#its not easy to be a naked little man in this world

[violatordyke]

cat trying to climb into my ribcage

[mustainegf]

Feeling extra 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 rn… 🦐

need need NEED ‘99 werewolf James. Like half wolf half man type shi. Like- imagine him changing while sheathed deep inside you, stretching ur pussy as he growls and practically yells out moans. FUCK.

𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍 ¹⁹⁹⁹

I knew his secret, the one he guarded fiercely from the rest of the world. James, was part werewolf.

It wasn't the full, cinematic turning into a beast, it was something in between. When he changed, he still stood on two legs, but he had more hair, wolf ears, a tail, much sharper teeth, and other… more intimate changes.

Tonight, our naked bodies slip together, and there was that familiar tension in his muscles. James had always been strung taut at these times, with the drag of the moon upon him.

We were lost in one another’s bodies. The bedroom was dark, with only the glow of the moon to cast a silver ribbon over his body. His strong hands gripped at my hips as he thrust into me, our moans tying in the heated air.

Suddenly, I felt him tense up, his movements faltering as he stilled deep. "James?" I whispered.

He didn't answer right away, his eyes were scrunched up tight, and little droplets of sweat were forming on his brow. "It's happening," he managed to grunt out, his voice straining.

Before I had a chance to fully realize what was happening, his body began to shift. I felt him get thicker, bigger inside me. The stretch was nearly unbearable as his cock swelled within me. He let out a loud moan, a sound of pain and… pleasure, and I couldn't help but whimper at the feeling.

"Fuck," he cursed, his voice deeper, more feral. His hands tightened on my hips as claws dug into my skin. The transformation wasn't ever easy, but never had it happened mid sex.

I clung to him, and my fingers dug into his shoulders as the change took him.

His hair was thickening, and lengthening, and his ears were extending into points, wolf like. I could see his teeth sharpening, his canines extending. His tail was an odd addition, beautiful in its own right, as it wrapped around my leg, pulling me closer into him.

"James," I breathed, trying to soothe him, remind him that I was still here, still with him.

His eyes flickered open, and instead of the usual blue, they glowed amber, wild with lust. "I'm s-so sorry," he growled, his voice just barely human. "I can't control it..."

"I know… It's okay," I whispered back, even as the stretch was nearly painful. "I'm here, I'm with you."

It was at this point that it finally seemed to stop, and he paused, fully sheathed inside me. We lay there, gasping. The size of him was incredible, filling me completely, with every pulse, every twitch of his newly transformed cock beating within me.

"Are you okay?" James asked, his voice rough.

I nodded against him, biting my lip to smother a whimper. "Yes, just… give me a moment…”

He was still, his hands stroking along my sides in an attempt to comfort me as the stretch became slowly more bearable and the initial shock started to wear off.

"James," I began softly, "I'm ready."

With a growl, he began to move, slow at first, testing the waters. The friction was out of this fucking world, every movement almost sending me to orgasm. His growls and moans grew louder and animalistic.

"Fuck, you feel so tight," he groaned, his claws leaving trails of white hot fire across my hips. "I can't believe… oh God…

I couldn't reply. He filled me full, stretched me in ways that I never could have imagined. But in each of the powerful, feral thrusts, there was also a gentleness to his movements, careful not to hurt me.

"James, please," I whimpered, my nails digging into his hairy back.

He took the hint and quickened his hips. "I'm so close," he panted, his movements growing wilder.

The pressure inside me was insane, a knot of pleasure ready to unravel. "James, I'm gonna…"

"Do it," he growled, his amber eyes flashing on mine. “Let me feel you cum all over this cock.”

That was all it took. I spammed as he held me as still as he could, hole fluttering around his girth as I cried out.

It wasn’t long before he was cumming, shooting the heaviest load that I’d ever taken, deep into my channel.

We sat like that for a second, both of our breaths struggling to catch up.

When he finally pulled out, I felt empty as my twitching hole was already leaking with cum. He lay down beside me, his body still trembling from the shapeshift.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice returned to normal, sweet and soft.

I nodded, my lips curving into a tired smile. I breathed, reaching forward to kiss him. "That was incredible."

He chuckled, a sound that was almost human, but with hints of the wolf in it too. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," I promised him, stroking at his cheek. "It was a lot, but… in a good way."

He sighed in relief, pulling me into his arms. "I'm sorry it happened like that," he murmured. "I didn't mean to…"

I hushed him with a kiss. "It's okay, Jamie. I love every part of you, even the parts that are a little wolfy." I giggle.

[mellowsadistic]

Changing Her Hobbies

Your girlfriend may well have some hobbies and interests that you don't approve of. Perhaps you're worried being into football is making her hang out with the wrong crowd, or maybe you think chess is just too grown-up for a silly little thing like her. Whatever the case, the solution is simple. Just tell her she doesn't like those things anymore, and give her a new list of things she likes to do in their place.

Be firm, as she's likely to get very fussy over this. She might complain that she's the only real authority on herself, or insist that it's impossible for her to start liking something just because you've ordered her to. If that happens, just spank her bare bottom over your knee and remind her that you're her Daddy and you know best. Enforce her new hobbies with a strict discipline program and she'll soon learn to engage in them with a smile.

I promise you the results are worth it. I know a man who used this strategy to radically alter his girlfriend’s personality. He loved her very much, but he was sick and tired of her bad attitude and refusal to accept her place as his inferior. He put it down to the kind of activities she liked to take part in, so with a firm hand and a bit of patience, he changed them to better reflect her immature nature. Here’s a before and after of her hobbies:

Things she used to like:

Playing guitar

Reading classic literature

Trying on stylish clothes

Going clubbing with her friends

Having debates about politics

Playing hockey

Going out for romantic dinners

Things she likes now:

Playing with dolls

Watching Disney channel

Running around naked

Doing the housework

Wetting herself for attention

Practicing ballet

Sucking cock under the table

It was a difficult transition for her. She’d always been a bit of a tomboy, so it wasn’t easy for her to adjust to playing with Barbies and prancing about in a tutu. It wasn’t easy to get used to stripping off all her fashionable clothes and going streaking around the house in the nude periodically either, like a toddler with no concept of modesty. Nor was she keen to spend her time watching TV aimed at tweens when she wasn’t scrubbing the floors, making dinner, or doing the laundry. It was especially hard for her to learn that she liked to give frequent blowjobs (she insisted she hated them for the longest time), and she was in complete denial about her desire to regularly pee her pants for attention. However, with enough corrective punishment, she eventually learned to accept her true self.

These days she pouts at the suggestion of going out partying, but bounces up and down with excitement at the thought of mopping the floor. She has no desire to play guitar, and reading anything more advanced than a picture book would bore her to tears, but she can happily spend the whole afternoon glued to her favourite cartoons or prattling away at her baby doll, rocking it in her arms and changing its nappy (and hoping Daddy doesn’t follow through on his threat to put her in nappies because of all the ‘accidents’ she’s been having). She never talks about politics anymore, partly because she has no idea what’s going on in the world since her Daddy banned her from reading the news, and getting involved in rough and tumble sports like hockey would just be silly for a sweet little pirouetting princess like her. It’s much more fun to put on ballet performances for Daddy and her dollies. Modelling the latest trends is a thing of the past for her too; in fact, it’s a struggle to keep any kind of clothes on her since she’s always wanting to be Daddy’s little nudist - why wear a cute pair of jeans when she could just go bare-bottomed instead? And why would she want to go out to a fancy restaurant for a romantic meal when she could just serve Daddy his dinner herself before crawling under the table to suck his dick while he eats?

Sometimes she slips up. She looks bored while playing with her dolls, or casts a longing look at a guitar in the window display of a music store. She might go too long without wetting herself or forget to smile while she's doing the polishing. When that happens, her boyfriend is always quick to reacquaint her bottom with his hand, or even the paddle. A 'fake it till you make it' policy is important to enforce here. Make your girlfriend pretend to enjoy her new hobbies, and eventually, over time, she'll learn to like them for real. And if not, don't worry, because you won't know the difference!

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

New World (8)

Itachi Uchiha x Reader Fluff

Summary: The world War has met its end and Itachi has returned to his village. He questions whether he should set down his roots here when he meets a stranger. Or rather, a stranger is forced upon him by fate.

Warnings: horny babygirls

Word Count: Your girls got horny writing this. I can't remember the last time I gushed like this. ALso Every fanfic reader/writers nightmare in one chapter

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"What the hell is this?" You whisper to yourself, standing alone in the dressing room with the most intricate Sakura painting on the paper walls, lit up by the lanterns kept in two corners. The night robe you have been given has too much flare. The fabric of the red night dress is soft to the touch and breathable. But the robe that comes over it has practically been doused in fur not letting any cold air pass through. But the reason behind your cussing has less to do with that warm robe than with the fact that your underwear is nowhere to be seen. The night dress does run down to your knees but the thought of not being in your panties and having to sleep in the enemy territory for the night makes you uncomfortable. Not to mention the constant dreadful feeling of being watched by Toge from some corner of this village. With one stretched sigh, you leave the dressing room. The bedroom awaits you with a bed decorated with the local pink rose petals and towel swans.

A little thread inside you snaps on inhaling the overpowering smell of the roses and incense. You stomp to the corner of the bed, take the white bedsheet, pull out all four corners to wrap the roses inside them and throw them outside the huge window overlooking the village before closing it shut.

Just once you want to take an easy breath on this mission. Just once. And that too seems hard to get. Especially with him around, your inner voice whispers. You do not want your thoughts to go that way, but this little devil inside you smirks and struts towards some extraordinarily shady corners in your mind. Quiet, you tell your inner voice, he makes me feel safe, shushing it as if it has spoken something outrageous. Safe enough for you to imagine yourself all over his skin. She whispers the last few words with a stressed honey-filled whisper of a moan. And with that, that image of his naked torso in the hot springs flashes in front of your eyes. Your teeth involuntarily biting down on your lips to get a hold of the reality before those outrageously defined thoughts go too far. The sliding of your bedroom door jolts you awake from your fantasy world and makes you turn around to see the familiar tall figure bow down a little to enter the room without hitting his head on the door frame.

