#I do wonder how many of you recognized these

[dragoneyelashart]

just friends 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

authors note: sorry to twist the knife twice, i looove angst

warnings: angst, love for someone in a relationship

you think about her more than you'd ever admit.

not in the obvious ways, not in the blushing, giggly, teenage-daydream kind of way. no—your love for billie sits deeper. it’s tucked into the corners of your bones, resting beneath your ribs, pressed tight and hidden like something shameful. like something sacred.

every time you text her “i love you,” you mean it like a scream underwater. muffled. desperate. never loud enough to breach the surface. never meant to be heard in the way your heart intends it. she always texts it back—"love you more 💕"—like it’s easy. like it doesn’t tear anything open.

you wonder what she’d do if she knew. if she saw the way your hands shake when her name lights up your phone. if she knew how many nights you’ve fallen asleep picturing what her mouth might taste like between i love you and goodnight.

today is one of those days where you’re trying to forget. you’re doing errands. folding laundry. pretending you’re fine. and then her text comes through:

billie 💕: come over?

your heart drops.

you don’t even hesitate. everything else evaporates.

you: "rn? ok give me 5"

you throw on the first hoodie you find, barely register the color. it's hers—she lent it to you months ago and never asked for it back. it still smells like her. you don’t let yourself think about that too long. you just grab your keys, tell someone in your house you’ll be back soon, and leave. you don’t know what you’re going over for, but it doesn’t matter. it never matters. when it’s billie, it’s always yes. always.

the drive feels like nothing and forever all at once. your fingers tremble on the wheel. you’re trying to calm your breathing, trying not to imagine her answering the door in a tank top and sleepy eyes, the way she always does. you try not to imagine what it would be like if she pulled you in by the collar, whispered something soft and wrecking against your cheek.

you hate yourself a little for it. for wanting more. for being so goddamn pathetic about her.

you pull into her driveway, and your stomach sinks.

her girlfriend’s car is already there.

you swallow it down. no. you don’t get to be upset. she’s allowed to be happy. she’s allowed to love someone. it’s not your place. it’s never been your place.

you put your best smile on—it feels like pressing broken glass into your cheeks.

billie opens the door with that same grin, the one that used to make you feel like the world was okay. like maybe she was your safe place. she’s barefoot, hair in a messy bun, skin glowing. “hey!” she beams. “you got here so fast.”

“you said come over.” you shrug, try to laugh it off. “you know i’d drop anything.”

her girlfriend’s on the couch. you recognize her—pretty, sharp-jawed, the kind of girl who always knows what to say in a group. she waves politely and offers a tight smile.

you smile back, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

they're watching some show, talking about nothing, laughing in the way couples do. you sit off to the side, legs tucked under you, trying not to shrink into yourself.

billie tosses a blanket at you like she always does, like she knows you're cold even when you don't say it out loud. it should feel like home. instead, it burns.

at some point, her girlfriend gets up to use the bathroom. billie turns to you immediately, eyes narrowing.

“okay,” she says quietly. “spill.”

your heart jumps. “what?”

“don’t play dumb. i’ve known you my whole life, y/n. something’s up. you’re breathing weird. are you okay?”

you almost say it.

you almost say, i can’t stand watching you love someone else.

you almost say, i’m in love with you and it’s killing me.

instead, you shake your head. “nothing’s wrong.”

“bullshit.” she leans in closer. you can feel the heat of her next to you, the way your body reacts on instinct, like you’re drawn to her by gravity alone. “you always get this look when you’re upset. like your heart's too heavy for your chest.”

you want to cry.

you want to grab her by the shoulders and scream. tell her that she’s everything. that she’s the reason you get out of bed some mornings. that no one’s ever made you feel more like yourself and less like enough all at once.

but instead, you say, “i’m just tired.”

she stares at you for a second too long. like she’s trying to read between the cracks. like she’s waiting for something.

“you sure?” she whispers.

you nod.

you think your lungs might collapse.

she reaches out and squeezes your hand. just a second. just a flicker of touch. but it wrecks you.

you look down at your knees, suddenly too aware of how your hoodie smells like her. how it still feels like something sacred and stolen.

her girlfriend comes back and billie pulls her hand away, just like that. like it never meant anything.

because to her, it didn’t.

the three of you sit there for another twenty minutes. laughing. making dumb jokes. pretending this isn’t hell. and when you finally stand up to leave, your legs barely hold you.

“text me when you get home,” billie says. “you know i worry.”

you nod again. you can’t speak. if you open your mouth, something might come out that you’ll never be able to take back.

you get to the door. her girlfriend’s in the kitchen. billie follows you, just for a second, hand brushing your wrist.

“hey,” she says softly. “you know i love you, right?”

it hits you like a truck. she doesn’t mean it the way you do. she never has.

you force a smile. it feels like something’s breaking.

“yeah,” you whisper. “i know.”

you turn to go, and she says it behind you—

"thank you, y/n. you're such a good friend to me."

you don’t remember walking to your car.

your feet move but you’re not in them. your body goes through the motions—unlock, slide in, start the engine—but your head is somewhere else. still on the doorstep. still in her eyes. still in the echo of that fucking sentence.

