#avoiding contractions for instance)

[thatgirlonstage]

You desperately need a ‘sometimes’ or ‘it depends’ button on here. People’s skill with language and comfort with text/internet-specific speech styles can vary dramatically. Anyone answering an unqualified yes on this poll: I can almost promise you are less able to do this than you think you are.

For native English speakers:

When you see a person interacting online through texts, can you tell if they are native English speakers or not?

- Yes

- No

- Not a native English speaker

[lowkeyren]

TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME!

in which — sunday, realizing he fell head over heels for you, tries to push you away, only to have his efforts backfire, which leads to a heated confession.

pairing — sunday x gn!reader

wc: 2.3k, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, woooo tension!!!, takes place before penacony quests, sunday fumbles everyone cook him rn, apology scene ib maxton hall, reblogs r much appreciated! from event req: here + art by @/hanahanayart on x

the first thing sunday noticed about you was how you consistently avoided meeting his gaze, how your eyes seemed to wander, frequently darting to the ground. 

even now, as you’re sitting across the table from him, you’re fidgeting with your hands, fingers nervously twisting the small charm on your bracelet. your eyes flit from the patterned tablecloth to the rim of your teacup, never settling on him for more than a moment. 

you’re tense, he notes.

as you both go through the marriage contract, he finds himself distracted by the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, and how your fingers fidget with the edges of the document; a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he observes your gestures. 

the moment you notice him staring however, you stiffen and abruptly shift in your seat. he watches as the flush on your cheeks grows more pronounced, and your words come out in awkward stammers as you try to continue the subject.

though he catches on, quickly averting his gaze to spare you any further embarrassment. the corner of his mouth twitches as he shakes his head slightly. 

right, you must be the type to be easily swayed by looks and status. 

of course he’s aware of his own charm, and even more so, the effect he has on others —evident by the multitude of pursuers vying for his hand in marriage. 

but something is different about you, different enough to intrigue him, different enough to distinguish you from the rest of the crowd, different and compelling enough for him to entertain the idea of marrying you.

sunday is a busy man. 

his schedule is packed with a myriad of tasks ranging from managing various negotiations to organizing the upcoming charmony festival. his desk is cluttered with intricate sketches of the festival’s layouts, post-it notes with scribbled annotations, stacks of detailed itineraries, and reminders of… you.

you have a knack for surprising sunday with unique gifts that inevitably end up on his desk. 

for instance, the delicate keychain that’s shaped like a tiny halo dangling just of reach, or the hand-knitted coaster he sets his mug on, or a handwritten note reminding him to take a break with a small doodle of him in the corner, or the sleek pen he’s using right now, personalised just for him (he complained about pens having grips that were too slippery or uncomfortable once.)

somehow, you never fail to invade his thoughts at every given chance. the worst part? he actually started looking forward to your presence —much to his dismay.

he doesn't know when exactly it started, but he’s certain “it’s all your fault” because he finds himself checking his phone much more frequently, eagerly awaiting your messages. he’s also become attuned to your daily visits, recognizing the distinct sound of your footsteps as they approach his office. heck he even finds himself rearranging his schedule to make sure he’s free during your usual visit time.

you plague his mind to the extent that it distracts him, where he finds himself unable to focus on his work without your voice suddenly echoing in his thoughts; the sound of your infectious laughter, the warmth of your smile like a siren’s call, and the endearing stutter in your words when you say his name —which all seems to linger and sway with every thought. 

sunday fears that he may have loved you more than he will ever allow himself to.

sunday gazes at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. his brows are furrowed, and a deep sigh escapes him as he tries to calm his turbulent thoughts, gripping the edge of the sink for support.

his current dishevelled appearance bears a striking resemblance to that of a fallen angel; stunningly attractive, yet marred by a decadent edge that whispers of turpitude.

as the head of the oak family, he shoulders countless responsibilities and maintains a careful distance from those around him. so is it wrong when he feels a twinge of insult, almost as if it's shameful to be powerless to resist you, when you entered his life with a mere marriage contract but seamlessly wove yourself into the deepest, darkest corners of his heart?

“sunday, are you okay? you’ve been in there for a while!” your voice echoes from the other side of the door, tinged with worry and care.

he’s confounded by your unwavering concern, unable to fathom as to why you continue to pour your heart into him, even as he remains cold and indifferent. he appears detached to you, often aloof and devoid of any intimacy —yet you never seem to mind. 

you make him want to tear down the carefully constructed barriers he’s built around his heart and hold you close. even now as you soothe his back and gently preen his wings, he finds himself lost in thought, contemplating the possibility of abandoning his old ways and allowing himself to be vulnerable with you.

but he thinks you don't have to be so insistent on winning him over, really. because he has already belonged to you in a way that’s intrinsic, a devotion deadlier than hell. 

perhaps he just hasn't come to accept it yet.

walking along the streets of golden hour, sunday is painfully aware of the stare you fixate on his figure, even though you try to be discreet about it. when his hand lightly grazes against yours, you freeze momentarily, your body tensing before you quickly adjust your pace to match his long strides, positioning yourself at his side.

you notice that his face is etched with a grim expression, lips drawn tight; he appears visibly stressed, a noticeable contrast to his usual calm demeanor. 

“ahem…” you clear your throat, “y’know,” you begin, your voice soft with an attempt at comfort, “whenever i feel upset, i've found that treating myself to something nice to eat always helps lift my spirits.”

your words hang in the air as he remains silent, his gaze fixed ahead; undeterred, you continue speaking.

“there’s a new restaurant robin told me about yesterday, would you—”

“—stop talking.”

his words seem to have escaped louder than intended, drawing the attention of bystanders who now stop to observe the scene. murmurs ripple through the crowd as they exchange curious glances. 

“oh… well i just wanted t—”

“just, leave me alone for once,” he interrupts sharply, each syllable from his lips like a drop of acid, eroding the walls of your heart until nothing is left but a hollow ache.

a flash of regret crosses his face the moment he sees your face drop. he watches in silence as you nod curtly before pushing your way through the gathering crowd, the haunting image of your hurt expression only further exacerbates the stress he’s already grappling with. 

you gaze at the chat screen with sunday’s name, your fingers hesitantly hovering over the send button; his words from a few days ago echo relentlessly in your head, replaying over and over again.

you sigh before putting your phone down. he probably doesn’t want you bothering him, right?

in that case, even if he was 'annoyed' by you, why did he have to say it in front of everyone? sure he was cold to you at times, but you thought he cared for you at least a little. and if he intended to push you away, why accept your gifts in the first place? 

regardless, you’re not about to forgive him so easily. your dignity demands that you maintain your distance for now, not merely out of pride but also to give him a taste of his own medicine. 

sunday hasn’t received your usual “good morning” text today… the day before, and the week before. actually, he hasn’t seen you at all either. (but robin has, she mentioned that she noticed you seemed a bit down. when she asked about it, though, you didn’t give her a clear answer.)

his office feels eerily quiet without your timely “interruptions”; his desk, once cluttered with your little gifts and notes, now sits noticeably emptier. most importantly, your absence only serves to distract him more than your presence ever did.

he has lost count of the times he’s run his hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of frustration that has become all too common lately. what he said that day, was purely “in the heat of the moment”, a lapse into uncharacteristic harshness he now deeply regrets. 

he envisions the hurt in your eyes, the way your expression crumpled as his words pierced the air, the weight of his own words gnaws at him, and he feels a pang of guilt so sharp it almost physically hurts.

he may have been reserved with his affection, but he never intended for his words to wound you so deeply. ultimately, he was only trying to guard the vulnerability he rarely reveals; but now, his facade has crumbled. and even he can no longer convince himself of the cold indifference he once tried to project.

it’s a bitter irony that he thinks you shouldn’t try so hard to win him over, when he tries just as hard to resist you. 

his efforts would have paid off,

—if only his heart is as cold as he pretends it is. 

he hears your footsteps for the first time in two weeks.

as you enter, he tries to mask the relief on his face, but his eyes betray him, softening as they lock onto you; his pulse quickens, and he rises from his desk almost instinctively. as usual, you keep your eyes averted, but today, the familiar shyness has been replaced by a palpable tension that he can’t ignore.

you set the stack of documents on his desk before turning to leave in silence, but his hand reaches out and gently grasps your wrist, halting you in your tracks. 

“—wait, please,” his voice trembles.

you turn around, finally meeting his gaze. the steady rhythm of his heart quickens into an erratic flutter, almost like a caged dove desperate to escape.

“i apologise… for what happened that day.” 

“a simple ‘sorry’ would suffice for the embarrassment you put me through, but it doesn’t erase the sting of your words or the way you belittle my feelings,” your voice quivers slightly.

you shake your head and let out a frustrated sigh. “listen, i’m not a pawn for you to play with. just tell me how you really feel, not what you think i want to hear.”

you pause, searching his face for any sign of genuine emotion, but all you find is the same frustrating distance. “i mean it, i’m truly sorry, please let m—”

“you can’t just say you're sorry and expect everything to be fine." you scoff and wrench your hand away from his grasp with a sharp jerk, “cut the crap, you’re seriously driving me insane!”

there's a pause before he responds. “im driving you insane?” his eyes narrow, his expression growing intense as he steps closer. with each step he takes towards you, you retreat until your back hits the edge of a bookshelf, the cool wood pressing against you. 

“but do you know what you do to me?” his hair tumbles messily and hangs over his forehead. “do you think it’s easy for me to keep my composure when everything you do makes it harder for me to hold it together?” 

his hands, which were previously clenched at his sides, now grip the edges of the bookshelf on either side of you, closing the space between you even further. 

“maybe i’ve been distant,” his voice, though strained, holds a desperate edge. “but it’s not because i don’t care, it’s because i'm terrified of what i might feel if i let myself get too close.”

“it’s because you drive me insane —and i can’t get enough of it.” 

you pause, taking in his raw confession before burying your face into his shoulder; a damp patch forming on his clothes. “but it’s not fair, sunday.” your fingers dig into his shoulder, but he couldn’t care less.

“you can’t push me away and then pull me back in with your words.” your words are muffled; he tenderly runs his hand along your back, his soothing touch calming you down.

he sighs before saying, “i know i’m sorry, please give me some time, i’ll make things right.”

“promise?” you ask, lifting your gaze to meet his. he gently cups your cheek with his hand, his thumb softly caressing your skin.

he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “i promise.” 

and this time, he lets himself sink in your embrace, holding you tighter than before. it’s then he realises just how much he had missed out on. 

extra:

“darling...” 

“hm?” you gently stroke his wings, smoothing out the feathers with delicate care. 

his wings flutter slightly under your gentle hands, softly rustling as you brush through the layers of plumage.

“why were you delivering documents to me that day?” he asks, voice laden with curiosity.

you let out a soft chuckle as you recall the nervous expressions of the staff on that day when sunday walked into his office. his wings had fluttered with every tentative step someone took toward him, a clear sign of his agitation. 

“i don’t know,” you reply with a hint of amusement. “maybe none of your staff dared to come near you, so they asked for my help.”

he subconsciously leans into your touch, a soft smile playing on his lips. “well i’m grateful you came by,” he murmurs, though he can’t quite hide the way his wings quiver in response to your tender caresses.

“it turns out, i got more than just a set of documents that day."

you raise an eyebrow playfully. "oh? and what might that be?"

he leans in closer, his forehead gently touching yours, “a reminder of how much i need you."

MASTERLIST ; EVENT M.LIST

[esccpism]

[…] love is my religion—I could die for that.

it’s valentine’s day. ceo!ambessa gifts you flowers.

abstract: ambessa wants you. more: she wants you to chase. the problem is the time it takes—you’re a tough nut to crack, and the woman has never been good at waiting.

cw: ceo!ambessa x assistant!reader, groping, kissing, shy ambessa for .002 secs but don’t tell anyone, sub/dom themes, corporal punishment (r!reader), voyuerism, ambessa has you masturbate in front of her, older woman x younger woman, reader is fat/plus sized

wc: 3.9k

fic inspired by this artwork by @/RoseYSD13 on twitter. heart skipped like 12 full beats. header inspired by the lovely @hcneymooners.

the year marches onwards.

if you catch the day early enough, time seems to pause and suspend; a breath you could almost hold in your hand.

it’s four in the morning—and so ambessa changes in her office today. and you stand, staring forward, only stealing glances when her back is turned.

she gets ready for as long as two hours, at times, when it’s early enough and the preliminary steps of her routine haven't already been run through at her home. such days are rare. she’s perfect in every other instance, she’s perfect even now. skin and scars, tight and flexible, choking up the room with her overpowering perfume. 

you don’t know why she allows you to guard her incompletion. but then again, you’re fresh, and new. you aren’t worth much to her at all.

“haven’t i taught you manners, child?”

your eyes snap back to position. she hasn’t turned even a modicum, but of course it’s a gamble worth taking—her muscles practically ripple like water. the sun simmers against her skin. it’s asking the impossible to not watch them stretch and contract as she bends. 

you allowed yourself it and nothing else, avoiding the dip low in her back where safety ends and the curve of her ass begins. 

“come,” she beckons, “and help me out of this suit.”

you bob your head, and no hair spills out of your tight bun this time. 

dress shoes click and reverberate in the wide and endless room, traveling ages before bouncing off the walls. she says nothing and so neither do you. the time passes, you can tell only by the morning waking outside. unbuttoning the corset becomes your primary objective and you do it with steadfast attention, ignoring her stomach tensing each time your fingers brush the vulnerable skin. ignoring her stomach entirely. ignoring the fact she is wearing no bra underneath and how her full breasts swell towards you beseechingly. 

when you finish unraveling the intricate set of satin ribbons and pull the heavy fabric away from her torso, she lets you fold it neatly and place it atop her desk before pressing in, correcting your posture for you. 

a hand tickles your stomach, finger under your chin, raising your line of sight until it meets with hers. 

”don’t steal glances. i won’t remind you again.” 

you nod as best as you can. your post might be fucked—though you don’t have a moment to let the grief wrack through you. “take wholly, or not at all. i won’t have any nibbling around me.” 

gripping now, ambessa carries your chin and levels it so you are staring directly at her bare body. 

“tell me. what are you feeling?”

“satisfaction, ma’am. i am honored to learn from you, and happy i was able to be of service to you.”

she sighs, and tuts. ”i told them to get rid of that stupid training video. i don’t want a robot tending to me. do you understand me?”

you nod. no hesitation, because she hates the scent, smells it like a dog smells fear. 

“once more.” she relaxes your face and steps to your right, curls around you like a lioness circling its prey. “what are you feeling?”

”curiosity.” your eyes flicker to follow her, then keep straight ahead.

“around?”

“around you, ma’am.”

“good girl.” she stops her orbit directly in front of you, and drags her seat over. leans back, body open, legs spread. “satiate it.”

you pat your hands briefly on your dress pants—she interjects with a wily smile, “don’t be afraid, dear.” and you bite back an i’m not before it snaps from you, sharp as a knife.

you sink forward, distantly aware of your hanging cleavage. growing far more aware from how unabashedly she stares at it. you trail your nails down from her ear lobe, across her neck, watch her shiver at the pressure on her throat. you dip then, and politely squeeze her tit in your hand.

she scoffs, and then laughs, a tinkling, rich, barberry sound. 

“callow,” she says. “you search like you are reading off my monthly estimates. have you no hunger?”

“i have hunger,” you retaliate, eyes alight. you pinch, and her brows flicker, arching into the pain near imperceptibly. 

