#writing border

[thekagemusha]

Coloring line dividers: Christmas theme!

#FF0000

#FF7878

#F5F5F5

#74D680

#378B29

Free to use them!

Made by me ∘༉

[myoonmii]

He watches him like a ghost

[ga-lily-o]

Love, Actually

Mark Grayson x (gn) Reader

Tags/Warnings: coworkers to something more // soft boys in food service// fluff // Reader character has not seen Star Wars // Takes place before Mark gets his powers // Mark calls the reader pretty/gorgeous in his head

Summary: It’s just another shift at Burger Mart. Bad lighting, long hours, and an embarrassingly cute coworker who lights up your whole world.

(Author’s note below)

Working at Burger Mart is the bane of Mark’s existence. Or no, that might be getting bullied in high school, or getting in trouble for breaking something he shouldn’t, not having powers like his dad— regardless, it’s definitely up there. Top 10, or 5, depending on how awful the customers are that day. But you? His favourite, pretty coworker? You’re the reason working here is not higher up on the list most days.

Things could be absolutely hectic and stupidly stressful, but just a glance your way could have his heart lighting up like the lights coming on in the cinema as the credits roll. A shock of something bringing him back down to Earth, just enough to realise he’s been standing there like an idiot with the fries for a minute too long. The managers don’t like it, and that certainly doesn’t bode well for him, but the way it makes you laugh? Worth every verbal warning.

Today isn’t like that yet though, thankfully. Only a few customers in smaller groups walk in as the sun dips into the horizon, the distant humming of machinery and offhanded beeping the backdrop of the scene as you and him wait by the till. Or, well— you man the till, and he’s sweeping around it. Supposedly.

He’s kind of distracted just chatting away with you, watching the way the emotions colour your face, breaking through the exhaustion and Food Service facade like light cracking through the blinds. You’re more gorgeous than he could ever put to words even here under awful lighting in this dingy fast food restaurant. Like a freckle of life in the vast empty ocean of linoleum floors and fluorescent lights.

“Wait,” he says, leaning against the counter with his eyes crinkled into a grin, “You’ve never seen Star Wars?”

“Not the whole of it,” you correct, messing with the till absentmindedly just to have something to do with your hands, “Like— I’ve seen the first one?”

“Of which trilogy?”

You make a face that tells him you absolutely do not know, humming as you narrow your eyes in uncertainty. “The one with Darth Vader…”

He’s grinning at that, unable to help the way a smile splits his cheeks as he asks, teasingly, “The one with Darth Vader?”

His heart actually needs to be studied for the way it skips a beat when you nod, smiling like you’ve got the answer right when even he can’t tell which one you’re talking about. The words are shaded in quiet laughter as he prods, “Are we talking about the prequels or the original trilogy— because he’s in both, just… very different.”

And goodness, the way that same expression finds its way back on you, eyes narrowed and lips pursed in a way he wants to kiss you for, before you’re looking at him through your lashes and he can barely stop the fluttering in his chest.

“The… original,” you start, absently nodding to yourself as you break his gaze, “‘Cause my friend was saying something about showing me the prequels after, but we never got around to even finishing the first three.”

That makes him giddy, because suddenly he’s thinking of being the one to introduce you to the rest of the series, asking you over to hangout maybe— before the front door’s bell rings, and you straighten up at the till. He goes back to sweeping, having to move away, but he’s still thinking about asking you as he shoves the broom between bolted down tables and booth seats. Not knowing you wanted to ask him if he would watch them with you; that you felt giddy in much the same way about him.

—————

Neither of you muster up the courage for the rest of that shift, not with the way the late rush hour comes swiftly like a boxer ready to win— a one-two punch via the bustling crowds coming in through the front and the number of cars going through the drive through. Working there bumps itself up again near top 5, but when he glances over at you… he finds it settling itself easily at top 7 instead.

His hands find purchase along the counter on either side of the till as the last of the customers from the rush file out through the front, and a calm starts to settle in the Burger Mart. Mark sighs, breath coming in from the lowest of his lungs and out, though he really should have breathed in before glancing over your way, because he almost feels winded.

“I’m gonna die if I have to keep doing that,” you groan, hands on the empty part of the counter with your face tilted down, and he can’t help but agree. “Like, actually just crumble into dust like they did in Endgame.”

Mark’s surprise settles in with an easy smile despite the exhaustion in his bones, “You’ve seen Endgame?”

When you finally look back up at him, deadpanned but amused, his heart almost wants to beat itself out of his ribcage with the way you still look so beautiful to him, “Everyone’s seen Endgame, Mark.”