“thank you, y/n. you’re such a good friend to me.”

you’ve heard her say i love you a hundred times. sometimes in texts. sometimes whispered during late-night phone calls. sometimes at sleepovers when you were half-asleep and warm under the same blanket. it always meant something.

but tonight—it meant nothing.

or maybe it meant everything.

just not the kind of everything you wanted it to.

you pull out of her driveway too fast. you’re shaking. the streetlights blur. your vision goes glassy. you blink hard, but it’s no use.

you’re crying before you’ve even turned the first corner.

not the loud kind. not the sobs that shake your whole body. this is different. it’s quiet. it’s shameful. it’s all your ribs caving in at once. it’s your throat closing up like it’s trying to save you from speaking the truth out loud.

you drive in silence.

no music.

no noise.

just the sound of your own breath stuttering in the dark.

you don’t go home. not yet. you can’t. you wouldn’t know how to walk into your house and pretend you’re okay. not like this. not when everything inside you feels like it’s splintered.

you pull into the parking lot of some random grocery store. leave your engine running. sit there in the dim orange glow of a flickering streetlight, clutching the sleeves of the hoodie like it’s a lifeline.

her hoodie.

her scent.

her warmth.

her name pounding in your chest.

you press your forehead to the steering wheel and finally let it all go.

the tears come harder now. like your body’s been waiting. like your heart’s had enough of holding everything in. you sob into the silence, mouth open, breath hitching, hands trembling.

why did you have to love her like this?

why couldn’t it just be enough to be her friend?

you would’ve done anything for her.

anything.

but you never stood a chance. not against someone like her girlfriend. someone beautiful. someone bold. someone who could touch her in all the ways you weren’t allowed to. someone who didn’t flinch when billie leaned in close. someone who didn’t fall apart every time she said i love you like a knife disguised as kindness.

you squeeze your eyes shut and try to rewind it all. try to pretend you never came over. that you stayed home. that you never saw the way billie’s hand fit into her girlfriend’s so easily. that you didn’t hear the words that finally killed the last stupid hope you were clinging to.

“you’re such a good friend to me.”

you’ve been her friend your whole life.

and now, it feels like a prison you built yourself.

you want to hate her. god, it would be so much easier if you could. if she were cruel. if she strung you along on purpose. but she didn’t. she just… loved you the only way she knew how.

and it wasn’t the way you needed.

your phone buzzes beside you. you already know who it is.

billie 💕: did you make it home safe?

you stare at the message for a long time. thumbs hovering over the screen. there’s a pressure building in your chest like a scream you’re not allowed to let out.

you type.

you: yeah. thanks.

you don’t say i love you. not this time.

you just toss your phone onto the passenger seat and let your head fall back against the headrest. your eyes are still wet. your heart’s still breaking. your hands are clenched into fists around the fabric of her hoodie like maybe, if you hold on tight enough, you won’t completely come undone.

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @ifnot-foryou @giannaeilish @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns | send me an ask or comment if you want to be added or removed from my taglist!

[yuurei20]

Hi! Sorry if this has been answered before, but i was wondering if there’s any info on how the students are chosen to enroll on NRC. Like, how does the carriage know they’re good enough for the school? Is it magic tracking or something like that? Thanks in advance!

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🏫

There was a similar topic mentioned a little before (re: Do students have to apply to NRC? (my apologies for the disorganization 💦))

And I think that we maybe still do not have any canonical information! :>

With students like Deuce and Epel it is clear that NRC admittance is not exclusive to financially stable families, but it is also not based on past academic achievement, with Silver, Ruggie and Lilia never attending any school at all before they received their acceptance letters.

This seems to narrow down the pool of potential students to "must have magic," and Lilia says, "A person has to have some magical ability to enroll at Night Raven College," while Crowley explains that students must have "a talent for magic" and "a rare aptitude for magic."

"Rare aptitude for magic" is a little vague, with objectively weaker students like Kalim and Ruggie studying the same curriculum alongside talented mages like Azul and Riddle.

According to the novel magic is special even in the Twst universe, with a ghost explaining to Yuuya that only one in ten humans can can use any magic at all, and that is usually "real small stakes" magic like the ability to move a cup onto a table or light a fire without a match.

The ghost says, "It's a rare one who's got enough magic to get into Night Raven College."

(Disclaimer: the novel and game have so many differences between them that something being canon in one does not mean it is also canon in the other, but there has also been nothing in the game to disprove the ghost's claim, so it is not impossible that this world-building is canon to both.)

But Malleus and Idia have commented on how everyone's potential for magic is unlimited (more here) regardless of someone's inherent talent for it (and Riddle is living proof), so shouldn't even a "move a cup" mage be a candidate for enrollment?

What is the differentiating factor between who is good enough for NRC and who is not, if all mages share the same potential for greatness? 📝

And there is also Deuce's comment in Book 5!

When Kalim reveals that he received his letter of acceptance a year after school had already began, he asks, "They belatedly recognized the nature of your soul?" while Ace similarly says, "I thought Night Raven College only admitted folks whose souls were chosen by the Dark Mirror."

And "the nature of one's soul" is a conveniently vague condition for admittance 👀

The current student selection process was introduced 100 years ago 📝 Did the school always rely on the vague requirement of "the nature of one's soul," or did there used to be additional/different conditions that needed to be met?

Are rules for admittance being kept intentionally unclear so that someone might be able to create certain circumstances, such as having the school attended by certain overblot-susceptible-students at the same time, in order to accomplish something yet unknown? 👀👀👀

Maybe not :> But also, maybe? 🐦‍⬛

[inkedinshadows]

The Morning After

Pairing: Tamlin x f!reader

Summary: After a wild night at Summer Solstice and one too many drinks, you wake up in the bed of the High Lord of the Spring Court with no memories of how you got there.

Warnings: hangover, allusions to sex

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: I normally write in past tense, but I realized after a few paragraphs that I was writing this one in the present tense. Since it came so natural, I decided to leave it that way bc I was too lazy to change it all lol

Main Masterlist | Week Masterlist | Tamlin Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

You wake up to a constant, throbbing pain in the back of your head.