“but my job does not demand my hunger, ma’am. it only requires that i compartmentalize.” quite literally. you retract your hand and fold it behind you. ”allow me to return to my work.”

she leans her head back, face unreadable as she takes you in. seconds pass, and then the cloud passes as well. she waves you off, sounding bored. “very well. i’ll call you should i need you again.”

⚘

she tends to need you often.

it would seem actually, that she couldn’t do anything by herself were you to be zapped away tomorrow.

she enjoys when you pull the chair out for her, and requests it each time she returns to her desk. says heartily that it makes her feel regal. the cafe on the ground floor has a daily special that she orders three of, at three separate times in the afternoon, sending you on a fourth trip with a lofty tip for the barista should she have enjoyed all three instances. the lines are unbearably long, since the coffee tends towards being delicious. you make the fourth trip often.

her write ups, the real work: which loan repayment negotiations are still underway—there are many—and which partnering fell through—there are many. getting cussed out over the phone on her behalf. day trips across the city and long nights bent over blue light and ass-early mornings, awake even before the sun.

it’s…a demanding job, at its worst. 

work breaks are terse at their best, and your coworkers are a restless bunch. they ask you questions, hoping the pressure will, at what is perhaps the 20,001st attempt, eventually give way. 

ruler with an iron fist. does she even have emotions pulsing in there? you must’ve seen it, seen her slip. it’s psychopathic, how she’s so good at smiling. a wolf trying to hide its teeth. 

here, these people, they don’t nurture expression. self wilts and dies here. that’s what got you at her side in the first place. you were always so loud, anyway, always too much. your mother told you to swallow yourself before the earth tears open its mouth and does it for you.

so you swallow, and you keep your teeth together, and you don’t say a word.

they’re right. you have seen it. ambessa’s smile befalls you often, and her touch is kind, when it grazes the small of your back. 

she takes like a tyrant. she desires unceasingly. this you know. 

you leave an afternoon with her mangled or otherwise changed, fundamentally at the parts. she so easily finds the fleshy soft of your belly, where it gives way with no resistance, and wraps a jaw around it. settles down to the marrow. your training was this, over and over, every mundane afternoon. eaten and spat back out. you’d be lucky to leave the night with any part of you still intact. 

it was meant to make you human—this you couldn’t understand. i don’t want a robot tending to me, she’d instructed.

tell me. what do you feel?

what your coworkers don’t acknowledge is that absolute deference weakens in the face of idiosyncrasies. it's far more effective to strip a thing naked and leave it trembling out in the cold—completely numb the senses. a tyrant cannot rule a person. your brain must be empty so that they might squirm inside. 

ambessa does not squirm. 

she digs. afternoons change and shift, not yet stretching towards the light, but stretching nonetheless.

you pick inside yourself and place it down before ambessa—at her bequest: your runaway mother, how you hadn’t cried at your brother’s funeral, your bite-sized calico, your tamagotchi collection—and she watches every item splayed like a buffet with a fever that warms, that singes—you nearly snatch yourself back from the simmering air, afraid to lose yourself in her belly. to the licking flame of her tongue. 

her hand extends across the table. it crosses the sheets of daily agendas and your laptop and the stack of reports, crosses seas towards you. she lands softly on your chin, and travels to cradle your cheek.

“are you happy here?” she unloads.

“of course, ma’am.”

her frown makes a hearth of her face. “give me the honest answer.”

“here at this position, or here with your fingers taking my face?”

“either,” she says, lowly. “both,” she corrects. 

you ease a foot on the gas pedal. you aren’t sure what’s gotten into you, but it drums in your thighs like a second heartbeat. ”then, if i said i wasn't?”

she’s silent, and then her hand slips off. the heat follows her, and your body creaks forward before your brain catches up. chasing. 

“then i would release you.” she folds her hands. “and i wouldn’t allow anyone else to have you.”

“i would no longer be yours, ma’am.”

“i may have no use for a pet with reservations, that does not mean i could stand someone else having what i can’t.”

“then must i repeat myself, too?”

the air quivers. the admission breaks inside your chest. her smile curls tight inside you and doesn’t let go. 

“indulge me.”

“i’m happy here,” you indulge her. you really say—i’m happy it’s you. you press it into the gaping, leaking space between you, right next to your stewn out innards and idiosyncrasies. right to where her fingers fold on the table. “you’ve got a hand like a fireplace. i don’t mind when you touch, or when you take. above everything it’s the warmth i feel first.”

⚘

the pet names begin shortly thereafter. 

only in private, but strong contenders each time—

would you fetch me another coffee, pet?

ah, my pretty dove. you’ve cleaned up sharply today.

come closer, little one. sit. there’s space for you, and i want you near me. 

each cuts accordingly, chips at you in intentional ways. she’s relentless and unmerciful. she drags you around and does so easily; you bend for her like a lily. under her strong hands she directs you how to stand during meetings, at what angle to arch when pouring her drinks, at what angle to bow at each of her contemporaries as they enter.

she’s sat with her legs splayed, gaze sharp as she pushes in between your shoulder blades. a shudder slides down through the tendon until your knees threaten collapse. 

”head low, and shoulders squared, little lamb. even in civility don’t forget whose you are.” 

you couldn’t, not with the dents her fingers press into the tumbling skin of your back. it’ll surely leave marks. it’s only fair.

⚘

ambessa smiles when you enter—she always had, but these are toothier as of late, more disarming. you are startled by them each time. 

you offer her one back that probably more closely resembles a wince, and then duck your head and the indignant flush that rises.

⚘

”i’ve brought coffee,” she announces with gusto, swishing in one morning. the pinks and lilacs outside grace the silhouette of her broad shoulders as she swoops down to place one of two in front of you. “tell me if it’s to your liking, so i may have someone replace it if not.”

your mouth unhinges, staring up at her dumbly. “ma’am—coffee runs are my job.”

“and an overly drab one. i didn’t know the lines were so long.”

she waits expectantly, and with a start you reach for the cup, hesitating, slowly tipping it back. it tingles on your tongue—spice and caramel. she watches it slide down your throat with rapt interest, eyes finding yours immediately when you settle the cup back down. 

“it’s—good. it’s delicious.”

her grin spreads like wildfire. ”i’ll have them preserve it on the menu. it will be our daily order.”

“ma’am,” you try helplessly, but she pushes forward, leaning her weight on the desk.

she towers, casting a harsh shadow as the sun erects behind her. she might be glowing, or maybe it’s your eyes crossing as she tips over, far too close. ambessa dabs at the corner of your lip, carefully moving around your makeup and the mauve paint to your mouth. 

“you’ve a stain, pet.”

her carefulness promptly exits her body through parted lips as she pushes, slipping her thumb into your mouth.

your body jumps. ambessa’s eyes lid as she regards you. “clean it off,” she says.

no hesitation. your tongue snakes out and wraps around the thick digit, suctioning softly. her large hand swallows the line of drool that escapes. 

she pops it out, stained now with worse than mere coffee. 

“you were saying?”

heart thundering in your throat, you slowly shake your head, swallowing around a newly dried mouth. “‘wasn’t. ma’am.”

she smiles. reaches sideways for your tissue box, and draws away.

⚘

in a turn of events, ambessa has you over her lap—fifteen strokes for standing too closely behind an attendee.

she says it’s because he’s a propagandist, how do you think it looks having my attendant whine herself against my biggest proponent? but her voice had clipped sharply and she'd demanded you untuck your chin from your chest and lower your skirt and recount exactly how it had happened.

her hand collides with the bare flesh of your ass, and it ripples, sharp singing through you at the point of contact. you gasp out, a strangled thing. she shushes you quietly, soothing the bruising spot. 

”how did he feel against your cunt? hm?”

her finger slips, just grazing just grazing the damp folds through the thick pulp of your thighs. you whimper softly, pushing back against her touch.

��like nothing at all,” you pant, “ma’am.”

“i was under the impression you were happy here.” it’s sudden as a thunder clap, her hand lands again, and your body locks with divine will so as not to rock forward on the muscle of her thigh. 

your voice breaks around a hiccup. you wish you hadn’t in you to be embarrassed, but all there is is ambessa. she overtakes and overloads. even the cold walnut desk smells of her. “yes ma’am. i am very happy here.“

“then display it to me better.”

you nod, tearily, frantically. your face buried in your folded arms makes it hard for your yes’m to make itself intelligible. ambessa doesn’t mind. isn’t finished.

“anything you need you must receive from me. understand? your robust pain, your inane pleasures. only through me.”

her hand presses against your back, testing your state, and your breathing jumps and shudders under her fingers. she coos softly, gracing them up your back and carding her fingers through your hair, massaging at the scalp.

“i’m going to sit you up, sweet girl. let me see your face.”

you’re all over her thigh when she lifts you. you gape, she gazes. swipes at your slick and licks it into her mouth.

“would you like me to handle it?”

“no, ma’am, i’m terribly sorry—i’m not sure what came over me—“

”if you wish to handle it yourself,” she interrupts, and swings her arm out before her, gesturing at a low seated sofa and pile of pillows, “sit right there where i can see you.”

her legs rest eagled, arms bent over her knees, eyes ravenous as she watches you pound your fingers into yourself. your moans jump out stilted and quiet. it’s not enough, it’s nowhere near enough. you need her inside you. you know she could stretch you out so good.

it’s chasing you, it’s chasing you, and your body rolls into your stuttering fingers, your heel reaching pathetically for your clit. 

“such a good girl,” ambessa murmurs.

and the moan bubbles out of you like a wail, body climbing towards heaven as your orgasm ascends on you. white hot crashing waves you ride yourself through, hips jumping and twitching until you collapse back into yourself. pleasure tingling in you like an aftertaste.

she strides over immediately, presses a kiss to the top of your head. leaves and return, cleans you off with a warm, wet hand towel and dresses you with fresh clothing, helping your hands through the sleeves, slow and deliberate. she says nothing the whole while. so you say nothing in return. 

when she’s finished and she’s satisfied, she sits you in front of a hearty meal.

it’s still hot and you don’t know when she had called for it—but you’re drained and you're grateful, and you take her kindness without complaint.

ambessa sits across from you, watches you eat. satisfaction smoothes her face out. 

“are you happy here, little one?”

you glance up from your fork of chicken. she cradles you with her eyes.

it’s a given that you won’t report tonight. too many HR violations to count and technically it’d be your job to file and forward them all. you’ll have to reach for the CCTV footage as well, aware contemporaries come with varying intentions. you know the footage will not be bad at all. it was merely a brush, a push, a passing by—and you know it will not matter. just as it had not tonight.

despite it all stillness resides in you. just the way you like it.

“yes, ma’am. i’m happy.”

⚘

your work continues as usual. her hands remain gentle. you remember them on your body like the frozen earth remembers spring. 

⚘

“i’d like your opinion,” her voice sings through the air, and you rise from your chair to indulge her. “which of these three do you believe suits me better?”

you hum, crossing your arms over your chest. it delights her, and mirth dances in her eyes.

“mahogany, as always. brings out your eyes.”

she lets the other two fold over her arm. ”well. aren’t you a sweet talker.”

”i’ll adjust my speech with you if you enjoy it, ma’am.“

“watch yourself,” she points. after a moment you allow yourself a little grin, one she drinks in and guzzles, exhaling sharp. berating on hold, too busy grinning back.

⚘

she wants you, and she leaves it scattered all over the place. makes it so obvious as to practically scream it from every rooftop.

she stares, she appears around your desk, hovers, frets when you are dressed too light for the weather—frets. the iron fisted tyrant. too warm to let you numb to the cold.

ambessa continues to change in front of you again and again, now with your added commentary. she welcomes your input, lets you see every curve of her breast and dip in her stomach—eyes follow you like incandescent light, curiosity, or more so daring your gaze to dip, to explore. to devour like a rabid tongue. 

shouting from the rooftops without hearing herself echoed back isn’t something she’d ever commit to long, anyway. 

ambessa grows increasingly frustrated with your fastidiousness and pushes and presses inwards. suffocates, encircles. as she does.

“i wasn’t trained for massages,” you tell her in vain. it verges on complaint, and she waves it off.

“you weren’t trained for many things, yet you hold up excellently.”

it’s high praise, she knows what she’s doing. your cheeks bruise, anyway.

“if you wish to be paid for it, i can arrange that.“

“no payment.” you say. “…ma’am. it stains it.”

“ah.” her head tips back, catches your gaze, a small smile at her mouth at the fluster in your face. “i see.”

with sleeves rolled to your elbows, your hands work her shoulders. dips into her sharp clavicle, unwinds and unravels the string of muscle and the plate of bone.

“lower, dove.” she crumbles under your touch, and your chest pangs where her silvery, pillowy coils tickle your stomach, as she sags into you. “deeper. you’ve the arms for it. i won’t break.“

she’s broken already. fragments of her spill supple into your hands, drenching your fingertips, caking under your nails. she melts like candle wax and swallows the flame. 

it’s a simple revelation, and nothing that you hadn’t known. she’s beautiful. nips the breath right out of your lungs. you know she’d gleam if you told her—and so you do, rehearsing her lines in your head the microsecond before she acts them each out, a tensing, a shifting, a pleasant hum, rising in pitch. pride, preening like a bird. a charmed grin about her. 

like water in a river. she’s predictable these days, but you’ll keep that one for yourself. 

⚘

february marches onwards.

a quirk of her’s you’ve noticed: she decorates for every holiday without fail, even the ones she does not formally celebrate. 

you would wonder what sub-intelligent lick your coworkers have to offer about it if you were given the chance to think at all.

you sign out of your laptop that night and step through the sliding doors the next morning, bright and early and instantaneously the bursts of red and gold slap you right in the face, just as if you’d stumbled into the sun. 

every floor is like this, until you reach hers—and she’s waiting for you, the most flabbergasting yet—and swathed in her arms is a bouquet of red carnations and roses.

your stunned gaze picks out a single golden rose among the bloodbath. it’s an unimportant detail. but her face waits right above it, and you don’t know yet what to do with that.

“thank you for the hard work,” she starts, extending the garden towards you. “you’ve been a good employee.”

you stare. ambessa hates hesitation, you know this, but your head and your heart pull pitilessly in opposite directions with you inbetween, tearing like a piece of paper down the middle. 

with steeled hands you relieve it from her, and have to hoist it against your body—you aren’t as strong as she is. 

“why?”

“take it as an investment. you strengthen me, my vision. my life’s work. i hope to rely on you for a long time.”

you search for a tell on her face, but she gives you nothing. exasperation enters your voice as a last ditch effort. 

“a note on my desk would have sufficed.”

“do you know me to merely ’suffice’?” ambessa crosses her arms, shoulders rising towards the ceilings, like you’re the one being difficult. “read between the lines, dear.”

“i am. it’s why i’m asking why.”

she exhales. raises her chin. “and i’ve told you. personal afflictions.” she gestures towards it, arms waving vaguely before folding back under her chest. “i wasn’t—sure what color you might like.”

her arms unfold as if relenting, relinquishing—bearing her chest open. she leans back to regard you, hands supporting her weight behind her. the words are quiet and cut thin through the air. 

“are you dissatisfied?”

“no. never, ma’am. never with you.”

you stare at her, then down at the flowers you can barely peek over, then back at her, across her face, her neck beginning to resemble the bouquet the wider the silence expands—and—and—

you extend your hand to her arm, reaching blindly until you land, and her bicep tenses once under your touch. 

