’t apply then, beat the shit out of them).

Tldr: Xie Lian is cooler than Hua Cheng; Hua Cheng would probably agree with me so I’m probs right

Edit: So there has been some discussion about my post lol and I want to clear up some stuff. First of all, I don’t think I worded this very well which is my bad lmao (I kept the post above the same so that people know what others are talking about). I do think Hua Cheng is cool, I just also acknowledge that a lot of the book is told via Xie Lian’s perspective so his good traits are gonna shine through a lot more. I was thinking more through a lens of other onlookers watching the Tgcf events go down (which I didn’t clarify so obviously my bad). I stand by my opinion that out of the two of them, I think Xie Lian is cooler than Hua Cheng but that’s an obviously subjective opinion that is grounded by Xie Lian being my favorite character in the series. Also some people have said “pathetic” is not the right word to use. I was using “pathetic” in a more charming way here like the “I love pathetic men” type way. I thought that people would get that. I was wrong. (Super sorry, *strums ukulele*)

I’m very sorry to the ones I have offended with this post lmao.

Tldr (but for the edit): I made probably not the best worded post (my bad babes) but I feel bad and would like to say I also think Hua Cheng is cool, I just wanted to go through and highlight how Xie Lian is also badass.

#tgcf #mxtx #xie lian #heaven official's blessing #hua cheng #shitpost #hualian #coolness scaling

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tsartistry · 3 days ago

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I love the Niobe kidnaps Lester AU! I’m already so invested in it! But I have many questions…

1. How does Leto (aka mama Leto) feel about this?

2. What is/how are the Apollo kids feeling? Are their powers not working as much or what?

3. How is Olympus doing? Is someone doing apollos work? Are they trying to investigate or are they trying to pretend that nothing is happening?

4. Did Lester/apollo gain their powers back before Niobe kidnapped him? And since he’s being brainwashed did he forget he does have powers if he gained them again or are they just completely gone?

5. Will Lester/apollo have a love interest?

And last question for this post I swear lol does Lester/apollo ever show signs of their powers once and awhile? Like for example if their hair starts to go blonde suddenly?

Sorry for so many questions, I’m just so invested in this AU ever since I discovered it lol I keep going back to this tag just to reread everything :3

1. How does Mama Leto feel about all this?

in a nutshell?

For the past several thousand years, Leto's had a lot of trust in Zeus. Even during Apollo's trials, while she was begging him to end the trials and restore her son's divinity, she still trusted him. Surely if Apollo succeeded at his trials, then Zeus would keep his word and restore him to Olympus. And if he failed -- she did not want to think about him failing, but she still trusted she would see her son again. Somehow.

But now, it's not a matter of success or failure; Apollo is just gone. Leto can't find any trace of him, and suddenly Zeus isn't giving her any answers. She can't exactly bring wrath down upon the King of the Olympus the way she did Niobe millennia ago. All she can do is ask everyone she knows for help finding her son, and stew in her worry as she waits for any scrap of information.

She's not doing great.

(Whenever she finds out about Niobe's involvement, all that anxiety turns into RAAAAAGE)

2. What is/how are the Apollo kids feeling? Are their powers not working as much or what?

Their powers are weakened, but still working! Their spirits... not so much. It's not like Apollo to give them radio silence. When they ask the other gods for information, they provide no answers. But where Leto was filled with anxiety, the Apollo kids are on the cusp of despair. The only thing they're holding on to is Nico saying he didn't feel Lester die; But if that's the case, where is he?

3. How is Olympus doing? Is someone doing apollos work? Are they trying to investigate or are they trying to pretend that nothing is happening?

I hadn't thought about who was doing Apollo's work, but thinking about it now, it's probably either Hermes or Artemis. Maybe they switch off? Hermes has a precedent for handling Apollo's animals, and Artemis would want to ensure her brother's position as sun god is cared for and not usurped. She saw what happened to Helios, after all.

But Olympus is tense. Zeus is convinced that Apollo went into hiding, perhaps hoping that Zeus will come begging for him to come defeat Python --

Oh, yeah, Python's still around, by the way! He's still digesting the power of the Triumvirate, and still has complete control over Delphi, and there is now a risk of him using his power and position to start taking control of fate. With every day that passes, the serpent's power grows, and the tension among the Olympians builds.

Unfortunately, fate has decreed the absent Apollo would be the one to defeat the serpent. But Zeus will not stoop to begging Apollo to come back; That would be showing weakness! He's fine waiting out his son's little tantrum. He's just making it harder for himself, after all; Every day Python grows more powerful. But that's Apollo's problem. Why should Zeus be worried about an evil serpent possibly taking control of fate itself?