The first thing you notice when you open your eyes with a groan is the blinding sunlight streaming in through the open curtains.

Who leaves their curtains open before going to bed? Especially in the Spring Court, where the sun shines brightly most days. How can anyone sleep like this?

Once you adjust to it, blinking several times, you finally take in your surroundings.

The room is decorated in shades of verdant green and golden yellow, with high-end furniture far more expensive than you could ever dream of. There’s even a fireplace on the opposite wall.

Whoever you went home with last night must be really rich to afford a place like this.

Your head throbs, as if reminding you exactly why you can't remember who you went home with.

Maybe you shouldn't have drunk all that wine. You knew you couldn't hold your liquor.

You can hear someone breathe softly on the other side of the bed and, hoping you have at least made a good choice and picked a good-looking guy, you turn around.

Unbound blonde hair, slightly tousled from sleep, frames a handsome, tanned face you recognize instantly.

You went home with the High Lord himself.

And the worst part? You can’t remember a thing.

You remember the celebration in the vast rose garden facing his manor and how you stopped to admire its roses and their beauty when you first arrived. You remember drinking the first glass of wine to relax and enjoy the Solstice, even among all the faeries gathered there. You never liked big crowds.

After the second glass, you were dancing freely. Tamlin played the fiddle alongside the other musicians, and your eyes had been drawn to him from the start. He just looked so good in his elegant, bright green tunic, long hair tied in a braid that fell over his shoulder. You couldn’t stop glancing at him every so often.

The third glass came after you imagined—for the tenth time—that his gaze had lingered on you while you danced.

Thinking back on it now, maybe it wasn’t just your imagination after all.

But as much as you try to recollect, you can’t remember why you drank a fourth glass or what happened after that. The pounding headache doesn’t help, and you’re left wondering how much more you drank for your memory to be gone.

Tamlin sighs softly in his sleep, and you freeze.

If he wakes up, what are you supposed to do? You can’t tell him you have no idea what happened. You don’t even know if you slept with him.

You’re wearing the thin camisole you had on under your dress, and you catch a glimpse of his shirt as he shifts under the cream-colored sheets. So neither of you is naked. And you’re on opposite sides of the bed, which is large enough for at least four people. You wouldn't be able to touch him even if you fully extended your arm toward him.

So maybe nothing happened.

But then why are you in his bed?

You can’t face him like this. A pounding headache, no memories… not exactly the proper way to meet your High Lord. What if he considers it rude? You wouldn’t be able to live with the shame.

Slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible, you rise from the bed. Maybe leaving before he wakes up is also rude—especially if you did sleep with him—but it’s something you can live with. You can slip out of his room, find your way out of the massive mansion, and never have to face him again.

As soon as you stand up, you have to brace yourself against the wall. The room spins around you, and it takes blinking a few times for it to finally stop. Once you’re sure you won’t stumble and fall, you pick up your pale yellow dress from the chair next to the bed.

Someone—probably not you, if you had to guess—took the time to neatly fold it before draping it over the back of the chair. The fabric barely has a crease when you put it on.

Fortunately, the rustle of clothes doesn’t seem to bother Tamlin. His eyes remain close, his breathing steady.

To avoid making unnecessary noise, you pick up your shoes and tiptoe toward the door, praying it won’t creak when you open it.

“You're not staying for breakfast?”

For a moment, you don’t move. You just stand there—back rigid, one hand on the door handle, shoes held in the other.

Maybe if you don’t move, if you don’t speak or even breathe, he’ll forget about you and go back to sleep.

But you can feel his eyes on you, piercing and curious, and eventually, you turn around.

He is breathtaking.

His hair is molten gold in the morning sunlight, falling over his shoulders in soft waves. A hint of amusement dances in his green eyes as he studies you.

Forcing the words out, you stutter, “I’m… I’m sorry, my Lord. I was—”

“My Lord?” Tamlin repeats. “You sleep in my bed, and now you go back to calling me by my title?”

His voice is still laced with drowsiness, yet it carries a note of playful teasing.

A deadly mix.

At least he’s not annoyed.

“I don’t…” you begin, but you don’t really know what to say. Should you apologize? Tell him the truth about just how drunk you were last night? Or should you start by asking him for explanations?

Before you can make up your mind, he speaks again.

“How’s your head?”

At your confused frown, he adds, “You drank a lot last night. I’m assuming you have a hangover?”

Your hand finally falls away from the handle, but you don’t step away from the door. Keeping your distance seems like the safest, least embarrassing option right now.

“A little,” you admit reluctantly. “I was just about to…”

Your voice fades. Slipping out while he was sleeping is one thing, but now that he’s awake, maybe you should ask him about last night. You can’t just leave without knowing what happened. He’s the High Lord, after all. If something happened between you two, you need—and want—to know.

“About to leave without saying ‘good morning’?” he teases, brows raised.

Taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself for the dreaded question, hoping you won’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have. You already wish you could simply disappear.

“Yes,” you answer, then immediately add, “No! I mean, yes, but it’s just because I… I don’t really remember what happened…”

The beat of silence that follows is deafening, and you brace yourself for his judgment.

But Tamlin only chuckles.

“It’s that kind of hangover, then,” he comments, shaking his head as if disappointed. But rather than at you, he seems disappointed in himself. After a moment, he mumbles under his breath, “I should have seen it coming.”

At last, you take a step forward, your shoes still clutched in your hand.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He runs a hand through his hair, the golden strands tangling between his fingers. Your eyes follow the movement before settling back on his face again.