“just hungry.” your eyes flicker to her lips. 

she sinks into you like a feeding wolf. you aren’t sure where the flowers crash to, you don’t care. her mouth is as the rest of her—tender and all consuming. you offer yourself to her as a sacrifice, whimpering as you crumple in her arms. her skin smells overwhelming under your hands, her face cradled by your shaking fingers—of creamy vanilla, of baby powder and fresh sheets, enchanting, clothes drenched in amber accord. powerful and near unbearable and expanding like a balloon in your throat.

the urgency rises like a migraine, the need to gasp for air. gently, you shove it back down. not now, you whisper to your weeping heart. more important matters at hand.

©esccpism

RAHHHHHH thank you so much for reading. she’s perfect. i want her to bend me like a plastic fork.

[mellowtrashtrash]

FNaF World: Welcome to the Freakshow!

Today I challenged myself to see how many characters I could complete in one day. We've got a lot to cover, so let's get started with...

Scrap Baby!

Pizzeria Simulator's iconic wretched dumpster clown!

Some of my finest modeling and animation! Scrap baby was a doozy of a design to try to simplify. She practically has the detail of every Sister Location character combined! Naturally, this proved to be quite the challenge, but in the end it turned out great. The shapes are very smooth and the rigging is exquisite. You can hardly even tell with how swift the animations are, but I was very deliberate with how those little wire-orb things were rigged. They move with the limbs and body to skillfully avoid obvious instances of clipping!

There were lots of hooks and curves involved in the blender process, and it was a meticulous and precarious process, but I managed to pull Scrap Baby together in about three days. After finishing her today, I figured "Hey, why not do a couple more! I have it in me!" And with that, my quest began. The next character(s?) I tackled was...

The Minireena duo!

Everyone's favorite claustrophobic nightmare children!

I decided to go with two of them, in reference to Sister Location Custom Night's two different sets of Minireenas, and also because just one would be far too small!

Now these little punks were a delightfully obnoxious design process! I'd never had the (dis)pleasure of working with two separate armatures in one character before this, and it was quite the challenge. But you all know I like a good modeling/animation challenge. It gives the sometimes boring process some novelty!

Sidenote: Minireenas' eyes are kind of weird. They show up only in specific instances, but are absent the rest of the time. Obviously so, as you can see their little endoskeleton in their custom night icon. No eyes! I think Scott just needed a way to make their jumpscares a little more intense, and didn't want to worry about giving them eyes anywhere else. But hey, those beady yellow peepers definitely worked! They're quite the uncanny sight!

Next, we've got the one, the only...

Bonnet!

Sister Location Custom Night's very own adorable nuisance!

Remember earlier, when I mentioned how just one Minireena would be too small by itself? There wasn't any getting around it this time. Bonnet is, by all accounts, a palette swap of Bon Bon, but does that hold her back from having her very own identity independent of his? Absolutely not! Bonnet has set herself apart with her signature mosey, her insecurity about her (literal) button nose, and her unnerving ability to maneuver around without the aid of an uncanny, leg-bearing, scary bear companion! (Try saying that five times fast!)

It's a little tough to make a character like this work on their own, but I managed to pull it off, and have somehow produced some of my favorite animations so far. Her big leap is very rabbit-like, and it's pretty natural-looking. Her hurt animation has a little shiver to it, like she's shuddering from discomfort. Her animations managed to be very lifelike, despite the limitations of the character's design.

Next up, in a sort of redundant fashion, we've got...

Lolbit!

The oddball salesman adapted for the screen!

Kind of an odd choice of character, considering Lolbit's already been in FNaF World, but with their breakout roles in Sister Location Custom Night and Ultimate Custom Night since their initial debut, I figured it was prudent to include them. My working theory is that once the story of FNaF World had concluded, Lolbit got bored of hanging around in Animatronica, and decided to find some business elsewhere, winding up with their unforgettable inclusion as a face on a series of screens that forces you to type buttons on your keyboard. Not the most stunning appearance, but hey, it's unique! And it's funding the development of new and better Bytes! Then once their contract expired, Lolbit returned to Animatronica to continue developing Bytes, only to find that new shopkeepers had arrived to take their place. Naturally, this meant Lolbit had only one thing left to do: tag along with the adventurers to find someplace to sell without competition!

In contrast to Funtime Foxy's monstrousness, I gave Lolbit the cheeky, cheerful charisma they've been rocking in every one of their appearances across the franchise. As a result, Lolbit's animations are teeming with callous impudence!

Finally, the character you've all been waiting for, the main attraction, the star of the show... It's:

Gumball Swivelhands!

Pizzeria Simulator's shockingly stupendous sweet-supplier!

Bet you weren't expecting this one, were you? Move over Candy Cadet, Gumball Swivelhands is the new star of the candy-dispensing show!

This character was unexpectedly fun to animate, and I adored the opportunity to model its face, but I must say, that expression seems awfully familiar. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it makes me feel a profoundly frustrated sense of déjà vu...

Pizzeria Simulator is chock-full of memorable character designs, and despite its apparent genericity, there's always been something striking to me about Gumball Swivelhands. A concentrated sense of whimsy permeates this character like the suffocating aroma of six different flavors of bubble gum surrounds a gumball machine.

To me, this is what FNaF World is all about! Identifying and celebrating even the strangest corners of Five Nights at Freddy's history! There's a place for iconic, fan-favorite characters, right alongside obscure, sometimes even downright forgettable weirdos like this one! Five Nights at Freddy's is a freakshow, but not one that ridicules its freaks, one that holds them up high with a combination of joy and pride, like a father whose son has won the big sports game. "That's my son!" FNaF says, gesturing to the Eggbaby. "Hooray!" I scream from the bleachers. "Three cheers for these wonderful weirdos! Hip hip, hooray!"

I look forward to whatever I have to share next time. As always, thanks so much for tuning in! I'll catch you on the flipside!

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Sebastian Michaelis’s lies & affection

We always, always, have to remind ourselves that S lies…. BUT is forbidden to lie, not allowed to lie only to Ciel Phantomhive. He is beholden to Ciel and Ciel only.

The teenager trained that demon on the day they made a covenant in which Ciel played it like a movement in the chessboard as it was detrimental to his aim to live for his revenge. And in order to keep the demon in line, he conceived this idea.

Ergo, S can lie to anyone but Ciel P.

So if S lies his way to get what he wants to other people, including having casual sex with suspects, etc., and telling people the opposite of what he intends to do, in order for their mission to succeed, it is only natural that he still does lie.

From Yana T’s editor during one of his live reaction commentaries:

Episode 03:

Sebastian's line: "I've met demons and grim reapers, but never a werewolf." Sebastian has a contract with Ciel to "not lie." This scene reveals the truth openly, but it seems no one believed him. If he truly wants to hide something, he avoids it with indirect wording.

What is spectacular is the amount of affection he shows or the way he cares for his contractor in the course of them living together. Like S has suddenly become attuned to Ciel’s emotional needs without hesitation. A notable instance was after the Book of Circus arc where Ciel was not only exhausted physically but also mentally. He began to dissociate himself from everything even though Elizabeth was still there to perk him up. Nina Hopkins dropped by to sew him new clothes, for an Easter theme and a new dress for Elizabeth. The other wing of the manor where Ciel kept his clothes was completely destroyed due to the attack of the circus troupe and the servants had to protect the residence. Ciel was simply out of it. Perhaps shocked of what he discovered of the children/youths murdering/kidnapping children. Maybe all of it.

That’s only one example. There are dozens more as the events above happened on Chapter 37.

One has to go back to the Indian Butler arc. Particularly one has to thank partially or completely to Agni for influencing S’ growth. The demon, whose aspiration in this lifetime is to be the best good-looking butler in the whole universe, took Agni’s advice when it comes to putting the profession of being a butler in the highest order. Like it is the highest form of art. He took Agni’s tips to heart. Agni has become his role model. During one of the promotional sessions for the Valentine’s, where the cast of Japanese voice actors had to live-dub the scenes, there was that extra portion of the show where once again S asked Agni’s advice how to make one’s master the happiest and healthiest person in the whole world.

It has become S’ ethos to emulate Agni’s subservience without compromise. This makes S care for Ciel Phantomhive more. Perhaps it is arrogance, a part of his design and his contract, but one can see, without any prompting—even though the two are having a banter or playing their games—that he does indeed care for his master. That’s his desire talking.

But there’s another thing that I find interesting: that is, a prerequisite to his master’s satisfaction, he even finds the way to appreciate the Phantomhive servants’ unique abilities and dearly respects Tanaka-san.

For the demon: Credit where credit is due.

[kookyburrowing]

Different Languages AU Part 1: Wait, Fuck, They Don't Speak Basic?

First things first motherfuckers, let’s get one thing straight: Basic as a language does exist in this AU!  It’s just less common outside of the Core/Mid Rim.  SO.  What does that give us?  Well, it gives us way more interesting conflict, for one thing, and for another, so many languages.  Let’s get crackalackin! 

In the Outer Rim, Huttese is largely The Language To Speak.  If you don’t speak Huttese, you might as well just hurl yourself into the nearest bottomless pit now and save yourself the time and trouble.  Even in the Core and Mid Rim, Huttese is a very common language just because of how useful it is if you ever find yourself in the Outer Rim.  Most bounty hunters (i.e. Jango Fett, just for one completely random example) speak Huttese fluently, alongside their native languages.  Naturally, then, this is a language Anakin is very familiar with.  In fact, when he became a Jedi, it was the language he knew the best, and most people thought his speech was stilted in Basic because of this.  He spoke Basic maybe once every month on Tatooine—can you blame him?  

In the Mid Rim, each planet has their own language and conversations between diplomats are typically done as they are on Earth—via interpreters, to avoid any misunderstandings.  Padmé, for instance, does speak Basic, but that is the language she would use in the Senate, not on Naboo.  The same goes for Palpatine, but we’ll get to him in a minute, because he sucks and I want to not talk about him for as long as I feasibly can.  

The Core means Basic, Basic, Basic, because of just the sheer number of people making it necessary.  Coruscant is a weird case because of how communities develop there.  Since it’s kind of like a gigantic version of a modern city (I’ll use NYC as an example because I know it the best), it’s broken up into enclaves.  Cultures clump—it’s a thing.  Some neighborhoods in NYC are predominantly Jewish, some are predominantly Italian, the list goes on.  The same goes for Coruscant, although on a supersized scale.  There’s some areas where non-Mandalorians need not apply, some where everyone is a Twi’lek or Togruta, some where everyone is a Mirialan, et cetera.  Also, Coruscant dialects of certain languages are very much a thing.

Anyway.  Let’s talk Kamino, because that’s why I started this to begin with!  

Jango Fett is a Mandalorian.  He’s also a bounty hunter.  He’s from Concord Dawn and was a True Mandalorian.  Therefore we can guess he probably at the bare minimum speaks two dialects of Mando’a (Concord Dawn, True Mandalorian) Huttese, and has at least passing Basic.  He probably speaks more than that given how well-traveled he is, but those are the ones I can name for sure.  So Jango Fett, who speaks Mando’a and Huttese and Basic, encounters Count Dooku.  Count Dooku is from Serenno, but he was also a Jedi, so he probably speaks Serennese, Basic, Huttese, and a few more.  He may even speak Mando’a, but his dialects wouldn’t be likely to overlap with Jango’s.  Count Dooku tells Jango to go to Kamino and let them clone him in exchange for an exorbitant amount of money.  Jango does, because Jango is a thinking human being and thinking human beings under capitalism do not turn down exorbitant amounts of money in exchange for what amounts to (at most) being a three or four-time sperm donor.  

And on Kamino, our intrepid Mandalorian encounters something a bit weird.  The Kaminoans, being that they are an extremely isolated species and thus have absolutely no reason to have developed humanoid vocal chords, have to rely on droid translators.  Cool!  This means Jango can speak to them exclusively in his native language (Concord Dawn Mando’a), and they can speka to him exclusively in theirs, and everyone’s largely happy.  Jango negotiates the finer points of the contract, acquires an infant who he names Boba, and calls up some old friends (and acquaintances) to teach the clones to kick ass.  He informs them they don’t have to worry about speaking Basic, so they don’t bother speaking Basic.  

Thus, we have our setup.  The Kaminoans have no reason to make the clones speak Basic because literally none of these outsiders are bothering to inform that oh yeah there’s this whole common language thing going on, and said outsiders have no reason whatsoever to tell them because it would ultimately just be an inconvenience.  They’ve got a good thing going, and Jedi are required to speak more than one language anyway.  The clones can definitely find at least one in common!

So the clones learn to speak Mando’a, understand Kaminoan, and speak and/or understand one extra elective language.  Most pick something weird because they can—everyone around them speaks either Mando’a or Kaminoan so why would they bother with languages they don’t care about, like Basic?  Unfortunately for the Kaminoans and the trainers in equal measure, they do also realize that in order to express themselves in private they need their own universal language, so they acquire one.  They just call it clonespeak to keep things simple, and for most of them, that’s their native language.  They feel most comfortable speaking in it because that’s the language they associate with safety and with their siblings/parents.  

Thus: the predicament.  

Obi-Wan arrives on Kamino.  Obi-Wan is a Jedi.  Obi-Wan speaks Basic. 

Uh-oh.  See, Jango is out of practice—the Kaminoans can’t make those noises.  Boba’s language skills begin and end with Mando’a and some random bits of clonespeak right now—he’s kind of conversational with Huttese but every once in a while he just throws in a Mando’a word or an idiom in clonespeak and Jango has to take a minute to breathe lest he slam his head straight through the wall in frustration because he doesn’t understand clonespeak.  And so much performing of charades, many awkward moments, and exactly one sentence in Basic later, Obi-Wan is heading back to Coruscant with several questions. 

First: why the fuck did Sifo-Dyas order an army who didn’t speak Basic?  No one knows.  No one can find any records of this order, for one thing.  No one knows who Tyrannus is, for another.  

And second: what languages do the clones speak?  Obviously, Mando’a is amongst them, but Jango’s extremely intensely staring son also spoke another, infinitely weird language and no one can find any record of it, and not even Jango seemed to understand him.  Do they understand the Kaminoans’ clicking noises?  Are they just mute?  Is it constantly Shut The Fuck Up Friday up in there?  What is going on?  

The Council loses their collective minds.  Shaak Ti is about ready to haul ass across the galaxy to collect these poor, lost young men—Plo Koon is right there with her.  Yoda is—well, Yoda is swearing loudly in several dead languages right now.  Mace Windu, ever the voice of reason, just has one thing to say: how about they meet the clones, first.  Before they panic.

In the face of this intense, all-consuming, glorious sensibility, the Council collectively shuts the fuck up.  They decide to let things run their course.  

And then Geonosis.  Quickly, Yoda collects several hundred clones, manages to communicate to one of them—who speaks a really weird, ancient, and fucked up dialect of Basic that could basically scan to Elizabethan English, and whose name is probably Kowalski—what he needs, and that one tells an older, larger and more intimidating one.  Then that one yells a lot in a language Yoda has never heard before, and several hundred clones are suddenly hauling ass into gunships.  

Enter one Anakin Skywalker and one Padmé Amidala, who are about to acquire some friends, none of whom understand a word they’re saying.  They fuck some things up, get strapped to some poles to be devoured by Space Beasts of some sort, and then escape.  

Battle of Geonosis happens.  Mace Windu quickly discovers that the answer to the question what do the clones speak is effectively every language except Basic, and the answer is also supremely inconsistent.  He is Suffering.  He is Experiencing The Horrors.  Obi-Wan is likewise fighting for his life because he speaks a fancy-ass dialect of Mando’a that the clones don’t understand.  This is because they, like normal people, don’t talk like dignitaries on diplomatic missions.  