Yeah, Zeus is panicking. He pretends to know where Apollo is, but he's as clueless as everyone else, and it's terrifying. Even in the guise of a mortal, what could make an entire god disappear so suddenly? And could Python pull the strings of fate to force the Olympians to fall?

Despite his efforts to look cool and collected, the other Olympians are starting to see the cracks in his facade. Poseidon especially is starting to smell blood in the water, so to speak.

4. Did Lester/apollo gain their powers back before Niobe kidnapped him? And since he’s being brainwashed did he forget he does have powers if he gained them again or are they just completely gone?

I wouldn't say they're gone, but I would say he does not have access to them. The power still exists, but he cannot reach it.

The brainwashing and the lost powers are two separate things that were done to him. Niobe actually did some magical shenanigans (with the help of a Greek goddess I won't name just yet, it's someone who has never appeared in the Riordanverse) to actually remove parts of Apollo's soul to prevent him from accessing them.

5. Will Lester/apollo have a love interest?

I don't have any plans to write any romance for Lester, but who knows, maybe as I'm writing I'll get struck with inspiration! But the story's already complicated enough, haha, romance might tangle it up even more.

And last question for this post I swear lol does Lester/apollo ever show signs of their powers once and awhile? Like for example if their hair starts to go blonde suddenly?

Yes! While he's lost access to most of his powers due to Niobe's meddling on top of Zeus turning him mortal, she overlooked his music powers! It's actually a plot point that he can use music and rhythm to guide people's emotions and movements.

I like to imagine that if he practices hard & concentrates, he can trigger an entire diegetic musical number. The kind where he can get a whole crowd singing and dancing together. Unfortunately that sort of thing is difficult to convey in writing.

Sorry for so many questions, I’m just so invested in this AU ever since I discovered it lol I keep going back to this tag just to reread everything :3

aaa that makes me so happy!! Please don't feel bad about asking questions, it helps me fill in details I hadn't thought about before :D

speaking of Apollo's music powers, here's a bonus doodle

#niobe kidnaps lester fic #asks #percy jackson and the olympians #the trials of apollo #not enough tkc to tag it tkc i think #set tkc #thoth tkc #lester papadopoulos #apollo pjo #trials of apollo

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ysaona · 8 hours ago

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— Spoilers. Season 2, act 3 arcane. ⟡ ݁₊ .

First of all, Jinx is alive, and nobody can tell me different—end of story. I’ll post why after this (or before). Second, I CHEERED when Maddie, you know, because who does she think she is for real? Like, she actually had me heated.

Next up, I’m so happy Caitlyn and Vi are happy and safe and are living a sweet little life. It actually makes me so happy I could CRY. I can’t even explain it, but getting FREAKY in a jail cell? Oh, y’all are SLUTS—. Like, I had to click off to understand what I had just watched. I was literally in fricking shock, bro.

I’m also so sorry this is like thrown everywhere, but guys, I just am feeling so many emotions. I literally just finished this, so it’s raw emotions, like oh my god, the way Viktor and Jayce went out. They are literally so FRICKING GAY; like holy HECK! You homosexuals are so dramatic. Mel was so COOL this season; like I’m glad we got to see more of her being a Badass other than her just being a warrior's daughter. I think she deserved that title.

Arcane, the animation, to the art palettes, to the fricking characters, to the top and fricking bottom, holy heck, it was beautifully written. It was illustrated amazingly; it was gorgeous, it was heartbreaking, it was everything. This show deserves every award they could possibly earn. It was so beautiful, and I am just so honored to have even watched it.

Also, at the end, Caitlyn says something that gives off the vibe that’s like, “Our story is not over; this is just the beginning.” I have hope that they will continue Arcane, even if it’s a spinoff or a movie. I just think it’s not finished, and there are so many questions left unanswered, and they did that on purpose for only one reason, which is to somehow continue it. I pray they do because the storyline, the characters—it’s all so beautiful.

So I have HOPE! That we will somehow get a continuation very, very later lol okay ily thank you all for almost 1000 you guys are my babes. ALSO, COMMENT I WANNA HEARRRR ALL THE THEORIES AND ALL THE THOUGHTS!

— @juptology !! <3

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theheartcollecter · 1 day ago

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Chapter 1: Revival

Fem Ghoul reader x Monster 141

Warnings for this chapter: torture, blood, cannibalism (lemme know if I missed any.)

You were turned into a ghoul about 2 months ago. Battling with urges to carnivore humans and fight rival ghouls. Your life had changed drastically since then, no more university or jobs, hell, you can’t even talk to friends or family the same.

You don’t remember how exactly you got here, in a secluded room. The walls and floors bare exactly for a single chair and the pool of blood forming around it. You eyes can barely stay open, when they do you star at the only light source in this huge room. The white light shows your life before, the people you met and human foods you ate.

