#good thing these powers aren't real

[longmaxsilvarg]

max is so much stronger than me bc if i found out i had rewind powers im gonna be honest i would maybe immediately rob a bank

[dravidious]

You're really awesome

PROBLEM: I want to make magic decks with my cards irl, but I have no one to play them against.

SOLUTION: Make an entire custom deck that can play itself to more or less replicate an opponent.

I decided to put the rules in card form as conspiracy cards, but it turns out that rules should be written as rules, not cards, so I had to make extensive notes about each of them (except Industrial Expansion, that one is actually effects instead of rules). I also just enjoy talking about my design choices.

Notes: Creating waste tokens instead of playing lands is basically free card advantage, as well as preventing mana screw/flood. The bot is supposed to have more raw strength than the player, so this isn’t a huge problem, but the starting hand size reduction and 5 land limit are still needed balance it.

Also, I know wastes isn’t actually a basic land type, but it makes the card so much cleaner so "Wastes token" is a predefined token here just like Treasure and Food.

Notes: There’s probably some awkward edge cases here too. I fixed the only one I could find (involving Recycle Bin), but there might be more. The main guiding rule in playing the bot is "don’t make it do obviously dumb stuff." The cards are balanced around the rigid rules, so bad decisions are okay, but sometimes there are plays that are so worthless or actively counterproductive that you really ought to step in. Edge cases should be resolved in whatever way makes the bot play best. Ideally, you shouldn’t have to think too hard about what the bot does; it’s supposed to be automatic, after all. The other guiding rule is "make this similar to a normal game of Magic."

Notes: Much, much simpler than Defense Protocol. Still some vagueness, but good enough to prevent swinging into the opponent’s 4/4 with a 3/3. It applies on a creature-by-creature basis; if you have a 3/3 with flying and a 2/1, and your opponent has a 4/4, the 2/1 won’t attack, but the 3/3 will. If you have a 2/1 and a 5/4, only the 5/4 will attack since the 2/1 can be fully blocked by the 4/4.Non-lethal battles are tricky; if you have a 2/1 and the opponent has a 0/3, you shouldn’t attack because then you’re just tapping down your 2/1. But if you have a pair of 2/1s, you should attack for the free damage. You could reinterpret the "such that they lose no life" bit, but that would result in the rules telling you to swing your creatures into into a 4/4. Basically, use your best judgement; this stuff is too complicated to write out. You’re smart enough.

Notes:

This card would be a fucking nightmare to properly template. Good thing it’s a rule and not actually a card. The vague wording can probably result in lots of edge cases, but this card is basically meant to say "The bot makes the best blocks possible" so use your best judgement in those cases. Activated abilities that boost a creature should be taken into account if mana is open for them. A version of the blocking rules not in card form is given below.

Priority 1: If you can block in such a way that your life total remains above 0, you must do so.

Priority 2: If a blocker can deal lethal damage to an attacker and survive, it must block that creature.

Priority 3: If a blocker can deal lethal damage to an attacker, or if it can survive, it must block that creature.

Priority 4: Don’t block.

Misc 1: If multiple attackers are tied for the highest block priority, the blocker must block the creature with the highest power. If tied, highest toughness, then highest mana value, then choose randomly.

Misc 2: Multi-block an attacker only if it has menace or a similar ability, only with the minimum number of blockers, and only if it falls under a blocking priority (ex. it’s threatening to win the game, or it can be destroyed, or both your blockers survive). Anything else could be a nightmare to calculate.

And that's all the rules/conspiracies, which should allow for playing against the bot while making as few decisions as possible. Here's the cards. The bot's deck consists of 4 copies of each card for a clean 60 deck, compatible for testing against mill.

[ethereal-evei]

cried on the bus tonight, it was sunset and I was on the bus back from the supermarket and when we turned a corner everyone started gasping and pointing to everyone that the blue super moon was rising - everyone was taking turns looking down the isle and calling people to tell them about it. in that moment we weren't strangers and the moon was huge and it was orange and when I got off at my stop I stood and watched everyone also stopping in their tracks to take a photo or even just look. the same thing had happened earlier with this insane sunset. its the last day of winter and the way there was such beauty in the setting sun in the west and the rising moon in the west I don't know how to word it but it really makes me think there is good out there. like we are all connected through the beauty in thins and want to share that with whoever we can strangers or not. its times like these I just want to keep wrapped up under my bed for the days I don't feel like there's any left. at some point I will reword this to be more poetic but it was just such a moment; I haven't felt this human in so long . I need to make sure there is solid evidence it did happen even if its not the prettiest its here and it was real and I was alive to witness it

[ambreiiigns]

i watched One wrestling (wrestledream. much to say abt it. god willing i keep watching from that episode forward) and then 4 bungo stray dogs w brother (finished s3 fucking finally my god and saw the first from s4. it was really bad) after the most fucked up week i've had in a while

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Pixar did not have to go as hard as they did with the Kronos Unveiled scene in The Incredibles (2004), yet they did anyway and gave us one of the best scenes in modern cinema. Literally cannot stop thinking about how good this scene is, from the animation to the build up to the soundtrack.

I don’t think I truly understood how dark this scene - and this film - was a child: Syndrome is systematically and strategically luring in superheroes and killing them off in order to test and improve his Omnidroid design… these people were not only supers but they also had family and loved ones too, just like Bob, and one day they would have just disappeared because chances are they weren’t telling people where they were going because it was "top secret" and against the law. They thought they were doing something good, like helping the people in the island, while also getting to relive their glory days, perhaps even paving the way for superheroes to make a proper comeback… only for Syndrome to kill them in cold blood.

Most of these people can actually be seen at Bob and Helen’s wedding in the beginning of the film - they weren’t just random supers, they were their friends, people they worked alongside and cared about. It’s even worse when you realise that Bob probably blames himself because, after all, Buddy/Syndrome was his biggest fan and he dismissed him by not letting him help.

The relief on Bob’s face when he realises Syndrome doesn’t know where Helen is - meaning he also doesn’t know where their children are because he didn’t realise they were married at this point - is so realistic and gut wrenching to see. The relief contrasting with the anguish of knowing how much danger they and their entire family could have been in the entire time without even knowing...it's so well-done, you can literally feel it.

It’s also worth noting that originally the next target wasn’t Mr Incredible but Frozone - that was who Mirage was trailing, hence why his location is “known”. Imagine if she/Syndrome hadn’t realised that Mr Incredible was with him and they’d lured Frozone in instead as planned; he would have gone to the island to fight the Omnidroid 8 in a volcano setting. We saw how being in the burning building dehydrated Frozone and made it impossible to use his ice powers - presumably it would have been the same in the middle of a lava filled volcano, and he’d have been slaughtered just like the other superheroes before him.

This scene shows an entire generation of superheroes - Bob, Helen and Lucius’ generation - wiped out all because Syndrome felt slighted by his hero as a child, because he internalised that slight and let it drive him to revenge. And, if we take into account the deleted alternate opening scene, it’s mentioned that superheroes "aren't supposed to breed” - meaning there’s a likelihood that Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack are among the very few supers of the next generation. I know that it's deleted and so not really canon, but it's definitely a concept to consider, I think.

Then there's the fact Syndrome named the project "Kronos" - Kronos was a God who overthrew his own father in order to take over his rule, and then he ate his own children to prevent them doing the same thing to him. It feels like it reflects Syndrome once looking up to Mr Incredible and even saying "I could be your ward!", meaning Mr Incredible adopting or fostering him - the project name is a metaphor for Syndrome destroying the Supers, especially Mr Incredible, who he viewed as a father figure. The Omnidroids he built killed two birds with one stone: not only was he able to acquire the data to upgrade the robot to its final design, but it also eliminated the real super heroes and so left him as the last remaining "superhero", even though his powers are man-made, not something he was born with.

Not only did he want to become the only remaining superhero by killing the real ones in revenge, he also planned to sell his inventions at some point so everyone can be super - because "when everyone is super, nobody is". It's like a final blow to the memory of the superheroes he had killed.

I've talked too much about this scene but God... I love it so much more as an adult because it's just so chilling to think about. I'm sure other people can put it much more articulately than I just tried to, but I just really wanted to appreciate this scene.

[beeseverywhen]

Not in the US so can't speak for what's happening there, but I've def noticed here that healthcare workers are struggling with dealing with sicker patients than they felt they were getting before covid and lots of them are mentioning a lack of immunity thanks to lockdowns. every time I hear it I can't help but think that the increasing desperation thanks to years of underfunding that's really beginning to have an impact since covid (because the pandemic served as the last straw on the camels back there AND because it showed our government that they could neglect the vulnerable to the degree that they were dying by the thousands and still nobody bothered to blame them.) Is a contributing factor in this and I don't understand why nobody is mentioning it???

We're getting sick because we've spent decades being bled dry and now we're hungry, stressed and being worked to the bone. Meanwhile we aren't getting any kind of return on the money we're pumping in to the healthcare system and our governments aren't doing shit to address health inequalities or any of the factors contributing to everyone's poor health.

If you look at covid death statistics, if you look at which countries are currently suffering from supply problems; a job market bursting with unfilled vacancies, civil unrest and protests, strained healthcare systems, and all the rest; the countries at the top are those that have allowed capitalism to call the shots for the past century, more than the rest. That is why the UK and America have been so badly impacted. Its no accident that we are paying so heavily, this system started with us. We forced it on the rest of the world and now, we're the first to pay the price. There is a direct correlation between the impact being felt post covid and a countries wealth divide and I'm tired of everyone ignoring that.

I look around me and People are going hungry, the food they can afford to buy is lacking in basic nutrients, of course people are sicker! Even if you can afford them, the shops keep running out of vegetables! Our health system was already breaking and then, we were hit by a pandemic it was completely unprepared for (tho it should have been) and now, people are getting way more ill than they need to before they finally reach hospital. When they get there, the hospitals are understaffed (thanks to years of underfunded budgets and the extreme stress so many health care workers were put under), we keep having drug shortages because our country keep straight up refusing to pay how much things cost, and what they are willing to pay, goes to pay about ten profiteering middle men at each stage of the supply chain.

People are massively stressed thanks to the cumulative weight of a completely broken capitalist system and those in charge are more worried about lining their pockets for as long as they can until the whole thing collapses, rather than actually trying to address any problems. Stress IS something that's known to weaken immune systems so why are we blaming something that MAY affect them??? Extreme rises in energy costs have meant everyone's spent a winter without adequate heating (even those that can afford it are revolting at the increase and so are trying to cut costs by using less energy.) Again, insufficiently heated homes are also known to affect immunity. And that's just the people who still have safe homes! Masses of people have been made homeless recently thanks to rising rents and mortgages which were already unaffordable, our housing stock is largely dangerous, with homes falling in to disrepair because landlords are barely regulated and when they do break laws they go unprotected.

Is anyone surprised that so many people are getting so ill and not getting better? Cause I'm not.

It's startlingly obvious when you start looking at the health divide between those who have spent 40 years subject to the whims of poorly restricted capitalism and those able to opt out. Medical technology is improving, but healthy life expectancy is now dropping year on year, because there are more people living here without the capital to turn away from jobs that will break them, than there are those whose inherited wealth opens doors away from employers that'll ask you to pay the price of bodily health, so they might strengthen profit margins. Its just basic averages. 1% of our citizens are standing on the backs of 99% of us and wondering why more and more of that 99% are getting sicker and sicker. The labour market for working class people has been allowed to drain its workers dry for years now. The progress made in the early to mid 20th century has slowly been worn away at, with the labour laws we fought for, only being accessible for an ever decreasing number of people. The laws are still in place but no low wage employer bothers to follow them any more than they have to. Do you know how many people I know who've been working without breaks, going unpaid for extra hours, been forced to follow unsafe working practices that they know are illegal and then being forced to lie to protect the employer that put them in that position? The people being broken by companies raking in billions, as they flaunt labour laws, don't have any means to access justice! If you complain, you lose your job. If you take them to court that costs money and that company is willing to drag out proceedings for years till you run out of the money needed to keep things going.