Moving on!  Obi-Wan gets assigned Alpha-17.  Alpha-17 is a demon.  Actually.  He probably speaks Basic but refuses to out of spite.  This is the biggest asshole to ever stomp his way into a Venator and terrify Anakin Skywalker into cowering submission.  (He may even be why Anakin behaved like that as Vader.  We will never know!)  Like most clones, Alpha-17 speaks four languages.  Clonespeak, Mando’a, Kaminoan, and Huttese.  In that order.  So he has no real trouble communicating with either Anakin or Obi-Wan.  

What he does have, though, is a surplus of kids.  Like it or not (he insists he doesn’t) they are his kids, and he wants them to have a shot at having a moderately tolerable existence.  Enter everyone’s favorite group of six weirdos: Wolffe, Ponds, Fox, Bly, Cody, and Rex.  

Wolffe is easy.  He’s horrible with languages, and so gets sent to Plo Koon, who speaks through a translator anyway.  Add Mando’a to the translator, and bang!  Easy.  Done.  They understand each other perfectly.  

Ponds is also easy.  He, being sensible, learned Basic, so he goes to Mace Windu, who is equally sensible (and grateful for the easy transition).  

Fox, who is a scheming little shit and also just so happens to speak Naboo, get sent to Coruscant.  The Chancellor can’t get one over on him if Fox can understand every word he says, and most Senators have protocol droids with them for translation anyway.  

Bly speaks Ryll, so she gets Aayla Secura.  Again, easy.  

Cody, on the other hand?  Cody speaks the same languages as 17.  Cody has a favorite younger brother who needs guidance.  Cody, therefore, gets deposited with Obi-Wan, and Rex?  Rex gets Anakin.  

But the issue with Rex is he and Anakin have no language in common.  Rex’s elective language was Togruti, and like the rest of his batch he also speaks Tusken sign.  Because his batch are a bunch of assholes who wanted an extremely private way to talk.  

So.  Anakin and Rex start off the war with no way to communicate!  None!  Literally not one language in common!  

And they do try to communicate—via charades, via text, et cetera—but they don’t really have access to translation software on a regular basis and thus things become complicated.  

Things are made even more complicated by the fact that Rex, like Wolffe, is shit at language learning.  Anakin, who isn’t, could try to learn clonespeak, and does!  But when you can’t communicate with the person teaching you it is immensely slow going.  

And thus, our premise is complete.  How do you run a war with someone you can’t talk to?  

Well, it depends.  If you’re Anakin, you say, maybe I can figure a way around this.  

If you’re Pong Krell?  

I dunno man.  Yell?  Yeah, that sounds about right. 

[ghost-bxrd]

Do you have more fae!Dick headcanons, but from the batfam or his friends pov? 🥺

Check out this awesome post for a phenomenal addition to the Fae verse!

But in case you wanna stick with only Dick being fae, here’s some more headcanons for you, hehe ✨ I can never say no to doing more 👏

I don’t know enough about Dick’s friends to do a good pov for them, but here’s Bruce and Jason for now 💚

Bruce

Bruce knew something was other about Dick from the moment he started screaming when his parents fell and every single animal inside the circus went wild

Dick is a strange child. he never lies, but he’s got this uncanny ability to maneuver around the truth and make it bend to his will. It comes in handy during his Robin days, but Bruce will be the first to admit it creeps him out a bit. Even thinks that sound like a lie on surface level and up being truthful. To the letter.

Contracts. During their time as Batman and Robin, Bruce unknowingly enters into multiple little deals with Dick without being aware of it. Dick never takes advantage, but there’s one instance where Bruce finally realizes how important it is to leave absolutely no loopholes in orders or wordings when Dick nearly kills someone and it still falls into the terms of their agreement

The manor. Things have never been completely normal about the ancestral home, but with Dick around the walls seem to breathe. There’s always a light on behind some window even when it’s late and Alfred is long asleep. At night something scratches along the walls and the scent of rain and mushrooms lingers in the air. Neither Bruce or Alfred ever find its source. Hallways become long and winding when you’re half asleep. The walk to the restroom ends up being at least ten minutes.

Bruce yells at Dick and uses his full name for the first time and Dick just— folds. It’s not his true name, but he treats it as such. And Bruce is horrified at the way Dick’s entire form seems to warp and gain new joints and twist itself outside the human imagination. But then he blinks and it’s just Dick again, glaring balefully, hissing at Bruce not to use his name in anger. Ever. Bruce is too startled to do anything but promise he won’t.

Promises. Dick uses them sparingly, but when he does he upholds them with a vengeance. Bruce learns to never, ever make Dick promise something that will endanger him. Because dick would still follow through on it blindly.

Promises made by other people. Dick becomes vindictive if he thinks someone isn’t upholding their end of the bargain. The first time it happens, a simple thing about being home in time for dinner, Bruce got assaulted by rabid deer with curiously sharp teeth on his way to the car. In the middle of Gotham City. Bruce and Dick have a serious talk afterwards.

Jason

Dick is less than thrilled when Jason is declared Robin. Fae are possessive. That’s his name Bruce gave away. That’s his family Jason is infiltrating. Dick wants Jason gone. (Bruce barely manages to stop the murder of crows from shoving Jason off a roof)

Jason doesn’t realize there’s a pissed off fae out for blood. Bruce has a hard time rallying Dick, but he manages. Ergo; Jason thinks the manor is the best thing since sliced bread and he’s super excited about meeting Dick. He joins Alfred in making Dick’s favorite meal for his official visit and unknowingly ends up winning Dick over with it. An offering of favored food to fae creatures goes a long way in earning their favor. And Dick is no different. It helps that the food is genuinely delicious and Jason jumps at the chance to refill his plate. Jason unknowingly dodged a bullet there.

Dick becomes protective of Jason. Jason is his now in the same way Bruce and Alfred are. They’re human. He’s fae. They’re so very vulnerable and susceptible to injury and manipulation.

Jason avoids wandering the halls of Wayne manor alone for the longest time because he always feels there are eyes following him. (They are.)

The manor, reacting to Dick’s inherent magic, shortens each of Jason’s routes. It creeps Jason out even more

Sometimes there are feathers at the foot of Jason’s bed. He doesn’t know what kind of bird they could be from. When he shows them to Bruce the man just sighs

Jason has a temper tantrum and retreats into the woods behind the manor. He can’t find his way back until he calls out for Dick and suddenly the manor looms behind the next tree

[ausp-ice]

Profit (he/they/any), an Edeia representing the Idea of Profit.

This all started with me having a silly thought of using the name "Rob Banks" based on a video I saw...

Edeia Site | Edeia Discord | Personal Website

Profit

"Everyone should profit. But of course, I should profit the most." 

At present, Profit is charismatic and persuasive, creating mutually beneficial arrangements where they still came out ahead. They became more patient, willing to invest in long-term growth rather than immediate exploitation. Profit developed genuine curiosity about innovation and began to enjoy watching their investments flourish. Their demeanor was often inviting, rather than threatening, though they always carried an undertone of calculation with them. At present, he is more forthright about his profit motives, but he is more honest about his practices and always follows through on his promises to partners. 

He has quite the sense of humor, though he cares more about what's amusing to him than what's amusing to others. So long as there's no real harm, he delights in others' ruffled feathers (for instance, by making puns). He enjoys peppering his speech with business jargon, often for humorous effect, but avoids using it so excessively that others can't understand him.

While still fundamentally self-interested, Profit now values sustainable profit over destructive exploitation, understanding that a healthy economic ecosystem yields greater returns than a series of depleted targets. He creates transparent but advantageous deals where all parties benefit—though, of course, he benefits the most. He considers himself an investor, finding promising individuals and ventures to provide all sorts of resources, with the intention of getting a return in the future. He does still participate in black markets and corruption, but only when it generates new growth and value—not when it simply transfers opportunity from one individual to another. 

Abilities

Market Intelligence

Profit can sense untapped value and potential profit in people, places, objects, and situations. He also has an innate awareness of past and current market trends, as well as a predictive sense for future market movements. This ability can be temporarily granted to others as an intuitive sense for good deals and profitable ventures. 

Seed Capital

Profit can create one "whole unit" (e.g. 1 USD, 1 bitcoin, etc.) of any currency that exists in his current dimension, so long as he has any amount of information on its existence, if he does not own any physically or in assets.

Binding Proposition

Profit can create magically binding contracts for deals involving currency or valued assets. These contracts cannot be broken by conventional means and ensure that all parties fulfill their obligations or pay the penalties agreed upon.

Portfolio Diversification

Profit can maintain countless business ventures, investments, and assets across multiple dimensions simultaneously without loss of oversight or control. This allows them to spread risk and maximize returns by operating in various economies with different rules and growth patterns. They can mentally "check in" on any of their ventures at will.

Return on Investment

After investing time, energy, or resources into a person or venture, Profit is guaranteed some form of return. This doesn't guarantee success, but it does mean that even failures will yield valuable lessons, connections, or alternative opportunities that can be monetized in some way. Nothing Profit invests is ever truly lost. This is a passive ability, but Profit can focus to apply it to others, guaranteeing a "return" for those individuals.

Asset Empowerment

Profit can designate individuals as "Associates" through magical contracts, granting them enhanced abilities related to their role in Profit's ventures. These enhancements are tied to performance conditions and limitations:

Associates must share a percentage of all gains with Profit.

They cannot act against Profit's interests.

Their abilities cannot be used for unauthorized ventures.

The magic enforces compliance, with abilities failing or backfiring if terms are violated.

Successful Associates may see their capabilities grow over time, creating a mutually beneficial relationship while allowing Profit to extend their influence through a network of empowered agents across markets and dimensions.

Abstraction

Profit's original Abstraction took the form of a large building of countless rooms, filled with all sorts of things. After those were lost in Profit's transition to the Main Continuity, that building was rebuilt alongside a sprawling, glittering city of modern skyscrapers and glass buildings. The sky is in an eternal golden twilight. Streams of gold light pour from the sky in straight lines, and the air is filled with glittering gold particles. 

The city, referred to as Gold, is inhabited by residents from all across Ideation and other dimensions, including humans and non-humans. Every resident is in the pursuit of profit, though they are more cooperative than competitive. There are corporations and small businesses, artists and consultants—any occupation, any role, so long as they hold a doctrine of "profit for all, profit for Profit" in their hearts. 

Time is strange and nonlinear—those who need more time will have more time, and those who wish for time to pass faster will experience time passing faster. Those who wish to rest can rest as long as they like, and still be on time for work. In some cases, some will be able to be present in multiple places at once or step back in time to remedy a mistake, though this requires authorization from Associates that handle governance of the city. Associates can also authorize a "storefront," which involves that business merging a door, room, or other part of their venture with a physical location to interact with united society or extradimensional societies. 

Gold is considered an independent magical society by united society. 

Story Synposis

Profit began as Robert "Rob" Banks in the Calamity Continuity, where he rose from a business prodigy to become a ruthless financial mastermind who eventually gained control of the nation of Adamant. As reality began crumbling around him—partially due to his own exploitative tactics—Profit faced the meaninglessness of his accumulated wealth and power. Given a second chance by Possibility, he abandoned his Abstraction's contents and transferred to the Main Continuity in 1805, where he embraced a more sustainable approach to wealth creation. In this new timeline, Profit established himself as "the Prophet of Profit," building ventures across magical and mundane societies while creating a golden city in his Abstraction for those who shared his values of "profit for all, profit for Profit."

For more, see his profile.

[rowayneau]

Hazbin Hotel x Twisted Wonderland -Ramshackle Hotel Dorm (Part 1)

--The Ramshackle Dorm is now called the Ramshackle Hotel. Which it’s somewhat accurate for both buildings as both are in reality, really old buildings that are falling apart

--The Ramshackle Hotel is the tallest dorm in the campus now

--The Hazbin keeps the secret that they are demons from Hell. Don’t want to freak the kids out about the demon and afterlife.

--Yuu is the unofficial gofer for the hotel and is responsible for Grim so that he doesn’t burn the building down

--Yuu gets bossed around at the Hotel until Charlie puts a stop to it. They still get bossed around from time to time

--Grim usually hangs out with Keekee, Fat Nuggets, Razzle and Dazzle when Yuu is busy

--The pet gang has their own MagiCam page with tons of followers. Cater is one of them

--Charlie usually holds her redemption class and activities with the hotel staff and guests after school

--Yuu and Grim are dragged along for the classes. They aren’t happy about it, it’s just more school….with morals

--Ace and Deuce come over so often that they have their own room, should they want to spend the night there.

--They are also forced to participate Charlie’s class and activities  

--You can imagine how these classes went with the boys, especially with Ace and Grim

--Ace, Deuce, Yuu and Grim will be later become known as The Idiots

--Charlie makes sure The Idiots finish their homework and her class before letting them off to do what they want. Since she is part of the school staff, she is informed how much there is  homework for that day. 

--When Riddle finds out what is happening at the Ramshackle Hotel, he makes sure that Ace and Deuce attend all of Charlie’s classes and to bring their homework along. This is a very good chance to discipline the two troublemakers.  

--Charlie being Yuu's caretaker is usually the one being contacted when Yuu is in or causes trouble. But since The Idiots are joined to the hip, whenever something happens it’s always all of the at the same time

--Charlie is now the secondary contact for Ace and Deuce when Riddle and Trey are unavailable. 

--There was once instance where Alastor tried to weasel a deal out from The Idiots

--Luckily, he is stopped in time and Charlie actually use her authority the Princess, to order Alastor to not make a deal with anyone else in this world

--Due to his deal with that person, Alastor has to no choice but to compile to Charlie’s order

--Ace and Deuce now know the Hazbin are demons. (Thanks a lot Alastor..)

--This has Charlie teaching The Idiots about contracts, deals and loopholes. She really pound into the idea of reading the whole contract and it’s fine print and thinking thoroughly before making a deal

--She teaches them to look out for shady deals and fancy lettering that might hide a loophole. 

--Husk even chimes in and gives a run down what to look out for. He doesn’t want these kids to end up in a situation like him. Angel also add in his two cents about contracts and shady deals

--With so many people really going into the subject and adding in their opinion into this, The Idiots now actually have a solid idea on what to do with deals and contracts now. 

--And how to avoid an obvious trap when presented with one…. *cough**cough* (This action will change the course of a certain incident happening in the future)

[writer-logbook]

My story doesn't have a villain, so what ?

Does a story really need a villain ? What is a stake where there's none ? How can the protagonist evolve when they've got no one to face ?

In which I explain how the conflict can lie elsewhere - and it's a bit more challenging yet sometimes more interesting.

The world, and society in general. They are often a good starting point to create tension in your novel (because everything is most certainly wrong everywhere lol). For example : what happens if you don't share the beliefs of your city ? What choices can make you defy the current order and break the status quo ? It's a convenient way to plot distopian books, but it's not yet a cliché because of to the complexity of the trope and the different aspects you can explore as it is broad.

The complexity of your characters : the personal quest. The famous "You are your own worst ennemy" is a actually very effective in this case - but any other significant event, trauma, fear etc. can be consistent enough to be the core of a novel. I believe the journey is more important than the "plot" or the ending itself. The path of finding answers, healing and overcoming a traumatic event is easy to suggest, harder to write about, yet somehow always powerfull. I think it's hard to be cliché with 'personal quest' trope because everyone deals with their suffering in such different ways that you can't be exploring it twice. (Or it can be something lighter, like the pursuit of an artistic dream).

Various characters, same event. Multiple POVs are a great way of exploring all the aspects of the issue, based on the different beliefs and perceptions that drive your character. For this to be really effective, you need to have characters who do not share the same opinion on the subject. It doesn't have to be a difficult idea to come up with. For instance: in a futuristic world, you can choose what to do with your memories: keep them or erase them. Some people will argue in favour of the process (because you can erase a traumatic event), others will argue against it, saying that memory is what makes a person. In that kind of scenario, morality plays a huge role.