Many people don’t know when exact the influx of ghouls started to appear in England, they just remember the stories. Mother and kids found dead after father cannibalizes them. Except they didn’t know it wasn’t cannibalism at the time, no, something much worse, a new form of monster. Ghouls in England began running rogue, eating anyone they pleased, and turning whoever the thought fit.

That’s how you ended up here. Wrists and feet tied to a chair, restraints beyond tight. You stopped making sounds of agony a while ago, the pain now numbing. Squelch! Another toe being cut off, forcing your body to replace it. Since you’re a fairly new ghoul, your body hasn’t gotten a hold of the whole immortal thing. Your new ghoul body takes longer than most to heal itself, which only makes it more agonizing.

You can hear a man laughing, or ghoul laughing, the one who brought you here. You forgot his name; useless information now. But you’ll never forget what he did or is doing to you. He’s cut all of your toes off by now, all forced to regrow. By the 15th one you stopped feeling it, which he was clearly amused by.

You feel something touch your hair lightly, “It’s white,” the man says, English accent cutting through your head. You open your eyes, cold sweat running down your face. “Your hair has turned white.” You glance down and, yes, he’s right. Your hair has indeed turned white, another thing added along with your freakish new powers.

You can’t find the words to complain so you just stare into his eyes, revenge now corrupting your mind. His eyes, a pale yellow, hair blonde, and brown suit. Must be 6ft or taller, typical muscular build, maybe late 40s.

You don’t know if you’ll survive this, not sure how long it will take, how many more things he can cut until your body stops regrowing them.

It’s like god hearing your prayers, a guardian angel coming to save you as you hear someone kick at the door. It only takes a few kicks to get it to collapse onto the floor. The male ghoul in front of you is blocking your view, you can’t see who’s come to, hopefully, save you.

“Hmm, who are you?” The male ghoul says, amusement lacing his voice. You try to say something, anything, you open your mouth but no sound comes out.

“Task Force 141, remember the name.” An English man says, before you see them, rushing towards the ghoul. Four men, two with, is that wings? A wolf hybrid, and a giant with a mask on. They all wear protective gear, guns and knives, and the wolf is wearing a …choker?

The ghoul tenses, amusement gone. He steps back before his kagune, a ghouls predatory organ that functions as their weapon, comes out. You think he’s about to fight them before he rushes towards the side of the building, crashing through the wall into the night.

You turn back to your saviors, getting a good look at them, but not for long. The loss of blood must’ve got to you, your eyes slowly close and before you know it you’ve passed out. The last thing you feel is being untied and picked up into big, warm, arms.

A/n: AHHH, this is my first time ever writing something like this, so don’t bash me too hard.🙈 I wrote this with the anime Tokyo Ghoul in mind, but I think I explained enough to make it make sense without knowing the anime. But please know this whole series (if it gets that far) will be heavily based on the anime. If you have a suggestions to make my writing better, please let me know!

#୨୧ emi’s dairy !#141 x reader #cod #monster 141 x reader #tokyo ghoul #poly 141 x reader #fem reader

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chaoskull · 3 days ago

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J. Doyle Penrose - Idun and the Apples

Feast of Hope

Space Wolf Oc x Gn!Reader

Summary: On a mission, looking for a possible threat on a planet, Helgi finds a kind human in the midst of a emotionally desperate moment.

I was looking at some paintings and entered a rabbit hole of depictions of norse gods. My first thought was space wolves, so I just let my imagination just run free. It's based in the image of the painting.

A tender world, no harsh ice winds covered its surface, only but a breeze of the fields, a green land that had come to bless the long awaiting wolf, Helgi was no stranger to hotter climates, although they would only come in times of war, where blood was bound to be found.

Some of his brothers accompanied him, out of the grassland, into the woods, no forest as what he heard from tales of other worlds, this one is bright, filled with life, and light that seeps through the canopy of the tall, slim trees. The vibrant vegetation gave him comfort he could never seek on the surface of Fernis.

They head to the heart of the forest, what is to be done, he hasn't been told - merely that they were to kill, as if that was not their duty already - if he was to question anything about the mission the much older astartes of the group would definitely start to complain, as he would always do.

That is until they reach a clearing, they sat themselves on rocks there present, it's been a long travel, walking on foot, as they were told to not disturb the humans present in this planet, ‘Screw them, should have brought those ravens if it was needed to do that’ he reasons.

Helgi was no beginner in tracking, he had many years of servitude, he knew when something felt different in an ambient, as they start discussing what is to be done he notices a smell in the air of fresh fruit, the forest, as he observes, had nothing green and yellow leaves.