When i look at how much money is being wasted in government budgets, while the people responsible for making that money, see little return; I can't help but think of various theories for why certain societies in history have collapsed. (If you want to be really worried about the state of things, read the Wikipedia page on societal collapse. Spoiler: most of the potential causes of societal collapse have already begun in America and the UK. That guy who wrote that article saying America was already past the point of collapse might have been right.) One theory behind the bronze age collapse is just that... societies became too complex. A society where the 1% are given too much power over the 99% becomes one great big pyramid scheme. Unnecessary burecracy at every level (designed to squeeze as much wealth possible for the person overseeing that level) results in those at the bottom, working themselves to death and still going hungry. The theory goes that there comes a point, in societies like that, where the workers look at how they are living and just...walk away. They decide that the security once offered by that society isn't worth what it's costing them and fuck off to become farmers, preferring a life of hard work and little security, to what they had been living. Without the workers, the system breaks down. The only people getting fed are the ones growing the food. All this stupid stratification. Allowing every supply chain, business and institution to become unnecessarily complex just so on each level the people in charge can let their mates get a foot in on the profits. All these middlemen. Business consultants. Supply chains allow for a product to be sent back and forth from country to country just so more people get a cut. Its no different to any other pyramid scheme so why the hell are we allowing it.

We need to start telling our politicians to show some goddamn accountability for this shit. Stop accepting them skirting responsibility for being at best: Inept and at worst deliberately negligent. We all need to stop supporting a system that's hurting us all. In the hope that we might be one of the lucky ones. That's not the reality of things. We'll only get out of this hole we've inadvertently dug ourselves in to, if we stop fighting each other and work together to demand change.

You know how sometimes you catch someone in a lie, and so they tell an even bigger lie to try and cover up the first lie they told?

Well, that’s happening right now.

Last winter, a handful of celebrity doctors went on mainstream news networks to assure us that Omicron was “mild.” They carpet-bombed us with articles and tweets, doing their best to brainwash everyone.

They were wrong.

In the end, real science junked that idea. An article in the Journal of the American Medical Association showed that Omicron killed more people than previous variants, even when adjusting for other factors. Another study by doctors at Massachusetts General and Harvard Medical found that Omicron was just as deadly. In fact, “the risks of hospitalization and mortality were nearly identical.” As it turns out, the entire idea of “mild” Omicron was based on an old, flawed idea known as the law of declining virulence, developed by a doctor who was studying tick-borne disease in cows. It was debunked decades ago.

Most epidemiologists know that viruses don’t magically evolve to become milder. Virus evolution is random and chaotic.

In some cases, viruses evolve to become more deadly.

A handful of actual scientists tried to explain all this last winter, including disease experts at Johns Hopkins. A handful of other established experts spoke out against this myth. As a microbiologist at Penn State told Politifact, “You can’t just say it’s going to become nicer.” They were largely ignored, because everyone already sort of believed the misinformation. If they knew it was based on a study about cows, they probably would’ve thought twice.

This year, the makers of “it’s mild” are back.

They’re selling “immunity debt.”

We should be skeptical.

Schools and daycares are sending letters home to parents talking about this “immunity debt.” They’re saying that healthy children are getting sicker, even dying, because they weren’t exposed to enough germs over the last two years. Newspapers and TV stations across the country are running with it, proposing it as a “possible reason” for this year’s explosion in pediatric hospitalizations. Meanwhile, major medical organizations have sent a letter to President Biden urging him to declare an emergency over an “alarming surge of pediatric hospitalizations” due to a range of respiratory viruses, including Covid.

A lot of people are drinking the “immunity debt” kool-aid.

After all, Americans have believed for generations that getting sick is “good for you.” We think our immune system behaves like a muscle. We worry that if we’re not giving it a workout, we’ll get weak.

It’s a myth, just like the law of declining virulence.

Here’s why.

[shinobicyrus]

I've seen a lot of posts about Batman using his Bruce Wayne alter ego for the good of Gotham: job programs for felons released from prison, orphanages, charities, high wages for his employees, ethical business practices...the legendary post where Bruce Wayne goes to Wal-Mart.

Thus far I've never personally seen anybody really dig into the persona of Bruce Wayne the Billionaire Playboy. A handsome, rich, powerful man who always is seen at fancy galas, art openings, charity dinners, and wild parties with at least one beautiful woman on his arm.

We know Bruce Wayne is the mask, and its Batman who has a...complex love life, depending on the iteration we're talking about. Talia, Catwoman, sometimes Wonder Woman.

Bruce Wayne's dates, on the other hand, are all "normal" people. Maybe they're an aspiring actress, a supermodel, a prima ballerina, the occasional reporter...and every time there's that bit of nervousness at the start.

Sure everyone knows Bruce Wayne. Everyone knows the story with him. Sometimes his wilder parties make the news, but there's never really been anything nasty reported about him. Never...allegations. But he's a billionaire. He's one of the most powerful people in the whole city, nevermind the country. If he did have some skeletons in his closet. Well. Men with power have a way of making those kinds of stories go away, don't they?

As time goes on the Date's fears dissipate pretty quickly. Bruce Wayne is nothing but polite, kind, and at times charmingly awkward in an 'raised by his butler in a mansion' kind of way with his dates. Some of them can tell he's holding back, of course. Maybe the more perceptive Dates notice he's smarter than he lets on - playing the himbo or hamming up the "know-nothing rich boy" act to the cameras or some of his wealthy peers.

He also listens, is the thing. He's always listening to what they're saying, is interested in hearing about their careers, their hobbies, their lives. Really listens, too. Might refer to something a Date said weeks later off-hand. Buy out the whole museum for a private dinner date with a famous painting from an obscure artist they like, or a private performance with another's favorite band.

He has anecdotes and funny stories for days that somehow says very little about his personal life. The Dates know he has kids (it's practically a running gag in the news that Bruce Wayne has adopted yet another orphan) and maybe she might spot one of them at the mansion, but Bruce seems very keen to shelter them from any intense spotlight and scrutiny, and they all seem happy if a bit weird like him.

Eventually, there's drifting. He's a very busy man, with a very busy schedule. On more than on occasion his nice old butler will call and extend apologies that Mr. Wayne will not be able to make it this evening. Sometimes it's virtually impossible to get a hold of him over the phone. After a while they stop trying. None of them feel quite surprised by that. In the end, it just doesn't work. Sure, he's a little distant and doesn't make himself emotionally available...but he's not a bad person.

Especially when the so-called "exes" of Bruce Wayne start networking. Gotham isn't a small city, but the social circles Bruce Wayne travels in aren't as big. They don't quite gossip or complain about him. More like...who else would get it?

(I touched his side once and he winced...like he'd been hurt real bad there. He laughed and said it was tackle polo. How does that even-?)

(Somehow, after two dates, he saw right through me and listened while I told him what that casting director tried to do. He nodded, gave me the contact details of a law firm, and said not to worry about the legal fees.)

(I don't know for sure it was him, but it can't be a coincidence that my building got bought out from under my shitty landlord and we were all able to buy our apartments under market value.)

(He got my brother in the best rehab program in the city after his relapse. It probably saved his life. We'd stopped dating months ago, I still don't know how he found out.)

(He gave me a card with a phone number and told me that if I was ever in trouble to call it. Said one of his cars would come to pick me up, any time, any place, no questions asked. The one time I did have to use it after a bad party, it was Alfred.)

I think any tabloid reporter digging around for salacious stories or dirt about Bruce Wayne's love life would be completely and politely stonewalled when they try asking his former Dates. Even when money is offered. Every single one of them.

[teaboot]

Sometimes at work it's not my place to tell people the things I want to say, and I find I often go home at the end of the rougher days to stand blankly in my shower and tell myself over and over what I wish I could pass on.

This accomplishes very little, and mostly just gives me a tension headache, but through it all I think I've narrowed myself down to a few solid things I'd like to tell people the most.

You can't change people. Not permanently, not for anythig. You can support them, encourage them, love them, give them tools and opportunities and resources, but you can't make them change. They can change themselves if they want to, but they have to want to, and they have to want it for themselves, because they're the only one that's certain to be with them forever.

For better or worse, you make your own choices, and blaming bad choices on others doesn't only work to absolve you of responsibility- it also robs you of control. Because if you say you only did something because I did something, then you arent only shifting blame- you're admitting that you cannot control yourself, that you cannot truly make choices for yourself, that other people can control you- and as long as you truly beleive that, you'll keep facing the same problems over and over. You'll keep letting others dictate your choices, because you'll beleive that they can, and you'll never be free.

White knights on horseback are from fairytales. Nobody can help you if ou're not willing to help yourself. To try, to put the dirty work in, to belive you're worth that effort- Act as though nobody is coming to save you. From a struggle, from pain, from bad relationships, from yourself. And when you do save yourself, because you will, because failure here isn't an option if you want to survive, you'll never find another dragon that can keep you prisoner.

Don't say anything to anyone that you wouldn't want them remembering forever.

Doing the right thing in bad circumstances is hard. It's the hardest thing. But if you make the choice to do that hard thing anyways, despite your fear, you'll go on the rest of your like knowing that you're the sort of person who did something.

The present only seems the hardest because the past I over and the future hasn't happened.

There's so much joy ahead of you, the kind you can't possibly understand until you see it yourself.

The responsibility of consequences is often disguised as the power of permission. "I won't do this if you help me", "I'll work on my anger if you do this for me", "I promised you I'd quit, but can I have just one?". The unspoken question is, "Can it be your fault if this goes badly?"

You cant make someone love you the way you need to be loved. Someone can love you very much and still be bad for you, even if you love them very much in return. Two people can love each other very, very much, and try their very best, and still be wrong for each other.

Sometimes being near to someone changes you, even in good ways, and the people you become don't fit together as well as the people you were.

Caring takes work. Even if it's real. Especially if it's real. And the most important gestures aren't the grand, poetic, songs-and-flowers-and-tears moments; they're getting out of bed even though you don't want to. Paying attention to things you don't enjoy. Scrubbing pans, or opening a window, saying "thank-you", or helping carry groceries into the house. The small things fill the big things- without the small, boring, mediocre things, big things feel hollow.

Thrre is honour and dignity in humble work.

If you are a cruel and spiteful person, then you will find every place you visit to be full of the same cruel, spiteful people. This is not because the world is as cruel as you, but because everywhere you are, you will be disliked. This is the curse that comes with being persistently cruel and spiteful.

If you are a kind and ppsitive person, you will repeatedly encounter kind and positive people, because as they grow familiar with you, they will be happier to have you near. This is the reward of being a kind and positive person.

When splitting paths with loved ones, briefly or forever, aim for your last words to always be "I love you".

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: degradation with sub!gojo

kinktober masterlist

The strongest, the fastest, the greatest.

Satoru Gojo knows that he is all of those things—he's told it every day. People dote on him, idolise him, praise him like he's holy—and lavish worship can only go so far before it starts to feel hollow.

Satoru likes being loved, don't get him wrong, he revels in the praise he gets. To know he's so admired, such an effigy of power, is intoxicating. He's constantly in a state of egotistical bliss—which is why it's so rejuvenating when you take him down a notch.

Because as strong and tireless as he is in the real world, your Toru is the opposite in the bedroom. It's the place he gets to relax, to melt, and he takes full advantage of shedding the title of strongest, even if only for a night at a time—because god does the way your chiding roll from your lips turn him on.

You can't help but smile at the beautiful blush that dusts his cheeks, it matches the pink tip of his throbbing cock that pulses in your hand. His hair, soft and lovely, rests in a mess against the pillows as you stroke him lazily, sitting on his thighs, lips curled into the wickedest of grins. He frowns, whiney pleas escaping form his throat.

"Please, just fuck me," he's so hard it hurts, and the delicate stroke of your fists over his cock isn't enough. He needs more of you, he needs all of you.