"I brought blankets," Itachi declares with the heavy elk fur blankets looking like they weigh nothing to the man. Itachi is wearing a black fur robe which appears to be his night gown. His chest is bare and so are his ankles. His hair is loose and wet from a fresh wash and you are starting to regret having dark back alleys in your mind. The room now starts to feel small in his presence; a presence which feels positively heavy. Keeping the blankets on the bed, he moves his hand to run back those wet strands away from his face. "I feel like we should ask the village Chief to hold their...uh...ritual...ceremony...what all they call it...today-tonight. Right now." Your staggered voice is not helping your case as your eyes run up from his elbows to his arms, drawing some sketchy scenes inside your head. "Do not push yourself, Y/N-san. You need to rest." It's not your fault. It's not your fault. A voice keeps repeating that inside your head. It's the way he says your name. You do not realise when your body is flushed, sweat droplets form at your temples and the back of your neck. Itachi pauses momentarily beside the bed while you blink blankly at him. He looks at you for a second before moving again. "Let me check for any traps in the room." You nod and press yourself close to the window and out of his way. As he takes careful feline steps along the length of the room, your eyes focus on his fingers brushing against the oakwood dresser kept by the wall, your throat takes an unpreventable gulp. The source of light in this room is the oil lamps burning in the corners to give this room a pinkish hue, thanks to the Sakura theme. The only light brighter than that is the golden hues of the bonfire lit on the temple grounds across the hill. He touches the wall to discover anything unusual, his steps bringing him closer to you. His dominant hand wraps itself around the jug of alcohol to raise it closer to his face and your eyes cannot help but follow the nimble pale fingers morphing into an abstract art of popping veins down the wrist. His lips touch the jug, taking in a sip that glides down his throat. The soft golden fiery hues lighting up his features just enough in the dark are not helping your conscience in her dark alley. At all. His brows furrow momentarily, making you wonder if something is wrong with the drink. And the next second he is choking on it, his hand nearly slipping the jug and a decent bit of that alcohol spilling on his robe.

"Itachi-san! Are you okay?" You quickly grab the hand towels on the dresser behind you and dash towards him; that is what you think you do till his hand rises to make you pause right where you have been standing. Itachi coughs a bit before clearing his throat. His back straightens up and he nods. "I'm fine. The drink is...well, I've tasted better." Of course, you have. You still stand in your spot, but your hand stretches to hand him a towel. He takes it to wipe his mouth before his wet robe takes up his attention. A huge sigh leaves his lungs. "Pardon me," he declares in a low hum as his fingers undo the knot on his robe and his shoulders flex themselves to let the fabric glide off his back. Your breath is caught in your throat till you realise he is wearing white trousers underneath. Itachi folds the fabric when something catches his eye. Watching him step away from you and towards the bed sinks your heart. He stops at the edge of the bed and gets on his knees. Itachi wastes no time being on all fours and crawling just a few inches underneath the space, looking for something. On the other hand, you are glaring at his other arm that acts as his anchor, his robe between his fingers; the fingers gripping the fabric till he has found what he is looking for. And when he comes back to sit on his knees, you exhale a little, grabbing onto the window sill as your legs cross over each other and you try your best to look away from the pink-shaded abs teasing you from the distance. His hand has brought out a red cloth from underneath the bed. The cloth shines with a silken finish in his hands as he twists the fabric in one hand, wrapping it up neatly. "Don't touch this," he announces, tucking the fabric in his trouser's back pocket. "Yes, sir," you whisper without realising. And immediately regretting it. Itachi must have not heard it, for he gets up and walks past you to the other side of the room, leaving you to ravel in his natural redolence. The lone table at the other end of the room is graced by his hands on either side, curious if it can be pulled away from the wall. His arms are flexing, and so are the muscles on his back as he tries to pull the table towards him, his hips feeling the tethered force of the measle piece of furniture, forcing a low grunt to escape. Your left hand is clawing its nails into the window frame while your right thumb is being bit under your teeth with all your might. Get out of that alley, you are panting at your conscience. Please. Please. Please! The table is torn from the wall and thrown into the paper wall covering the dressing room. The remaining wood in the indents of the wall reveals two black bricks. The former assassin quickly picks one in each hand and turns to walk towards you. "Open the window," he commands in a low tone. You religiously move your hands to open the latches. Even before you are done pushing the window frames out, you feel his arms come over from behind you and throw out the bricks from either side. You turn around, calculating the proximity between you and his chest. While he is busy frowning out the window at what was possibly an attempt to poison you two, your eyes go up to land on his jaw, studying the skin, the texture, the turns; a little too well. The sound of splintering wood brings you out of the trance. Itachi's bare hands have broken the frame of the window behind you and instead of tending to the wound where a splinter has gashed through the skin of his hand, he is looking at you with the intensity of a thousand suns. Only this time you are concentrating on his wound. "You're hurt-" "I need to go," Itachi declares, taking the ripped frame with him and walking out of the door, leaving you confused. Lustful and confused.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

"You go in. I'll survey the surroundings here," Kakashi announces, disappearing into the night before Itachi can say anything about being handed the elk fur blankets. You are the only person present in the wing at this moment and he has his senses on high alert. Higher than usual. I do not trust the men here, he justifies in his internal monologue, pausing his quiet steps outside the door as he is flashed with memories of his bare chest in the hot springs. His mind has paused all the calculations now. It is purely curious now. And with that intention, he enters the room, declaring his presence. Keeping the blankets on the bed, he moves his wet hair away from his face to appear a little decent in front of you. "I feel like we should ask the village Chief to hold their...uh...ritual...ceremony...what all they call it...today-tonight. Right now." 

He can hear you. Loud and clear. But his mind is showing him his exposed arm pressing onto a thigh. He pauses. Must be some third-grade trickery by the village assassins, he thinks to himself. "Do not push yourself, Y/N-san. You need to rest." It's not your fault, he can hear the words being whispered somewhere. It's not your fault, they are echoing. With a voice too familiar to him these days. It's the way he says your name. It's you. It's your voice. And accompanied by your voice are flashes of sweat droplets running down from your temples, travelling your jaw to hurry down your neck. Itachi pauses, questioning how you are doing that. You are not, he answers the question himself and looks at you for a second to grasp any traces of Gen Jutsu around you. "Let me check for any traps in the room," he announces before moving to the nearest wall. When he brushes his fingers against the oakwood dresser, the flash comes again. This time, not as hazy as before. His fingers seem to be running over a bare abdomen, creating ripples of goosebumps. This time he can feel the skin under his fingertips and a familiar aroma in his nostrils. He moves his hand away from the table to the wall, investigating for anything out of the ordinary; that is, apart from the twisted psych attacks- if one can call them that. He can hear your heart beat faster as the distance between you closes. He pauses at the table between you two, reaching for the jug of alcohol kept on the table. The flashes come again when he raises the jug to his mouth. This time, his hand is gripping a neck, bringing it closer to him. He can smell that aroma again, this time the touch is heated and the neck is flushed. And his lips- which were reaching for the alcohol mere seconds ago- are kissing yours. When the kiss has deepened to the point of you moaning and his tongue wanting to taste your mouth, he realises the twisted reality, surprising himself into choking on the drink and spilling some onto his robe.

He hears you worry, making him raise his hand to stop you from coming any closer. "I'm fine," he coughs, apologising for his ungentlemanly behaviour. He takes the towel you offer, not able to get that image out of his mind. Itachi's instincts are riled up, his mind working ten steps ahead, ready to test the waters all the while making sure he does not cross any lines. He begs your pardon as he gets out of the wet robe. There is that aroma again. Your scent. Covering him all over. If it's the scent then there has to be- His thoughts trail off as he finally finds what he is looking for. He walks to the side of the bed and gets on his knees, to reach for the red fabric resting under the bed space. The talisman. Just when he grabs it, flashes of him gripping the silk sheets on the bed run through his mind. But that is not all. He can see his naked back clear as day, even that moles, and he can see you laying between him and the sheets looking up at him with a want. He is panting for breaths, and so are you. He can feel the drops of sweat run down his chest while he is devouring the view of your breasts glistening. Even as he comes back to sit on his knees, he can feel his hand run the length of your thighs, with your legs wrapped around his waist. The flash disappears, but the sensations remain in his mind. He seems to know what is going on but does not say. His hands work on folding the fabric and keeping it somewhere away from you. "Don't touch this," he declares as he puts the fabric in his pocket. "Yes sir," he can hear the microscopic stagger of your heated exhale in that whisper and the fog of that flash bring the sensation of a hand run over his butt. His mind curses. He does not remember the last time he cursed like this. Or that last time he felt so...filthy. But rip it in the bud, he grows internally to himself before getting up and walking to the last place that seemed suspicious- the table lodged into the wall on the other side of the room. He grabs the edges on either side to move it away from the wall, wanting the flashes to stop. To stop or else... The frustration shows externally when a grunt escapes him at the failed pull. And so it comes again.

This time you are on the table, your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails digging into his back. His flawless butt is exposed to the room as it jiggles with him sloppily rutting into you with the familiar grunts, bringing periodic coarse moans out of you. Please. He hears your voice. And he can see your face. He can see your body moving every time he pushes into you. Your eyes are tearing up. Your mouth is open wide at the edge of pleasure. Please, you beg again, this time urgently. Itachi feels his pace rush as if his body is running on your commands. Please! That moan of yours is turning into a growl as your head falls back at the peak of your climax. And before he can reach his, the table is torn away from the wall to be thrown away, bringing him back to his reality. And there they are, resting in the nook hidden in the wall- black brick-shaped gemstones. They are still hot when Itachi grabs them and orders you to open the window. Just as your hands have pushed the panes away, he throws the stones out, down the hill. He only breathes once he has heard them crash into pieces against the rocks underneath, resting one hand on the window frame. But they come again. This time with the touch of your fingers on his jaw, lazily running down his neck before he feels your teeth dig into his skin right where his jaw meets his neck. He snaps. At least that is what he thinks he did. It is the window frame that has been snapped instead. And all he can do is look at you; your eyes with no unadulterated intentions behind them as they worry about the blood that is not yours. "I need to go." He knows if he stays a second longer, he might do something there will be no coming back from. Rushing out the door bare-chested, he is already running into Kakashi in the corridor. For the first time in his life, Itachi seems the situation- that heavily involves him- requires an explanation.  "There's-" "Geisha's Opals inside? From the smell I could guess there were two stones." Kakashi seems to have figured it out. "I waking the chief up to prepare the ritual." Itachi nods. He wants to say something more but all he can do is inhale a lungful. "She doesn't realise her thoughts are more graphic than the latest volume of my favourite Icha Icha Paradise novels," Kakashi exhales, visibly tired. "You could see them-" "The burned Opals along with a rose incense are powerful aphrodisiacs," Kakashi explains with his hands as if he was having a casual conversation with his colleague, "combine that with her empath skills, she created an atomic flash of...well..." he gestures vaguely at everything and then at Itachi. "Dress up, let's just get this over with," Kakashi admits before disappearing into the night again, leaving Itachi to make peace with the fact that the Konoha village's Silver Fang saw everything. Every. Single. Flash.