The others did not seem bothered by it, but he was, Helgi had not eaten anything since the landing he had been distracted, he was highly alerted of his surroundings, he'd been drinking before the mission again, even though I was clear to him that this would soon destroy him.

Before the sickness stopped he felt no hunger, but as they sat and talked, he wasn't so lightheaded anymore, the dizziness had left and now he was starting to feel starved.

Deciding to end this quickly he got up to seek this smell, the older man was not content with the action. “Helgi, where are you heading to?!” He shouted from his seat.

“I'm starving, you old drunk” He barked back at the man and spat on the floor. “Ha, well look who says that, you were stumbling like an idiot the entire ride on the ship here, boy” The man laughs, it was merely playful banter between the two, though aggressive, they were both accustomed with it by now.

It still hurt Helgi deeply to hear that, he knew most of his brothers had their burdens, but his being so obvious to others it made him feel less than them. He wasn't a new recruit any longer, he was getting old, he had nothing to himself, it was an honor to be an astartes, but he had none left at times he wasn't battling.

Others kept their distance as he left, but the older man followed him. “What are you looking for, you hopeless bastard?” He asked, patting the man on the shoulder.

“Smelled fruit” He answers, he didn't care what was there to eat, though he'd definitely prefer a nice piece of meat. The older man snickers in amusement, not expecting such a response.

They both find the source of the smell not too far, sitting on a rock, eating said fruits, Helgi finds a little human. They recognize them as astartes, space wolves most likely, and quickly take the box where they stored the fruits ready to take a leave, not just from slight fear, but from reverence as well.

Though they were interrupted by a growling sound, it came from the belly of the younger man, and the older one started to laugh at him. They were left confused, he was hungry, they opened the box to offer a fruit to the man.

Helgi felt as his life had come from misery to a miracle in an instant, the two astartes approached his savior, kneeling to get as close as possible to their sitting stature.

They handed him a red ripe fruit, it was big in their hand, when he took it it seemed times smaller, taking a bite of it he almost devoured it whole, juice dripping from his hand, it was just as sweet as it looked.

“You want more, my lord?” He lifted his head to the sound of the voice, met with a gentle smile a hand held another in front of him, dangling in their fingers. His head falls to their lap, loosening his grip of the fruit, it rolled through the grass.

The older man was sitting near the scene, about to make fun of him. He looked at them and decided to leave instead, returning to do a mission with the others, who were too watching while they waited, without Helgi noticing.

What he saw was a blessing, he wanted to take you to Fernis, he couldn't leave you on this planet, he was a selfish man. This forest was a distant paradise, and you were an angel, one not made by imperium means, one made of kindness.

He wonders what you must make of him, he was barely holding his tears, and yet you placed your hands on his hair, slowly running them along his red mane.

Leaning his head up to meet your gaze, one hand travels down to scratch his bearded cheeks only to move it away his face, leaving him yearning for more.

Taking the fruit and holding it close to his mouth, Helgi lets you feed him, he was chewing slowly this time as to savor it, truth is he wanted to have far more time in your hold. He'll have only a memory of your gentle expression, if not to leave with you today.

“Come with me, It’s cold on Fernis, but I'll give you my warmth, I promise you, let me” He begs, leaning closer to your face. “I'm a failure at everything my legion stands for, I'm not prideful of my actions, I'm not nice to be around, I can't make myself likable”

“You say a lot of negative things about yourself, I'm certain most are not true, my lord” They comment, trying to make the man less desolate.

He looks at you, eyes imploring for you to depart with him. “I shall take my leave with you if that is wish for, I'll become your serf”

“No little one, not a thrall, I will cherish you, you'll be mine to spoil” He grins at them, he suddenly gets up, much faster than what they would expect for a man who was just inconsolable moments before. He holds their hand, drawing circles on their palms.

“Helgi, you done?!” A yell is heard not far from where they were.

“I believe in you, lord Helgi” They get up and take the box in their hands, hugging it close to their chest. Having such an immense height difference, they crane their head up to look at him.

“Enough with the lord stuff” He huffs back at them, grabbing them, he pulls them closer to himself and runs one hand on their back, almost engulfing them in the pelts around his belt.

“Ha, got yourself a spouse, that's surprising!” The older wolf shouts as he laughs, suddenly appears from behind the bushes and trees, covered in what was most likely blood and guts of an unknown creature.

“They are not!” Helgi retorts the old man's remark, he leans closer to their head. “...yet” He mumbles, leaving them with a shocked, embarrassed expression, he chuckles at the sight.

Thank you for reading this little thing from my mind!

#warhammer x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #space wolf oc x reader #oc x reader #oc space wolf #oc space marine #space wolves #adeptus astartes

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chickenkurage · 5 hours ago

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"The Author" (Reality Warped AU)

This is the villain.... "Alan"

He's not that scary yet XP...... Anyways, lore!