But you just hum, "so needy. This isn't good enough for you, Toru? You think you're worth my time, honey?"

Honey. So sweet in comparison to the sickly tone you use with him. He's not worthy, not of someone like you, and the suggestion makes his hips buck. "Please," he bites.

"Fucking desperate," you let go of his cock entirely and instead ghost a nail from his base to the tip. He gasps, face scrunching up, "you know you're pathetic, right baby? What's all this about you being the strongest—you're barely holding yourself together."

A pause. Satoru swallows. His dick twitches, his cock growing thicker and harder than he thinks it ever has been. "Please, you're… too much," it comes out hoarsely. He feels pathetic and small as he begs, but you ignore him, fingers still circling his sensitive head until it throbs painfully.

"What do you want to hear?" You purr, leaning down to press a kiss to his tip. "That you're being so good for me? Because you really aren't, Toru—not until you break for me. C'mon, baby, I know you, what you are."

You reposition yourself to sit over his cock, lining him up with yourself, smiling at the ay he squeezes his eyes shut in carnal need. You lean forward a little—enough to emphasise your words—"you're my Satoru, who needs to get fucked like the desperate whore he is."

And as you seat yourself on his cock, not bothering to hide just how blissful the stretch of his overbearing size makes you feel, Gojo swears he could cry. You're right, he is desperate, a whore—achy and teary-eyed and already close to cumming with just how good you feel wrapped around him.

"Not without permission," you read the tremble of his lips. Your hips roll against his, the drag and pull of his cock inside of you enough to drive the poor man crazy. "What do you think the masses would think if they saw you like this, huh? All dumb for me, Satoru Gojo—my favourite toy. You think they'd still think you're the strongest, baby?"

"Mm, fuck," his tongue near lolls out of his mouth at your words, you can feel him twitch inside of you. "Y—y…"

"Too stupid to even use your words huh? Can't even get a decent ride out of you. Look at you, I know you're close—can't hide from me."

He's gone red in the face, and avoids the urge to hide behind his hands in favour of meeting your gaze with his beautiful blues. Glossy and pooling with lust, he looks at you like you're the god he is to worship. He wonders how anyone can think he is worthy of praise when you're right there—god, he'd lay himself down for you before any of them could even think to. He's got no choice but to accept your approval though, and if it'll get you to keep fucking him, he'll be grateful for anything.

It's too much for the both of you to handle. Your own orgasm crests just as you think Satoru is going to unravel, and you place a finger in the middle of his toned chest to ground him. "Beg me."

"Ple—"

"No," you shake your head, trying to keep your breath in check as you quicken the pace of your rolling hips. "Thank me, for giving you so much already—more than you deserve. Thank me properly and you can cum."

He doesn't hesitate, he's beyond devoted to you—if he could thank you until the end of time he would. "Thank you," he says softly, voice thick with relief. You feel him shudder underneath you, a few more thrusts of your hips and he'll come undone. "Fuck, thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou, I love you, god I love you."

"Prove it," a moan breaks through your sharp words. "Cum with me, Toru."

Your name tumbles from his mouth like a prayer, raw and desperate, and he gives a shaky nod. You clench around him as you allow yourself to finish, and the sight of your orgasm spurs Satoru on. As his climax crescendos and his body jerks beneath you, he's sure he can never look away from how beautiful you are in your release despite the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and bathe in the overwhelming pleasure that washes over him—nirvana.

You collapse atop him, panting. You lie there while your muscles unwind, waiting for you heart to calm and your lungs to expand enough for your breath to steady. Once Satoru has finished jerking his hips up into yours, and he starts to come back down to earth, you push yourself up to hover over him again. The stern look that had been in your eyes is gone, and replaced with a gentle softness he knows all too well—he replicates your smile with his own.

"Good?" He raises his eyebrows, ready for the onslaught of love you tend to give him after sex like this.

"Perfect," you hum and lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. "You are perfect."

"And desperate," he coos, reaching up to wrap his arms around your waist.

You nod, a smile pulling at your lips. "Yeah—that too."

tags are in the comments, because tumblr is an opp!

[ms-demeanor]

Why reblog machine-generated art?

When I was ten years old I took a photography class where we developed black and white photos by projecting light on papers bathed in chemicals. If we wanted to change something in the image, we had to go through a gradual, arduous process called dodging and burning.

When I was fifteen years old I used photoshop for the first time, and I remember clicking on the clone tool or the blur tool and feeling like I was cheating.

When I was twenty eight I got my first smartphone. The phone could edit photos. A few taps with my thumb were enough to apply filters and change contrast and even spot correct. I was holding in my hand something more powerful than the huge light machines I'd first used to edit images.

When I was thirty six, just a few weeks ago, I took a photo class that used Lightroom Classic and again, it felt like cheating. It made me really understand how much the color profiles of popular web images I'd been seeing for years had been pumped and tweaked and layered with local edits to make something that, to my eyes, didn't much resemble photography. To me, photography is light on paper. It's what you capture in the lens. It's not automatic skin smoothing and a local filter to boost the sky. This reminded me a lot more of the photomanipulations my friend used to make on deviantart; layered things with unnatural colors that put wings on buildings or turned an eye into a swimming pool. It didn't remake the images to that extent, obviously, but it tipped into the uncanny valley. More real than real, more saturated more sharp and more present than the actual world my lens saw. And that was before I found the AI assisted filters and the tool that would identify the whole sky for you, picking pieces of it out from between leaves.

You know, it's funny, when people talk about artists who might lose their jobs to AI they don't talk about the people who have already had to move on from their photo editing work because of technology. You used to be able to get paid for basic photo manipulation, you know? If you were quick with a lasso or skilled with masks you could get a pretty decent chunk of change by pulling subjects out of backgrounds for family holiday cards or isolating the pies on the menu for a mom and pop. Not a lot, but enough to help. But, of course, you can just do that on your phone now. There's no need to pay a human for it, even if they might do a better job or be more considerate toward the aesthetic of an image.

And they certainly don't talk about all the development labs that went away, or the way that you could have trained to be a studio photographer if you wanted to take good photos of your family to hang on the walls and that digital photography allowed in a parade of amateurs who can make dozens of iterations of the same bad photo until they hit on a good one by sheer volume and luck; if you want to be a good photographer everyone can do that why didn't you train for it and spend a long time taking photos on film and being okay with bad photography don't you know that digital photography drove thousands of people out of their jobs.

My dad told me that he plays with AI the other day. He hosts a movie podcast and he puts up thumbnails for the downloads. In the past, he'd just take a screengrab from the film. Now he tells the Bing AI to make him little vignettes. A cowboy running away from a rhino, a dragon arm-wrestling a teddy bear. That kind of thing. Usually based on a joke that was made on the show, or about the subject of the film and an interest of the guest.

People talk about "well AI art doesn't allow people to create things, people were already able to create things, if they wanted to create things they should learn to create things." Not everyone wants to make good art that's creative. Even fewer people want to put the effort into making bad art for something that they aren't passionate about. Some people want filler to go on the cover of their youtube video. My dad isn't going to learn to draw, and as the person who he used to ask to photoshop him as Ant-Man because he certainly couldn't pay anyone for that kind of thing, I think this is a great use case for AI art. This senior citizen isn't going to start cartooning and at two recordings a week with a one-day editing turnaround he doesn't even really have the time for something like a Fiverr commission. This is a great use of AI art, actually.

I also know an artist who is going Hog Fucking Wild creating AI art of their blorbos. They're genuinely an incredibly talented artist who happens to want to see their niche interest represented visually without having to draw it all themself. They're posting the funny and good results to a small circle of mutuals on socials with clear information about the source of the images; they aren't trying to sell any of the images, they're basically using them as inserts for custom memes. Who is harmed by this person saying "i would like to see my blorbo lasciviously eating an ice cream cone in the is this a pigeon meme"?

The way I use machine-generated art, as an artist, is to proof things. Can I get an explosion to look like this. What would a wall of dead computer monitors look like. Would a ballerina leaping over the grand canyon look cool? Sometimes I use AI art to generate copyright free objects that I can snip for a collage. A lot of the time I use it to generate ideas. I start naming random things and seeing what it shows me and I start getting inspired. I can ask CrAIon for pose reference, I can ask it to show me the interior of spaces from a specific angle.

I profoundly dislike the antipathy that tumblr has for AI art. I understand if people don't want their art used in training pools. I understand if people don't want AI trained on their art to mimic their style. You should absolutely use those tools that poison datasets if you don't want your art included in AI training. I think that's an incredibly appropriate action to take as an artist who doesn't want AI learning from your work.

However I'm pretty fucking aggressively opposed to copyright and most of the "solid" arguments against AI art come down to "the AIs viewed and learned from people's copyrighted artwork and therefore AI is theft rather than fair use" and that's a losing argument for me. In. Like. A lot of ways. Primarily because it is saying that not only is copying someone's art theft, it is saying that looking at and learning from someone's art can be defined as theft rather than fair use.

Also because it's just patently untrue.

But that doesn't really answer your question. Why reblog machine-generated art? Because I liked that piece of art.

It was made by a machine that had looked at billions of images - some copyrighted, some not, some new, some old, some interesting, many boring - and guided by a human and I liked it. It was pretty. It communicated something to me. I looked at an image a machine made - an artificial picture, a total construct, something with no intrinsic meaning - and I felt a sense of quiet and loss and nostalgia. I looked at a collection of automatically arranged pixels and tasted salt and smelled the humidity in the air.

I liked it.

I don't think that all AI art is ugly. I don't think that AI art is all soulless (i actually think that 'having soul' is a bizarre descriptor for art and that lacking soul is an equally bizarre criticism). I don't think that AI art is bad for artists. I think the problem that people have with AI art is capitalism and I don't think that's a problem that can really be laid at the feet of people curating an aesthetic AI art blog on tumblr.

Machine learning isn't the fucking problem the problem is massive corporations have been trying hard not to pay artists for as long as massive corporations have existed (isn't that a b-plot in the shape of water? the neighbor who draws ads gets pushed out of his job by product photography? did you know that as recently as ten years ago NewEgg had in-house photographers who would take pictures of the products so users wouldn't have to rely on the manufacturer photos? I want you to guess what killed that job and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't AI)

Am I putting a human out of a job because I reblogged an AI-generated "photo" of curtains waving in the pale green waters of an imaginary beach? Who would have taken this photo of a place that doesn't exist? Who would have painted this hypersurrealistic image? What meaning would it have had if they had painted it or would it have just been for the aesthetic? Would someone have paid for it or would it be like so many of the things that artists on this site have spent dozens of hours on only to get no attention or value for their work?

My worst ratio of hours to notes is an 8-page hand-drawn detailed ink comic about getting assaulted at a concert and the complicated feelings that evoked that took me weeks of daily drawing after work with something like 54 notes after 8 years; should I be offended if something generated from a prompt has more notes than me? What does that actually get the blogger? Clout? I believe someone said that popularity on tumblr gets you one thing and that is yelled at.

What do you get out of this? Are you helping artists right now? You're helping me, and I'm an artist. I've wanted to unload this opinion for a while because I'm sick of the argument that all Real Artists think AI is bullshit. I'm a Real Artist. I've been paid for Real Art. I've been commissioned as an artist.

And I find a hell of a lot of AI art a lot more interesting than I find human-generated corporate art or Thomas Kincaid (but then, I repeat myself).

There are plenty of people who don't like AI art and don't want to interact with it. I am not one of those people. I thought the gay sex cats were funny and looked good and that shitposting is the ideal use of a machine image generation: to make uncopyrightable images to laugh at.

I think that tumblr has decided to take a principled stand against something that most people making the argument don't understand. I think tumblr's loathing for AI has, generally speaking, thrown weight behind a bunch of ideas that I think are going to be incredibly harmful *to artists specifically* in the long run.

Anyway. If you hate AI art and you don't want to interact with people who interact with it, block me.