“When you approached me last night,” he explains, meeting your gaze, “you seemed only slightly tipsy. I didn’t think too much of it. You just looked a little… overexcited.”

You hold back your groan. Of course you looked overexcited. That’s what alcohol does to you, and you can’t blame him for not realizing you were far beyond ‘slightly tipsy’. Your problem with drinking isn’t your behavior while drunk—it’s the morning after. Though it has never been so bad that you couldn’t remember things before.

“We talked for a while,” Tamlin continues. “And when the celebration was over, we came back here. But as soon as you saw the bed, you jumped on it and collapsed.” He flashes you an amused smile. “You fell asleep in seconds.”

You look down at your bare feet, fingers tightening around your shoes. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be,” he reassures you. “You looked quite adorable, to be honest.”

His tone is gentle enough that you dare to glance at him again.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, that smirk still playing on his lips.

Adorable.

Drunk and passed out on his bed, and he still thought you were adorable. You refuse to think about how your face must look right now—or your hair.

Not knowing how to respond to his compliment, you change the topic instead.

“You took off my dress.”

You don’t know why you said that. It’s obvious it was him. And as you watch Tamlin’s smile fade, you worry that your words came out more like an accusation than a simple statement.

“I did,” he replies quietly. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. It didn’t look comfortable to sleep in.”

Something flutters in your chest at his thoughtfulness. He has a point—it probably wouldn’t have been comfortable. Not that you would have noticed with all that alcohol in your veins.

“No, it’s alright,” you assure him with a small smile. “Thank you.”

Tamlin relaxes again, then he finally stands and pads closer, barefoot like you.

Has he always been this tall? You have never been so close to him before. Well, not that you remember, at least. His earthy scent floods your senses, reminding you of cut grass and fresh mint, soothing the dull pain lingering in the back of your head.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him as he stares down at you, and even though a racing heart doesn’t exactly get along with a headache, you feel too drawn to him to care.

Needing a distraction from his intense gaze, you decide to speak again.

“So we didn’t…?”

You leave the question hanging, unsure how to properly ask him. A part of you hopes the floor will open up and swallow you whole rather than face this topic.

Tamlin raises an eyebrow, and you can’t tell whether he’s waiting for you to finish the sentence or if he’s genuinely surprised by the question.

“No, we didn’t,” he answers eventually. His lips curl up at the corners. “I’d be very offended if we did and you didn’t remember it.”

Now you really wish the floor would swallow you.

You already assumed the answer was going to be no, so why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut? Why did you have to make it even more awkward for yourself?

“I slept on the bed just because there’s enough space.” Tamlin shrugs, glancing back at the oversized bed before turning back to you. “I figured it wouldn’t be a problem.”

You shake your head and regret it a moment later. Stupid hangover.

Tamlin’s gaze softens as he notices your slight wince, speaking before you can tell him you didn’t mind sharing the bed.

“Will you stay for breakfast?” he asks gently. Seeing your hesitation, he adds, “We can get you an infusion to help with your headache.”

You’re not sure it’s a smart idea. What if you say something else that makes things weird and awkward? Yet Tamlin doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all. Quite the opposite, actually. And maybe if you stay, if you get the chance to talk with him a little longer, you might find out what else you did last night. If he was so struck by you that he took care of you—and your dress—then your drunk self must have done something right. Hopefully, he won’t be disappointed by your sober self.

“Alright,” you agree with a shy smile. “I can stay for breakfast.”

Tamlin’s smile widens. He takes the shoes from your hand and sets them back on the floor, then offers you his hand.

“Shall we go, then?”

When you accept, his fingers are warm as they envelop yours. He gives them a gentle squeeze before leading you toward the door.

The long hallway outside is less colorful than his bedroom, but just as elegant. Pale green carpets—soft and plush under your bare feet—cover the white marble floor. A few paintings hang on the walls, and pots of small plants and pink flowers line the path to the staircase.

As you walk, Tamlin glances at you. “You know,” he begins with a smirk, “we might not have slept together last night, but we did kiss, though.”

You gasp, almost stopping in your tracks to gape at him. “We did?”

He nods. “Oh, yeah,” he replies, sounding way too pleased with himself. “Too bad you don’t remember that either.”

You are at a loss for words.

You kissed him. Tamlin.

You kissed the High Lord.

It makes sense, you suppose. If you went back to his room together, the intention was obvious. You would have slept together if you hadn’t fallen asleep immediately. Of course you had kissed before that.

You only wish you could remember. It would be nice to know how it feels, to know what his lips taste like.

But maybe… maybe you will.

After all, he invited you to stay for breakfast. Your shoes are still in his room, so you’ll have to go get them before leaving. He is leading you downstairs, his hand warm and steady in yours, his eyes still on you as he smiles softly.

Hopefully, you’ll find out.

“Yeah,” you echo in a murmur. “Too bad indeed.”

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd @lreadsstuff @littlest-w01f

[brain4stew]

I was wondering if u could do something with this post https://www.tumblr.com/brain4stew/776674413350404096/forsaken-killers-with-a-deceased-so-perchance

But make it like a part where boom their body's are suddenly gone and now there suddenly alive but the killers don't believe it at first!! if possible then just a lil fluff.

I really wonder where you people get ideas from… 🧍‍♀️ DID YOU STEAL MY BRAIN JUICE?! 😦😦 /J

But yes, I shall make this for you, anon. 🙂‍↕️

Those that do not know what post the anon is referring to, it is,

This one.