A destabilising event, much bigger than ourselves or a discovery that could shape the future. A destabilizing event, much bigger than ourselves or a discovery that can shape the futur. Think of that sci-fi novel where the end of the world is brought about by an incoming asteroid. It's the same thing. Either you try to avoid it, or you try to accept it, or you try to fight it. Each way is valuable to a story, if you create some consistent characters.

To conclude : we have to think a bit more about what is at stake when no one actually treathen the peace of the community. There's no manichaeism, we have to go beyond good and evil ; the solution isn't clear - sometimes there's none at all. And that's okay.

Thanks for all the kudos and reblogs, I feel relieved to see that my posts are of some help ! ❤

If it's a bit fuzzy for you, let me quickly explain what my story is about, because that's what motivates me to write this essay.

My MC is a priest in a religious town that is suddenly plagued by an unknown and incurable disease. She tries to get used to it, until her family contracts it. She manages to acquire the power of the goddess and, doing so, shakes the foundations of her entire city and society, believing that she is now able to act. There's no villain whatsoever, just a poor girl trying not to see her family dies and who has to face the consequences of her own actions.

[flonautilus]

For @keikakudom's reset resort au

Sorta non-canon comic, I guess?

Context is that Vox is the hotelier instead of Alastor, and he has a contract with Lucifer (through which Lucifer is getting updates on Charlie)!

Lucifer and Charlie's relationship

Notes below the cut:

This all started because of a thought I had: since Vaggie doesn't fall here, Charlie would have had to brave many of her early struggles alone, which somehow turned into 'yknow maybe charlie sees the contract with vox as her dad's way to support her, and that leads to a rare instance of her making contact'.

But anyway here their relationship is still pretty strained and despite what he says in the last panel, Lucifer prefers to remain distant from the resort and the whole redemption thing; but Charlie's life pretty much revolves around the resort now, so there isn't really a way to be part of her life and avoid it.

Also the room in the first panel is a super rough attempt at a therapist's office, LOL

[namjoonscoffeeshop]

Deep | 05

✧ Pairing:Min Yoongi x reader

✧ genre: angst,fluff,smut,fake dating au,contract

✧ warning(s): explicit language, suggestive content, mature content

✧ synopsis; you're in love with your childhood friend but he does not see you more than just a friend. One day you ask him to be more than just friends, he agrees.

✧ word count: 6.3k+

prev | index | next

He made sure not to spend too much time out, but the twisted feeling in his stomach wouldn't let him enter your apartment. You both hadn't talked since what happened. He would hear you leave in the morning to class for about three days now and you knew he was there at the door watching you leave or at least that's what you wanted to believe. He didn't know what made you change so drastically and it didn't bother him...this change you were showing. What had him throwing a fit was the fact that he couldn't control himself, scared he'll lose composure if it happened again. 

but just like him you also...No.. you didn't regret what happened and he'd be a coward if he did. At least that's what you kept telling yourself. You weren't avoiding him, well sort of. you'd leave at the time he'd usually leave, hoping to bump into him but to your luck his door never opened and you never saw him around at campus either. 

"I say you should  just talk to him" jihye speaks up, handing you a sweet bread she had gotten you since she knew you'd skip breakfast. taking the bread you thank her before glancing at the student parking lot waiting in case you could 'coincidentally' bump into him. jihye on the other hand was completely done with not just you but yoongi too, her thoughts are that he clearly likes you so whats the big deal? 

the both of you are just idiots. 

another two days passed and not even on your way home did you see him neither when you arrived in front of your door, you glance at his apartment contemplating if you should just be the bigger person and talk to him. After thinking of every scenario  that could happen the moment you walk through that door that took about ten minutes of you just staring at the door you finally made up your mind. "fuck this" you let out a puff of air as you enter the key into the keyhole and turn it, pushing the door open. "y/n" you hear someone call your name, stopping you from entering the apartment. Looking at the direction of which the voice came from, you see yoongi but he wasn't alone. 

*･ﾟ:*✧*:･ﾟ*

"Are you sure you're not hungry" jimin gives you a smile, his cheeks stuffed with food as he pushes the cup of noddles in front of you. "No, i'm alright" you reciprocate the smile, sliding back his noodles. 

of course he was gonna have someone with him, and it just had to be jimin. You couldn't look him in the eye without thinking the last time you were both in the same place yoongi was fingering you while he was in the bed too. shit, stop thinking about that . You fold your legs, leaning back into the sofa as you play with your rings. you could feel how yoongi avoided looking at you but at some instances when you would do a sudden move he would glance your way. 

jimin for once, wasn't oblivious about the whole situation. He could feel how there was tension between the both of you and unlike namjoon who knows what happened yoongi hadn't told jimin....more like hadn't had the chance to tell him. Putting down his chopsticks he wipes his mouth and sits back "what's with the two of you?" 

you both turn to look at jimin, who had a brow raised and nudged you in the elbow as he asked you again only this time to receive a cold response from yoongi "nothing" taking the cup of noodles into his hand he sits back and begins to eat, not offering to make you any or share. 

"It's nothing" you give him a smile, trying to get him off your back. fuck I should've never let him drag me over here and just left with some sort of excuse. jimin picks up the cup of noodles and continues to eat, as he starts a conversation with yoongi about something they were clearly talking about on their way here before they saw you. Looking at your watch you kept thinking of some excuse to use in order to escape without jimin bombarding you with even more questions but their conversation didn't last long before you were forced to face jimin when he let out a frustrated yell. "ok honestly, there's something going on because you always sit next to each other and you" he points at yoongi with the chopsticks "you never leave her out of a conversation. for fuck sakes you won't even look at her and that seems to be the most favorite thing you like to do" jimin ended up blurting everything out so quickly that a smile threaten to appear on your lips from how funny he looked but you bit down on your lower lip. 

"shut up" yoongi throws his used napkin at jimin who right away voiced out how gross he was "I don't stare at anyone" yoongi states. But jimin was right, if it wasn't for him you'd just be another set of old furniture in yoongi's apartment and be left unnoticed. standing up from the floor you give jimin a smile as he looks up at you confused "it was nice seeing you jimin, but I have to go. I know when i'm not wanted" you give him a big smile while dragging out the last few words to make sure yoongi heard you. But he took it as a joke like always and you knew it the moment he let out a low chuckle as he shook his head not even sparring you a glance. 

Jimin was left dumbfounded as you made your way to the door way, sitting down as you try to quickly put on your shoes. yoongi gets up from the sofa he was sitting on and walks right after you but unlike you he went at his own pace and probably looked fucking handsome doing it. "y/n" he says your name, his deep voice making the hair on your arms and neck stand as you felt your insides twist again. but you weren't going to give in, you ignore him and continue to put on your shoes. He lets you walk out the apartment  following you quietly, as you opened the door to your apartment you were pushed in before you could open the door completely, yoongi's arm around your waist as he balances you from his sudden push to stop you from stumbling over the shoes in ur entrance. attempting to pull his arm off you, you let out a grunt with the struggle "let go" 

"you sure?" he whispers next to your ear. "you weren't saying that just the other day when I had my d-" turning your hips as you lift your hands you press them against his mouth, glaring at him as you cover his mouth "stop" he raises a brow, and you can feel his lips curve into a smirk. 

"you've been ignoring me ever since that day" crossing your arms you look away, making sure to show you were angry on your facial expressions..not like he could see but it was all you could think of. "babe, i've just been..thinking"turning you around slowly to face him, you continue to look away as he tries to make you face him as he bends down to your height. "you're a coward"

his jaw clenched, he hated being called a coward and you knew just how to press his buttons to piss him off. your face was inches from his, his beautiful juicy plump shaped a disappointed frown. you can't help but want to lean in and kiss him. 

he too stared at yours and it was as if the two of you stopped breathing and time stopped. both of you wondering who'd make the first move. he cursed himself internally, repeating in his head to push you away and leave. but your eyes kept drawing him in and the urge to taste your lips took his free will. 

taking in a deep breath he lets out a chuckle before stepping back. pulling you out of the trance, you also step away from him. "your face is re-" he murmurs, his hand about to caress your cheek. But you don't let him, you don't let him touch you nor finish his sentence, opening the door you don't look his way "please leave, I have class tomorrow morning" 

you wanted to not care, not care how your cold behavior or words affected him. not care if he had more to say and how he probably wanted to fix what ever was going on between the both of you. "make sure to eat, the semester is almost over make sure to study if you really want to graduate next semester" I should've just shut the door without looking up, why did I think my words could've had any effect on him. you wished you had more discipline in yourself when you couldn't help but look up when he passed the door and saw his unemotional face not give you a single glance as he disappeared. 

*･ﾟ:*✧*:･ﾟ*

Our "Childish behavior" continued for two more weeks, maybe it's not fair to say he's being childish since he's been trying to talk to me but I gave him the cold shoulder. he'd try to make it so we both went to campus together, waiting for me in the hallway but i'd walk right passed him and then just started leaving earlier.  

but I knew that this would only last for so long before he cornered me and got his way. after getting groceries, I was in the kitchen cooking a meal when I heard the front door open and shut loudly. Before I could even think who the fuck could've entered I hear him call my name. He sounded frustrated and angry, pursing my lips to keep myself from answering him as I continue to do what I was doing. 

"are you deaf? I'm talking to you" he enters the kitchen. I don't answer him, opening my fridge to take out another item I needed. 

"stop being childish, why do you want to ruin our friendship over some stupid experience you want to have" he raised his voice, I could tell he was done. 

turning off the stove, and moving the pan off the to the side, I turn to look at him. his brows furrowed and glare were very strong. I let out a scoff "why are you here yoongi" 

"i'm here because I want us to go back to how we were, before you fucked it all up" fine, he's right this did all start because of me. and it is my fault but why the fuck is he so stubborn. 

"what ever"

"that's all you're going to say?" his voice never lowers, his hands were thrashing around as he was trying to understand me. how do I tell him that I want him to only look at me, to fall in love with me and just be mine. I can't, because he doesn't do relationships. 

"You're just mad, that you want to fuck just like I do. but you keep using the excuse" pushing off the counter you walk towards him, leaving a arm length of space between the two of you. "you keep using the pathetic excuse of seeing me as your sister" and you chuckle, "if that was true you wouldn't of done what you did" he looked at your smug face. nodding his head in disbelief before staring into your eyes, towering over you. "I regret what happened that day with every ounce of my being" 

your jaw clenches, but you stand your ground. Looking up to him, as he scans your face to see your reaction but you don't give him the satisfaction even when your heart was squeezing and your breath fastens. "since the regret is already there, why does it matter to add more" your hands on his chest as they snake their way to his neck. He doesn't flinch nor pull away, his eyes just staring at yours as you pull him closer. 

"what about all those other girls, do you regret fucking them after you're done" your fingers play with his hair, his hands stay on his sides but they were itching to hold you. 

his heart was pounding against his chest, and even though his face did not show it he was devastated. he searched your eyes, but the mischievous smile and doe eyes that stared back at him squeezed his heart. he hated the way you were acting, and hated himself even more as he realized it was his fault and part of him just wanted to fall for your tricks and let you have your way. 

"cause I didn't care about them" he murmurs 

closing his eyes, he takes in a deep breath. his head was a mess, he wanted you both to go back to how you were, he hated himself for having no self control last time. if that hadn't had happened then you both wouldn't had been fighting right now. So he came up with the safest option, but he was going to make sure he would be the one in control.  "fine" his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest. "if this is what it takes for us to be able to go back to how we were. then you'll get your way" 

what

"wait, yoongi. we don-"

he scoffs loudly "what? now you're backing out?" gripping your waist he lifts you, making you sit on your marble counter. "if we're doing this it's under my conditions" gripping your chin, his face inches from yours. 

He's only doing this for us to go back to how we were? when is he going to understand that we aren't ever gonna be the same. it stopped being the same when I started having feelings for him. 

"I don't want to be accused of forcing you" you speak up quickly, his lips so close to yours 

"oh please, why would I reject some good pussy, this is your last chance to back out. once we start this relationship, only i'm allowed to stop it. that's the first condition" his nose brushes against yours, his hands making their way under your shirt slowly as his fingertips brush against your skin giving you goosebumps. 

"we aren't allowed to see anyone else" you speak up "that's my condition"

he scoffs, shaking his head slightly as he takes your lips. you were about to sink into his arms when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. causing you to flinch, "and who told you, that you could set any conditions" 

"I don't like sharing"

"spoiled brat" 

"only when it comes to you" pulling him into another kiss before he could answer, just that this time its rougher and deeper. you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, yoongi's knees felt weak as he held you in his hands, something he's always wanted but limited himself to having. now he'll make sure to take full advantage. 

"we will always use condoms, third condition"

"but I want to try it raw, people say its euphoric" you pout, fingers tangled in his hair. he rests his forehead on your should as he lets out a flustered grunt "y/n, you're seriously testing my patience" 

"come on yoongi, please?" cupping his face as you show him your displeased face and pouty lips. if someone were to walk in right now and see us they'd think we're in love with each other, the way he stares into my eyes and the small grin thats creeping onto the corners of his lips. shit only if the two of you could get your shit together and realize that you are in love, but that isn't possible. 

"not right away" 

"scared?"

"oh baby, the day I fuck you raw. you're going to need to take the whole day off and you'll be lucky if it's only a day. these pretty legs of yours won't be able to walk, and you will feel as if i'm still inside you. i suggest you to not press on this anymore" taking your hands off his cheeks he leaves kisses on your palms before intertwining your fingers  and he takes the chance to start leaving traces of kisses on your neck. sucking on your skin, leaving marks in every visible spot making you mentally curse him for being the reason you'd have to cover up the next few days.

"we are dating now, fourth condition" you let out between hitched breaths

"no can do" he laughs "good try tho"

"why not"

"fine, let me do it easier for myself" pulling your shirt off, he leaves a few kissing on your collar bone. "pick between, me fucking you raw or us dating"

"that's not fair, I rather take away the second condition" you tease. but he didn't find it funny, pulling you down from the counter he turns you around, bending you over the counter. "I also don't like sharing"

"ddi you have this possessiveness with your other girls" you can feel the hardened dick pressed up on your butt.  

"only the pretty ones" he whispers next to your ear as he undoes your bra, letting the straps fall of your shoulders "fuck you" you elbowed him, not liking his response but you only received a snicker from him "you haven't made your choice" his lips curved into a playful smile, as he felt your body tense under him after his response. but there was no way he'll tell you that he you were the only one he ever cared for and will ever be possessive over. 

"boyfr-"

"do you really wanna miss the chance to have me balls deep into you without a condom babe, we already set the condition of not meeting anyone else." he knew how to distract you, as he waited for your answer his hands were already working on taking your shorts off along with your underwear. "fuck...fine"

"still your turn" 

"since we are already fucking raw, I want to feel what it's like to feel you to finish inside me" you let out a small moan as he sticks his finger into your tight pussy, not giving you any time to adjust as he thrusts his finger into you. 

"i don't know about that one" he thrusts another finger in, your head leaned back onto his shoulder, giving him access to your neck as he leaves sloppy kisses. 

"you oppose too much"

"fuck" he groans as you palm him through his joggers "fine, just once"

you let out a chuckle, "you'll be the one begging for another chance" curling his fingers, he hits your g-spot as he thrusts his fingers knuckle deep into you. "you think it''s funny" he nibbles your ear lobe. 