[maxverstappendefender]

ain't no love in oklahoma // op81 smau

description: twisters actress!reader x op81 but lando is convinced oscar is lying (from request)

a/n: sorry for being completely inactive. life happened and it didn't happen in a good way! i have a huge exam coming up soon so i will most likely still be inactive besides maybe a few short things here and there. anyways first oscar fic so enjoy! all pics found on pinterest, i don't own any

a/n pt2: might do something fun for each day in october but im not sure what so send me some ideas. also might do some more headcannons/blurbs soon here!

requests: closed but feel free to send me some messages since i love talking to you guys

masterlist

liked by oscarpiastri, glenpowell, and 2,927,641 others

youruser: go see twisters!! if you don’t, you suck and you better hope you don’t get stuck in a tornado because there’s useful information in our movie

tagged: glenpowell

view all comments

oscarpiastri: proud of you!!

↳ youruser: 🧡

glenpowell: caption is so real of you

user1: doesn’t yn have a boyfriend? why is she so close to glen?

↳ user2: yes but probably because there’s limited space. yn isn’t like that

↳ oscarpiastri: exactly what user2 said

landonorris: cute!

↳ user3: what are you doing here??

↳ user4: lando in the comments?

user5: such a good movie

user6: yn + glen = power duo

liked by youruser, landonorris, and 3,951,750 others

oscarpiastri: proud boyfriend award goes to me 🏆 thx for all the bts selfies

tagged: youruser, glenpowell

view all comments

landonorris: i just laughed out loud

landonorris: “boyfriend” lmaooo

↳ user7: i cant tell if he’s joking or serious

user8: cutest couple ever

glenpowell: aww so glad you remembered the time you took me to the aquarium, what a romantic!

↳ youruser: get your own boyfriend capybara

↳ user9: yn CLOCKED him

// lando’s phone//

//

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 4,027,835 others

landonorris: POLE BABYYYY!!! everyone ignore my teammates instagram posts, i have told him to stop. i think he took a hit to the head or something

view all comments

oscarpiastri: do you want to go to the farm or not?

↳ landonorris: you already said i could go so no take backs

↳ user10: lando is going to yn's farm??

↳ user11: LANDO'S MEETING YN?!

↳ user12: oh i know he's going to fangirl so hard

user13: get me someone who looks at me the way oscar looks at lando

↳ user14: are we sure that they aren't the ones dating?

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 3,017,426 others

youruser: back home finally! pic 1: yeehaw. pic 2: my cat cora had her babies!!! pic 3: dinner date :)

tagged: oscarpiastri

view all comments

user15: CORA HAD HER KITTIES

↳ youruser: i am officially a grandma. i feel the gray hairs coming in now

user16: oscar and yn are endgame

oscarpiastri: the best company

↳ landonorris: STOP, idk how you got her in on this joke either

↳ user16: i can't tell if lando knows they are actually dating and is joking or if he truly does not believe oscar

user17: boyfriend is back on the feed!

↳ user18: farmer yn is back on the feed!

glenpowell: miss you lady

↳ youruser: you miss my animals more

↳ glenpowell: and what about it.

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, and 4,209,384 others

landonorris: OMG HE WASN'T LYING i got to feed so many animals, got to channel my inner cowboy, AND get drunk with the yn? i can die a happy man

tagged: youruser

view all comments

oscarpiastri: believe me now?

↳ landonorris: never doubted you

↳ user19: lando seriously didn't believe oscar lol

↳ user20: i fully thought he was joking the entire time

user21: how hard did you fangirl to meet yn, lando?

↳ landonorris: surprised i didn't pass out honestly. i facetimed GLEN POWELL

youruser: so glad you had a fun time!!

liked by youruser, landonorris, and 3,298,361 others

oscarpiastri: everyone clear that this is my girlfriend?

tagged: youruser

view all comments

user22: sassy oscar

↳ user23: channeling his inner lando

landonorris: yes sir 🫡

↳ oscarpiastri: stop being weird ?

youruser: MY MANNNNN

↳ user24: oh she's in deep

user25: there is one thing oscar doesn't play about in life: yn

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 4,208,763 others

youruser: didn't even know there was confusion that this was my boyfriend lol

tagged: oscarpiastri

view all comments

landonorris: how was i meant to know?!

↳ user26: literally how everyone else knew, instagram.

glenpowell: yn stop posting pics of me and my boyfriend and acting like he's yours

↳ youruser: i dont like this joke.

↳ oscarpiastri: bromance or whatever

↳ user27: they're in a throuple

↳ youruser: ew

↳ glenpowell: disgusting

↳ oscarpiastri: huhhh

user28: couple goals forever and ever

user29: if they don't get married... love isn't real

[yamujiburo]

Here's an arc I thought about doing but won't do because, it'd be a bit too sad and also it's too similar to the Turing Point Arc I already did and also it would be long. But I'll write it here for you angst enjoyers. This ended up being longer than I thought.

Despite getting the "okay" from Ash to date Jessie, Delia still worries that she's not doing the right thing or being a bad mom. Up until now she'd convinced herself that she had the right to be selfish for once after knowing only sacrifice and putting herself last.

Jessie and Ash, while not as antagonistic towards each other, still go at it. A Pikachu zap here, an angry "twerp" being uttered there. The guilt settles in for Delia and figures that it's best to just cut things off before things potentially get worse or before she gets too attached to Jessie. Her son comes first after all. That's what she signed up for when becoming a parent.

She sits Jessie down, eyes watery (it's the first time Jessie's ever seen Delia come close to crying). Delia says she thinks they should end things. Jessie is stunned but accepts it quickly. She sucks it up in the moment, puts a resigned smile on her face and tells Delia she'll leave immediately and not to worry about her. Delia's also broken up about it but promised herself she'd never cry over a goodbye and she wasn't gonna start now.

Jessie goes to James and Meowth's place greeted similarly to this, lightly teasing her about blowing it with Delia, and she breaks down sobbing. Oops it's real this time. James and Meowth do everything in their power to make her feel better. They let her know that things like this happen and they're ready to go wherever she wants to go (knowing that it'd likely be to painful for her to stay in Pallet). As much as she wants to leave, she doesn't want James and Meowth to lose the good thing they have going. She's not in the right headspace to make any decisions so she'll get to it later.

Ash returns home after doing a little training at Oak's lab. He notices Jessie's not around and asks his mom where she is. Delia is about to tell him but can't quite bring herself to say the truth out loud yet. She simply says "I don't know". Ash looks disappointed. "Aw man, I wanted to see if she wanted to battle. She makes a good battle buddy for all of my newer, baby Pokémon." Delia perks up that this. As quickly as he came, he leaves again to go train his Pokémon.

Later, Delia approaches Ash, asking him if he really meant that what he said about Jessie being a good battle partner. He gives her an enthusiastic "yeah!" and tells her that it's been nice having another battle ready trainer around since there's not many in Pallet. Delia starts to pry a little more. "I thought you and Jessie didn't get along?" Ash is confused, and tells Delia they get along great! "Jessie doesn't steal anymore! And she's getting better at battling which is cool." Delia brings up that she's head them argue before. "Oh... well I guess that's just how we are. I'd be weirded out if she was suddenly too nice to me all the time. Jessie's actually a lot like Misty. But taller!" This gives Delia a lot to think about but what's done is done and it's no use pressing on. It's easier this way.

The next morning Delia's getting ready for work. She must not have noticed that she was acting weird but Ash picks up on it. "What's wrong mom?" Delia's shocked he noticed (he's not usually this perceptive). She tells him it's nothing and that she just slept bad. "Hm. But Jessie says that when you're upset you get really quiet and intense." Delia notices that she was pretty intensely mixing the pancake batter. "Jessie told you that?" Ash nods. "Hey speaking of, where is Jessie? Haven't seen her since yesterday." Delia stops mixing and tells Ash that she and Jessie aren't together anymore. Ash is confused and upset at the idea of Jessie doing something that would hurt his mom enough for them to break up. Delia lets him know that Jessie didn't do anything like that and that them breaking up was just for the best. But Ash questions this, pointing out that he's never seen Delia as happy as she was when Jessie was there and also how Delia looks really sad now. Delia can't argue with that but then tells him that it's complicated. Ash, to Delia's surprise, looks a bit disappointed. He's bummed he wasn't able to say goodbye first and asks if she thinks Jessie would still be willing to come by and train with him sometimes. Delia asks him once more if he was really okay with her and Jessie dating. "Yeah I thought I said that already? Jessie's pretty cool when she's not being evil. And she really likes Pokémon which is a plus!" Such simple criteria. Delia's now worried that she might've made a mistake. She finishes making breakfast and heads to work.

At the restaurant she's met by James. She can feel an awkwardness hanging in the air. She knows that James knows. Before she can say anything James tells Delia thank you for employing him and helping him, Meowth and Jessie get back on their feet but that he's going to quit working at the restaurant and that they'll likely be leaving Pallet soon. Delia's heart sinks. There's now a ticking clock and she has to decide what she wants to do SOON. She asks James where Jessie is. James hesitantly tells her that she's at his and Meowth's place. Delia pleads with James to work the restaurant for one more day at least and to cover this shift. She has to go talk to Jessie. He agrees, hoping that this is a good thing.

Delia runs to James and Meowth's place. She knocks on the door upon arrival and waits. It takes a moment but she hears the door unlock. Jessie opens the door, disheveled, tears and snot all over her face, draped in a blanket. Jessie notices it's Delia and, frightened, slams the door. Delia's stunned for a moment and goes to knock on the door again but before she can the door opens. This time Jessie's tears are gone, her hair's fixed and she ditched the blanket. "Oh hey, Delia! What brings you here?" Delia can't help but be charmed. But this is serious. She shakes it off and asks if they could talk. Jessie invites her in. They get to the couch and Jessie starts frantically cleaning up all the crumpled tissues and dirty dishes off the ground. "Heh I caught a cold yesterday. A one day cold. I'm fine now." Delia doesn't call out the obvious lie and gets straight to the point.

She tells Jessie that she's worried she made a mistake. She made a panicked decision that she was hoping would protect Ash and her future self. But now realizes that she was afraid of the idea that she'd made a selfish decision by dating her. It was a selfish decision but that didn't mean it was a bad one. She was the happiest she'd been, Jessie and Ash were learning to get along and were getting along much better than she'd though. She acknowledges that Jessie has been there for Ash in a way that she can't quite be and is also grateful to her for managing to keep Ash home a little longer. She asks if Jessie would be willing to take her back (despite the distress she caused). Jessie starts sobbing with happy tears. She tearfully says she'll try even harder to get along with Ash and be a better person. Delia reassures her that she's doing just fine.

They kiss passionately but then realize it's weird that they're making out in James in Meowth's place and say they'll continue later. Delia tells Jessie to head back home and that Ash is looking forward to battling with her (and she also needs to let James and Meowth not to quit their jobs).

The end~

[bethanydelleman]

You really enjoy romanticizing women’s suffering

Use your face if you want to insult me, you coward.

But I'll reply anyway, because it honestly is kind of annoying how many people don't understand what I'm saying in my arranged marriage post. I assume you haven't really read anything else I've written because a whole lot of it is pointing out how women are oppressed and harmed in Jane Austen's works and begging people to stop hating on abused 16-18 year-old fictional girls.

My point in that post is that women would have different reactions to arranged marriage because a lot of people buy into oppression. That is how oppression is perpetuated. Right now, in our world, people are convincing women that the only natural form of childbirth is epidural-free and they aren't "real mothers" if they don't go through that. Mothers will tell you, sincerely, with a straight face, that you should have a "real natural birth" and that's it's a beautiful experience. That is complete and utter bullshit, and I know that because I've birthed a freaking baby. So if I write from the perspective of one of these women, am I "romanticizing women's suffering?" No. I'm showing how people can buy into things that persecute them. I'm telling a story about how someone can embrace something that harms them.