(Note: Characters may be ooc, since I do not know how the characters actually will work/be like!)

That being said, here is your request under the cut! ;

1x1x1x1 (1x4).

We all know that this creature is the embodiment of hatred, right? And he had you as their lovely s/o.

However, you were dead. You were a minion for a while, a special minion.

But after a round where 1x4 was the killer, and she killed every survivor, and won. Imagine her shock, when you’re gone.

Now just imagine, his hatred but now tenfold.

Way more relentless in rounds, bringing actual hell on their victims. (Survivors.)

But one specific round, she sees you alive.

He doesn’t believe it of course, and kills you for a few rounds. Before he notices that very same look you always have, when you were alive, and didn’t die.

Another round, and they immediately starts rushing to find you. Ignoring every and all survivor now, surprisingly.

When she finds you, oh, when she finds you again… She won’t leave you be alone ever again.

He’s practically growling at any and all survivor and killer within your vicinity. He just doesn’t want you to die again…

In private, they’ll be scared to touch you, let alone hold you. But as you reassure them that you will be alright, they can’t help but hug you, hold you close, and pepper your face with kisses.

You both fell asleep with each other again, cuddled up with each other. 1x4 obviously is the big spoon, scared that you’ll be gone the moment she wakes up again.

John Doe.

This poor, confused and corrupted guy…

His corruption was far too bad when you were dead. That his corruption ended up corrupting the killers and survivors a bit.

He doesn’t notice that you’re alive, as he kills you for many rounds, until a survivor yells out your name, to warn you of him.

He pauses his hand, mid-strike, stiffening up.

Did he hear that correctly? His s/o? Alive again? Couldn’t be…

When he glances down at you, he is arguably… Shocked and confused.

He lowers his hand, hesitating for a while-

You ended up tackling him down into a tight hug. He’s shocked by your sudden strength, how did you manage to tackle him down?!

He’s glad you’re alive however. So each round where you’re in it, he searches for you, and stays by you everytime. His corruption gradually becoming stable again.

(The survivors and killers that were affected by his corruption also became free of the corruption.)

He glares at anyone, everyone and anything near you. He quite literally does not trust anything near you, afraid that you’ll die once again.

In private, he’s clingy as hell. He always has to have at least one singular claw on one of your fingers.

He’s hugging you, and cuddling you quite a lot. He missed you, a lot.

Jason.

Jason was still and is still killing each and every survivor, until his mother tells him that your body, is gone.

He’s scared, livid also! Did your body get taken? No, because then someone would have to go inside his room, and search for both you and his mother’s head…

He’s more feral this time, killing anyone and everyone. He doesn’t notice it, as he kills you for a few rounds, until…

His mother, recognized you. She immediately tells him to stop, and to look closely at you.

He does as told, stopping his attacks, and looking at you closely. Oh. My. MOTHER. (😇)

He drops his machete, and chainsaw, before rushing to you, and hugging you closely. Not caring at all that the survivors are looking.

In private, you and him will be making diy’s, knitting, learning and listening to his mother. Listening to what she has to say about her youth, and learning how to do and make things.

He also hugs you a lot, tensing up whenever a survivor or killer is nearby you.

Mafioso.

He’s relentless in rounds. Killing any and all survivor, in debt or not, he does not care.

He always watches over his goons, practically glaring death daggers at them, if they ever are close to your capsule.

Imagine his shock and horror when his boss, Eunoia, tells him that you are gone. You disappeared. Your dead body, gone, vanished.

He immediately rushes back to your capsule and his boss after his round of being the killer, and sure enough… You’re gone. Eunoia has already sent some goons to look for you, whilst having trackers on each and every one of them.

The more rounds he is in, the more frustrated, angry and mad he is. Where did you go? Did one of his goons betray him again? Did a survivor take you? Did a fellow killer take you away? No, Eunoia would have seen, heard and taken care of them.

So imagine his reaction, when you tackle him from behind, hugging him tightly from behind, and calling him that lovely and sweet nickname you gave him that he remembers dearly.

He stops in his tracks and turns around to face you, taking his hat off, and placing it on top of your head, as he hugs you back.

He holds you, hugging you for a while, before he calls his most trusted goons. (Soldier, Contractee, Consigliere and Caporegime.)

Their shock when they see you again, they immediately ask Mafioso if they can hug you too. When they get a confirmation from Mafioso, and he backs up from you.

You’re immediately tackled down into a group hug. The guys crying and hugging you, as you smile, and hug them all back, telling them that you’re okay and safe. And how you missed every and each one of them.

You look up at Mafioso, and grin, you reach up an arm, and pull him down into the group hug. (He’s surprised by the unexpected gesture and strength, so much so that he actually stumbles.)

In private, you and his goons are making bracelets, items and everything you all can make together.

You, Mafioso and his goons listen to Eunoia, occasionally asking questions, and giving advice.

(Whenever you’re supposed to be sat on the ground, you’re instead sat on Mafioso’s lap. He put you on his lap.)

Mafioso’s bunnies squeak and whine when they finally see you. You’re immediately swarmed with bunnies, and Mafioso sat behind or beside you.

In private, Mafioso will hold you like you’re something fragile, afraid that you’ll die and disappear again.

He doesn’t show it much, but whenever he’s with you, or Eunoia, he lets his bunny form show. You and Eunoia are the only ones he trusts to be able to help groom him in his bunny form/state.

He’s also cuddling you a lot, even nuzzling you a bit too, he’s glad you’re alive and back again, but he’s still scared it’ll happen again.

Eunoia also treats you like you’re fragile glass. She knows how vulnerable people are, and she’s afraid she’ll damage you.