"once a month only" 

"fuck no" you said a little to loudly, cheeks blushing as you curse yourself. "twice a week"

"more" you didn't care if he saw you as some needy brat but you wanted him, and you were going to take advantage of it. 

"you're just getting started and wanna fuck more than twice a week?" he lets out a amused chuckle. "if it's you i'd go seven days a week" 

he couldn't help but laugh. "fine, twice a week and then if you're up for it then the weekend"

you give him a slight nod, focusing more in sneaking your hand into his boxers and taking his hard cock into your hand. his breath hitched as your thumb brushed over his swollen red tip "you have to kiss me, whenever I want. and when we have sex no one leaves. we sleep together"

"spoiled bra-" you give his dick a squeeze causing him to groan "what was that" you smirk. 

you focus on giving him pleasure as he thrusts his fingers into you, your hand gently stroking him, he felt as if he could promise you anything at that moment if you'd just ask. 

"the last condition" he says after letting out a low groan. 

 "the moment I call this all off, you and me never talk again" your heart fell to the pit of your stomach. your head automatically snaps up to look at him. his face was serious, "so let me ask you once more, do you want this"

"you're a fucking asshole, get off me" and he did, he pulled his fingers out and left you feeling empty. pushing him away you picked up your shirt. covering your breasts "what the fuck yoongi"

his brow raised "I don't understand why you are so surprised" his smug face made you want to slap him but you couldn't 

"wasn't it your words" he acts as if he's trying to remember "right, you said we could just be fuck buddies? what were you're words...if it's just me killing time to just do it with you?" 

"then why even..."

"you're someone I care about, that's the only reason I won't ever treat you how I treated the others. if you want me to whisper love words to you, then I will. if you want me to become yours, I will but just like this"

"so i'm just your fuck buddy"

"no, you're my lover but with no promises of a forever" 

"now i'll seal this little contract we just made with a kiss" he gently holds your chin, your eyes filled with tears. but he couldn't fold, he needed to try and make you back out. 

but it was you who pulled him in and pecked his lips. 

"it's too early to have angry sex, so let's continue this another time" he brushes your hair back to stop it from covering your eyes and gives you a small peck. 

and he left. left you naked in your kitchen. 

*･ﾟ:*✧*:･ﾟ*

Even after this whole "contract" was made he still teased you. the occasional touch or kiss on the cheek when you'd both meet in the morning to head to class, and when you arrived he'd give you a small kiss before you both parted ways. 

Others would think you'd be dating, this pattern kept going for a whole week. He was having fun, how? He decided to make you break the ice and ask him to have sex first but you didn't wanna fall for his stupid game and wanted him to be the one to initiate it first. 

today was different, jihye was waiting for you by the campus parking lot. So the kiss was a no go, but he didn't seem to give a fuck. in fact you know he saw her and it's your assumption he did it on purpose. 

"wait, jihye doesn't know...so don't"

"what do you mean? don't you remember one of the conditions was to kiss whenever either one of us wanted to"

"yoongi" you say his name in a stern voice but he doesn't budge "I wouldn't know how to explain it to her"

"what's there to explain, we're lovers" he shrugs, a mischievous  smile on his face when you give him a dumbfounded look. "we aren't dating"

"it's as if we were" he raises a brow "if thats what you want to tell everyone else that's fine with me. but keep it in your pretty little head, that we aren't dating" 

"why are you making it so complicated" you puff

"i'm not, I just don't want you getting unnecessary feelings. plus when this is all ov-"

"i'm not telling anyone anything" grabbing your bag, pushing the car door open and you shut it loudly. you walk to jihye who looked satisfied "I'm just glad you both made up" 

"yeah, I'm not that enthusiastic, he's more annoying than before" you roll your eyes, when you see him approaching the two of you. and as if he couldn't annoy you even more, he pulls you into a side hug, his hand firmly gripping your waist. "I said kiss me, didn't I" and he fucking did it, he kissed me in front of jihye. in front of everyone passing by. I froze in place, and that amused him, him and his sadistic behavior. jihye's jaw almost touched the floor as her eyes jumped from him to me trying to figure out what was going on. 

"Jin and namjoon want to watch the new aquaman movie today so make sure to come over once you're done with classes and get home, babe~" he gives your forehead a kiss ignoring you're glares, shooting a wink towards jihye who with her eyes was begging for someone to explain to her what she just witnessed. 

"bitch what the fuck" jihye screams 

my face began to feel hot and I knew it was red. grabbing my arm she pulls me to a secluded area "you better start talking what the fuck is going on?"

"we're dating" fuck you yoongi

"dating?! Oh shit you bagged him"

"shut up, and i'm leaving or i'll be late" theres no way i'll be going to his apartment at all. at least that's what I told myself until jihye sent me a text saying that she met with namjoon and he had no idea about yoongi and me "dating" and I felt like just telling her that its all fake and we aren't. but my ego was hurt thinking he was just trying to put me in a difficult situation with my friend and was just not planning to tell the guys at all. 

which resulted in me standing outside his door.I like to believe it's cause aquaman is my favorite superhero and well why the fuck would I miss his movie. I'm not stupid. another part just wants to be with him. it's not that i'm not excited have sex with him, but it's the little things like these that mean the most to me. These thoughts make my insides twist and I suddenly feel nauseous, the idea that he could call this off in a month, or even less and we just don't talk anymore makes me wish I never did what I did. 

"y/n?" namjoon calls your name, standing behind you with bags of take out. you hadn't noticed that your eyes were teary and that he just saw you cried. "are you alright?" putting the bags down by the door he gives you his full attention. "i'm fine, ah it's nothing" you give him a reassuring smile but he didn't take it "do you want me to get yoong-"

"No!" you. come off a bit strong "no, i mean it's nothing. he'll just worry for nothing and pester me until I give him some reason as to why I was. crying" wiping your tears you laugh "and that's just going to annoy me more" picking up two bags you give him a quick smile "let me help you out instead" 

he didn't question you anymore but gave you a small nod as he opened the door to yoongi's apartment. once the door opened you can hear jin's very loud voice arguing with yoongi. making your way to the kitchen you avoid looking at yoongi, and he wasn't oblivious to the fact that you didn't look his way as you always do. namjoon helps leave the food on the counter after you insisted of getting everything ready on your own. 

namjoon joins the others, sitting next to yoongi. "what's she doing?"  yoongi speaks over Jin. who was talking so fast it was as if he was rapping "uh, getting....honestly I saw her crying outside" he purses his lips, not knowing if he should've said anything. 

"crying? why" jin sits up 

"shhh" namjoon glares at jin "she told me not to say anything.."

"it's nothing, she's just stressing cause of school..don't worry" getting up he walks to the kitchen "y/n, I got disposable plates on the top shelf" he enters the kitchen to see you opening the cabinets and looking for what he suspected. "let me get them" 

"i'll go to the bathroom then" your eyes must be red. you didn't want to give him a reason to just call it off before anything even started. you hated yourself even more for not wanting to just stop everything and avoid losing him. he doesn't want you to have unnecessary feelings? it's already too late. maybe stopping all of this while only jihye knows. it'll be easier than having everyone else fooled.

"y/n hurry up! Jin put the first movie because he keeps fighting with yoongi about shit he doesn't remember" namjoon yells

everyone was on the floor, except yoongi who was sitting on the sofa with blankets "y/n, what was used to track mera" Jin asks the moment he sees you 

"the bracelet?" you answer but doubt yourself

"told you" yoongi laughs 

"what did you think" you ask jin but he only waves his hand and unpauses the movie. namjoon continues to eat, trying to hold his laugh. yoongi lifts the blanket spreading his arms, wanting you to sit next to him.  I flip the switch, shutting off all the lights letting only the t.v dim the room with light.  sitting next to yoongi as he covers the both of us with the same blanket. automatically cuddling with me. you lay your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you. 

A few minutes passed and he finally whispered into your ear what had been distracting him from the movie "why were you crying" his question made you glance at namjoon, snitch is all you could think of.

"it's nothing" you whisper back

"was it cause of me"

yes

"was it because I kissed you in front of jihye" 

It's cause of your last condition 

"I just thought it could be troublesome having to hide around our friends. if they know, then we're free to do what ever we want. whenever we want"

"do they know" you lift your head, you both stare at each other. "hey pretty lady, finally you look at me" he smiles 

"do they know" you ask again 

"not yet" for someone who was so quick to expose our what ever relationship we have to my friend he's a little slow when it comes to his. you didn't have his full attention, his eyes would occasionally shift to the screen. his hand caressing your exposed thigh due to your shorts. you try to also pin your focus on the screen but can't when he gives your thigh a tight squeeze. 

"you really wanna do this here" you whisper, gripping his hand. you can't tell what his reaction was, the dim light not hitting his face. the first movie had just ended and namjoon made sure to turn on the second movie right away before any argument could begin. it was already getting late and a lot of time was wasted on Jin and Yoongi. 

It was as if he was growing impatient, as if the little alcohol he just had made him want you. his hand made it's way into your inner thigh, rubbing two fingers against your clothed clit. your grip on his arm tightens as you hid your face in the crook of his neck "yoongi" you plead but the hot puff of air you let out didn't help him find any self control. 

you were getting flashbacks, to the time were jimin was in the bed with both of you. now he wants to do this in the living room with namjoon and jin present? maybe it was the alcohol in your body as well that wanted to play this little game he had started. as quietly as you could, you lift the blanket and straddle him. "don't you think this is a little too much" he whispers, holding onto your waist stopping you from completely sitting. 

"then why don't you come over?"

"what.." bitting down on his bottom lip, once he feels you grind against his hardened dick "you clearly want to continue what we stopped last time" it was getting warm underneath the blanket. too warm, both your bodies pressed up against each other. his lips part but you don't let him respond taking him by surprise as your lips smash up against his. 

the tv was loud but the smacking of your lips with yoongi's, you feared was louder. and as much as you'd love for his friends to know that he only needs you and that they shouldn't invite them to anymore of those little parties. you felt shy.

choosing not to make a scene you get off his laps, returning to where you were sitting. he was dumbfounded and it irritated him that you weren't giving him the attention he clearly needed. pulling the blanket more off of you he makes sure to cover his very visible boner. "you think it's funny huh" he pinches your stomach, after noticing the smile on your face. 

"good night guys, I have to do some shopping tomorrow so" you stand up, giving namjoon and jin a small hug. ignoring yoongi's glares as he watches you exchange some words. "also if you guys decide to stay late, why not stay over?" the movie had just started and it was late, yoongi over there needed your special attention. 

"thank god, I did not want to have to drive namjoon home" jin lets out a exaggerated  sigh of relief which namjoon responded offended. "and why are you lending my place to others?" 

"oh" you shrug "they can stay at my place if you want, I don't mind" "I call the sofa" jin speaks up 

"no ones sleeping in her apartment" yoongi states through clenched teeth. "hey, no one was asking, she offered" jin comes to their defense

"well you guys get this all situated" 

*･ﾟ:*✧*:･ﾟ*

You stayed up almost all night, till your eyes gave up, waiting for yoongi but he was a no show. to your defense you didn't last long awake, so when you opened your eyes and found a sleeping yoongi on your side with his arm rest over your waist you tried to stop yourself from kissing him.  

there was something about him that made you mesmerized. maybe his long eyelashes or rosy lips. or how you had to gently move his hair strands from his face with your pinky because of how long he's let his hair grow.  "are you done staring" he mutters, letting out a annoyed groan as the light from the open shades blinds him. 

"girl why are the shades opened this early" he complains, pulling the covers over his head "you're such a baby, you know i leave my shades open cause if not i just won't wanna wake up in the morning" getting off the bed to close the shades so he could shut up. "well whenever we fuck, make sure you close them" you could hear in his voice that he was still tired and could probably sleep for another hour or two. but his words were having an affect on you and the sight of his shirtless body didn't help you keep cool either. 

"what are you waiting for" 

"what?" he groans, sitting up. clearly having a hangover. "my head is fucking killing me" he curses. 

"to have sex"

"babe we have all the time in the world to have sex, but right now I just wanna die cause of this hangover. so sorry if I can't satisfy your needs right now" yoongi snaps at you, throwing the blanket aside as he moves to the edge. 

"and another condition, we will never have drunk sex if I can help it" holding onto his head he stands up "last night you we-"

"stop, cause of last night i'm putting this condition. Now if I'm drunk and hit on you and you let it happen.."

"just don't"

you give him a small nod, he looked serious and pissed off so it really wasn't the moment to pester him. "i'm gonna go shower, some of my clothes is in your closet right" 

"yeah, its hanged on the end to the left. anything else you need should be in the last bottom drawer" 

"thanks" gathering his clothes, you just stood by the door. watching him, "i'll be quick"

"can i join you" you smirk, making him stop in front of you "hahaha no" leaning in to give your forehead a kiss he lets out a light chuckle at your boldness before walking out.

you decided to make him some sort of hangover soup to help him with his headache and grumpiness. 

Conditions: 

1. Once we start this relationship, only i'm (yoongi) allowed to stop it. 

2. We aren't allowed to see anyone else

3. we will always use condoms, we will only have raw sex once 

4. finish inside, only once

5. we will have sex twice a week, and if both parties are up for it then the weekend as well

6. the moment I (yoongi) call this off, we will never talk again 

7. We will never have drunk sex, if yoongi can help it

index | next

[nonagesimus]

OC Kiss Week Day 4 - Reunion

a world where @hightowerqueen's Bea de Riva is Rook and Ayden is a younger sibling left behind

-

Ayden was pretty sure both Viago and Teia had conspired to keep them out of the Diamond during the client meeting.

Which was a surprising misplay from the pair of them. All either of them had to say was that both Caterina and Illario Dellamorte were going to be present and they would’ve stayed far out of the way. But as well as the pair of them visiting, there was also Noa asking Ayden to spar even though she usually preferred training with the remainders of her own fledgling group and Fletcher asking if they’d run to the market for him. Maybe only one of those would have come across fine. Both was suspicious. Which was why Ayden had given their excuses and crammed themselves into the shadows above one of the crow statues instead.

The thing about nearly everyone in the building being an assassin was that it was only a matter of time until someone noticed they were there, but they didn’t need to hide the whole time. They just needed to hide long enough.

Forty minutes of cramping muscles and breathing in dust, Viago had just turned around and visibly spotted them, but right at that moment Teia walked in with two people trailing behind her. Ayden wasn’t close enough to overhear more than the occasional echoey word but that didn’t matter. The reason for them being kept out of the loop was pretty damn clear. One of the women talking to the three Talons, Ayden didn’t recognise.

The other was Beata.

Caterina Dellamorte’s presence was the only thing that kept them from dropping down from the statue and running over at a full sprint. As it was, their knuckles went white on the carved feathers they were holding onto.

It’d been a year.

Ayden had been out of Salle on contract when everything with the Antaam had gone wrong. Had been back for a week assuming Bea was on a job before they’d asked Viago when she was due home and found out she wasn’t. There had been multiple arguments about Ayden wanting to go after her, and one memorable instance where Ayden had gone to Treviso to complain to Teia and found that Viago had left Salle to do the same only slightly before them.

From everyone’s faces whatever they were talking about was dramatic and important and Ayden couldn’t give one single shit.

At least the meeting wasn’t a long one. But after it broke up, Bea and the stranger were moving with Illario down the stairs towards the zipline and Viago was moving directly for the statue Ayden was hiding on top of, a look on his face that was too tightly restrained to mean anything good. Cursing the weird position that had their limbs tingly and clumsy, they scrambled out of their hiding spot and to the ground. Fade-stepped just in time to avoid Viago grabbing their arm and started high-tailing it towards the door.