· • —– ٠ 📜 ٠ —– • ·

Summary/Synopsis:

Imagine sitting at your desk, writing the ending of your own book. When all of the sudden you wake up in a world that you literally made! Goodness this is an author’s wet dream! At least that’s what Alan is supposed to feel, until he remembers what kind of person “Alan” is in his story….

Where Alan Becker, the author of Animation vs Animator and his standalone Animation vs Minecraft (kudos to Mojang) was suddenly sucked in his own book, now he finds himself in place of his self insert character named “Alan”.... He’s supposed to be glad because he’s meeting his own creations (his own characters! Can you believe that?!), until he remembered he’s the “supposed” villain of the story.

Oh well, he can change things up right?

Ugh, right…. He is the villain, and being a villain means it’s hard to gain your character's trust (why did he even write his character as a villain?......a right because he couldn't think of any other villain, so naturally he wrote himself as one.... ugh).

· • —– ٠ 📜 ٠ —– • ·

LORE:

“Alan” in this AU is the villain, the creator of victim, The Chosen One, The Dark Lord and The Second Coming: The Chosen One’s Return. He was the worst out of the worst, he only thought of them as some play toy. Telling them what to do, and such. He was the fucking worst, at least to their point of view…. Actually, scratch that, he was the worst to everyone’s eyes. Even the Color Gang hates Alan (and somehow, they were the “chillest” out of them all). They were so used to Alan treating them like dirt at this point. Then all of the sudden he’s all kind now? What games is he playing?

Alan Becker is just an author, a really well-known author that created Animator vs Animation, originally a story he created as a teen then he tweaked it a little bit when he got older (his writing was atrocious, it clearly needed some work). But nevertheless, he was proud of his work, he even gained a fandom because of it. Met a lot of people too, and friends too! As a child, he always wanted friends on his own computer, always fantasizing how he would be with them and how fun it would be. So naturally he made a story, and that story became a sensation years later. He really should be thankful for his family and friends for giving him a push to actually publish it. After losing his interest in drawing (he clearly was not improving) he decided to just hone his writing skills better, after all a lot had said he was better at writing than drawing. And somehow, he’s glad he actually continued it. So, tell him, why the fuck did he suddenly wake up in his own story?!?! Not only that, but he also has no face?! Oh god he has no face (actually it was his fault for not really going in depth on how “Alan” looks like, now he suffered the consequence of losing his own face).

Now he's stuck as his own self insert character, forced to play a villain role, before deciding, fuck it and fed his characters kindness and love, because for the life of him he cannot act like an asshole; he feels too bad............ Naturally, he also knew how the story would end, and it won't end on a good note. So thankfully, acting kind will MOST PROBABLY change their ending... Hopefully, oh god out of all books he gets sucked into, it's his own book which probably has so many plot holes?! Someone please save him now!!!

· • —– ٠ 📜 ٠ —– • ·

Here is your well-deserved lore everyone! We finally got another Alan who isn't crazy, turned crazy, evil, a terrorist need I say more? - S

#RWAlanBecker #animation vs animator #animator vs animation #ava au #ava #alan becker

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mumms-the-word · 8 hours ago

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Yet another Veilguard update with the usual good, the bad, the ugly, and the me freaking out about minor references and callbacks haha

This one is very long sorry

So since the last update I have done as much side content as possible before heading to the Hossberg Wetlands and later Weisshaupt (which I just completed last night) which included, briefly, unlocking all of the solas regrets murals

And uh WOW was that whole deep dive a doozy. I definitely should have spaced out the murals over time rather than movie-marathoned them back to back. But the things I learned about Solas…it’s insanity

In a good way

In a really horrifying way

I loved that our theories about Solas being a spirit of Wisdom first were confirmed, and I lost my mind over the fact that the first elves were spirits who gained physical bodies by taking Titan blood (aka lyrium). And the fact that Solas CREATED THE BLIGHT by essentially making the Titans Tranquil?? And that’s why Dwarves don’t dream????

Losing my mind. Solas what have you DONE.

I still ahev to process it all haha but I do have a few thoughts

So far, I wish there was more engagement with these elements and the Chant of Light. The companions react and say that these reveals basically dismantle Andrastianism but the Chant has several allegorical parallels to what, apparently, really happened. The Maker’s first children were spirits, and all that…so I kind of wish the Chantry had a bigger presence in the game with more reactivity

But that’s a post for another day. For now, I reloaded back to only 3 murals unlocked so the team only knows the story up to Solas creating the Veil. I’ll rewatch the others later.