(Anyway, thank you for requesting this, anon! 🫶)

[ritosparty]

"I see you..."

Black Wolf part 1

(Bob Reynolds x Male reader!)

Things you have to know 🫵🏻: The oc is called Dimitri, he is Yelena's twin and his nickname is Dima although only Yelena and Natasha call him that.

He was trained in parallel with the Black Widow program Black Wolf program.

Volk means Wolf in russian

------

You walked out of the training room with a towel over your shoulder, exhausted after three hours of keeping in shape. There were no missions, and the only things you could do to stay occupied were either train or bother the others—and training was already done.

Heading straight to the lounge in search of your next distraction, you couldn’t help but recognize a certain brown-haired head sticking out over the back of the couch.

—“What are you doing, Bob?” —you said, walking up behind him.

Bob jumped at the sound of your unexpected voice, and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

—“Dimitri! I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see you coming,” —Bob said as he adjusted himself to look at you.

—“Of course you didn’t! I’m trained to move like a ghost, honey,” —you said as you sat beside him, trying not to draw too much attention to the way he blushed at the nickname. Bob simply kept his eyes on the book in his hands.

—“Come on, Bob, why so nervous? I don’t bite… unless you want me to do it.”

—“Yeah. Well, sort of. I just... I’m bad at this. With people. With you.”

—“Me?” —you smiled, tilting your head— “What is it about this humble, charming Russian that makes you so nervous sweetheart?”

Bob swallowed, avoiding your gaze. You smiled without looking away from him for a second. How could you? You loved reading every little reaction his body gave to your teasing, your flirtations. Every time you called him "honey", "sweetheart", or "darling", his face would turn red and he’d look anywhere but at you.

For you, it was beautiful and fun. But for him? It was terrifying.

Every time he heard those words come from your lips, his heart stopped—and the fact that he didn’t understand why your presence made him so nervous only made it worse.

He kept wondering how you and Yelena could be twins. Physically, sure, there was a resemblance—but mentally? You were completely different. She was more reserved, sometimes aggressive. You? You treated everything like a joke, like nothing really bothered you.

—“You talk so easily. You move with so much confidence. I… I usually go unnoticed. And when people do notice me, it’s usually with fear.”

—“Fear is for those who don’t dare to look deeper,” —you said, leaning a little closer— “But I see you, Bob. I’ve seen you from the very beginning. And as long as I’m here, you’re never going to be ignored.”

Bob slowly lifted his gaze, like those words had given him permission to breathe. His blue eyes met yours—doubtful, but also grateful.

—“And if one day… I lose myself again?” —he asked in a whisper.

—“Then I’ll find you,” —you answered without hesitation— “No matter how many times it happens. That’s what people who stay do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Charged. Bob leaned in slightly, like he was searching for something but didn’t know how to ask.

You did it for him.

You leaned in slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. He didn’t. When your lips touched his, it was soft, brief, careful… but so honest it left him breathless.

When you pulled away, his cheeks were burning—but for the first time, he didn’t look away.

—“Thank you,” —he murmured.

—“For the kiss or for staying?” —you asked with a tilted smile.

—“Both,” —he answered, smiling back.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

They remained seated on the couch together. The room was quiet, only the low hum of the base’s systems filling the space. After the kiss, the silence between them felt different. Warm. Peaceful.

Bob fidgeted with his hands, visibly nervous. Dima glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, not pressuring him.

—“Dimitri…” —Bob began, not looking directly at him— “I’ve never… I’ve never felt like this about a man before.”

Dima blinked once, then smiled gently.

—“Does that scare you?”

—“I don’t know. Maybe a little. It’s more than that. It’s strange, I… I didn’t expect to feel this way about you. About anyone, really.”

—“What do you feel?” —Dima asked, not teasing now. No playful tone. Just genuine interest.

Bob sighed, like he was letting go of a weight.

—“You make me feel… seen. And that scares me. Because if you see me, then you can see how broken I am. How unstable.”

Dimitri reached out and placed a hand over Bob’s, firm but gentle.

—“I’m broken too, Bob. I’ve just learned to carry it with style,” —he added with a wink, trying to coax a small laugh out of him—and he did, lightening the mood.

“And if what you’re feeling for me is new... that’s okay. You don’t have to understand it all right now.

Just… don’t hide from it.”

Bob nodded slowly, his eyes still uncertain—but he didn’t pull his hand away.

—“And you?” —he finally asked— “What do you feel?”

Dimitri smiled again, that signature blend of mischief and tenderness.

—“I feel that if I kiss you again right now… I might not want to stop,” —you said, brushing your thumb along Bob’s lip, still red from the kiss— “And that, for the first time in a long while, I actually want to stay somewhere… with you.”

Bob let out a soft laugh—for the first time that day.

—“You’re amazing.”

—“I know,” —Dima said, winking again— “But I like how it sounds coming from you.”

They leaned into another kiss, longer, firmer. This time, Bob returned it with more certainty.

The kiss lasted a few seconds longer before they pulled apart, sharing a quiet smile. Bob looked more relaxed, and Dima watched him like he’d found something worth protecting.

From the hallway, a figure watched from the shadows, leaning against the wall. It was Yelena. Arms crossed, she smiled to herself with a mix of pride and tenderness.

—“About time,” —she muttered in Russian, barely audible.

With a near-maternal gesture, she turned and walked away in silence, leaving the two men alone in the room, uninterrupted.

Dima gently ran his thumb across Bob’s hand.

—“Did you know we were being watched?”

—“What?”