[your-highnessmarvel]

Enemies to Enemies to Enemies to... Lovers?

Requested by @skyf-7: Bucky x reader. Enemies to lovers. Pranking each other. Glue his arm and steal her clothes.

AN: LMAO this was so fun to make!!!

Warnings: Mentions of being naked, kissing, language

*gif not mine

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MASTERLIST

Honestly, you don't know what triggered your hatred for this man. It's like one day, the world was turning one way, right on its axis with gravity pulling at exactly the right pull. And then, you woke up the next day, and everything had switched.

And every time he talked or moved or cleared his throat, it was like Bucky had managed to get on every single one of the 7,000 nerves in your body.

And to be fair; he started it.

He started the useless pranks that turned into very, oh very, frustrating attempts on your sanity.

It really all started with honey in your tea. You hated it. Abhorred the taste, the sickly sweet twang on your tongue. Everyone knew that. But somehow, in the tea that Wanda prepared for everyone that fateful night, yours was brimming with honey.

And Bucky was grinning, the blue light of the TV reflecting off his irises because, of course, he wasn't looking at you. He'd never meet that darkened stare across the room, the black eyes from under your brows, the look that would kill a million men in its radius.

So you stole one of Tony's super magnets and, while Bucky was in the shower, taped it against the wall of the hallway.

You heard his yell all the way across the tower floor, through your closed bedroom door.

Now that was a declaration of war.

Next, it was your hairspray switched out for insect spray.

His favourite ice cream swapped for white toothpaste.

Your shoes stuffed with whip cream and peanut butter.

Messing up the functions on his favourite treadmill at the gym.

And always, "I'm going to kill you, rookie!"

"I'd like to see you try, Bucky!"

"Next time you mess with my things, I'll really make you regret it!"

"You're only method of warfare is food, Bucky!"

And every time, you'd leave those conversations with a little spring in your walk. As if driving Bucky to the brink of committing a war crime was the thing you needed to start off your day.

But it all came to a brutal end when you stepped out of the shower, and both your clothes and your towels were gone.

"Fuck," you whispered, knowing exactly who had taken them. By now, everyone had left the compound, and you didn't think that Bucky would attempt any prank. It was always funnier to see the reactions of the Avengers, and Bucky, especially him, loved the way Steve would laugh and Nat would tell him his prank was clever.

You hadn't thought he would care to prank you - what with his beloved audience all gone.

"Bucky!" you yelled. But no one answered except your voice echoing in the women's locker room. You scrambled to your locker, but you'd stupidly left it open and there was nothing but you perfume and deodorant in there.

You went through each locker, but Nat's was locked and Wanda only had her smelly shoes in there. You pulled every cabinet door open, but the bastard had taken every piece of cloth out of there.

You had no choice but to venture outside.

You stepped into the dark gym, your feet leaving wet imprints on the wooden floor. Slowly, you tiptoed towards the hall, covering your breasts with your arms.

No one was there, so you lounged the wall, quickly aiming for your room.

Something crashed behind you, as if someone - Bucky - had dropped a book or something. So you broke into a run, not risking it, until you got to your door.

And found it locked.

You slammed your shoulder against it and groaned.

"You thought I'd make it that easy?" You heard his voice behind you and you spun, wet hair sliding against your bare shoulders.

But the hall was empty. Faintly, you heard footsteps.

You bolted to the right, down another hall, pushing against all doors but they were all locked. The asshole had really taken the time to lock every door!

You agve all your strength to your legs, pushing you down every hall, until you spun around one corner and ran right into Bucky's chest.

It was like hitting a brick wall made of ice. He just stood there, latching onto both of your shoulders and bringing your face a few inches from his, right where he could bore his icy blue gaze into yours.

Your heart hammered wildly against your chest, throbbing in your throat, roaring so loudly in your ears it was like a marching band was playing the crescendo in your brain.

"Now, now," he whispered, and the way his lips formed the words sent a wicked shiver down your spine.

He wasn't looking anywhere else but your eyes.

"You're in a hurry."

You bald one fist and moved to strike him, but he grabbed onto your wrist with his metal fingers, eyes pinned to yours like glue. "None of that, sweetheart," he purred, so close that the tip of his nose brushed yours.

He'd never used pet names before. He'd always called you by your alst name, always in a mocking, sardonic tone.

"Now that you're finally listening," he said, pulling away slightly but never once roaming his eyes down your figure. He was surprisingly intent on your face.

And you, heart hammering like a wild drum, stood there, frozen in fear, wet and cold and shivering. You too couldn't tear your eyes from his.

"This little rivalry ends now," he ordered, tone low, menacing, grating. "Because I just won."

Then he dropped your wrist, his metal fingers imprinted in red marks along your skin. And so suddenly, he turned and walked down the hallway, leaving you to the sound of your roaring blood.

And after that, after you'd returned to your room and you'd taken a few days to scatter your thoughts, you couldn't ignore that feeling that Bucky had shifted. Every time you walked into a room, he'd stop talking or listening and he'd search your face.

When he was in the gym, you couldn't rip your eyes away from his form; the sweat darkening his shirt or dampening his hair or the way his skin moved along his muscles.

People asked you what the next prank was and you'd mumble some excuse, some dumb serenade about finally becoming the bigger person.

Suddenly, the urge to prank Bucky turned into an obsession with his presence. Wherever he was, so were you. Where you went, he followed. He was as fixated with you as you were with him.

For weeks, this went on, in silence, in torturous gazes and flickering smiles.

Until you left your door unlocked one evening, when the tower slept, when there was no noise but the central air conditioning, humming through the tower like an ever-present breath.

You sat on your bed, over the covers, in cotton shorts and a cropped t-shirt. You knew what you were doing.

I don't know how you knew, but you knew he tried to come talk to you so many times, but this night, you were ready to start talking back.

The door creaked open first, a surprised stop, and then it swung slowly on its hinges, revealing the towering Winter Soldier beyond.

"How'd we get here?" he asked, eyes drinking in the sight of you on the bed, sitting crossed legged, bare legs, bare tummy. He'd almost seen you naked and this is the sight that almost brings him to his knees.

You gulped. "I don't know where my wires got crossed," you whispered back.

He breathed in slowly, then stepped through the threshold, closing the door behind him.

"Yogurt for ice cream?" he said, tone flat.

"You started it," you answered, looking up at him, fingers trembling in your lap, as he came across the bed towards you.

He smiled softly. "It was the only way to get your attention."

You frowned. He took a seat at the edge of your bed, inches away from your folded legs. "I thought you hated me," you admitted, watching carefully as he touched the tips of his flesh fingers onto your knee. A shiver ran through your body like wildfire.

He smiled again. "No, not really," he answered. "I thought I did but every time I pranked you, it gave me an excuse to talk to you."

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

He slowly met your eyes, and your heart started galloping in your chest again. "Because I saw you naked," he said. "And I had a sudden thought that if anyone was around to see that, I'd rip their eyes out."

Oh, well, that was graphic.

He scooted closer, moving his fingers from your knee to the bed, beside your hip, so he could lean in.

"And I had a serious hard-on right after."

You gasped silently, finally tearing your eyes from his to look down, cheeks heating.

His put his index to your chin, dragging your eyes back up to his. "Don't look away from me, y/n." He leaned in closer, examining your eyes as if they were the most beautiful gems in the world. "Don't turn away from me when I'm about to kiss you."

He left you enough time to process it, smiling, the corner of his lips lifting to show his teeth. And then he kissed you, leaning into you until you had no choice but to lean back against your pillows. He kissed you slowly, tenderly, settling between your open legs effortlessly, as if you'd been made to fit him there.

He nipped at your mouth, each kiss rewarded with his teeth against your lip. He molded his body to yours, and your hands moved onto his back, caressing his shoulders and sliding down his biceps. His kissed you harder, delving his tongue through your teeth, and you reacted by pulling your feet over his hips.

He pulled back from the kiss abruptly. "Do that again and I don't know if I can walk out of here tonight," he breathed, nuzzling your jaw, kissing down your neck.

You giggled when his beard tickled the sensitive flesh there.

"Make that sound again," he breathed into your neck, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his mouth back to yours.

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief

[rendiggitydog]

So we all know the final part of the Minecraft Poem, with ‘and the universe said’ yknow? But I just read the whole thing again and there’s lots of great lines in the rest of it too! So I’m curious, what’s your favorite line?

Under the cut I’ve pasted the whole poem minus the part we all know, with each line numbered so you can easily share what’s your fav !

1- PLAYERNAME?

2- Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

3- That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

4- I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

5- It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

6- That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

7- Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

8- They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

9- What did this player dream?

10- This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

11- Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

12- It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

13- It cannot read that thought.

14- No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

15- Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

16- Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

17- But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

18- To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

19- Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

20- It reads our thoughts.

21- Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

22- And yet they play the game.

23- But it would be so easy to tell them...

24- Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

25- I will not tell the player how to live.

27- The player is growing restless.

28- I will tell the player a story.

29- But not the truth.

30- No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

31- Give it a body, again.

32- Yes. Player...

33- Use its name.

34- PLAYERNAME. Player of games.

35- Good.

36- Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

37- Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

38- We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

39- Once upon a time, there was a player.