I got worried about being locked out of stuff so I went ahead and did as much side content as I could with a couple of exceptions. Turns out, I probably didn’t need to do that and it would have made more sense narratively if I hadn’t. More on that in a minute

The Siege of Weisshaupt mission was SO GOOD!! Like…the main missions are really where this game shines, I think. I have gripes with some of the companion conversations, but in the actual story missions, the action, the intensity, all of it is so good. And I thought Ghilan’nain turning her archdemon into a many-headed hydra creature was *chefs kiss* so cool. I love fighting big/unique stuff like that!

All that said the follow up scene with the team at the table leaves…a lot to be desired

Listen, DA games pride themselves on bringing together a team of companions that players adore and fall in love with. Naturally we enjoy helping out our companions because we like them. We don’t have to be told to help them because we just generally do that…and if we don’t then, rip, suffer the consequences

So I got a bit annoyed when the scene suddenly turned to a very overt “fix our problems” narrative

I don’t know, that feels so…forced to me. Varric literally tells me I have to solve everyone’s problems. Which is like…I was going to! Because they’re my friends! But being straight up told like “hey you have to solve everyone’s problems and stop their distractions or this team isn’t going to function” is like…I’m sorry are we adults or aren’t we? Why am I being told to babysit the team? Can you guys not pursue these distractions on your own rather than wait for me to give you permission? Did we all forget that two gods are out there rampaging? That they’re strong enough to destroy a fortress that stood against the blight and various conflicts for over 900 years? That they haven’t stopped and show no signs of stopping anytime soon?

But no, by all means, tell me in very obvious terms that my job is now to reconcile all your differences before I face the gods again. That doesn’t feel very handed at all.

Let me be clear. I love to help my companion. I love the idea that you build a team that works well because you have shaped them via your leadership skills. I love the idea that your team works well because you have invested in them. That’s really the heart of any DA game—gather your team, earn their loyalty, and see how well the friends you’ve made along the way assist you in the big battles to come.

But…that scene around the kitchen table could have been so much better, so much more nuanced, and far less “Solve their problems.”

To me, that scene should have been everyone fighting, calling out everyone’s distractions and mistakes, and essentially devolving into outright arguments over the table until Rook yells at everyone to shut up. Everyone is mad, everyone is upset. And then maybe the companions are like “sorry Rook, listen, I have a lot on my mind. I’m still going to help with the Big Problem but I’m also going to pursue this Other Thing whether you like it or not.” No suggestion that it’s now your problem to solve, but a heavy hint that it might get done more quickly if you help (which also gives you room to be an ass and not help). In this scenario, everyone ends up being very disgruntled with you, but you still have your hint that you need to pursue companion questlines if you want to see their cool abilities or special items or get them to be a Hero of the Veilguard or whatever…but that’s just my opinion

Basically I wanted subtly and tension. So much more tension.

What we got instead was a couple of annoyed comments and then Emmrich being like “oh dear we’re all distracted by the things that bother us” and everyone offering up distractions that, yes, need to be resolved…but it’s very easy to be like “hey bud the Hand of Glory and the Nadas Dirthalen can wait until the gods aren’t threatening to destroy the world I think.”

It’s not the worst scene in the world, but it could have been reframed better. Either frame it as “Sorry Rook but none of these factions trust you enough to aid you in the fight, you have to prove yourself to them” (and loop in the companion questlines that way) or show your team literally unraveling because they can’t get along or agree with you—now you see the evidence of what you need to fix, and nobody has to outright tell you to “solve everyone’s distractions.” It’s just implied. Because you saw them fighting. A lot.

Like duh I knew I’d have to resolve everyone’s problems if I want them to like me or stick around! That’s just what I’ve come to expect from RPG games like this. It’s an expectation of the genre. But I don’t want to be told that’s my job now. If anything it triggers my contrarian nature and now I want to see what bad ending I get when I don’t listen to the game’s extremely heavy push for me to deal with everyone’s issues

I won’t, but I’m tempted

I just…wanted it to be better. I want see everyone bitching at each other until everyone leaves in a huff and Rook just sits at the table, head in their hands like “oh my god everyone hates me and they hate each other and we’re going to die if everyone can’t get their shit together”

Then maybe Varric sits down next to them and goes, “Hey kid, did I ever tell you about the time Hawke tried to convince a Rivaini pirate, a weird abomination, a Dalish blood mage, a stiff-necked captain of the guard, a broody elf who glowed in the dark, and a few other friends besides to all agree to fight as a team to stop a qunari invasion in Kirkwall? It worked, more or less. By the end of the night, everyone had worked together enough to end up with one dead Arishok and an entire city’s gratitude.”

Maybe Rook looks up and says, “And how’d they manage that little miracle? Without everyone trying to kill each other in the process.”