It's actually a better indictment of the arranged marriage system to show someone excited about it whose entire worldview crumbles after facing the reality. But it would also be interesting, and good fiction, and acknowledgement that people in the past had different ideas about love and marriage, to show women who want to climb socially, or be richer, or gain power, happy with their arranged partner because he's rich, powerful, or socially savvy.

"Stop writing women as Modern Girlboss Monoliths who all have the exact same worldview" ≠ "romanticizing women’s suffering"

[prael]

Touch

Kinktember Day 9: Spa

Newjeans Danielle x male reader smut

words: 7,422 Kinktember Masterlist

"My client, did you see her come in?" you ask.

"No, why? Is she famous or something?"

"Well, that would explain the secrecy, and it would also explain a woman barely twenty having cash to burn at a place like this," you whisper to the colleague who is far too jealous of how you just got requested by name because that usually means big tips for a good service.

"Did you get her name?"

"Supposed to be a secret." Your answer dissatisfies her, and she throws you a side-eye. "Okay. Okay. Danielle something... Marsh?"

"Shut up!" She hits you on the shoulder. "No fucking way. Let me take this one and you can have my next ten VIP bookings."

"Sorry, but she asked for me by name," you tell her. She mutters an obscenity under her breath. "Want to tell me what I'm getting into here?"

And then the girl spews out a jumble of ramblings about K-pop this and K-pop that—the kind of reaction that only the truly obsessed can have. Millions of views on this, charting on that, really fucking popular is the gist of it. So basically the whole planet Earth knows who this Danielle is. Well, shit. No pressure or anything. "Get in there already, do your best work and maybe get me an autograph."

A few forceful pushes out of the staff room and you find Danielle where you left her, her cleansing mask still on her face, sitting in that long white robe. You step barefoot over the soft wood, heat rising from underneath it.

As you draw near, you ask, "Miss Marsh, are we ready to begin?"

"Dani, please," her voice says from beneath the mask. It's hard not to be intimated after being hit with the fact that the woman before you is world-renowned. Though from here, she looks like any other delicate young woman. Her feet are small. Bare, tiny and arched, they hang just a few inches from the floor, and they are as perfectly still as the rest of her. "No need to be formal, I'm here to relax."

"Then let me start by offering you a drink." The bottle pops as you twist it. The label is adorned in cursive. "Bottled at source, premium mineral water." Your arm raises the bottle so she can see the brand clearly.

"Is it magical water?" There is a playful lilt in her voice, "Maybe it has some healing powers?"

"Guaranteed to nourish the soul and unclog those emotional pores," you deadpan.

The facemask stretches with Dani's wide smile, and she lightly chuckles. "That's good, laughter is good for the soul."

"Right." You pour from a height and a theatrical stream flows. When the flute is halfway, you stop the flow and pass it to her hands, which take it gently.

"What? You don't even hold the glass for me? Put it to my lips and tilt?" It's another tease, the joke stretching on her grin, but now it is her hands holding the flute, her fingers long and smooth around the stem.

"I serve, not control."

"Those don't have to always be exclusive." She laughs, and the sound makes you feel something. "But I appreciate the intention. I hear you're the best in the business."

"I'll let you be the judge, Miss Marsh. Now, allow me to remove that mask. I have raised the temperature in here to help open the pores, and I would like to begin with a facial."

"I do love a facial." Danielle smiles to herself. "And again, please, just Dani is fine."

You step over behind her, where her head tilts back against the chair, her long hair cascading below, shimmering in the moist air. Lightly, you place the tips of your fingers along her jawline, finding the edge of the mask and gently lifting it upwards. She doesn't flinch at all, and you watch the wet mask give way to her face. Even upside down, Danielle is indeed beautiful.

With her sun-kissed hair, radiant skin, and effortless, elegant beauty. She is, in summation of all her parts: perfect. The image the word calls up has always been fuzzy around the edges, an abstract idea more than a specific concrete thing, because real people aren't like this. That's what you believed until you laid eyes on her.

"You take good care of your skin, Miss—Sorry—Dani."

"Thank you," she says simply, no joke this time. Your fingers ghost over her chin and then trace to her cheekbones, moving lightly to test her texture, all so smooth.

"First, I shall cleanse away any impurities," you say and lean down to examine her face. Even when you are so close, there is nothing for your scrutiny—no visible crevice, no blemishes, despite there being not a trace of make-up. It's all-natural.

There's a light whisper on her lips, one that you barely make out, "Good luck with that."

You tilt your head as you reach over for a fresh sponge, run it under hot water until it is filled, squeeze out the excess, and slowly drag a path of heat across her forehead. As your other hand holds the sheet over her neck to catch stray water, your first-hand works in large strokes from above, rinsing her skin with each successive pass.

As you focus, she leans back into the chair, and a soft hum escapes her lips. "Feels nice already," she murmurs.

You say nothing, working her in silence. Her eyelids are closed, her lips slightly parted, and she remains so still that, if not for the sound of her breaths, she could be easily mistaken as unconscious. This silence has a tranquillity and familiarity to it, one that feels like home, and without thinking, you are smiling.

She stays just the same as you begin to exfoliate her, brushing across her face in ever-widening circles. It's with such tenderness that her cheeks take a pink tint as she grows hotter and she smiles as you rub in gentle swirls, one spot, then the next.

Time passes in silence as you finish the exfoliation and apply all manner of natural, topical lotions, toners, and peels to Dani. When her skin is primed, you press your fingers against her skin and, starting at her forehead, you massage her face to a rhythm of long, soothing strokes. You enjoy touching her, you admit, which isn't exactly right for a professional, but since you have no outward reaction from her, you assume it isn't the end of the world.

Throughout it all, she keeps her eyes shut. Over time you move around her face, applying more pressure in some spots than others. She shifts and sighs, soft exhalations of her warm breath tickling your arm, yet otherwise doesn't move an inch. Her shoulders relax against the leather of the seat. "You really know what you're doing," she says, with a smirk. You pull her skin with your fingertips, moving them in large circles as it comes to an end. Finally, you tap your fingers gently over her skin to soothe.

"Now, your body, Dani."

Her eyes crack open, but slowly. "Are we moving?"

"I'll wash your skin over there, but the massage will be in the next room. Now, I'll need you to—"

Dani doesn't let you finish your sentence before she rocks forward in her seat and pushes herself to a stand. She's facing away from you and puts her hands in front of her, then she throws the robe back off her shoulders and lets it slide off her arms to the floor in one quick motion.

"Good," she says. "I was for too hot in that thing anyway."

Of course, as a professional, you would never gasp in surprise, yet, at the sight of her ass, the muscles tight, small, and round, the curves of her waist so thin, hair over her shoulders threatening to hide her slender back and those long slim legs, you manage to just barely gulp.

Too hot, she certainly is, you want to tell her and not just in the sense that perspiration coats her skin. Tiny beads of sweat that, as your eyes crawl over her, are in the process of running downwards. This glistening on her flesh is hypnotic. The curve of her ass, the slight tilt of her hips forward, the way the base of her spine leads downward, right down to a crack between her—

Focus. You remind yourself you have a job to do.

"In the far corner. The stone pool. Please, stand by the edge." It takes a second before Dani's head bobs, and then she slinks forward, slow and catlike. Her stride, and every motion of her muscles beneath her flesh that accompanies it, are mesmerising. And with every sway of her hips, you love her tight body more.

She pauses, a foot by the edge, and looks down into the water. Steam rises and envelops her form in a pale white that hugs her curves.

"Please, step in," you say as you walk over to her side and take her hand. Now, you catch a glimpse of her profile, and her chest, small, round and perky, and as you avert your eyes to guide her down the step, you tell her, "Watch your step now, go from stone to stone until you stand in the middle just there."

"Got it," Dani says. She steps with confidence and the hot water reaches quickly above her ankles and then halfway up her calves. With each careful move down the next step she gasps, soft and light. The water splashes with her movement and then swallows her up to the upper thigh.

"Please, take a seat there, on the wide stone." You reach to help steady her as she sinks down, her knees bending as she perches down so the water is at her hips as she sits.

"I just sit?"

"Yes, Dani, and I will bathe you." You step into the pool until the hot flowing water covers your knees, and then you stand behind her. You reach for a sponge, submerge it, and watch it fill, then draw it out and over her lower back and drag a large circle across her soft skin. "How's the water? Feel okay?"

"Great. Wow." She goes quiet as you work up and down her back, long, relaxing, soothing strokes until all the tension has left her shoulders. "That's wonderful," she says.

You clean her shoulders and then down her arms, the sponge dipping under the surface, and caressing her in a movement that feels like worship. With a slow rhythm, you run the sponge over her shoulders and around her neck, and finally, reaching over her, down to her chest. She shifts back as you do, resting herself against your legs. You run it over her chest a few times before coming up again to her shoulders.

"So soft..." her voice says, almost a breathy moan, and you catch a hint of it. Maybe she realises how it sounds because she soon goes quiet. Next, you work downwards, to her tight, toned stomach. Slowly you make sure you cleanse every part of her body. All while her back rests on you and her breathing is warm and pleasant.

"Miss, I mean Dani, can you stand now? We need to get you clean." You prompt, a hand on her shoulder.

"Sure." Dani snaps out of it. She stretches and cracks her neck before rising, leaning forward for a moment. When she rises, ripples run out in all directions and your eyes drift over her ass. It looks plump, perky, perfect. Then you sponge it, giving purpose to your stare. You push it down, over her cheeks and Dani shivers.

You repeat your slow, languid movements. Wipe away any trace of imperfection from her hips and thighs and then when you make her slowly step out of the pool, you work down her bit by bit. Finally, she stands on the edge of the pool, looking down at you, towering over you in her naked glory. She presents to you her foot and you hold her ankle to steady it and clean each digit, scrubbing between the toes.

"You can take the towel, on the peg, Dani."

"You do it." Dani doesn't move at all, keeping her eyes on you, staring into your eyes and through you.

You cautiously nod and then climb from the pool. You keep eye contact and wrap the towel around her small, wet frame. In your arms, she feels so fragile. You rub her down, first her legs. Long strokes, left and right. Each, in turn, both legs. Then you bring the towel up. When you wrap it over her hip and move upwards along her torso, Dani presses herself to you.

"You really know how to put someone at ease," she mutters.

You nod silently in return, and finish drying her shoulders, down her arms, back up, and down her back. You remain stoic as the heat between you builds, and she turns around without prompting. You wrap her again and bring the towel all the way down. Then over her rear. Soft, short circular motions with your palm.

"The table in the next room, Dani. Start by lying on your front, you can use the towel on the table to cover yourself. Once I see you settled in, I'll join you."

She laughs quietly and starts her slow walk to the door. You take your own towel, drying your legs, the water has soaked into the front of your shorts from where she leant against you.

She's on the bed. The towel, provided for her decency, is in a pile on the floor.

"Dani, the towel..."

"I'm fine, I want it off. I want everything off. Is that a problem for you?" There's this undeniably confident quality to her like the universe just has to be as it is because she likes it that way.

"Not a problem," you tell her. "It does tend to get in the way."

You're close to the bed now, looking down at her, still so perfectly nude. So vulnerable and relaxed, and not a drop of shame in her eyes. She gives you a look that says she's in charge, and that she's been waiting for this, and now it's finally going to happen. And that smile is impossible to refuse. "You could join me if it helps. Make it feel more like an equal partnership."

"Miss— I—"

"I'm joking," she winks. Danielle bunches her hair by her head and turns her head to the side as she rests.

The first of your oils, imported, rich and infused, drip with a consistency thick as honey over her. You watch it roll from the top of her back and run down her spine. Its warmth makes her twitch gently.

Slowly you reach out, press your hands into her skin and drag them from top to bottom, following the oil, making sure you cover her.

She hums in delight.

With great care, you begin your work. Fingers sink in, and your thumbs feel her muscles. Stroking and rubbing, from the top of her back, your fingers coax and prod at the flesh beneath. Pressing it back and forth, at times as gentle as a summer breeze and then as hard as a hammer.