40- The player was you, PLAYERNAME.

41- Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.

42- Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

43- Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

44- Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

45- Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

46- Let's go back.

47- The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

48- And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

49- And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

50- You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

51- Let's go further back.

52- The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

53- Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

54- Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

55- Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

56- You are the player, reading words...

57- Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive

58- You. You. You are alive.

59- and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees

60- and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again

61- and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream

[sadist1224]

Skyrim AU.

Description: After the battle with the dragon in the swamps, you rest in one of your escape rooms with Gas and a Ghost. You have to look after guys a little bit.

Number of words: yes, the dick knows, but it is read in about 6-8 minutes.

You don't have to understand the lora Skyrim device to read this.

Translation into English through a translator

In fact, you have just returned to Mirwatch. Ghost, exhausted and tired, throws off his armor as soon as he steps into the territory of the tower. Kyle is grumbling somewhere behind you about manners, but you're honestly on Simon's side right now. Killing a dragon is never easy. And it's even worse if the skirmish takes place in a swamp. Damn Morph. You hate swamps. And Ghost hates it too.

But unfortunately, absorbing the dragon soul is above your comfort.

It seems that Kyle is the only one who wins. Of course, a magician doesn't need to jump from hummock to hummock to catch up with a damn flying reptile and stab it with a sword. Fortunately for you, Ghost took the brunt of the attack, so you mostly used only the bow. The main thing is that the job is done.

Mirwatch was cozy. At some point, Kyle insisted that your team needed a base in the Morfal area, and although Price was unhappy with the costs, he agreed with the magician's proposal. Kyle found the tower himself, as he admitted, by accident. Expenses were spent on its improvement, and the end result was beyond praise. Two floors: the first is a household, the second is a laboratory. And as much as you love the Lake Estate in Falkreath, you should at least admit to yourself that Kyle did a good job.

You were brought back to the world by a rude grunt from the sleeping area, where Ghost was throwing off his dirty armor.

"I'll help him." You nod towards the grumbling man and Kyle nods back at you.

"Yeah, I'll be upstairs."

In sync with the retreating footsteps of the Gas, you approach Simon's bed.

"Problems?" - the nearest wall serves as a support for you while your gaze slides over the familiar scar on the man's back. He's sweating, a purple bruise blooms under his shoulder from a dragon strike, and Ghost hisses as he takes off his shirt.

"I need to go to the sauna." - the man glances over his shoulder without turning completely. His Daedric helmet rested on the bedside table while a black bandit mask handkerchief covered his nose and mouth.

"Yeah. I'll dial it. - you wave your hand, heading for the descent to the basement. "Come as soon as you're ready."

The man does not keep himself waiting. In fact, it appears almost a minute later, but you have enough time to quickly heat up the water with a flame spell.

By the time you take off your light armor and roll up your sleeves, Simon will already be sitting chest-deep in the water, legs wide apart.

It's not the first time you've seen him naked, but something gives you goosebumps every time. It's nice. Touching him, running my fingers over his scars, burrowing into his blond curls. But nothing gives you pleasure like an invisible feeling of trust on his part.

"You seemed to want to help." His grin is kind and teasing. It seems like you've been admiring him for too long.

"Don't push yourself," you smile, grabbing a clean little towel from the shelf and sitting on the edge of the tub, next to him.

There are several signed jars of soap and powders on the table next to you. Another advantage of Kyle's alchemy. You don't know much about it yourself, but Gas floats like a fish in this craft, so your team doesn't have to worry about hygiene products.

"Not lavender."

"Then the mountain flower?"

With a light movement, you run a rag over his arm, rising up to his shoulder, lightly massaging the tense muscles, and then smoothly move to his chest and abs, receiving a barely audible relaxed moan as a reward.

"Is it nice?" - you can't help but smile contentedly while Ghost changes position.

"Be careful. I can get used to it."

"Well, then you'll have to fight with Soap. - you run a rag along his spine, gently skirting the wounded place. "I won't wash you two at the same time."

Ghost quacks amusingly in response, relaxing his shoulders and plunging into the water a little more.

"Help with the hair? When you're done with his back, you put the rag aside and reach for the nearest bottle of liquid soap with your other hand.

In response, the man only lowers his head to you to make it more convenient. His hair has darkened from the water and foam, while you gently massage the back of his head and gently pull his strands, achieving another deeper moan.

"Don't tease me." - he growls warningly, but there is not a drop of aggression in his tone. You're chuckling softly.

"You're too tired, Ghost." - the lightness of your tone makes him turn and look defiantly into your face. You would have loved to fight with him a little more, but you were tired today too, and you had a few more things to do before going to bed.

"I'm going to put away your armor. - you get up from the edge of the tub, stretching your back and stretching your legs. - Go ahead yourself."

"Don't bother. You don't have to."

But you just smile at him, waving your hand again as you walk towards the stairs. At the very least, you need to collect the scattered parts and take them to his bed.

Already upstairs, you pick up his boots from the floor and cast a piteous glance at the ebony armor. The deep black color of the metal was stained with mud, grass and blood. We need to clean this before it dries up. After all, you can look after your hero, right?

In order not to waste time, you pick up the armor and go back to the stairs, only to the second floor, to Kyle, finding the magician at the alchemy counter.

"Can you create a liquid that cleans metal in one fell swoop, huh?" - you wink at the guy, attracting his attention, and put the armor on the bench.

"Sorry, I haven't reached that level of skill yet." He replies with a grin, nodding towards the bucket of water.

He himself had already changed into more casual clothes, and his robe, clean and fresh after cleansing magic, was hanging on one of the mannequins.

You exchange a few more words, and then focus on your business. You're cleaning armor, Kyle's experimenting with the nirn root. You finish before him, setting aside the bucket and brush. Your fatigue is already making itself felt: your eyes are tingling unpleasantly, and your legs are slowly becoming wadded up.

You approach Gaz from behind, easily hugging his waist and snuggling up to his back.

"It's going to be cold tonight. - he says softly, stroking your hand. - You can lie down with me if you want."

You whimper softly, leaving a light kiss on his cheek, and walk away, taking the armor with you.

Ghost is already asleep. His bed is right next to Kyle's, so you carefully place the armor next to the nearest mannequin, kiss Ghost on the forehead and go to bed yourself.

Tomorrow you have to walk to Solitude.

[lokisprettygirl]

Lose me to Love you (Loki x Female Reader) (AU) (18+)

Chapter 1

Summary: You are a struggling actress, Loki Laufeyson is your agent but your relationship has never been strictly professional with him. You want him but he won't give you what you need, bound by a past and the promises he have to keep he keeps you trapped into a toxic cycle of seduction and denial, but would he allow himself to let his guards down once your past comes back to haunt you both again?

Warning: Ahoy, my toxic but sexy loki is back with a bang, 18+, will contain smut in future chapters, mention of past trauma, slight daddy kink (come on its me), toxic situationship

"Arch your back babe, that's it, you look fucking sexy'" you followed the command and heard the flash going again. Truth to be told you felt exposed, you were shooting for a small time magazine cover, wearing a skimpy little bikini and your photographer Seth couldn't stop giving you instructions.

"We need better shots, Fix her makeup" you took a deep breath as you got a break of five minutes. Your eyes fell upon Loki, he was on a call with someone, the gray t-shirt he had on today made him look super scrumptious. But he was like a forbidden fruit that you never got to consume. He won't let you. He was mean like that.

"Why do I keep doing this to myself" you mumbled under your breath so the woman fixing your makeup looked at you.

"You said something?" Her name was Samantha, you had met her just this morning but you could tell she was into him, of course she was, you have never met a woman in the past four years who wasn't at least a tiny bit attracted to the main object of your fascination.

"Nopeeee" you smiled at her politely, after she fixed your makeup, the flashes started again, the photographer made you sit on your knees but something about the pose didn't click with him so he walked towards you and lowered the straps of your bra down that's when your angry young man, Loki intervened.

"What are you doing, we talked about this before" He asked Seth making you bite on your lower lips, he looked so hot whenever he was angry. Especially whenever he was angry because of you or for you. You knew he was just trying to protect you from the exploitation but you always felt that there was more to it or maybe it was just the wishful thinking. It didn't really matter.

"What happened man?" Seth asked him nonchalantly and Loki's jaw clenched.

"She's not going to get bloody naked for your camera you hear me?" He squatted down to your level and pulled the straps up, you smirked as you looked at him, it was bad enough that you were scantily clad in that awful bikini, he didn't want these people to have your nipples on display for the whole world too.

"Don't fuck this up, we need the money remember" you whispered to him in a way that always made his blood boil and rush to his cock at the same time, he glared at you intently.

"Shut up baby and get back to posing, yeah? This is what you wanted right?" He was angry, so angry. He never called you baby unless he was either furious or too emotional, you didn't get to see the latter side more often or ever really. The acting business didn't really come easy, you were giving auditions, you got a few commercials here and there but the meatier roles sometimes came with a huge price and as long as you had him as your agent you knew he'd never allow you to sell your soul like that.

"Okay dadddy dearest" you puckered your lips to give him an air kiss, that only pissed him off further.

The relationship you two shared wasn't exactly normal, you had a history together, he wasn't your boyfriend but you two lived together, he took care of you and fulfilled all your needs. All except the one. He won't fuck you, he had vowed to never sleep with you, that would complicate things and he had promised your mother to never let you get out of his sight.

The interaction you just had with him only made you want to act out more so you rebelled, and the moment you saw the makeup lady Samantha whispering into his ears and him smiling at whatever she said to him, you only got more upset. He was so toxic but you loved the burn he gave you, this game that he played so well kept you hooked, there were times where you two had gotten so close to fucking each other's brains out but he controlled himself, he'd find a distraction and he'd ignore your existence. That's how he dealt with you and you felt jealous, so jealous of the women he'd bed every now and then but at the end you knew it was you he'd come home to, you two lived together and he would never ever leave you.

"Are you two together?" Samantha asked him so he chuckled

"Not at all darling, she's a responsibility"

"I know about her..I mean I read about it when it happened" he looked at her curiously as she hinted towards your past. He wished she would have stopped talking right then but she was nosier like everyone else "You got out of that awful place and got away..what brought you back to her?" His jaw clenched as she questioned him.