And maybe Varric smiles and shrugs. “They had their differences, trust me. Half the time you couldn’t put two of them in a room together without a fight breaking out. But they all believed in one thing. They believed in Hawke.”

Then maybe there’s a pause, as he lets Rook consider that for a moment, before he stands up and says, “It’s a good bedtime story, in any case. I’ll let you sleep on it.”

Sigh. It just would have been cool…

Now in all fairness the scene felt even clunkier because I had actively been doing side quests and helping out my friends so it was like…it felt weird to have this implication that I’m not already helping them. It makes me think I shouldn’t do any of their side quests until after the Siege of Weisshaupt but who knows

I keep pendulum swinging back and forth between moments of brilliance and moments that leave me baffled and wondering who made some of these narrative/writing calls. I don’t hate the game by any stretch of the imagination. Like I said the Siege of Weisshaupt was amazing! And I loved the callbacks to precious games! You should have seen me live reacting and screaming about codexes in the Weisshaupt library haha But it’s like whiplash when something that good is followed up by a scene that feels excessively more hamfisted in comparison.

Anyway I am very busy this weekend and dunno when I’ll get to write another update soooo if you’re following for more, hope to give you more updates in the near-ish future!

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #da4 #dragon age spoilers #datv spoilers #dragon age critical #adding that last tag just in case #it is critical I guess but I’m not coming at it from a place of hatred #just wishful thinking

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docholligay · 1 day ago

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I have no idea how wild the fandom for Hadestown is. If you don’t know me, if we’ve never exchanged words, and you have BIG FEELINGS about Hadestown that any level of critique will set off, I very much encourage you to move it along. I can’t do Hamilton 2 or whatever. (If I know you I will give you more leeway FOR SURE. I just want to keep strange weirdos out)

First, I have to provide a little bit of context: I got in on the ground floor with Hadestown.

Yes Doc, I too, have been obsessed with it ever since it was in previews--no, I mean, i saw folk singer Anais Mitchell perform the whole thing like 15 years or whatever ago in a converted garage venue.

I wasn’t even in town to SEE HER, I was in town to see a different artist and this was back when live music was a bigger thing and not a dying scene, and people just bought tickets to whatever was playing on a free night. I like folk music, I liked the idea of what was then being called a folk opera. It was instant love. Orpheus and Eurydice is one of my favorite myths, I am from a rural and exploited place, I loved everything I heard, some absolutely glorious poetry going on there. Bought the concept album, forced so so many people to listen to it all the way through. Forced jetty to listen to it on our road trip! Before the musical came out even!

I have been following this musical ever since then. I kind of thought it would never get made! I followed the original version, and then the broadway one. What I’m saying is, I have what now amounts to about fifteen or so years of history with this musical, and all the changes it has gone through, and all my individual feelings about each of those changes. My evaluation necessarily lives within that context.

This was part of the reason it took me so long to see the Broadway! I wanted the emotional space to feel however I felt about it, even if that ended up being, “I fucking hated that” and it’s hard to have that when someone buys very expensive tickets and a trip for you to see something you’ve been following for years. Part of jetty’s gift of this was “And you can hate it!!” and I knew she meant it, because when you watch something move and be workshopped and change, you get a lot of feelings about it.

So I can’t really go, “I liked Hadestown/I didn’t” I mean, I have loved hadestown for a very long time. If all you wanted to hear was , ‘Did you like it?” oh yes! But I have at least four versions sitting my head right now, and they are all next to each other for evaluation in a way that someone who has only experienced the broadway can’t have.

I want to provide this knowledge because my thoughts about it go so far beyond what is currently being staged on Broadway. No, this is not going to be me saying, ‘Everything was better with the concept album!” no, some things are, but this isn’t that I promise.

Everything below this is spoilery

So, originally Hadestown was a slightly different story and admittedly, one that spoke to me more than the story I saw last night. It was a lot more specific in its earliest days--it was about an impoverished mining town. Hadestown was the company town, underground, and there was basically no mention of Hades and Persephone being actual gods, anything was winked to, but it was mostly about how the holders of capital have all the accountability of gods. The whole thing had a much stronger anti-capitalist framework, and Orpheus and Eurydice were basically naive kids who thought they could avoid involvement with the mine. Obviously, this very much spoke to me. It was matching my freak exactly.

It is not that now. And that’s both totally expected, and disappointing to me personally. The show now is much more of a, I’m trying to put this in a way that feels less insulting because I don’t mean to be, very Captial L Liberal. Audiences who can afford Broadway tickets will eat up the vague notions of wishing for a better tomorrow and ‘show the way the world could be’ and putting this back into the framework of a story of the gods instead of the utter lack of choices available to people, that the game is rigged from the start, and Orpheus even having this chance is both an exception and a test hades expects him to fail. I get why this happens. Literally every story that has ever been brought to Broadway has had to be made more palatable to a broader audience. The story it is now, is much much more broad, much more life affirming or whatever, and much more easy to hear. I think I would like it better if I didn’t know the story from the very first versions.