—“Nothing, nothing. Just… when the others find out, I won’t let anyone make fun of you.

Except me.”

Bob laughed, finally at ease.

—“That sounds… fair.”

_______________________________

Tag list: @i-shall-abide @firedupauthor

Holaaaa Let me know if you like it 'cus I have MORE ideas for this two lovebirds!

[ask-impatient-samurott]

Afterword

Hi!

So, ask-impatient-samurott has finally ended, huh? That's crazy.

[Most of this is emotional rambling. xD Jump to the bold parts to see what comes next for the blog.]

God, I have so many thoughts and feelings about the end of my little story here, it's hard to put into words!

I can say for sure that I am so so very happy that I was able to complete a story of mine. Prior to this blog, I created several different little stories. Some with Pokemon, some without. After seeing all of my prior attempts fall through, it's like... healing? In a way? To have finally followed a story to its conclusion! I'm doing backflips right now, can't you see?

I'm thrilled and proud of myself for being able to write and finish off a story somewhat cohesively. xD Even after all of the several month long hiatuses I took WHEEZE

I want to thank everyone who ever interacted with, or enjoyed, or showed the bare minimum of interest in this blog. You, and you alone are the reason why I got this far! Nothing is a bigger motivator than knowing there's at least one person out there who's waiting excitedly for the next installment. ;v;

Ask impatient samurott was started as a mostly unplanned/unwritten/un-mapped-out story, but I knew from the beginning that it wasn't going to have a happy ending. I feel like I have to apologize for that? I'm sorry to anyone who was hoping we'd walk out of this without casualties, but nothing gets me going more than tragedy. So a tragedy this blog was! lmaO

Even with all its jank, weird pacing, and questionable writing, ask impatient samurott holds a very special place in my heart, and I'm happy to have shared it all with you!

Some clarifications, because I know the finale video might be a bit unclear at some parts:

Nema is, in fact, dead.

Kappa's eyes were damaged beyond repair, and she is now blind. She can only really "see" through smelling and recognizing others scents. Bizarrely, she can see ghost-type Pokemon just fine.

All of Valkea's pokemon have chosen to move out of The House (remember that?) and have chosen to live their own lives.

This includes Morelet and Marigold.

Marigold's casual distrust of Kappa has turned into full-blown loathing and hatred.

Morelet doesn't know what to feel about Kappa anymore. He has chosen to leave for now to sort out his thoughts.

The only pokemon remaining at the house are Kappa herself and Mustela. Jean moved in shortly after Marigold and Morelet left. Mustela has taken on an Azurill which she has named Ducktail. (After the hairstyle, not the animal.)

The four currently live together in The House, in relative peace.

Kappa did not regain her memories of the accident, but she fully remembers the events at the Giant Chasm.

Kappa wonders whether she is allowed to be happy, after all that's happened

I am going to leave the last 30 or so seconds of the video up for interpretation for now. Though, I'm sure you can gauge what happened there. ;)

So, what's next for ask-impatient-samurott???

The blog, currently, is completed.

I do have plans to run an epilogue, within the next few months. (After Artfight, lol) It will be a "where are they now" type deal. Your characters would send in asks regarding how Kappa and everyone else are doing, alongside any questions you might have about the events of the blog and anything surrounding it.

I'm excited for it, honestly. ^^

Within the next few months, however, I am going to be making a new icon and header, whipping up a WHOLE BUNCH of new ref sheets for the characters, and just generally tidying up the blog!

Don't worry! I'm not going to drop off the face of the earth after this. If you want to check up on how or what I'm doing, my main blog is @sourdoughdirewolf and I post art and videos there when it strikes my fancy. ^^

If for any reason you want to message me, feel free to hit up this blog or my main hehehe

OOOkay. I think I've said everything I wanted too. Holy yap, Batman.

It's cleaning time for me! Thank you once again for tuning into Ask Impatient Samurott!!

(I'll be sending out a reverse ask call soon, so keep your eyes open for that if you run a blog ohohoho)

[ophelialoveshandsomemen]

I've been seeing a trendy tag game on here, which is posting your ten favourite movies as gifs. And since the likelihood of me getting tagged are devastatingly low, I shall just do the game on my own post and tag others in it. Why, cuz it's fun! Anyways, here goes!

In no particular order and probably different to my list of ten movies from a month or so ago:

no pressure tags! @virtie333 @thekenobee @russell-crowe

[javierduffy]

different.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

[sysig]

He was a human pirate, which you wouldn’t think you’d have to specify and yet (Patreon)

[mel-loly]

Dont mind me:3

I- Tsu.. You didn't need to... But.. Yeah, uh... Thanks..😅💛

(no pressure, but if you can read the tags, I'd be happy! and that doesn't just apply to tsu but to everyone)

[deoidesign]

I have a question, but it may be already have been answered in the story (my brain is just not the best with memory).

Since vampirism symbolises for you chronical illness (which, omg, that is a hot take I've never thought off before and love from now on), does Steve count as chronical ill, too, with the whole halfvampire thing going on? So, would his uncontrollable time jumping each month be a symptom of that chronical illness?

not in the story, no worries! Just a possible interpretation and my personal intent when writing.

As a small aside I personally don't like to think of chronic illness as something that people "count" as, so to speak, it's an extremely personal label and incredibly varied between individuals and as with all disability there is never such thing as hard lines or black and white... but I understand why you worded it that way and I understand what you're asking.

So, yes, Steve is also chronically ill within this framework. The entire comic is sort of shaped around this, to be honest! I mean he canonically has some pretty extreme memory issues... He's also canonically homeless (not that this is an illness but I just mean it's something I think most people forget about him when discussing him). And, yes, his condition is uncontrollable and is severely impacting his ability to live the life he wants to live.