"Honestly I don't see how it's any of your business?" he told her sharply, his voice had a hint of annoyance. He wasn't trying to be rude but he hated it when people acted as if they knew you two or what you have been through, only he did, he knew you since you were six and the past that bound you two together had shaped him into the man that he was today, you were his top priority even though he didn't treat you like one at times.

The moment he returned into your life , you had just turned 18 and officially gotten out of the orphanage. He knew you were taken by him, and he didn't really hate the attention but he didn't want to complicate this relationship, he made a promise to your mother and he wouldn't let anything come between it, especially not the so called vapid emotions like love.

Besides he was older than you, he was ten years older than you so he treated you like a child instead. You were 22 now and It was hard at times for him to ignore you, in last four years you had driven him crazy with your constant puppy like tantrums, you didn't leave a chance to seduce him and he wasn't any different but he knew where to draw the line and when to deny you the treat you so badly craved from him, and whenever he would put you back to your place you'd act out, like you were doing right now. Flirting and giving eyes to that photographer, acting unnecessarily sensuous than you needed to for this crappy photoshoot.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you"

He looked at the woman practically salivating over him so he stopped thinking about you and decided to drive his attention towards her instead.

As soon as the last shot was taken he walked towards you and draped his jacket around your half naked body then he grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

"Are you done being a brat hmm?"

"I did nothing" you smirked at him and you could see him biting his cheek with his teeth. You loved riling him up this way. "Get dressed up and come back in five alright?" He told you strictly so you nodded, he took Samantha and you out for dinner then he took you both home, he was louder than usual as he fucked her, he was trying to show off that he wasn't available and maybe punish you for the tantrum during the photoshoot. You really wanted to barge into his room and ask him to shut up but you put the headphones in and blared the music instead to drown the sounds of his moans.

After an hour or so you heard his bedroom door closing with a force so you stepped out of the room, you found a furious looking Samantha storming out of the apartment as quickly as she could, that made you smile. You stepped inside his room and he wasn't there, he was in the shower, you heard the water running, the room smelled of sex so you picked up his cologne and sprinkled it all around, then you changed his bedsheet, you even changed the pillow covers, you didn't want any imprints of that woman left behind in his room. Alas, the big blue hickey she left on his chest wasn't something you could have changed or fixed

"What do you need y/n?" He asked you as you gawked at his towel clad dripping form shamelessly, the long hair he had differentiated him from the crowd, you were always into his boyish looks when you were a kid, he was your first ever crush, but when you saw him years later he had transformed into the sexiest man you could have ever dreamed of. You could count every little muscle of his shredded physique.

"Mmm how was the sex with Samantha?" you asked him as you sat down on his bed, the tank top and the shortest shorts you had on was another attempt to entice him, he could read every little move you ever made to enchant him, it never really worked on him. Well, that was a pure lie actually, he knew that, it did work on him but he was good at deflecting the attention unlike you, you couldn't hide your attraction even if you tried.

"None of your business is it? Go to bed, you have an audition tomorrow" He removed the towel off his waist and you had to bite on your lips again to stop the loud gasping noise you were about to let out. On one hand he wanted you to stay away and on the other hand he did stuff like that, you had seen him naked a plenty of times because he was shameless like that, he knew he was chiseled perfectly and he never shyed away from showing it all off especially in front of you, you groaned internally as he pulled the boxers up his shapely legs, he didn't stop there, he put on a trouser as well, much to your disappointment.

"I want to sleep here dadddddy" he glared at you as you said that, you laid down on his bed and he shook his head, he remembered the first time you had called him that really well, it freaked him out but slowly he warmed up to the name, you were just trying to rile him up, you were nothing but a horny little brat at times.

"Suit yourself, I'll sleep in your room" you sat up quickly as he said that, your eyes teared up at the callousness, he wasn't having any of it today it seems.

When he saw your mopey little face he sighed. That was his very own kryptonite, he couldn't watch you like that but he didn't want to show you that your tears affected him in such a way, you'd use it to its full potential if you had any clue.

He towel dried his hair before he climbed into the bed next to you.

"I'm too tired to deal with your insolent behavior tonight " you were still in the sitting position so he gripped your hair in his fist making you moan in response then he pulled you down slowly, placing your head on his strong biceps. Your eyes couldn't avoid the hickeys she had left behind so you trailed your fingers at the marks. He pulled the duvet over your bodies and you snuggled into him, getting as close as you could. Thank God he had allowed himself to take the edge off with Samantha or he'd be thinking about your bodies pressed against each other so intimately all night long.

You placed your head between the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply, his scent was a mixture of lemongrass combined with his own sweetness, that always comforted you but it also rushed the blood down to your nether region. This wasn't normal, you knew that, he knew that too, as the mature one in this living arrangement he should have stopped you from indulging with him in such a manner but he loved keeping you hooked like this.

He never claimed to be a good guy after all.

As long as you were clinging to him he knew he'd be able to keep you safe and protected, he can't do that from a distance or if you were to see some other man, he didn't trust them with you, you were too naive and impressionable so he kept you under his complete control. Emotionally, mentally, physically, he wanted you to stay obsessed with him so you'd never even think of leaving him, he wanted you to thirst for him but he never wanted to give into your desires either because once he did that he knew you'd lose whatever interest you had in him.

"No funny stuff you hear me?" He whispered in your ear so you hummed in response, your hold around his waist only got tighter. He felt your fingers caressing his skin.

"Okayy daddy I promise" you mumbled softly and it made him smile.

"Good girl, sleep now, bag this audition tomorrow and I'll reward you if you're good for me"

Now you had to ace it by hook or crook. You had to earn the reward. You didn't even care what the reward was, you just wanted to be his good girl.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Taglist:

@annoyingsweetsstranger @whylokiissocute @loki-s-wife @fraoid3 @siggytumbles @crzyplantladyvibes @stupidthoughtsinwriting @vickie5446 @wheredafandomat @mcufan72 @xxntiimulti @loz-3 @dishahaldar @mcdesij @scram1326 @elthreetimes @army24--7 @sinsandguilt @holotacopeely

[bottomlouisficfest]

We hope you’ve enjoyed the fics from weeks 5-6 of the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2023! Every two weeks, we’re compiling all of the fics from that period into one roundup post so they’re easy to find for anyone looking to catch up on fics they missed. Enjoy these amazing fics and give them the love they deserve!

splash me across the silver screen

A fic by pleasinglouis on AO3 | @pleasing-louis on Tumblr | @pleasing_louis on Twitter

23k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry shrugged. “Maybe you just need to get even more outside your comfort zone. Maybe we need to try something a bit more… adventurous?” Curiosity successfully piqued, Louis tilted his head and toyed with the fringe dangling from his lace shrug. “Like what?" “We, uhm—maybe we try filming you in more compromising positions,” Harry suggested carefully. He kept his tone low and even as he studied Louis’ expression, hands skating over his curves soothingly. If Louis didn’t know any better he might have thought that Harry was talking about filming him naked. But that couldn’t be right—could it? “Like porn?” Or Louis is a struggling actor who gets nervous when he's being filmed and Harry comes up with a plan to help him relax when the cameras are rolling.

--

Spiders Don't Fly But Gods Do

A fic by SunshineBoy742 on AO3

7k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis Tomlinson is an underpaid photojournalist in NYC. He leads a pretty average life, getting shots of town heroes, dodging flirtatious remarks from old coworkers and being the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. But what happens when a sex god comes to crash in his apartment?

--

i've got something to confess, i keep you in my pocket to use

A fic by babylwt on AO3 | @finelineangie on Twitter

17k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"You made Harry Styles practically swoon over you, admit you’re beautiful to basically the world, he asked for your number and you said no. Like, you have to be joking.” Bella tsks as she sits up straight, grabbing Louis’ computer off his lap and putting it off to the side. Louis moves to reach for it, sighing in defeat as he leans back against his pillows. “You know how it goes with those sports guys. They’re just after having a good time before they have to go to the next city and play another game and find another person to swoon.” Louis explains. “It just wouldn’t have worked and I’m too busy right now.” Louis shrugs. “Too busy to fuck Harry Styles?” Bella asks with a raised brow. “Yes, even too busy to fuck Harry Styles.” Or Prompt 251: Harry is a hockey player and he's in the middle of a press conference when Louis, a journalist, asks him a question. Harry sees him ans says something like "oh my god, he's so beautiful" to his teammate and only realized his mic was on when the pretty boy blushes and the room breaks in a laugh

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The Knothead Neighbor

A fic by Kbbean on AO3 | @Kristen09924842 on Twitter

8k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

This was my prompt: Prompt 3: Neighbors AU, preferably ABO! Harry works evenings/nights (maybe like a surgeon something that requires him to be gone for long hours) and has a cat. The cat has a little kitty door at the back so that it can explore and such. Louis just moved next door and the cat seems to always end up at his door. Eventually, Louis lets the cat in, as he’s new and he’s feeling quite lonely. They become fast friends, so much so that the cat prefers to stay with Louis rather than go home. Harry gets concerned that the cat starts to stay out all day/night so he eventually leaves a note attached to the cat’s collar with its name and phone number. Louis texts him telling him he’s his neighbor and not to worry, the cat just likes to hang with him as it might be lonely. Harry gets pissed that this stranger is stealing his cat so he goes to confront Louis and tell him to stop stealing his cat. Of course, as soon as he sees Louis, he falls in love with him and the rest is history. (If ABO could be cute that both Harry and Louis like to cuddle with the cat because it holds the other’s scent)

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I found an angel so divine

A fic by april_iris on AO3 | @april_kmm on Twitter

31k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Arishem should have abducted a human instead, to fiddle with their memory. Would have been more effective.” Thena, who had been staring into space for a few minutes, looked up. “Why don’t we just bring a human with us?” Everyone turned to stare at her. “What?” she retorted sternly. “Why not introduce him directly to a human being, so he can see how special the human race is?” Pip, who had dozed off against a wall with his pint still in hand, woke up with a start, while Druig tried to make sense of Thena’s words. “Not a bad idea, but what human being could be worthy enough to represent the rest of humanity?” Angel. Eros thought. “Louis!” Pip shouted. Or Eros/Harry is a dreamboat with singular powers who loves love more than anything and longs to feel it one day, and Louis is the kind human who shows him the way.