There are knots in her back, beneath the tender surface. You find them easily and work at them to relax, coax them into submission, untying the muscles until they go soft. She gasps at your touch as you release them. Her body responds to you in the sweetest ways. With the smallest of whispers, the little fluttering breaths, and with her skin taking on a pink glow.

When the last knot goes soft, she writhes in response, and a content, relaxed murmur comes out of her.

"Oh god, that's it, don't stop," she says, the first words to come from her for a while.

"You were very tight." You reach across, add a small amount of more oil and start working back upwards. One stroke at a time. Up her neck. Over her shoulders. She trembles when you go deep into her flesh and reaches out to grasp at something, anything, and finds the edge of the table, holding herself steady. Her arms now, you lift them one by one, prying them from her grip and then holding and rubbing and pulling to coax the stiffness out.

Oil over her legs, next. Slowly you run your hands over the outside and inside and rub them into her skin, kneading it into her. Danielle keeps her mouth firmly shut the whole time. No jokes. Nothing funny. You lean down to her, focusing on her thigh that refuses to let go. Bending down, you push into her. As you feel her tension drain, you are rewarded with another quiet hiss.

You place the oil upon her feet and work it into her soles with a finger, an instant trigger, she cackles as her foot recoils at your touch. "Sorry, that's a bit ticklish," she tells you, apologetically.

Her feet go still and she inhales deeply as you set back to your task, much to the quiet amusement of Danielle. It's the slowest you have ever worked on a client, with long, dragging strokes to make sure she really enjoys it. Each is careful, so careful, to pull and tease. "Keep working it all the way up, all the way up my legs," she orders, quietly. "Nice and slow. Can you do that?"

You agree.

You hear Danielle sigh as you move your hands slowly up her calf. So soft and firm at the same time as she breathes so gently. A trace of laughter, an easy smile. You work her in the same manner, up her thigh, as slow and relaxing as before, massaging deep and heavy. Danielle begins to roll her hips as you grip the flesh at the top of her thighs and dig in.

"Higher, please, just for me." Danielle makes a little hum to accompany the instruction. You obey, knowing where this is leading. You take the oil, and let it pour lightly onto the peak of her cheek, it threatens to roll away so you capture it in your palm, a firm squeeze of her rear, a spread of oily warmth. She shivers and pushes up her hips in silent encouragement.

Your hands trail along, smooth and oily, each touch brings more shivers. Her legs part slightly, a slow squirm of her hips. Your fingers glide on her tight, round cheeks; running across, back and forth as she breathes deep. You press deeper with each sweep and listen as her gasps become a little louder, and her body moves a little more. She bends her arm, reaching back, as you watch it shake. Her nails claw onto the side of the bed.

The more you tease her with your touch, the harder she grips and the more she parts her legs. You've known the perfection of her body, just by seeing it, but this feeling confirms it.

Your hand wanders with long, oily strokes as you glide up her back, tracing the curves of her slim back up, all the way to her neck. There, you hold her as you lean in. "You can turn over now. Let's work out your front," you say, and Dani nods in agreement.

She smiles, though she remains silent, slowly, with such care, turning onto her side, then twisting to face you, her face flush, eyes drowsy, her mouth agape. She rests upon her back, arms by her sides, legs flat against the bed, open, as you gaze into her eyes.

You apply the oil with long slow strokes down her stomach, feeling her as she flinches, watching the dimples at her waist appear then vanish with her body's twists, with every flexing of her muscles. When you trace up, her flat, beautiful chest, and slowly slide a finger beneath her small pert breast, Dani takes a deep, quick, raspy breath, then says, "They didn't lie when the reviews said you have the best hands in the world."

Your oil-covered thumbs graze upon her nipple, soft at first, gentle in pressure, but this becomes firmer, building and rising, faster. Round and round it swirls, and this delight sends Danielle's breath to hitches and sharp, shallow pants. As she squirms in delight, her legs twist, rubbing and clenching. Her teeth bite down on her lips. The flesh of her body glistens.

One hand reaches, down a thigh then back up, across her stomach and down the other. Repeated in pattern as the other thumb never ceases on her pert nipple. Dani's eyes go blank as your touch continues, circling, teasing, stroking and grabbing. Her body responds and you are delighted to witness every tremor and gasp as it arches. And finally, for the first time, a full-blooded moan rings free.

Your hand goes lower. Deeper into the pit of her thigh as she spreads her legs wide. You seek out the inevitable and when you reach her crotch, you watch her tense up. And when the touch slides between her pussy's folds, and against her clit, there's an immediate reaction, her body jumping as you make the slightest flick of motion with your middle finger. You lift and let a trail of oil roll down her slit and back down to her rear.

"I wasn't really joking before," she gasps. "You should be naked. It would make this whole experience better." Dani tilts her head, fixes her drowsy gaze onto you, and holds the stare for what feels like a hundred heartbeats. "Don't you think that's fair? The way things are going?"

You hold the eye contact and consider this, a sudden lump in your throat making any immediate reply a struggle. Her eyes don't move from yours. Even her chest barely heaves with her short, fast panting.

"Go on, I want you naked. I'm going to feel so, so empty otherwise..."

That's all it takes.

How could you deny her?

Your hands, still covered in the hot oil, reach for the buttons at your collar. You slip them in order from the top and release one after another. Danielle's lips twitch, and her teeth rake them to a shine. Your clothing drops to the floor. Bared. It feels so wrong, and unprofessional, yet Dani looks on and gapes with a hungry, dark delight.

"Nervous now?" Her eyebrow twitches up.

"Never," you bluff.

Danielle's mouth stays open wide, and her breaths get caught and flicker as your touch returns to the same spot as before. Gentle, light touches flutter with your fingertips, drawing the tips of your fingers back and forth, back and forth, over her clit. You watch as her eyes widen, how her legs straighten out and she starts to kick her feet with the faintest hint of frustration as you tease.

"I paid for a deep massage." She emphasises the adjective, dragging the syllable out like a whine. "This teasing is bad for my heart," she whispers.

Her arm rises, then reaches for your chest and trails its way downward. The pressure of her finger, nails lightly scratching at your skin, trailing down to the waistline and then she wraps her slender fingers around you. It's hard. Incredibly so.

"And I'll show you how generous I can be with a tip."

She licks her lips slowly and sensually as her eyes meet yours with a mischievous gleam.

You grunt, pressing down with your fingertip, and then without a second thought, push it inside of her. Danielle throws her head back in silent bliss.

"Holy shit," she mumbles in a muffled, muted moan. "Don't hold back." You circle inside her slowly with one finger, letting the oil's moisture guide you. Then, adding a second digit, you delve back into her, pushing in deep and making sure she can feel it all the way inside as the palm of your hand pushes against her crotch.

Dani rolls her head to one side as you work, staring you right in the eyes and biting down on her lip as she throbs and you press down inside of her, moving in all sorts of subtle directions that are impossible for her to guess. With that, she moans again and there's a little grunt from deep within her. Her fist twists around you and she gets bolder with her touch.

You build it into some sort of rhythm and she moves, each time, reacting so well with your own thrusts. When she's relaxed enough for it, you introduce another finger.

"I— You can— Go a little bit faster," she pleas. Stretched wider, Dani starts to grow even more restless. This time, instead of small, languid strokes, your whole hand works, fingers rubbing and swirling, thumb finding her clit to massage it with purpose, building, always building, until she is shuddering under you, every single time, tensing and twitching with every change in direction.

"Come on—more," she pleads, bucking up against your hand, so slick with arousal.

She's barely jerking your cock, not even intentionally, just the jolts through her body causing the occasional twist of her grip or slide of her palm. You let it just rest in the loose curl of her grip and focus on doing what she commands, twisting your hand, gripping and stroking, tugging in circles and holding inside. The quivering gets worse and worse. And her breath grows heavier.

You keep working her relentlessly, as she squeals a drawn-out curse. Dani nearly loses control. She grips you hard, tightens her fist around you in spasm, a pained wince on her face, as she curls her toes so hard.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop." It's the only thing she says, no jokes, no banter, as her eyes roll back, mouth agape as if the wind's been knocked from her, and a final, body-length spasm overtakes her. Her whole body. Back arched off the table, eyes pinched shut. It lasts for the longest time, almost impossible to sustain, you watch with an odd mix of terror and wonder. Her hair is a mess. Her naked, stretched-out limbs, glisten in the warm light.

It takes her a good half minute to fall back down, her lungs now sucking in the air as if there were none at all. One leg quivers. Her breaths slow, her eyes open again and you're holding her stare, her cheeks a faint scarlet, strands of hair plastered across her forehead.

More oil. More rubbing. From tension to relaxation again. Slowly she softens and you turn her whole body limp beneath your hands. All while you barely manage to hold yourself back from ravishing her. She keeps her eyes fixed upon you, so you force a smile, ignoring the ache clenched in her fist. You could kiss those lips, right now. Taste them. How soft and smooth would she feel pressed against you? What noises would come out of her?

You'd be forgiven for letting your imagination run wild with desire, but not forgiven for taking this service in any direction that Danielle didn't command.

She watches your thoughts as they float by, and seems to be considering the same. Then she smirks, and just with a look, reassures you that it's going to happen, and it's going to happen just exactly the way she wants it.

You're working your slick hands over her midriff, and have been for a minute or two, waiting for instruction. You work slightly up her body, perilously close to taking some initiative, but then she speaks, "That was... unexpected."

"Was it? Seemed to be your plan all along."

"Planned to tease. Planned to be touched. But did not expect it to be that good." She shakes her head softly, her cheek touching her shoulder as she stares with a fuzzy, dreamy look that is impossible to decipher. She has a cute, beautiful way of pouting her lips that's fascinating, you're struck still, hypnotised by the sight and the motion. "A few more would be perfect."

"You have me booked for another hour, and the client gets what the client wants."

Dani laughs. A light, melodious chime. "I know what I want," she tells you, gently rocking her palm over your cock. "I'm incredibly hard to fully satisfy, you better get to work."

Dani releases you from her grasp, and turns back over to her front, stretching out once more and looking back at you over her shoulder, holding a stare as she parts her legs. This stare could kill a man if his heart were too weak, and though your heartbeat quickens, your mind focuses on your purpose.

Your hands glide over her oil-coated thighs, wet and glistening. Dani rests her head back down and you are unable to stop your gaze from wandering along her spine, the gentle dimple above her ass, the two tight round cheeks below and the line bisecting between them. Up over her ass, you caress, then you slip and stroke in the valley, this, she clearly enjoys, judging from how her butt rises to greet your touch, her hips rolling once more.

Lower now. Lower and lower, until once again, your finger meets her lower lips and she hisses an inwards breath and tenses. Her body is so reactive to every touch. It makes this so easy, so rewarding, so deeply arousing. You are confident you can build her up, high, and crash her down in waves, for hours, until the sun breaks.

Two fingers again, to begin, that same twist and swirl to coax her towards delirium. Her quiet huffs and suppressed moans fill the air. With a heavy push, you dive in deeper, to watch as her whole body, muscle by muscle, starts to become lost in the sensation. And when you curl your fingers down and grind the heel of your hand over her clit, Dani absolutely loses it. She bites the sheets, body tight, hands trying to grab the far edge of the bed to give something to hold onto.

Her feet kick uselessly and a series of incomprehensible phrases fill her breath and break apart on the way out of her. Though you don't quite understand them, you grasp the meaning. This is what she wants you to do right now, to see how high you can bring her.

Her whole body starts trembling again. Tingling, quivering, shivering. It's one constant shake and her moans are louder, and longer. She struggles to breathe out a scream. Sweat begins to mix in the oil, and she lets out another unintelligible mess of words as you pull away. Dani collapses back into a quivering heap, gasping for air and stretching her hands out as if reaching out to the void, reaching out, grasping for something in the dark.

She lies there, spent, breathing deep. Her entire body is hot and burning as her muscles relax. Each breath is a moan, and her thighs clamp tightly together as if the feeling of nothing after being so worked up is torturous to endure.