But that was not a problem last night! That was a problem when i heard the previews out of Alberta! So I’ve had years to adjust to knowing that they were going to blame Orpheus a lot more. Which I love that the Broadway seems to have backed off of! The Alberta production really sort of LAID INTO THE BOY in a way I aggressively did not care for, because it was the antithesis of the story as I understood it. Love that they took that back a step.

Anyway, so, things I loved about the musical last night:

The staging of Wait For Me fucked SO SEVERELY that honestly it makes me forgive like 90% of the things I don’t care for in the final Broadway version, that I thought were done better in other versions. I almost cried, it was EXACTLY what I would have pictured in my head after hearing it all those years ago. It was incredible. I wish I could see it again, and study it. I am thinking about it right now! It will live rent free in my head. Perfect.

The gal who played Eurydice has clearly listened to Anais Mitchell albums, because she sounded SO MUCH like Anais that it even took me back for a moment.

I’m not sure if this is praise or a criticism:

I don’t know how I feel about having Hermes as an overall narrator! I go back and forth on it and have since the Alberta came out. If I were going to do it I would do it differently than it is currently staged. Jetty was talking about how she loves when the instrumentals are onstage, and I’m the exact opposite--I mostly find it crowds the stage while not bringing much interest for me. But in general, i both like it and do not like it, to give a very useful critique. I don’t hate it, for sure. I love the opener for Wait For Me II. But overall I will probably need to think about it for another 15 years.

Frustrations I have:

I think I have decided that even for the MASSIVE INSANE BUCKWILD flaw of seemingly blaming Orpheus for Eurydice’s decision, the Alberta is the best version. I think I prefer the concept album on a personal level for a lot of things, but I think the Alberta is, well for starters, definitely more complete--the concept album has some massive gaps in it that desperately needed filling--but it preserved a lot of the poetry that the Broadway version seems to have stripped out while being much more mass appealing. I was particularly GALLED by the rewrite of Epic III, one of the things in the Alberta version that made me say, ‘Wow I am prepared to forgive a lot of horseshit for this song, my god”

NEVER FORGET WHAT THEY TOOK FROM YOU

youtube

They took out "The heart of a king who loves everything like the hammer loves the nail" imagine writing that line and scrapping it, are you HIGH, fuck me running.

And I think this summarizes a lot of my frustrations about the changes between the Alberta and the Broadway. It no longer sounds like a folk opera. It has lost a lot of the poetry of the original, folk music being very grounded in lyric and somewhat less in vocal theatrics.

Also, and this might just be an actors thing, I did not get any sense that Persephone and Hades love each other…at all. Part of the appeal for human beings named Doc who are me is that they love each other, and they can’t stand each other, and I didn’t FEEL that at all. Like i said this could be an acting thing--I was not overly impressed by our persephone broadly. But taking out her part in Chant II I think also really contributes to this problem.

This is both the Alberta and Broadway versions: I MISS THE FATES BEING A REALLY TIGHT 40s STYLE GIRL GROUP SOB SOB SOB. In the original, the fates were the only characters ‘outside’ the story, and this was indicated stylistically by the fact that everyone else was singing folk music, and they were singing in this very different style. The idea fifteen years ago was that they actually would be dressed all in that style, but yeah, none of this happens now and i find it SOOOOOO disappointing personally. I hate their stupid costumes I hate the ‘rougher’ style of vocals I hate it so much ahahahahha. If I was going to force Anais to change one thing it would actually be this, even though it is insanely petty and silly.

The best version of when the chips are down:

youtube

I don’t know if literally any of this is what you were looking for but I somehow deeply suspect not. I am IN THE SHIT with Hadestown though, so if you have any specific things you wanted to ask about or have me talk about, let me know! I am just cutting this off now because it’s already at 1700 words and I’m not sure anyone cares that much about my journey with the only musical I can truly say I knew about when it was still a twinkle in someone’s eye.

(Yeah Doc, I have a question: Do you have anything mean to say about the concept album? OH BOY DO I. Some of it is to be expected like, "Uh, Anais you need the rest of the story here girl." but a huge one is I fucking HATE that she got Justin Vernon, who you know better as Bon Iver, to do Orpheus. He SUCKS. He sounds bored the whole time because that is how that motherfucker sings. I have HATED it since day one. Reeve Carney is perfect and literally what I started my local women's prayer and casserole circle to petition the Lord for.)

#Youtube

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