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always had that heart of mine

A fic by localopa on AO3 | @voulezloux on Tumblr

8k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

louis is nesting, though he won’t admit to it. between being ill, the stress of uni, and near drops, the only thing keeping him afloat is harry’s scent. the fact they don’t get along is neither here nor there

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you know it ain't fiction, just a natural fact

A fic by anditsonlyforthebrave on AO3 | @HARRYSC1NEMA on Twitter

13k | Not Rated | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Look, Lou” Harry whispers, “I can’t do it, and as much as I like having dinner with you, and hanging out, I think we should just do it without the tutoring part because I am not smart enough for school.” “That’s bullshit,” Louis answers quickly, “what do you like?” he asks, “I mean, other than football and asking me stuff about my family. There must be something else you’re good at.” “I play football and fuck, Louis. That’s it.” Louis definitely doesn’t flinch at that. He does not. --- Harry is the golden boy of the college football's team, Louis is their professors' golden student and they definitely don't have anything in common. Falling in love would be dumb.

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The Bluest war and peace

A fic by Hazzaslittle28 on AO3 | @hazzaslittle28 on Tumblr | @Hazzaslittle28 on Twitter

27k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

For centuries the Black Haven pack had a tradition where the first born omegas and alphas were to be introduced to each other. The pups were barely ten, dressed in their finest clothings and made to look presentable. That's when he first saw his ruins and he knew that he was never going to be the same.

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could start a cult

A fic by nouies on AO3 | @nouies on Tumblr | @_nouies on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

He lowers down the top that Louis is wearing, successfully unclasping his nursing bra as well, letting Louis’ tits bounce at the sudden movement. Harry massages both breasts to stimulate the milk flow, and he can feel his cock hardening inside his pants. or...Harry can’t get enough of Louis’ breast milk.

--

Deleted Scenes

A fic by Stria (Asia117) on AO3 | @nooradeservedbetter on Tumblr | @Striaaaaaaaaa on Twitter

34k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Do you trust me?” asks Louis in a whisper, mouth pressed on the crown of Harry’s head. His voice has that raw quality to it that Harry has only heard a few times, and he takes a deep breath. “I do,” he responds, and he could add something to keep up the charade, tell Louis that of course he does, he’s here for him, to support him, but he doesn’t really feel like doing anything. He’s going away in a very short while, after all. He can’t find the strength to keep up the farce. “I told you everything would be alright,” says Louis. “I told you we will be alright. Do you trust me on this?” Harry hesitates. He feels Louis’ arms tighten around him, and he brings one of his hands over Louis’. He doesn’t want to lie, he doesn’t. Agent Harry Styles was injured on the job a few months back, and gets roped in one last mission before he can retire prematurely: playing house with Louis, a widower who has amnesia. The assignment seems simple at the beginning, but soon enough Harry's twisted in a web of his own making, and can't get out anymore.

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[amantha-again]

My Thesis

Comedy is a fascinating game genre. Although video games as a medium have gone through a big shift the comedy genre is a standout that reeks of other media forms. Here I intend to examine comedy as a video game genre and explain my thoughts.

When asking about comedy games and when thinking about it myself Portal 2 is almost universally the first answer, and its easy to see why. Portal 2 is a game with excellent writing that understands comedic timing and sensibilities. My huge issue is that it feels like a comedy in the same way a movie does. The game will tell jokes to you. Most of the most memorable lines happen when you have basically no control over the character. Like in the pit fall, or the part where he kills you. Portal 2's gameplay has nothing to do with the comedy because its a puzzle game. Nothing you do as a player has any real impact on the comedy. Portal 2 really is a puzzle game that dispenses comedy for puzzle completion. Games are an interactive medium, and so comedy games should have the player as an active participant in the comedy. Portal 2 can be neatly broken up into a comedy phase and a puzzle solving phase, and they rarely overlap.

After portal 2 my brain was left to wander again. My second impulse for a comedy game was the Hitman trilogy. While I don't think its actually a comedy game it has elements that are important to comedy the game genre that I feel are worthy of discussion. First off hitman is kind of a sandbox. In hitman you enter a level and must kill the target in whatever way you wish before you can leave. The amount of freedom given to the player allows the games comedic elements to shine, and the number of tools you have access to that allow you to interact with the world are insane. The levels themselves are stuffed full of intractable and grabbable items that give you even more freedom in execution. All of these elements work together and makes the punchline feel like the player's work. Second off Hitman is just fundamentally kind of goofy. When you think about it agent 47 is a little freak who stashes everything he can get his hands on into his pockets and leaves a trail of half naked victims everywhere he hits. The developers lead into this fact also. With challenges encouraging you to go around killing in a goofy costume and such. Third, Hitman is not a perfect game. Although these games are insanely well polished there is nothing a developer can do to fix everything. Sometimes a ragdoll will glitch out and be sent into the skybox or an item will just roll away. Glitches are almost universally funny. Especially in a high tension game like the hitman series. Nothing hits the funnybone harder then a high tension moment being cut into by the unexpected. although this all sounds great for hitman I still don't fully count it as a comedy game. At it's core it's a stealth action game with shooter elements. The comedy elements are leaned into sure but that's not why you boot up hitman. After considering the past 2 options I was left to ponder, are there any true comedy games. And as I sat there pondering the impossible a horrible reality dawned on me. There is a comedy game, Roblox. Listen I know this is a hard point to argue but hear me out. Roblox has every element a good comedy game should have. A sandbox environment, a general lack of polish, user created content, it's got it all. To the common man roblox may look like an endless cesspit of slop type games but the enlightened know roblox for what it really is, an endless expanse of 0 player games with no quality control that just get funnier the further down you travel. Maybe im just biased but roblox has the perfect mix of unexplainable bullshit and instances where your action leads to a funny moment. Roblox I feel is the comedy game.

Ok so most of this was written before the lethal company/multiplayer horror comedy game boom happened. originally this ended with a note about how no game has really hit what makes a good comedy game but with new perspective I think this is the beginning of a genre. Lethal Company and such games get their comedy from other players. If you play lethal company alone it becomes a genuinely stressful horror game. Do other people make a game a comedy game? Not intrinsically, I can play stardew valley with a friend for 8 hours and that is all business all the time. It's on the game to open people up to the comedy.

[makethiscanon]

I think it’s time I dumped another long-forgotten WIP on you. And it’s an entirely new fandom!

The Bathhouse: Baji x Fem!Reader x Kazutora [Part 1]

Word Count: 3k Rating: Mature (16+) Tags: First-meetings, tension/suspense, romance, slow-burn, strangers/enemies to lovers, humour, canon-divergent [Bloody Halloween didn’t happen], aged-up/future setting, Valhalla, protective Kazutora, protective Baji, Baji being Baji. Warnings: Nudity [non-smut], vulgar language, mild threat.

Please be aware this is a mature story with some suggestive themes because of the setting, but there is no smut.

------

As a part-time worker at the local open-air bathhouse, you were allowed to use the facilities as often as you liked, provided it was after hours.

So, on one peaceful Tuesday evening you returned to work with an assortment of shampoos, towels, and a bottle of milk for later, then let yourself into the building with every intention of staying until you were wrinkled and all your life-stresses were gone.

Once you were out of your clothes and rinsed down, you stepped into the warm autumn air with only a book in hand, intending to get completely lost in its pages.

You made your way to your usual spot – a cosy nook at the far side of the pool; a space no wider than an armchair that was conveniently obscured from view by a large rock, then got in.

As you sank down, the warm waters got to work instantly, seeping into your aching muscles. Another day of work and agro melted off your body as you sighed and sank deeper, then your rear made contact with the bench. You tipped your head back until it touched the lip of the pool, then for just a moment you closed your eyes and enjoyed the peace of the evening.

The warm air had kept the cicadas out late today. You could hear them buzzing and chirping in the trees overhead as you sloshed around in the water to stretch your body out, while the hum of traffic in the distance made for relaxing background sounds.

Perhaps it was sad to sit naked and alone in an onsen with a book about love and nights of passion when everyone else was off having fun, but it was your idea of heaven. Your life lacked both love and passion, but it was easy to imagine with the turn of a page what it could be like. Princes, rock stars, mafia dons and heart-throbs -- only some of the realities you had wandered through while sitting at the edge of the pool. They made love look so easy.

You tended to get lost in your stories, so ensnared by the fictitious lives of the characters that you forgot the world around you, from the sounds to your surroundings, and most nights when you were alone at the bathhouse this was never a problem. But tonight…

Tonight it was.

You were finally, finally at the part in your book where the superstar admitted his feelings to the nobody-bartender, telling her that he was ready to throw his fame away if it meant they could be together. You were currently sat with only your feet in the pool and your back against the rock, your toes curled in anticipation for the much awaited kiss. The world around you was like static; a white noise to the reality you had wrapped yourself up in.

But that meant you were oblivious to the sounds around you. You did not hear the clatter of shoes or the voices that ascended the hill to the bathhouse. You did not hear someone mentioning that the lights were on, nor the person who declared gleefully that it must be open. If you heard them at all, it was only as the background chatter of people who must be staggering between bars. You did not hear them wander into the front desk, you did not hear them push and shove in delight when they thought they had the whole place to themselves for the night because some idiot had forgotten to lock up.

The noises grew fainter, and little did you realise it was because they had gone into the changing rooms to disrobe and rinse.

It was too late when you realised you weren’t alone. You only noticed when the first man came striding out onto the patio and called back to the others,

“There’s no one here. Seriously!”

You squeaked in surprise and dropped your book, then clamped your hand to your mouth.

What were people doing here? How had they gotten in?

Anxiety and regret filled you for leaving your towel in the changing rooms. If you needed to confront these late-night wannabe customers, you weren’t half as threatening or imposing when you were buck naked.

Being as quiet as you could, you slipped back into the pool then waited to see how many people you were dealing with before making any brash decisions. You sank into the water up to your neck, doing your best to hide yourself, then carefully peered around the rock to catch a glance of the newcomer.