Your fingers are soaked in her creamy fluids, it drips down onto the bed below. Yet somehow, this isn't over. No. There's a single goal, right in the back of your mind, that's never stopped clawing. If only you could taste her. Sink your face between her firm ass cheeks and tease her with your tongue and suck and devour her, the entirety of her.

Maybe you could ask. Or maybe you could just start kissing her lower back, your nose rubbing against her tailbone, working to the left, towards her hip and tease, trailing your lips ever lower to a spot just over the peak of her butt, until she wants your tongue to dive right in.

The thought is interrupted by her blessing, "Again. Another. However you want," her words stumble upon each other, a raspy, spent quality to her. "Whatever you want."

You kneel at the very end of the bed, lean over and take her hips and you lift them up with an abrupt strength that earns her immediate interest, judging by her sudden gasp. You put her on her knees, ass in the air. Beneath it, her lips shine and spread. You're going to drown in her. You lean over, planting kisses along her body until they land right where your fingers had been, right along her soaked pussy.

The taste is so sweet. Dani whimpers as her body twitches. Your lips part her, and your tongue stretches and laps her up with an unshakeable excitement. Dani tastes amazing, like every inch of her, hot and rich and so unbelievably delicate. She is desire—concentrated and distilled into the female form. Your mouth descends, kissing every tiny spot you can reach, your lips closing, sucking the sticky warmth into your mouth. You might spend the rest of eternity here, savouring her juices.

Each rough lick gives Dani a small burst of pleasure. This is perhaps not the most elegant approach, but you wouldn't dream of stopping and so you continue, over and over, eager to return Dani to her previous, tranced bliss. So wet and sweet and smooth as velvet, your tongue flattens over her clit.

Dani cums twice like this. Ass in the air, your face in her cunt, two more delicious releases and you lap up both. They come accompanied by Dani's musical screams and moans and swearing and mumbles and complete incoherence. Every part of her body tenses. Every movement becomes forced, with less control, until every part of her, quivering and shaking, is taken by a rapture. Her throat chokes off her moans and breathy whimpers, and then she becomes lost for a time, struggling to remember to breathe, caught up in the overwhelming, and unstoppable waves.

"Enough, enough," Dani chokes out, and so you stand back, watching as she twists back into a flat position on her back again, her hips shaking with the effort. She trembles for a while longer before lying perfectly still on the table. As you gaze at her, she still appears ethereal, unattainable. She gazes up at you with lidded eyes and the drowsy content smile that rests upon her lips—she is a goddess. Even after all those body-racking orgasms, she settles into that same elegant grace that makes you question what makes her mortal.

Dani raises a hand and curls a beckoning finger, "Come here."

And you come to her, to her smile that draws you in, a moth to a flame and the moth will burn, not the flame, it will never tire, it will consume anything. She takes you in her hand, hard and throbbing under her delicate touch, and yet so helpless against it. With a pull, Dani draws you in—to consume.

She parts those pretty, pink, curled lips and then looks up into your eyes and sighs as her warm breath runs across your length. Danielle curls her tongue to the underside of your head and engulfs it. She doesn't raise her head from where it rests, instead making you clamber up to her, so you put a knee on the wooden frame and a hand next to her shoulder. The heat grows, and Dani is swirling her tongue over your tip, making you twitch and throb in her grasp, a slave to her touch.

You're pushing forward, leaning over her, as her mouth opens wide and lets you in, then, all at once, tightens. Her tongue and lips stretch around your thickness and then enclose you, sealing tight. She makes a point of looking you in the eye, holding your stare, a curl at the corner of her mouth that only further sets a tremble to your loins. She pulls, slow, agonising and without hurry, her mouth holds tight and sucks back.

You pull out of her, an inch, and she stays clamped tight and as she draws away, she uses the time to slowly slide her tongue along and around your crown and against the sensitive underside. Once Danielle has pulled right off with a wet smack, the warmth of her breath covers your cock once more. She flicks her tongue against your tip, first as a long, sweeping, lingering brush, then a rapid flick that teases.

"Dani, fuck," you groan.

"That's the idea," she whispers, right against you, her warm, panting breath driving you crazy, her own burning desire barely contained. "Get down there and do me. Right now."

Then, in one fluid movement, her hands find her legs. She grips behind her knees and pulls her thighs up and back. She spreads her legs wide, with her feet in the air.

"Fuck me. I mean it," she states firmly, fixing you with that stern gaze. Her words send a flaming arrow directly to light the most basic of your instincts.

She has presented everything to you and wants to give even more. You can think of nothing else but ploughing her into the table until your vision fades to white. It takes only seconds and you find yourself over her, between those slim legs. You put a hand on each thigh and spread her.

Cock bearing down on her leaking cunt, you lower your body until she has all of your weight on top of her. Her hips squirm under your pressure, and she drags your arm tighter around herself until she finds exactly what she's been looking for. A rub between her folds as your length slips against her, up and down.

"Mmm, yes," she giggles, "put it in, all of it."

In an almost unconscious action, you place the head of your cock against her opening. Her wetness provides no friction, and Dani uses her nails to scratch your back impatiently. Slowly you flex forward. Every inch. So warm, so fucking hot. Tighter than anything.

"Oh, yes," is all Dani has to say as her breath cuts short. You feel the intense squeeze, you have no doubt this is a step beyond the pleasure your fingers gave her, and her entire body tightens, and she pulls you in, deep and full. Her eyes grow wide and her fingers dig into you as you draw back and drive in once more.

Another moan, her pitch gets deeper, this one drawn out from her very core. You hear it right in her chest, from the depth of her lungs, before it squeals free, right into your ear. "Worth every penny." Her words are thick and drawled, hard to make out, she can't seem to decide whether she wants to open her mouth or close it and keep it shut.

She wraps her arms tight around your neck and pulls you in deeper, you push her legs higher, folding her body up and it only makes things tighter, a thrill she clearly relishes.

You roll forward, holding her close to you, giving you a better purchase with her feet held up so high. Dani groans as you bite and suck at the soft skin along her neck. Your thrusts are still slow, so damnably slow. You push, and fill, and wait. Over and over, it's a cruel torment to both of you.

"Ah, come on. Give it to me, hard," Dani says, raking nails on your neck. She turns her head. Finds your mouth. Seals her lips against yours. Teeth nibble and then her tongue penetrates your mouth. Her hips start to rise and drop. Her sex grabs at you, pleading to pound her.

So you let go of your iron self-restraint and fuck her. Fuck her good.

Your tempo grows more powerful. Her walls squeeze and pull and writhe with a desperate need. It's tight, so, so tight, the way she envelops you, the slick warmth around you. Each stroke sends a shudder through her. Another ripple follows and with it, her high, pitchy wails. Dani's never been so loud, so demanding that her pleasure be delivered.

Number five is close, you can feel her body going rigid, the quivering, twitching, curling of her toes, the growing tension, you go faster, a force building within, trying to rush her to the inevitable. Dani screams, moaning incoherently, her eyes screw tight as you throw yourself into her with such ferocity, like an animal, with no regard for pace, or rhythm. Pure, unrelenting pleasure.

She grips so hard on your shoulder, and then her other hand goes back, over her head, gripping the edge of the table in white-knuckled desperation. "I'm... cumming," Dani spits through a clenched jaw, unable to even form her tongue around the word.

Her orgasm feels more powerful this time, so much more; it flows through her and you can't help but stare. Watching the way the pink blossom blooms on her face and how the rest of her pales. One orgasm into another, you think, it's difficult to discern. You're in no rush. No race. Instead, you delight in the absolute loss of control you see in Danielle's face and you feed off it.

Her mouth forms a soundless scream and she reaches up and sinks her nails into your chest and drags them across, not breaking the skin, but hard enough to leave marks. It feels amazing. All the more so watching Danielle break herself, willingly.

"Holy shit..." Danielle pants then sucks air into her empty lungs.

Her little, flexible body, pinned beneath yours, seems incapable of even the tiniest motion, save the trembles.

Through gritted teeth, she says, "I want— I want a facial. My face. Cum."

This is the single sexiest thing she could have possibly said at that moment. For all the time you've spent watching that pretty doll-like face contort in a hundred different ways, you want nothing more than to see it coated with your lust. To paint every last bit of that sweetness on her lips, on her cheeks—everywhere. To witness that brief moment, after climax where she is confused and awash with bliss and trying to remember how to breathe, and it's interrupted by a load of your cum. You want it.

You round the table, standing over her head, lowering down and watching her eyes spark with anticipation. Danielle knows how bad you want it, how close it is, and you watch, enraptured by the way she tilts her head up and licks her lips. Her little, eager tongue.

Dani wraps her fingers around you and strokes and pumps fast, pulling, urging you to completion, teasing you to spill over her, onto those pretty, dainty features. Your skin feels alive, like static and pinpricks and pure lightning, like your nerves have come to the surface. Pent-up energy coils low, threatening to snap. You cannot resist her anymore.

It all unfurls in a glorious, explosive instant. Blinding. A shiver climbs up your spine, spreading to every limb in one long spasm. A long, raw growl in your throat as you shoot thick and hard, some on her face, and some overshooting onto her chest. Dani gasps a cute little "Oh" and then starts to giggle as the second rope lands right over her perfect little features. And then another, this time across the bridge of her nose and her cheek and down her lips. Her tongue collects whatever it can.

Dani's small hand keeps a hard grip and keeps coaxing, even as you feel like you have nothing to give, with it all painting her face, still, she jerks up and down, until you are empty, trembling and drained. Still, she goes, forcing you through painful shivers, laughing the whole time until the pain becomes too much, and your hands take hers and pull.

You prop yourself against the table, looking down at the mess you made. Dani's happily laughing to herself, licking up what she can. "You'll need to clean me again now, won't you? Sponge away all your dirty filth," she giggles.

Her giggle is intoxicating. Loving. It warms you right through. You wish you could bottle up her laughter.

"Need a minute," you grunt, and there's so much pride on her cum-strewn face.

"Aw, need time for recovery?" Dani quips. "I'll just lay here, all messy and defiled. Waiting to be tended to. Enjoy the sight of me, of your filthy cum all over my sweet, innocent face, until you get the strength to lift me. Really, don't rush, I love this feeling."

[embers-of-the-league]

Okay, so here's where we're at apparently

Tomura is dead

Toga is dead (or, let's just call it as it is, she committed suicide) - this is despite the fact that if she died other characters (read: heroes) should have died as well, but didn't (Bakugo and Edgeshot for example)

Dabi is presumably still in the hospital (since we didn't see a funeral), unable to move or do anything on his own

Spinner wrote his book, but where he is and how he's actually doing is unknown - presumably he still has to deal with multiple quirks that aren't his own and are tearing at his body

Compress is alive but where he currently is is unknown - he read Spinner's book (and that's it)

Kurogiri exploded?? And nobody has bothered to mention anything about him since

Twice has been dead for a while, but his murderer is not only free of charge but also the head of the HPSC (which still exists btw)

Other things:

The hero ranking system still exists

Seemingly no real changes have been made which would help victims like the LOV before they felt like they had to turn to villainy to be heard/seen/understood

Deku gets to be a hero again by the power of ~technology~ - kinda making the whole deal about him losing his quirk feel pointless

Not from this chapter, but I still feel like it's very important to point out that it's heavily implied that Rei is just gonna take care of Enji (her abuser) now and probably for the rest of time

The few good things:

Ochako bringing more focus on mental health

That was it, I have nothing else

[azrielsrealmate]

if I don’t put my hands over you right now…

azriel x reader

summary: your night in Rita’s was supposed to end with Azriel between your legs, not Azriel beating up your abusive ex.

warnings: suggestiveness, fight, blood, injuries, dark themes if you squint, SLIGHT trauma from an abusive relationship.

word count: 2.7k

Yk when at the High Lords meetings Azriel just snaps when Eris speaks about Mor..? Yeah, I liked that scene way too much. So here this is😸

Rita’s is packed, the heat radiating from every dancing body, the rhythm of the music pulsing through the floor and vibrating in your bones. You've spent nearly half an hour letting yourself go to the rhythm, your hips swaying in time, your eyes half-closed as Mor laughs and pulls you closer to the crowd. You're intoxicated, not just by the liquor you've consumed, but by the power you feel in being so aware of your body, so heated and alive in this dress that hugs you tightly and leaves so little to the imagination.