“Ayden,” Viago growled. No yelling, though. Not while Caterina was there, not in front of so many people in House Cantori.

“I’ll be right back,” they lied, using the edge of the archway to swing themselves halfway down the stairway in one go.

The group was already on the other side of the zipline.

Ayden gave up on any kind of stealth and ran.

Half-fell down the trellis steps on the other side, had all three of them turning to look as they skidded to a stop by the docks.

“Ah,” Illario said, lip curling, “The magelet.”

Normally Ayden would try and have a better insult prepared but they only had eyes for Bea so all they said was, “Go fuck yourself, Dellamorte.”

“Ayden,” Bea said, and there was something chiding there, sure, but there was something that sounded like relief as well.

The slightest twitch of her arms opening and Ayden was rocketing forward to pull her into a hug.

All the way back when they’d first met, things had been different. Viago, still fairly new to the position of Talon, had brought another mage home. A year older than Ayden, but clearly talented enough to be recruited late, with half-a-foot of height on them as well. It’d been hard not to feel like they were about to be replaced. And after the mess of basic training, the years of Viago being their only real ally, trying to prove themself to the rest of the house—Ayden had their hackles up by default. All of that pushed up against the fact that for all her height and skill, she’d also been half-starved and bruised. Ayden had been at war with themselves until the bruises had faded, concern versus a sharp jealousy they hadn’t known they had in them.

And on top of all that Bea had been kind.

Whether it the height or the years spent outside the Crows, it always felt like there was more of an age gap then there actually was, and Ayden wasn’t sure exactly when she’d slipped into big sister in their head, but it’d felt set in stone for years.

In the present, Bea wrapped her arms firmly around them and hugged back, and Ayden felt pressure on the top of their head that had to be a kiss to their hair.

“You’re not actually back, are you?” they mumbled into her shoulder.

“No,” Bea said, “I’m still on contract, it just got complicated. You know how it is.”

“So, you need back up?” Ayden pulled away so they could look her in the eye.

“I have back up,” she said, a fond look on her face. “You need to stay here and make sure Viago doesn’t go out of his mind.”

Ayden felt their expression sour and Bea laughed. The she looked over Ayden’s shoulder to where Illario was still standing and the smile faded a little.

“I need to get going,” she said, “I’ll try and stop by for a little longer on my way back through Treviso, ok?” She pulled Ayden with a palm on the back of their head, pressed another kiss into their forehead, before stepping back. “I missed you.”

“You too,” Ayden said, watching her climb into the boat waiting for her. “Don’t die.”

Then the boat was pushing off and heading down the canal. Ayden waited until it was completely out of sight before turning to see Illario still watching where it had disappeared.

“You’re an idiot,” he said, gaze sliding over to them. “It’ll take twice as long to lose any tails with you drawing all that attention.”

“You wear your perfume so thick you couldn’t lose a tail if they were blind,” Ayden shot back.

Illario sneered. “I’ll go east. You head to the market.”

“I don’t work for you,” Ayden said, sharply, but they were already turning to head north. Might as well get those things Fletcher had asked for.

Maybe by the time they got back to the Diamond they’d be able to talk to Viago without wanting to scream.

[stereax]

Waivers: The Basics

Having noticed that many of my mutuals, as well as hockeyblr at large, are unsure of what exactly the NHL's waiver system means and how it works, I've endeavored to write up a little bit of a primer on waivers to make it easier to understand. Meet me under the cut to learn more!

What are waivers?

Put most simply, waivers are a process that occurs when a team says to a player, "We don't want you in the NHL anymore, we're sending you to the AHL". Because of the CBA's (Collective Bargaining Agreement) Article 13, before they can do this, they have to put the player on the waiver wire, which is essentially a 24-hour-long period where any other team that wants that player to play for them in the NHL can claim them. The purpose of the waiver wire is to ensure that teams don't unfairly stash NHL-caliber players in the AHL, thereby paying them lesser salaries (this is the most important part - AHL salaries are generally about a tenth of NHL salaries) and not allowing them to play NHL games. Players that may not be getting a fair shot on one team can move to another, where they can be used more effectively - for instance, Eeli Tolvanen was waived by Nashville, picked up by Seattle, and now plays a key role on Seattle's third line. In fact, he scored Seattle's first-ever goal in the playoffs!

What happens once a player is put on the waiver wire?

If another team claims the player, they are claimed on waivers and are transferred to the other team. Notably, the other team must have the appropriate cap and roster space necessary to claim the player. An example here is Kasperi Kapanen, who was placed on waivers by Pittsburgh and was claimed by St Louis. His cap hit of $3.2m may have been prohibitive for other teams who could have wanted to claim him.

If multiple teams try to claim the player, the player goes to the team that submitted a claim which is the worst in the standings - if it's before November 1st of a new season year, it goes to the team that finished worst in the standings the year before, but if it's after November 1st, it goes to the team that is currently worst in the standings. Take Lassi Thomson, who was placed on waivers by Ottawa and claimed by Anaheim. If, for example, Toronto also submitted a claim, they would not have been awarded Thomson, as Anaheim has the worse standing.

If no other team claims the player, they clear waivers. When they do so, they can be reassigned to the NHL team's affiliate AHL team. Notably, not everyone who clears waivers is immediately reassigned - a player who clears waivers can stay with the NHL team instead (for example, if another player just got injured). They can be sent down to the AHL at a later time - they do not have to go through the waivers process again if they have played less than 10 NHL games (cumulative) or been on the roster for less than 30 days (cumulative) from the last time they cleared waivers. This can be used to a savvy GM's advantage to avoid putting players on the waiver wire.

Why is everyone getting waived right now?

At the beginning of the preseason, every player with an NHL contract, whether it be one-way (NHL only) or two-way (NHL and AHL), is invited to that team's training camp. This places them on the NHL preseason roster for that team. As training camp goes on and players get cut, they then must pass through waivers to go to the AHL. Unless, of course, they're waiver exempt.

What is waiver exemption and why is it important?

So you might already have noticed an issue with the waiver system - it's terrible for younger players. If solely the waiver rules we've discussed above existed, every player being sent to the AHL would have to go through waivers. This would include prospects who are signed to an NHL ELC (entry-level contract) but didn't make the cut for the season. Obviously, this is bad for teams - imagine drafting players who you know will be good for you in 2 or 3 years and then losing them all to the waiver wire. This is why waiver exemption exists.

Waiver exemption, to keep it simple, is a protection that certain players have that means they do not have to go through the waivers process to be reassigned to the AHL. The specific details of waiver exemption are a little complicated - let's take a look at the table to make it make more sense.

This table is either/or and is defined by the age when their NHL ELC was signed. A skater who signed their ELC as an 18-year-old is waiver exempt for either 5 years or 160 games played (including playoff games) at the NHL level. A skater who signed at 21 is exempt for either 3 years or 80 NHL games. Goalies have different requirements than skaters because they generally take longer to develop and don't play as many games.

There is a fairly common misconception that all players on their ELCs are automatically waiver exempt. This is false. The second a player hits the amount of games played for their age, they are immediately no longer waiver exempt. Usually, this doesn't occur until after the ELC is over, as most ELC players deal with injuries and healthy scratches, as well as not generally being given the reins to play on the NHL roster for the entire season. One notable example that disproves the "ELC means waiver exempt" conception is Dawson Mercer from New Jersey. Mercer signed his ELC as a 19-year-old in December of 2020. He has played all 82 games in the past 2 seasons (2021-22 & 2022-23) plus 12 playoff games for a total of 176 NHL games played. Under the games requirements, he is now no longer exempt from waivers, despite having one whole year left on his ELC.

For the 25+ category, upon playing a single NHL game, the player is waiver exempt for that entire season and that entire season only. Andrei Kuzmenko from Vancouver is a good example of that - last season, he signed his one-year ELC with Vancouver as a 27-year-old and could have been sent to the AHL at any time without going through waivers. (He was not, needless to say.)

There is one very important exception to the table: if an 18- or 19-year-old player plays 11 or more games with an NHL team in a single season, their waiver exemption is automatically cropped. For that season, and the next two, the player is waiver exempt, but after that, they are no longer exempt. This extends to the next three if the player in question is a goalie and not a skater. (To make it easier to understand, it's as if they jumped into the 20-year-old category.) However, 18- and 19-year-old prospects generally only play 9 games maximum at the NHL level in order to allow for the entry-level slide, allowing the contract to "slide" forward a year, letting teams keep the player on the ELC for an extra year and thus save money.

Are there any other ways a player can play in the AHL without going through waivers or being waiver exempt?

Yes, actually! There are two main exceptions - they're for conditioning loans.

First, what is a conditioning loan? A conditioning loan is a short-term reassignment to the AHL. There are two types of conditioning loans: the standard conditioning loan and the LTIR conditioning loan.

A standard conditioning loan, specified under the CBA 13.8, occurs when a player agrees to head down to the AHL for a few games to "wipe off the dust" on their game, so to speak. They're often used by players who have ended up as perennial healthy scratches on their NHL teams, so that they're able to jump in if there's an injury or other issue. Standard conditioning loans can last up to 14 days. One example of a standard conditioning loan is Shane Wright, who was sent to the AHL by Seattle very early in the season for conditioning, partially to bypass the requirement that the NHL has with the major junior CHL that would have required him to go back to the CHL were he officially reassigned from Seattle. Another is Nathan Beaulieu, who was sent to the AHL by Anaheim in January for a four-game stint.

An LTIR conditioning loan, specified under the CBA 13.9, occurs when a player coming off of LTIR agrees to head down to the AHL for a few games to "wipe off the dust" on their game, so to speak. These loans can only last 6 days or 3 games, whichever comes later, and the idea is to be able to figure out whether a player is able to return to form or requires more time to heal properly. For example, Travis Dermott was sent to the AHL by Vancouver in December to evaluate whether he was back to form after a concussion sustained in the preseason. He played one game in the AHL, then drew back into Vancouver's lineup for eleven games before going back on IR for the rest of the season due to the concussion repercussions. Notably, a team can only use one LTIR conditioning loan for each time a player is on LTIR.

What is emergency recall and why does it make a player waiver exempt?

Emergency recall occurs when a player on a team's NHL lineup is injured and the team can no longer ice a full squad because of it. (As a reminder, each team must carry 12 forwards, 6 defensemen, and 2 goalies. Usually, teams keep an extra forward and defenseman around as a healthy scratch in case of injuries, but some teams are pressed against the cap and cannot carry extra players.) In this case, they can call an AHL player (or multiple, at times) up on an "emergency" basis to fill in during the time that the NHL player is out. Once the NHL player is healthy again, the AHL player can either be transferred to a regular recall or gets sent down to their AHL team again. One example here is Akira Schmid, who was bouncing back and forth between Utica and New Jersey on emergency recalls every few weeks because Mackenzie Blackwood, one of New Jersey's two goaltenders, was constantly getting hurt.

It makes sense, then, why emergency recall would grant a player temporary waiver exemption status - it would be awful to have to recall a player from the AHL, have them in the NHL for a little bit, and then have to send them through waivers and get claimed when your roster player is healthy. However, if an emergency recall player plays in at least 10 NHL games, he loses his waiver exempt status under emergency recall (other forms of waiver exemption still apply).

What are unconditional waivers?

Unconditional waivers are different from regular waivers in what they do. Passing through unconditional waivers does not send you to the AHL. Instead, they are used by teams that want to buy out or terminate players' contracts, completely giving up their rights to the players. Players placed on unconditional waivers are almost never claimed because of this - only two players have ever been claimed off unconditional waivers.

Okay, hold on - what's the difference between a buyout and a termination?

A termination occurs when a player's contract is terminated. The player severs all ties to a team and does not continue to be paid by the team. The team does not incur any cap penalties from termination. There are two main types of termination.

The first type of termination is mutually-agreed-upon termination. In the case of Filip Zadina, who was recently terminated by Detroit, he made it clear that he would refuse to report to the AHL after being sent down on regular waivers. The team and Zadina then proceeded to terminate the contract so that Zadina would be free to negotiate a contract with another NHL team instead of playing for Detroit's AHL team, and so that Detroit would not incur any cap penalties from buying out Zadina. Another example is Lukas Sedlak, whose contract was terminated by Philadelphia when he made it clear to the team that he wanted to return to Europe to play. Philadelphia put Sedlak on unconditional waivers, terminated the contract, and Sedlak soon returned to his native Czechia to play for Pardubice.

The other, rarer type of termination is for material breach. Material breach termination is exemplified by Alex Galchenyuk, whose contract was terminated by Arizona after they became aware of the intoxicated driving incident involving Galchenyuk. Essentially, material breach is used when players are acting illegally, either against the law of the United States/Canada, or against the terms of their contract. The reason these terminations are so rare is twofold: Not only are hockey players generally going to try to avoid breaking the law, when they do, the player's association is usually going to investigate and file appeals and the like to try to secure their players the highest possible settlement despite the termination (and set a precedent so other teams are not encouraged to terminate contracts for material breach).

On the other hand, a buyout occurs when a player is released by a team, but the player continues to be paid by the team as per their contract. The team incurs cap penalties from buyouts - 1/3 of the contract value if the player is younger than 26 at the time of the buy-out, 2/3 of the value if the player is 26 or order. This penalty is spread across double the years left on the contract.

An aside - this is also where the idea of a "buyout-proof" contract comes in. A buyout-proof contract contains most of the salary being paid in the form of signing bonuses, which are paid in full even if the contract is bought out. (These contracts are also considered "lockout-proof", as, again, the signing bonus must be paid even if there is a lockout and no hockey is being played.) As an example of this, take a look at Auston Matthews's extension:

If the Leafs try to buy this contract out, they'd have to pay Matthews the entirety of the signing bonuses as well as 2/3 of the base salary, making the cap savings incredibly marginal and just not worth it to buy out. Thus, it's buyout-proof.

Is that everything I need to know about waivers?

I think so! If you have any other questions, please drop me a line in my inbox or via DMs - I'll be happy to explain more to you! :D

[sapphicscholar]

Hey! I loved your thoughts on the finale, i honestly hope we get a full circle thing from their 3x09 where Ava was like "you are selfish, you are never going to put me first", so i think imo the most logical thing would be to have D prove her wrong. But we'll see. I was wondering what are your thoughts on their dynamic so far this season?

Thanks! And we very much did lol!

But re their dynamic this season...I think I said a lot of this in my little rambling post about this most recent episode, so I'll try to avoid rehashing it, but I do feel like we saw growth especially as it came to its fruition this week’s ep--and specifically, a kind of imperfect, not always linear form of growth. What I didn't talk about there is that I think the combination of big gestures from Deborah (eps 6 and 9 specifically), coupled with the steadfastness of Ava's devotion, in ways that take her into a much more mature space than we've seen her in past seasons (I'm thinking about her coming back day in and day out even as Deborah made her life hell, her choosing to call Deborah and try to talk to Deborah when she thought she was being iced out the night of the Oscars, etc.), allow the two of them to heal some of these wounds that have been quietly festering between them for years.

I ship them and love them and like to imagine they've spent many very happy days and weeks and even months together over the stretch of the past few seasons, but we've also seen them hurt each other deeply in the way you really only can once you've let someone in deep. And while we've gotten a few big gestures, like Deborah showing up at the funeral and climbing into a dumpster or Ava leaving her fiancée and turning down head writer of On the Contrary to be there for Deborah, I don't know that we've ever had such obvious forms of redress as we have this season. We see Ava forcibly challenging everything Deborah expects of those around her (that they'll leave the second things get difficult, much like we saw Kathy do at the end of s3 when she couldn't even handle the idea of what Deborah with Late Night would be like). And we see Ava really broken up about how many times she's let herself believe that this time, things will be different; this time, she won't get hurt. But here we see Deborah not just having to sit with that and respond to it verbally, but also putting her money where her mouth is in a major way and choosing Ava over everything. For me, it positions them as a much stronger united front than we've ever seen from them (which is how we get Bob and the contract and the company coming in to fill the void of end-of-season crisis, moving us from the interpersonal to the external as JPL set up the foundations for next season).