When you saw him, your heart sank. Even at 20 yards and nothing but the dim patio lighting, you could clearly make out the intricate, dark lines and bold colours of his tattoos; the imagery of ogres and dragons spanning across his chest and the entirety of his arms.

Yakuza.

You were in trouble.

You pinned yourself to the rock, your mind reeling over what might happen if you tried to kick him out – them out. Oh god, the whole place could be crawling with thugs. You had no idea how many people were inside the changing rooms. You shut your eyes and prayed that it was only two lone idiots.

But then you heard the ruckus of other males as they came from inside, onto the patio. Feeling the world drop out below you, you sank back into the nook as slowly as you could to stop the water rippling. As you sat into the underwater bench, dread began to fill you. You couldn’t confront a gang of delinquents. You could only pray they didn’t find you, and left before the baths gave you hyperthermia.

The layout of the hot-springs meant that as long as no one came around the rock hiding you, they couldn’t see you. To the untrained eye, the rock sat on the very corner of the pool as if the perimeter had been built around it. Unless someone knew to check, they would miss the extra, square-meter pocket of water behind it that you called your comfy spot.

You heard splashing as the horde entered the pool. They laughed and were as boisterous as could be expected from a pack of unruly young men. In any other situation you would have come down on them like an iron fist, telling them to pipe down or get lost.

No one came close enough to frighten you. The waters rippled as the boys fanned out, finding their own places to relax. Now that they weren’t in one loud, indistinguishable group, you could hear what they were saying:

“This is awesome, right?”

“Hah?”

“Ya know. Like. Bet this place was left open for us. Outta respect.”

Like hell it was, you thought. Although you cursed for not checking whether you’d locked the door on the way in. Your manager was going to have your head tomorrow.

Time dragged on as you stayed in place and your bum turned numb, but overall you felt the fear ebb inside you the longer you stayed unnoticed. The boys didn’t seem interested in coming over here. It was too dark compared to the areas by the patio lights. Though they were messing around like schoolchildren at a waterpark. They didn’t have an ounce of respect for a spiritual place like this, clearly.

In all your distraction from listening to the main group of delinquents, the movements of one individual were too quiet to hear. You did not notice him swimming to the far edge of the pool to enjoy a breather from the others – the only place in the whole bath that could glimpse the space behind your rock. You did not see him squint at you, trying to figure out whether you were a small animal sat in the shadows. You did not see him swimming over as you shuffled further back into the nook, realising you had drifted from your seat over time.

But when you heard the familiar rippling sound of someone coming closer, you realised you were in trouble. Like a trapped rabbit, your lip started to tremble and you covered it with your hands, hoping to stifle your onset of panicked breathing, like you might still have a chance to go unnoticed if you stayed quiet. You closed your eyes in denial, hoping the person would change their mind and turn, but you opened them again, too afraid to face the danger blindly.

He swept into your space without warning; a single movement that told you he had not expected to find such a cramped spot back here. To his credit, he grabbed the rock with an arm to stop the collision, and for just a second his expression was that of utter shock. But no sooner had he landed his gaze on you, from your large, terrified eyes to the way you instinctively covered your chest to block his view, than his expression slipped into a grin.

“Hello, pretty girl. What are you doing here?”

You spotted the intricate tiger tattoo spanning down his neck, onto his left shoulder as he spoke with a playful manner. You tried to talk, to beg him to go away, but the words clogged in your throat as you looked into his golden eyes and saw a madness that couldn’t be reasoned with.

He cocked his head, leaning his arm against the rock to listen to you.

“Hm? What was that?”

You forced a single word out, feeling your safety slipping away under his gaze.

“Please...”

But a voice interrupted his response, calling from across the pool.

“What are you doing, Kazutora?”

You inhaled sharply, waiting for him to declare your presence to the others. The young man’s grin slipped and he cocked his head further, a genuine curiosity falling over his features as he watched you – watched the way you gripped your hands tighter around your mouth as your fingers trembled and your gaze pleaded with him not to give your place away.

Then his grin grew wider.

He moved closer to you, watching with an unblinking gaze as you closed your eyes. With a splash he pressed himself to you, pushing his lips to the shell of your ear. Then he whispered,

“Don’t make a sound, pretty girl. I’ll be back later.”

He pinned you to the edge of the pool. You had no time to worry about his naked skin pushing up against yours when it lasted only a second before he pulled back, responding to your dumbstruck expression with an impish smile. He had your book. He pressed a finger to his lips with a meaningful stare then waggled the book back and forth to silently declare he was taking it. Then with a fast, powerful kick, he zipped backwards through the water, disappearing from view.

“I found a book!”

His declaration was met by a chorus of unimpressed grumbles, and one not-so-happy retort of, “Kazutora, the fuck? Thought you’d found something interesting back there.”

“Yeah. Books are good.”

“Since when?”

Though the guys did not sound all too convinced by this Kazutora’s passion for books, they did seem to find it funny.

You waited, expecting someone else to appear and find you, but they never did. And as you waited, and as you heard the odd thug swimming close to your hiding spot, you heard Kazutora’s voice again and again, calling them away. One excuse after another, he halted their track towards you. It was daunting to give your safety to a complete stranger, and a yakuza member no less, but for whatever reason, he really was keeping you hidden.

The haze of the bathhouse seeped deeper into your lungs as you waited for them to leave. Your cheeks felt hot, and the world swayed whenever you stopped paying attention to the gang. Feeling woozy from the heat, you pressed your forehead against the rock, desperate for its cooling touch. You couldn’t last much longer out here. Surely they had to be ready to leave soon.

It wasn’t much longer after you pleaded for such a miracle that you heard his now-familiar voice calling out.

“Stay here if you’re planning to wrinkle up like an old man’s ball sack. I’m going for drinks. See ya later.”

You wondered if Kazutora was bored of protecting you, happy to leave you in fate’s hands, but to your greatest surprise the other boys started laughing.

“Wait up. First round’s on you.”

“Booze over bathhouses any day, mate.”

“Let’s hit up Atsushi’s spot. See if that twerp’s picked up any better women yet.”

They started to leave.

You dared to place your hand on your heart, feeling it beating like a bee’s wing as the courtyard grew quieter and quieter. You waited and listened, shocked and thankful that Kazutora’s plan was working as the boys climbed out of the pool in dribs and drabs. You waited as the voices died and the sounds of splashing vanished. You waited until it was only you and the distant noise of rambunctious boys in the changing rooms. You waited until it was only you, the cicadas and the faint sounds of traffic in the distance. You waited.

You waited.

Then a lock clicked into place.

The world fell out from under you. You weren’t alone. And someone had just trapped you out here with them.

The heat of the pool already had you feeling sick and weak. Your breaths were raspy and shallow, but you did your best to keep your wits, fearing what could happen. The vast majority of boys were gone for sure; you had heard them walking down the hill towards the bars, but one must have stayed behind. You hoped and prayed it was Kazutora, not because you expected any sort of saintliness from him, but you would rather the devil you knew than the devil you didn’t.

“Oi.” A deep voice rumbled from the patio. You knew at once that it was not Kazutora. There was an authority to this voice that did not fit the personality of the deranged, golden-eyed guy you had seen before.

“Get out here,” he growled, and you realised this man wasn’t playing games. You debated what to do. There weren’t many places to hide – he would find you soon enough if you stayed put – but he had blocked your escape into the changing rooms, and the fences surrounding the baths were too tall to climb. You only had one option. You just hoped it would work in your favour.

You trembled as you pulled yourself up from the bench. Your legs felt like lead. It took all your willpower to move forward, listening to the man talking as you waded out from behind the rock with your arms across your chest for protection.

“Kazutora would rather gouge his eyes out than read something. You’re the one he was keeping safe so get out here and… oh…”

His words died as his gaze fell on you, and you caught your first look at the young man holding you prisoner. Sharp brown eyes; long, black hair pulled back into a ponytail; and a strong body that would have absolutely no trouble stopping you if you tried to run. He was sitting on the patio quite casually with his legs in the water and a towel around his middle, and just as you had feared, he was blocking your path to the changing rooms. He was staring at you, but what had started as an aggressive glare was now nothing but shock. Clearly he had not expected to see someone like you when he had told you to come out.

But his aggressive glare reappeared as soon as he caught hold of his senses.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He snapped, and you flinched at the accusatory tone. He gestured to you as a whole. You sank into the water up to your chin, hiding your body. His intense glare was unnerving. Strangely, you felt like a child being scolded by her father, and though you couldn’t understand this situation fully, you knew you weren’t allowed to answer back.

“What are you doing here by yourself in the middle of the fucking night? I can’t even—” he smoothed his hand over his wet hair, seemingly unable to comprehend your stupidity. “I don’t care if you rented the place out or you work here or what— why didn’t you lock yourself in? Where is your towel? Do you have any idea how much danger you were just in? Do you know who you were hiding from— or what would have happened if Kazutora hadn’t found you first?”

His grunt of frustration cut off his rant, and an uncomfortable knot twisted up inside you, hearing that you had been in exactly the kind of danger you had worried about being in. The fact this guy’s anger seemed to stem from his concern for your wellbeing made you realise you had gotten off easy.

Though that begged the question, if this guy had such a problem with how his gang behaved, why was he hanging around with them?

You couldn’t say you felt safe around this guy – indeed, he exuded a natural amount of aggression without even trying – nor were you done with attempting your escape; yet before you managed to take one step forwards or even open your mouth to defend your actions, a haze took over your vision. Your skin that had been sweating for some time turned clammy and uncomfortable. The steam made it hard for you to breathe. The world span around you. The heat of the baths finally took hold.

“Oi, what’s up with you?”

His words fell silent on your ears. The last thing you saw before you slipped unconscious was how he heaved himself off the patio, down into the pool with alarm in his eyes.