You spent hours getting ready. Three hours in the bathroom, meticulously shaving, slathering yourself with coconut creams until your skin was soft and fragrant, every detail of you arranged with almost cruel precision. And while part of you did it just to look good, to feel pretty, you know there’s something more. A deeper desire, the real reason you spent three hours locked away like a maniac.

The reason hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he first saw you that night. Azriel. It's always been Azriel.

The push and pull between you two has been constant, furtive glances and subtle touches, half-spoken words and smiles that hide more than they reveal.

You know he’s watching you, you feel it even when you’re not looking, a sensation that burns the back of your neck, and anticipation grows with every passing moment, tingling under your skin. A pang in your gut—intuition, they call it—you think something is going to happen. Naively, you think it might be good, really good, a reward for those three hours in the bathroom pampering yourself.

The music shifts to a slower, deeper rhythm, and the heat in the room seems to intensify. And you really can’t take it anymore, your breath is quick and shallow, and you hate the thought of breathing in the scent of sweat from constantly moving bodies, so you decide it’s time for a break, for a cold drink to refresh you.

You pull away from Mor with a smile and head to the bar, enjoying the slight coolness that the nonexistent breeze offers. At least there aren't people blocking everything in your view anymore.

Just as you're about to order your drink, you feel it. That familiar scent of cedar and mist, an aroma that always makes you turn your head, that wraps you in a feeling of safety, of desire, and something darker. Your heart beats faster with it, urging you to be afraid, but you're smarter than that. And then, the hands. Firm, confident, and so large on your hips that you fantasize about what they could do to you, they settle on your hips and pull you back against a hard, unyielding chest.

Though his chest isn’t the only thing that’s incredibly hard.

You laugh softly, knowing who it is without even having to look. You can feel the strength in him, the tension built up in the way he pulls you so desperately against him. He’s so close, and he leans down so that his mouth is right by your ear, and when he speaks, his voice is a low growl that wraps around every inch of your skin, making you exhale, your skin prickling. You press your thighs together.

“If I don’t put my hands on you right now, I’m going to put them around the neck of every man looking at you.”

The whole world seems to stop for a second. Your breath catches, and the pulse in your throat pounds. You knew there would be consequences tonight, but the reality of it hits you like a punch. Azriel, always controlled, always restrained, is on the edge, and the idea of that control breaking… is intoxicating. You smell it, so thick you can taste it, musky. God, you’d give anything to have it on your tongue for real.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic,” you murmur, but your voice trembles, betraying you. Because deep down, you like it. You like that he’s so close, that he’s so vulnerable with you, that he feels something so fierce that it drives him to act. Your words seem to only provoke him further because the grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress.

“Dramatic doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he whispers against your ear, his warm breath trailing over your skin. “You… have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

The trembling inside you turns into a wave, and you can barely contain it. It’s an effort not to roll your eyes in pure pleasure, not to rub your thighs together to get some friction.

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whisper, challenging him. Although to you, it’s not a challenge, it’s an offering. So full of need that you have to mask it.

Azriel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turns you, gently but firmly, until you’re face to face with him. His eyes, as dark as the night itself, are lit with a mix of emotions that make you tremble. Slowly, his gaze lowers to your dress, the slight leopard lace that gathers at the top, just enough to give him a tantalizing view of the skin you so carefully prepared.

“This dress…” he murmurs, his voice deep and laden with meaning. “It’s on purpose. You knew what it would do, what it would do to me.” His hand moves up, slowly, from your hip to the small portion of bare skin on your shoulder, brushing it with a tenderness that contrasts with the fire in his eyes. “If you wore it for me, then I have the right to take it off you.”

Your lips part, words trapped in your throat as you try to process the intensity of what he’s saying. But before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, stealing your breath, demanding more than you thought you were willing to give.

The kiss is hard, fierce. His tongue claims your mouth as his own, exploring and savoring; you barely have time to keep up with him.

His hands roam over your body, exploring the skin you’ve prepared for him, and you cling to his shoulders because your knees are trembling. It’s as if the world around you disappears, leaving only Azriel, his mouth on yours, his body firm against yours, and the fire that heats your skin and spreads to his.

When he finally pulls away, you’re both panting, and he looks at you as if he can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you again or carry you out of Rita’s right then and there.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice more of an order than a request, and although his tone is firm, there’s a plea in his eyes. A need that mirrors your own. And it’s completely overwhelming, you can only nod. And your legs move when your mind is still dazed from the kiss, his hand on your waist as if he can sense that.

Azriel comes to a sudden stop, just before you can cross the threshold of Rita’s, when a cold, venom-laden voice rises above the club's noise.

“Already got another man?”

Your heart stops for an instant, the heat of euphoria fading as you recognize the figure approaching. Tall, dark-haired, and gray-eyed, who used to look at you with something you believed was love, but now only shows resentment. Your face hardens at the sight of your ex, and a familiar tension settles in your chest, a reminder of the scars you still carry.

Azriel notices immediately. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin possessively. You can feel the tension in him, the way his body prepares to act, to protect you. Azriel’s shadows, always lurking, slip across the floor between you like snakes, dark and threatening until one of them coils around your shoulders.

“We broke up over a year ago, get over it,” you say, your voice tense but firm, maintaining your composure despite the turmoil inside you. You have no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence affects you, how much Azriel’s grip on your waist is doing for you.

But he laughs, a bitter, hollow sound that makes your stomach churn. He takes a threatening step toward you, and though your body wants to retreat, you stand firm. You know this game. You know he’ll drink and get drunk on the slight fear in your eyes, he’ll go crazy if you back away, he’ll think he has more power than he does, so you force yourself to stay still.

His fists clench, and you see Azriel’s gaze turn lethal, a flash of cold fury that he barely contains.

Your ex doesn’t give you time to respond, the gray of his eyes fixed on Azriel, and his voice comes out filled with disdain, as sharp as a knife. “You’ll find out soon enough, she’s not worth it. All that pretty face, and she’s not even going to suck your…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t. Because the moment those venomous words leave his mouth, Azriel moves, faster than a blink. You feel the heat of his body leave you for an instant, and then, the sound of impact. A dull, heavy thud reverberates in the air, and you see your ex stagger backward, blood spurting from his nose.

But Azriel doesn't stop there.

The wild gleam in his eyes tells you everything you need to know: he's not going to stop. He doesn't want to stop. With lethal efficiency, he launches himself at your ex again, his fist finding its mark over and over, with a fury that has been simmering for too long, now unleashed in an unstoppable torrent.

And you... do nothing to stop him. You could always say you were paralyzed, that you didn't know what to do, that it caught you by surprise because you remain there, your feet rooted to the ground as you watch Azriel destroy the man who had hurt you time and again. You should scream, you should intervene, but you don't. Because a part of you—that dark and wounded part—feels a perverse satisfaction watching him get what he deserves. Each blow seems to erase one of the invisible scars he left you, each groan of pain he emits sounds like justice for the years you lost with him.

Blood splatters the ground, and your ex tries to cover himself, but it’s futile. Azriel is unstoppable, his face transformed into a mask of pure rage, his shadows swirling around him like frenzied beasts, hungry for more.

But then, a giant figure bursts onto the scene, a whirlwind of muscle and strength. Cassian.

In an instant, the General of Rhys’s armies is upon them, his arms encircling Azriel and pulling him back with brutal force. But Azriel fights, his body trying to break free, desperate to keep punishing that man, to make him pay for every word, every insult, every wound he caused you.

"Azriel, stop!" Cassian’s voice booms above the chaos, laden with authority, but also concern. Cassian tightens his grip, his wings spreading to block everyone else’s view, his expression hardened as he uses all his strength to contain his brother.

You barely see it, but you hear him growl, a sound that doesn’t seem human, and for a terrible second, you think he might even turn on Cassian. His shadows swirl, dark and violent, but then, in an almost imperceptible movement, you see Azriel close his eyes, taking deep breaths, struggling with himself, fighting to control his rage.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Azriel relaxes enough for Cassian to release him, though his eyes are still blazing with that fury that makes you tremble. The shadows slowly recede, as if they still want to attack but obey their master.

Your ex lies on the ground, gasping, his face barely recognizable from the beating, but you know he’s conscious. You feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, but you can only look at Azriel. At Azriel, who continues to look at you as if you’re the only person in his world, as if his vision had narrowed to just you.

Cassian holds him by the shoulders, keeping him in place, though it’s no longer necessary. The fight is over, but the air is still charged with tension, so thick that if anyone decided to push too far, it would shatter with the sound of another broken bone.

Azriel steps away from Cassian, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a step toward you, then another, until he’s standing in front of you, so close you can feel his breath on your skin.

"Are you okay?" His voice is a whisper, rough from the rage, but also filled with that unshakable concern he’s always had for you.

And for the first time in what seems like an eternity, you feel you can breathe again. You nod.

Cassian steps aside, giving one last piercing look at the man on the floor before giving you some space. Azriel remains unmoving, his eyes scanning every inch of your face, searching for any sign that this has affected you more than you admit. But all he sees is your determination.

"Let’s go," you finally say, your voice louder than you expected. You take his hand, his bloodied and bruised knuckles against your skin, and guide him out of Rita’s, away from the curious gazes and the chaos left behind.

————————————

The silence is almost overwhelming as you close the door of your apartment behind you. Azriel stands at the entrance, his eyes still dark with fury, but now the exhaustion and guilt begin to show in his expression. He says nothing, just watches you as you head to the bathroom and fetch the first aid kit. The sound of running water fills the space, but the tension between you is almost tangible.

When you return, you find him standing in the middle of the living room, his gaze lost on the floor. You don’t say anything as you gently take his hand, guiding him to the couch. Azriel allows himself to be led, his wings drooping and his posture relaxed now that the adrenaline has worn off. You can feel lighter yourself.

"Let me see," you whisper, barely a breath. You hold his hand with a softness that contrasts with the brutality of what you just witnessed. His knuckles are bloodied and his hands tremble slightly, though you’re not sure if it’s from the fight or from what he feels now.

He says nothing as you clean the blood, his gaze fixed on your hands, watching every move as if it’s the first time someone has cared for him this way. As if he’s never experienced tenderness before, and the way you’re wiping the blood from his knuckles is presenting it to him on a silver platter. It’s not the first time you’ve done this, but the intimacy of this moment, after what happened, feels different.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I shouldn’t have lost control like that."

Your hands pause for a moment, your eyes meeting his. You see the guilt there, mixed with that smoldering rage that never seems to fully disappear.

"Don’t apologize," you reply firmly, resuming your task. "He deserved it. And... I’m not going to lie, Azriel. Watching him get what he deserved... it wasn’t so bad."

He looks at you, surprised by the confession, but something in your words seems to calm him. He accepts your response, though you know a part of him will always blame himself for losing control. It’s what makes him who he is.

When you finish cleaning and bandaging his knuckles, you keep his hand in yours for a moment longer, savoring the warmth you’ve always found in him. Azriel, who has always been your rock, your protector, now allows himself to be cared for, letting you see that vulnerability he so rarely shows.

"Thank you," he says softly, meeting your gaze with eyes now velvety as he looks at you without worrying about anything else, and his other hand reaching to caress your cheek with a gentleness that contrasts with the brutality of the night.

You don’t respond because there’s no need. Instead, you lean into him, allowing yourself to rest in the warmth of his embrace, in the comfort only he can offer you. Outside, the world keeps spinning, but here, in this small corner of your life, everything is calm.