I also talk a bit about this in my 4.09 review (and plenty of the others), but I'll acknowledge that, beautiful as I find the moments between Ava and Deborah this season, it often felt jerky. The growth was there, but it was often implicit, the moments elided into guesswork for the viewer. Even at the most basic layer of time passing, it's really, REALLY hard to glean exactly how long this season lasted, and that shouldn't be the case! I don't need exact days, but it would be really helpful to get a sense (for instance, if Deb has 18 months left on her contract, I'm assuming it was about a 6 month season, but it's not at all clear when and where these pivotal moments happen within that durational span. Instead, we jump around, finding the characters at a particular moment in time with no real sense of how they're feeling about the arc they followed to get there. So kudos to Jean and Hannah for bringing a level of embodied intensity to all these scenes that at least lets us get deep, if not comprehensive haha! And my kingdom for a better script continuity editor next season, shewww

[heqvenlymoons]

I Gave You Immortality, I Can Take It Back Anytime

Daminette One Shot | Soulmate AU | AO3

Marinette Dupain-Cheng has always known she was immortal. Maybe not always. 

But there had been multiple instances in her life that proved she was. 

Like when she was four, she and Nino had been playing catch when the ball he threw at her bounced and rolled onto the road. Seeing no cars in sight, Marinette had rushed onto the street to grab the ball when a car seemed to have spawned out of nowhere and sped towards her. 

She had frozen in fear, not able to move when the car miraculously broke down just as it was about to hit her. Her parents hadn’t let her out of their sight for a while after that incident. 

That night, she remembered seeing a boy about the same age as her with green eyes, tanned skin and a permanent scowl on his face as he crossed his arms and looked at her with an air full of superiority as he snapped, “Be more careful.” 

She had thought the dream was weird and never saw the boy again until when she was six. She somehow contracted pneumonia and was sent to the ER for a life-threatening emergency. 

She slept at the hospital that night, afraid and alone, her parents weren’t allowed in the room as the sickness was contagious. 

She saw the green-eyed boy again, this time looking older than he was when she last saw him. His scowl was the same, looking down at her with disapproval as if she had sought out the sickness on her own and gotten sick on purpose. 

“Don’t look at me like it’s my fault,” She snapped, unhappy with his disapproving expression. 

He looked surprised but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared, the scowling expression slipping back like it never left in the first place as he spat, “It is your fault! If you never went near that sick person in the first place, you would not have contracted the disease.” 

Marinette stomped her foot, unwilling to let the boy talk to him like that. “It’s not my fault I’m sick! Everything hurts! I’m scared and alone, I don’t need to add you yelling at me to the mix.”

By the end of her rant, she was struggling to contain her tears, the frustration of everything she had been holding back while she had been awake came tumbling out.

The boy’s face softened slightly and he shifted, looking uncomfortable at the girl looking so close to tears. He gave a hesitant gentle pat to her head as he said, “Get better soon.” 

The following morning when she woke up, her pneumonia had been cured. 

Since that night, the mysterious boy appeared more often on days when she got hurt or injured, and with her clumsy nature, she saw the boy every few days.  

“I just realized I don’t know your name,” Marinette asked one day as they hung out in the dreamscape. 

They were both doing their own thing, with the boy focused on his sketchbook and Marinette working on some colouring book. 

He grunted, not happy with the interruption. “That is not important.” 

She closed her colouring book and got up to snatch the sketchbook from his hands. 

“Hey!” he glared at her, hoping to intimidate her but she was stubborn, not giving in. 

“It’s important to me. I want to know who my friend is,” she said, referring to his earlier statement. 

“We are not friends,” he grumbled, looking away. 

She stuck out her tongue. “Too bad. You’re stuck with me, you always appear when I sleep.” 

The boy stubbornly avoided her gaze, focusing on some shelves behind her instead. 

“Just tell me your name. Please?” She whined, putting on her best puppy doll eyes, his scowling expression faltering as he all but melted at the adorable expression she was making. 

He huffed, trying to act like he was unaffected by the look but Marinette knew better. She had come to figure out his weakness as her puppy doll eyes and she used it to her full advantage. 

“Damian. Damian Al Ghul,” he said, glaring at her. 

Her smile was bright, his glaring eyes softening immediately and she was happy she had finally got him to tell her his name! He was going to be her best friend, it would be the last thing she did even if he continued to be stubborn. 

At 13 years old, she was given the ladybug earrings and became Ladybug, the heroine of Paris. 

That came with a price. She was injured more often, her meetings with Damian in the dreamscape every few days turned to every day. 

He had somehow known her identity as Ladybug as soon as she saw her the night after the first Akuma and he had thrown a fit about it. 

At 16, the akumas had escalated. Before, when the Akumas avoided killing and only stuck to injuries now weren’t afraid of taking more ruthless measures.

Multiple times when Marinette thought she was about to die, something miraculous happens to change it like the universe was being warped to make sure she doesn’t die and in a way, avenges her while it was at it. 

About to get lava sprayed and incinerated from an Akuma? The lava gun runs out of lava fuel, allowing her and Chat Noir to catch him off guard to break the akumatized object.

A car getting thrown at her by an Akuma and about to crush her? It missed, somehow ricocheting off a building and hitting the Akuma square in the face. 

That one battle where Hawkmoth himself shows up and has her cornered, about to grab her earrings? He gets attacked by his own Akuma. 

An Akuma that absorbs the powers of miraculous holders and cataclysms her? Oh would you look at that, the Akuma gets sidetracked at the last second— courtesy of Chat Noir— and the wall behind her disintegrates to dust instead of her. 

She could go on. It was absurd and a bit (utterly) ridiculous if she was being honest but at least her life never really seems to be in any real danger. 

She had thought maybe it had something to do with her donning the ladybug miraculous and it was giving her insane luck, she even consulted her kwami about it. 

Tikki had debunked that theory, looking confused as she did. “I’m not sure what’s happening to you, Marinette, but the ladybug miraculous isn’t the reason. The ladybug miraculous can give you a little luck at times but there must be balance, which means you would also have bad luck days. All those circumstances weren’t the outcome of lady luck and not to mention, you never seem to have any bad luck days. Even when you do, the event always somehow gets altered at the last second.”

Marinette had brought up her theories to Damian but he always looked uninterested and avoided the subject so she stopped bringing them up in the dreamscape. 

She had a hunch on why this was happening but she denied it and pushed the possibility out of her mind. Damian never said anything about it, so she wouldn’t either. She was good at denying things, it was how she never figured out Chat Noir’s identity. 

Now at the age of 17, Marinette was still contemplating if she was somehow immortal when Scarecrow broke in while her class was given a tour of Wayne Enterprises.

“So this is the famed Akuma Class, you people are the perfect test subjects for my new and evolved fear toxin! I wonder what fears you all have… Oh well, I’m about to find out.” Scarecrow announced, looking around in excitement like a kid in a toyshop for the first time. He pointed to Lila. “You! You look the most scared… Wonder what you’re afraid of, hmm?”

He looked to his henchmen. “Bring her here!” 

Marinette rubbed her temples. She might not be Lila’s biggest fan— an understatement— but her hero complex won’t let her stand by and do nothing. 

Even when it was completely Lila’s fault that Scarecrow had taken an interest in them— you can’t go around saying how you knew the Waynes and not expect any kidnapping attempts for ransom. 

No matter, Marinette can take Scarecrow’s attention off Lila and make him focus on her instead. Marinette knew death avoided her like the plague at this point and if she wasn’t immortal, then maybe she was just insanely lucky. 

“Let her go,” She said in a tired voice, not putting much energy into shouting but her voice rang clear in the quiet room as everyone looked fearful. 

Scarecrow looked delighted by the prospect of someone volunteering. “Oh, a volunteer I see?”

He waved his henchmen off and they dropped Lila, causing her to tumble to the ground with a gasp, the henchmen moving to grab Marinette instead. 

Marinette let herself get manhandled towards Scarecrow as he grabbed his syringe, the pointy tip of the needle gleaming in the light. 

The fashionista in her wanted to protest at the sack-like mask he was wearing and she bit her lip to keep from saying anything to anger him. It’s not like she’s seen worse, Hawkmoth has a worse fashion sense if she was being honest. 

Of course, her mouth didn’t stay shut for long and spat the words out without her permission, the need to critique his fashion overpowering her self-preservation. 

“Nice mask,” She quipped, she couldn’t keep the sarcasm off her tone even when her very life was on the line. “Are you participating in the next potato sack race or are you trying to start a new fashion trend with that?”

Scarecrow’s eyes flashed with anger at her remark and he moved forward, pushing his henchmen out of the way, about to stab the syringe into her bloodstream when she acted on her instincts as Ladybug and sent a roundhouse kick to his face, catching the mad scientist off-guard as he lost his grip on the syringe and fell backwards. 

The syringe seemed to have flown in the air in slow motion, the tip of the needle stabbing into the arm of the fallen villain and injecting the fear toxin into his bloodstream, making him get a taste of his own medicine. 

Marinette allowed her lips to twitch upwards at the sight, her guardian angel had struck once again. Her slight smile faded away at the thought, not wanting to come to terms with the facts. 

She turned to see that Batman, Red Robin, Red Hood and Nightwing had arrived, looking dumbfounded at the scene. 

Red Robin stepped forward, looking cautiously at the screaming Scarecrow before addressing her. “Miss? How did this happen?”

Marinette hummed, looking nonchalant. “You can say he got a taste of his own medicine… literally.” 

The Batboys burst out laughing at her pun while Batman looked unimpressed. 

“What you’re saying is, Scarecrow was hit by his own syringe?” Batman asked, looking suspicious. 

She shrugged, looking towards her class to see they were being ushered out by Ms. Bustier. 

“I did a roundhouse kick to his face,” She admitted, making eye contact with Ms. Bustier who waited for her at the exit. “It caught him off guard and the syringe was knocked out of his hand before the pointy tip landed on his arm.” 

The suspicion in his eyes didn’t clear as he responded, “You must have been extremely lucky. This happened too conveniently, don’t you think?”

Batman was prodding for something but she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the interrogation or to quell his suspicions. “Mr. Batman, I was just in a traumatic situation and now have PTSD. If you don’t mind, I would like to join my class and spend the rest of the day at the hotel to get my mind off of the traumatic experience,” 

She could see Red Hood trying not to laugh at her reply as his shoulders shook and she turned away without waiting for how the Dark Knight would respond. 

She walked away to join the rest of her class as she heard Batman tell Red Robin to get the cure for Scarecrow.

──────────

As she went to sleep that night, she pushed the day’s events from her mind, and the fading laugh of Scarecrow dissolved into the quiet stillness of the dreamscape. 

Damian was already in the dreamscape like usual and was glaring at her with his arms crossed and looking annoyed. 

Marinette sent him her brightest smile, hoping to soften his annoyed look at her recklessness. 

It worked, his eyes softening, although he didn’t uncross his arms as he pinned her with the look he had on every time she did something that injured or almost killed her.

“I know you did that on purpose. What theory did you think you were trying to prove?” Damian asked, unhappy with her lack of self-preservation. 

Her eyes were wide, looking the epitome of innocence. “Did what?” 

He scowled, the soft look in his green eyes gone as it glittered with annoyance. “Tt. Don’t you take that tone with me. You know exactly what you did, don’t make me say it. It is getting increasingly harder for me to save you every time.”

To his horror, tears were glistening in her eyes and he tried to backtrack but the damage was done. 

“You died, didn’t you? Before we met? You were so young,” Marinette whispered, the tears falling as he didn’t respond. His silence was enough to confirm she had been right all this time. 

She looked away, unable to look at him as she came to terms with the facts she had been deadset on denying since young. 

Damian reached out a hand and looking hesitant, he moved forward to hug her from behind, his arms going around her waist and causing her to freeze at how he was initiating physical contact.

“Angel, I was never sure how to break the news to you… but it seems like you’ve always accepted the fact, albeit subconsciously. I did not mean to keep that fact away from you.” he said quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes and savouring the moment.��

He was right, even if she was actively denying the fact that he was dead, her subconscious had long already accepted. 

Since Damian had died before they met, their soul bond activated upon his death, the universe gifting them with the dreamscape and making it so that they would never be apart, even in death.   

There was a catch— she could only meet Damian in the dreamscape if she was injured or came close to death and he warped the universe to ensure she would avoid death. 

It was why she had always been clumsy, her heart knew he would be waiting for her in the dreamscape and wouldn’t be able to see her unless she was hurt in some way even if her mind hadn’t accepted it. 

Marinette voiced her thoughts out loud and he tugged her to face him, his green eyes meeting her blue ones with an intensity that made her breath hitch. 

“I don’t wish to see you hurt, Angel. I do everything I can to make sure you don’t die by saving your life at every turn. You need to stop with your recklessness,” he said, trying to look stern, although he didn’t look very convinced he was going to get through to her. 

She was stubborn and he knew it. 

He reached out to wipe her tears away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Thank you, Damian, for everything,” she whispered, the weight of her unspoken emotions palpable in the air between them.

With a trembling smile, she tried to lighten up the mood even as her heart felt heavy. “You know I won’t. How else will I see you every night to make sure you aren’t feeling lonely without my company? Besides, I know you will always watch over me.” 

Marinette knew her response held some truth to it, she didn’t like the thought of Damian feeling lonely in the dreamscape. She wouldn’t stop being clumsy, if only so she could see him every night in the dreamscape. 

He softened at her words, though he still didn’t look happy. “I gave you immortality, I can take it back anytime.”

She went quiet at that, looking thoughtful. “Why don’t you?”

His brows furrowed, a rare show of his confusion. “What?”

She elaborated. “Why don’t you? Take away my immortality that is.” 

His brows deepened, not understanding why she was asking him such a thing. “You deserve to be happy.” 

Marinette shook her head, stepping closer to him. “What if my happiness is with you? Why do you save me every time when you could’ve let me die to be with you?”

Damian’s eyes held sadness but no signs of regret at his repeated decision to save her. “You deserve to live the life I could not. You have dreams to fulfill and many things to discover in life. It is not your time yet.”

At her shocked silence, he continued. “You don’t know how hard it is to let you go every time. I am afraid that one of these days I will no longer be able to find it in me to let you go and bind your life to mine in the afterlife forever.” 

The tears she had managed to keep away started to come back at his heartfelt confession. 

“Please, I beg of you, don’t try to die anymore. Live your life, the life that I did not have the chance to live. If not for yourself, then do it for me,” he looked desperate, his stoic mask cracking, allowing her to see every emotion he was feeling. 

Her lips quivered, the tears flowing from her eyes and dropping to the white smokey ground, the droplets absorbing into the void like it was never there. “Will I ever see you again?”

Damian allowed himself to smile if only for her sake, the muscles feeling strange at the unfamiliar expression. He could see her eyes dropping to his soft smile and how her eyes were tracing his features, committing it to memory. 

“When the time is right. I will always be here when you need me, mon ange. This is not goodbye,” he said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. 

Marinette closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in his presence before it was time for her to wake up. 

She would live her life and fulfill her dreams. 

For him.