------

PART 2: [HERE]

[WRITING MASTERLIST]

[creativestorylove]

He can be nice if he wants to

"Not again! I'm so bored, why can't you play with me?" I heard Lucius say frustrated. "My dear, I know it's not easy for you at the moment, but I have to take care of your uncle. He's new to this job, and he's out of his mind more than usual. I'm worried." replied Lucilla conflicted and hugged her son. "Oh gods, I wanted to ask him next..." said Lucius and turned away. "Later, I'll play with you, I promise, my dear." smiled his mother sadly and went inside the palace. I bowed as she passed me. I saw Lucius sitting down at the terrace stairs sighing. I had sympathy for him, so I looked around that nobody was there and then I went to sit next to him. "Hey, little man. What's the matter?" Not looking at me, he murmured: "My mother neglects me again. Sometimes, I wonder who's more important to her..." The boy leaned on my shoulder. Not sure what to make of this, I hesitantly caressed his back. "I'm sure your mother loves you more than anything in the world." I tried to comfort him. "Then why does she spend more time with my uncle? She always says that he needs help, but he's a grown-up. I don't really understand," he asked and looked at me. I smiled at him, patting his head. "In hard times grown-ups need help too." He looked at his naked feet and wiggled his toes, thinking about what I said. "I like it when you call me little man. That makes me feel less alone among all adults." I smiled. He turned to me. "You're nice for a slave." My smile lost its shining, and I bowed thanking him. It hurt to be reminded of my status. I stood up. "I have to go now, little man. Don't be sad, I know everything will be fine in the next few days." Confused, he looked up at me but then nodded.

The next day, I was kneeling on the floor to clean it, as Lucius came to me, tapping on my shoulder. "Hey, slave, my mother wants to see you." I looked up and dried my hands. A thousand worries were shooting through my mind. "Yes." I replied, standing up and going with him into his uncles studies. As we entered, I bowed down to the Ceasar and Lucilla. "Here she is. That's the slave that always calls me little man." Lucius stated happily and hugged his mother. My eyes went big. Was that a mistake? But my fear lessened as I saw Lucilla smiling at me. "So you spent time with my son and being a friend to him?" I slowly nodded. "Then I have to show my gratitude to you, slave. Unfortunately you're no good company for him." Lucius looked at his mother confused and let go of her at once. She looked at him vexed. "My dear, we're not befriending slaves." I started shivering. 'Yes, that was a mistake', I thought and looked over to the Ceasar. He ignored us, scribbling something on a scroll at his desk. Then I looked to Lucius again. He went to me and hugged me, arguing: "But she's my only friend. You can't take her from me. That's what you've got from neglecting me!" I held my arms up, not daring to touch him. With the word 'neglecting', the Ceasar looked up to his sister. She didn't notice. Instead, she signaled the guards to get me, tying up my wrists behind my back. "Stop it!" the Ceasar demanded and stood up. Now everyone was looking at him, the guards quickly loosening my ties again. He first focused on me, coming to me. I went down on my knees, bowing down. Shivers went down my spine as I noticed him standing in front of me, only inches away. "Stand up." he said, following my rising face. His enormous presence intimidated me. "Brother, what are you up to?" Lucilla asked, coming to us. Lucius went between me and his uncle, defending me. "She's my friend." With a look to him and then to me, his uncle turned to Lucilla. Now, I recognized the fury in his eyes. "You did neglect my precious nephew?" he hissed, having trouble retaining himself. Lucilla shied away, shaking her head. "No, no, I had to leave him to help you. You know how much it is alone!" "So, I was the reason you left him behind, not caring for him as he deserved?" he taunted, getting really quiet in his tone. With tears in her eyes, she lifted her hands to stop him coming near her. "I won't be responsible for that behavior of yours! I thought you were smarter!" he hissed furiously, letting go of her and pacing back to his desk, leaning on it. He turned his gaze to me, detailing me again. He put his index to his chin, thinking. I looked down to Lucius smiling. He mirrored me and put my hands on his shoulders. Lucilla narrowed her eyes at me upset. At once, I took my hands away again. "Uncle Commodus? You won't do her harm, do you?" Lucius asked. The Ceasar looked at him, slightly smiling. "I won't," he stated shortly, still in his thoughts, and implied me to go now. I bowed deeply. As Lucius grabbed my hand, I left the study with him.

Relieved, I relaxed my body and smiled at the little boy. He smiled back and laid an arm around me. "I didn't expect your uncle to have mercy on me, little man. But I'm glad he had." He chuckled. "Don't be so scared of him. He can be nice if he wants to." I ruffled his hair, walking next to him. "Yes, he just showed me." Lucius went before me walking backwards. "Can we finally play now?" I laughed. "Yes, little man, at your command!"

Unfortunately, I couldn't find a gif from little Lucius :(

[arc-misadventures]

Rin FMK Nora, Jeanne, Jaune

Rin: FMK

Rin: Okay… Well this is a relatively easy decision…

Jaune: It is? I thought since it involves the three of us it would be a hard choice.

Jeanne: I mean, we’re going against, Nora so obviously she’s going to marry her. So, one of us is going to be killed.

Jaune: Still, I don’t want to, ‘die.’ Makes me feel worthless… Well more worthless than I already am…

Jeanne: Oh, don’t worry, Jaune. Its, Rin, uou know she wouldn’t do anything mean to you.

Jaune: Yes, but I am irrationally paranoid.

Jeanne: Why did so many people hurt you?

Jaune: Shits, and giggles…?

Rin: Okay… S-Shall we get going?

Nora: Yeah, lets get this going on to more happier grounds

Jaune: Right, sorry for making this such a downer.

Jeanne: Were sorry, Rin!

Rin: It’s okay, you guys have been going through a lot. Okay! So: Kill, Nora.

Nora: Cool.

Jaune: Wait, seriously?!

Jeanne: Why?

Rin: W-Well… Nora, and I have already done before so…

Jaune: Wait, what?!

Jeanne: You two have done it?!

Nora: Oh yeah! We got drunk on accident a few years ago. Then we got a bit handsy~!

Jeanne: You did what?!

Rin: The sake we had that day was pretty… strong.

Nora: So anyway we went at it, and then we woke up in each others arm.

Rin: Which is pretty normal actually.

Jaune: And, pretty comfortable.

Jeanne: Wait?! You slept with, Nora?!

Jaune: No, but I have had, Nora crawled in my bed while I was sleeping. It was very nice; so warm, and comforting.

Jeanne: Naww, I wanna do that…

Nora: Just you wait then~!

Rin: Just hope it doesn’t end up like us. Since we were naked…

Nora: That was such a lovely sight to wake up to~!

Jeanne: So you’re going to, ‘Kill,’ Nora because you’ve already done it?

Rin: Yeah, that’s pretty much it.

Jaune: Wow, they’re completely different than my, Ren, and Nora.

Jeanne: How’s that?

Jaune: Nora pines for, Ren hard, and Ren just doesn’t see it.

Jeanne: Ouch.

Nora: So! Who are you gonna do the do with~?

Rin: Oh, I want to sleep with, Jeanne.

Jeanne: Y-Y-You what?!

Rin: What? What’s wrong?

Jeanne: I-I-I just didn’t think you wanted to… d-do that with me?!

Rin: Hey, I’ve had dreams of being… intimate with you.

Jeanne: You’ve dreamed about us doing it?!

Nora: Don’t worry! Her dreams weren’t as bad as the ones the guys have about you! But, so juicy~?!

Jeanne: What are they dreaming about?!

Jaune: I don’t think you want to now…

Rin: You don’t.

Nora: But, the bunny suit!

JJ: The what?

Rin: Shh!

Nora: Naww…

Rin: So, I mostly want to do it because I’m curious.

Jeanne: What about…?

Rin: Well, haven’t you ever looked at someone that just makes you wonder; what if we dated, if we kiss, what if we… did it?

Jeanne: A few times…

Rin: So yeah, that’s why I would… ‘Fuck’ you.

Jeanne: Oh… okay. That sounds nice…

Nora: Plus you get bragging rights on banging the, Angel~!

RJ: NORA?!

Jaune: Okay… Well, this is probably how, Pyrrha feels…

Rin: So, I would… M-Marry, Jaune…

Nora: But, why…?

Jeanne: Yeah, why?

Rin: I just think he’s handsome, rugged, and nice. I feel safe, and protected around him. And, I wouldn’t mind being his darling little wife, with our little, but growing family~! It just sounds so nice when I think about it~!

Nora: that does sound nice~!

Jeanne: I would love that to happen in my life~!

Jaune: …

Jaune: To be honest, if I had, Rin in my world. I would totally marry her if I could.

Rin: R-Really?!

Jaune: Your beautiful, cute. So caring, and kind. Honestly I would be a very happy man if I had you in my life.

Rin: Aww… Thanks, Jaune~!

Jaune: Also, because I know that look, I would marry, Nora if I could.

Nora: Yes! Co-Wives!

Rin: Nora that’s…?! Actually, that sounds nice… Really nice.

Jeanne: Awww… If it wasn’t for the fact I would be dating myself, I would want to marry, Jaune too…

Jaune: You would what?!

[oakpear]

The End Poem

I see the player you mean.

PLAYERNAME?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

What did this player dream?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is growing restless.

I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player...

Use its name.

PLAYERNAME. Player of games.

Good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a player.

The player was you, PLAYERNAME.

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

Let's go back.

The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

Let's go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

You are the player, reading words...

Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive

You. You. You are alive.

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

You are the player.

Wake up.

By Julian Gough

[annimator]

Hey do you guys ever think about Minecraft’s end poem and how it connects to QSMP (it’s under the cut if ya wanna read it!)

I see the player you mean.

PLAYERNAME?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

What did this player dream?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is growing restless.

I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player...

Use its name.

PLAYERNAME. Player of games.

Good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a player.

The player was you, PLAYERNAME.

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

Let's go back.

The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

Let's go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

You are the player, reading words...

Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive

You. You. You are alive.

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

You are the player.

Wake up.

[bbbellamywrites]

full end poem/story under the cut <3

I see the player you mean.

[PLAYERNAME]?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

What did this player dream?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is growing restless.

I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player...

Use its name.

[PLAYERNAME]. Player of games.

Good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a player.

The player was you, [PLAYERNAME].

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

Let's go back.

The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

Let's go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

You are the player, reading words...

Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive

You. You. You are alive.

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

You are the player.

Wake up.