He has just been barely coping up to the point we meet him, and has been very desperate which is what led him to creating that list of deviations. He has periods where his body is out of his control, he is unable to form relationships, he hurts others without meaning or wanting to... Yeah. He's metaphorically relating to a lot of things, really.

So, yknow, you're welcome to interpret him as you'd like! for me I relate a lot with my various issues and conditions and thus that's why I've projected on him the way I have, but of course I would understand entirely different interpretations of what is inherently metaphorical.

[pineapplesagainstpizza]

Okay okay one last thing because it pissed me off.

This whole attitude of framing anxious and cautious women of being hysterical and going "Oh the chances of assault are so slim. I carry a gun so it'll never be me yada yada" will not shield you from assault or harassment. The people that always say this aren't victims; they've never been assaulted, harassed, stalked and followed home. They think that because it never happened to them that its not experienced frequently by other people. It's a take lacking empathy

[seilon]

ran into one of my closest childhood friends on the bus today by sheer chance (she doesn’t even live in my city and was just here for an appointment, i have not seen her in years) and we exchanged numbers and stuff and i asked if she’d wanna get lunch or something sometime. and she hasn’t responded all day and now i keep looking at my text like. what if this is Absurd. what if this is Offensive. what have I done. when really it just straight up says “you wanna get lunch sometime or something?” and i can’t tell what could be wrong with that. but. well. that’s just the problem isn’t it

[imminent-danger-came]

Do you think that -in the inevitable MK vs. his friends confrontation- Mei will accidentally seriously hurt him with the Samadhi fire? 🤔

Since strong emotions can cause it to run haywire, and there is nothing that would make her more afraid than having to fight her best friend.

There is NO way that they are completely done with the Samadhi fire. (Unless she lost it?? Subodhi did say she 'once' wielded it. So not anymore???)

But yeah- I bet it would come back into play during the MK/Mei battle. Especially if LBD mistook MK‘s destiny for her own. (Since that one vision she showed made it look like MK was burning before the world exploded. And she wanted everything he ended up having; the staff, his own powers, the Samadhi fire -indirectly, and well, a new title that implies destruction on a reality shattering scale.)

My view is that post the Embrace Your Destiny special, they resealed the Samadhi Fire (unsure if Mei still has her piece with her or if they successfully resealed it into 3 rings this time). We at the very least know she doesn't have it in s4 (MK has to save her in 4x01, she's worried about losing her sword in 4x05 which she didn't need with the Samadhi Fire in EYD, the Subodhi quote you mentioned). But, I don't think Mei using the Samadhi Fire again is completely out of the question. There are things that have come back that I never expected to be acknowledged again (The 1x01 seal being the same as the 4x01 and 4x14 flower fruit mountain seal was a huge shocker for me).

So the Samadhi Fire coming back into play with the MK/Mei battle? That would work super well! Especially with the way characters tend to reach for power and endanger their loved ones. It's a huge risk to take again, but if they feel they don't have any other choice it's something we know they're willing to resort to.

[earlgreytea68]

Okay. It's time for an AI rant.

My nephew is 13 years old. Whenever he writes a paper for school, I check it over and fix all of his mistakes for him. He said to me, "Maybe I'll proofread your paper for you in exchange," meaning one of the scholarly articles I write for work. I said, "Cool," and gave him the file. And he said, "Well, this is full of errors! See, you always say you have a lot to correct on my stuff, and look at all the stuff you got wrong!" And I said, surprised, "What? Where?" Because I'm sure there are typos in the draft I sent him, but not, like, that many.

And then he pointed to the screen and said, "Look at all the blue and red lines you have."

And I said, "Yeah, but those are wrong. Like, those are blue and red lines I'm ignoring because the computer is wrong." And then I paused and added, "You know you can't proofread a paper by just looking at the red and blue lines, right?" And he gave me the blankest look, because that clearly is EXACTLY what he thinks. And it became even clearer suddenly why, whenever I correct something on his paper, his immediate reaction is, "It didn't have a blue or red line."

There's a very good reason for that: THAT'S BECAUSE THE COMPUTER ISN'T SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT IT WAS WRONG.

I am so tired of being sold the idea that computers are better than humans and so we should just outsource everything to them, which is clearly the lesson my nephew is absorbing in U.S. middle school. COMPUTERS ARE NOT BETTER THAN HUMANS. Like, maybe they are better at humans at crawling through rubble to find people trapped inside. They are also better at preserving things in a searchable format. Things like that. Very limited circumstances.

I don't want to sound alarmist but everything I hear about people using generative AI freaks me out. It's not just that I'm freaked out by people being like, "I use it to write novels!" (Although I don't see how they do, I have tried to have it write fiction for me and the output was truly terrible.) But I recognize my bias around creative writing and so no one needs to credit my views on artificial writing. But! Other things are alarming, too! "I use it to brainstorm x, y, or z." But...why? Why not just...use your own brain...to...brain...storm? The computer doesn't even have a brain to brainstorm with! And you might be like, "But it comes up with things that my brain would never think of!" So would other people! You could also brainstorm with other people! Or even through Google to see what other people have thought before you (not AI). Please don't belittle the wonder of thinking.

I just feel like the marketing around generative AI boils down to "Wouldn't it be easier not to use your own brain to think about things?" Everyone. No. It would not be. Please just trust me on this. I'm not just an old person who is out of touch with technology or something. I promise. USE YOUR BRAINS. IT WILL BE OKAY.