“I mean, I thought everyone’s seen Star Wars but—“

“I’ve seen the first one!” you argue, laughing right after, your expression crumpling into something light and joyful, and his heart hurts with all the fondness it has for you. That he has for you.

Then something shifts, for a second, because Mark thinks again about asking you to watch the rest with him, even though he’s seen those movies to near exhaustion. All just to see the way you light up or crumple or rage at the plotlines, washed in the colour of the screen. A bated breath, eyes averted, before he turns back to you just to find you turning back too, the tension in his shoulders snapping into something nervous that buzzes under his skin.

“I—“

“Do you—“

You both shut up at the same time, like you’re stars in Love, Actually and not just two minimum wage workers exhausted at the till after a rush.

“Sorry you—“

“No, I’m just, you go ahead—“

God he’s so nervous, he’s hearing his blood in his ears as much as he’s feeling it warm his face. It helps that you look nervous too, in much the same way he feels, and hope bubbles up as you open your mouth, close it, and breathe.

“I don’t watch movies well, alone,” you start, nervous and hesitant, but you power through, “So… I was wondering if maybe you’d watch them with me?”

He can’t help the way he freezes for a second, long enough for the hopeful expression on your face to crumple just the slightest bit before he catches himself, the words quick out of his mouth and a little louder than he expected, “I’d— I would absolutely— Yeah, of course.”

Someone, anyone, please shoot him for the way he just stuttered so hard. He actually wants the ground to swallow him up whole, but the way you light up like the first firefly of the night makes the embarrassment burn softer, makes the courage swell in his heart until he’s speaking again.

“I have— I know where we could watch it, like, on the tv I mean, if you don’t mind coming over to mine?”

And god does he want to print the way you grin at him into his mind; sear it into the neurons there like the world’s best tattoo.

“I’d love that,” you whisper, and suddenly working here isn’t all that bad.

A/N: I have not written anything like fully in… give or take a while, so my writing’s a lil rusty and this took more than one draft, but I really had fun writing this one!! I forgot writing could be so fun!!

This might not be accurate to the American Food Service Experience™ But that is because I am Canadian and work in Canadian Food Service 🙂‍↕️ Mark might also be out of character, but that’s because I have not finished the show, or comic 😊

Also, tagging @sobbingscripter!! Thank you for the idea for the fic!! And for the title!! I WOULD have named it Double Whopper with Cheese medium combo otherwise I’m ngl

[tsarjozinzbazin]

the lieutenants as dogs!

[neglectedsodium]

Still find it really really funny that Suo showed the slightest reaction to not liking natto and the class immediately latched onto that and dog piled him. No hesitation, just immediate teasing.

[m1stm3]

now playing…

baby, my phone!! by yameii online

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

college student! tenko shimura x popular! reader

my first ever smau aaaaa!!! this is a quirk-free college au teehee (for my sanity pls note each of these conversations take place like days/weeks apart. pls.)

pt 2!!

cw’s!!: one or two kys/die jokes, dry texter tenko (i luv him), gn! reader, and the fastest burn you’ve ever seen (i have no patience)

[l0vergirls]

cw: age gap, size difference (ish), bordering on sugar daddy too tbh, nsfw kinda,

there's just something about an older man that absolutely fucking towers over you, but is so sweet and so gentle. to everyone else they may seem far too intimidating to even approach, but if they only tried a bit harder, they'll unveil a whole other world of love and affection.

he adores how small your hands feel in his, and how you have to crane your neck up a bit more to look up at him. he revels in how soft your lips are, and imagines how his must feel against yours. whether he's shaved that day or not, you'll always savour the taste of him, his hands wandering your body before settling on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer against him.

feel free to use his card too, what's his is yours after all. so don't be surprised to find a shiny new necklace on your nightstand, or an expensive dress laying in your bed. don't pay too much mind to the new set of lingerie (in his favourite colour) that he'd laid out for you.

do you feel how much he loves you? just let him take care of you, let him shower you in his love. he can treat you much better than other boys your age can, he can teach you so much more than they can.

oh darling, don't be shy, let him hear the pretty noises you make as he expertly ruts into you; his experience showing in the way he hits just the right spots that have you seeing stars.

he's yours, just as much you're his, right?

[bonebabbles]

RiverClan Refugees

Gorseclaw and Lizardtail want to join ThunderClan because they watched Harelight, their only other family, get publicly executed in front of them

They are trying their hardest to be useful and polite while being refugees in ThunderClan, and get mistreated for the effort-- having their food preferences mocked, getting told they're taking up space, hearing a steady stream of slurs, etc

After one more mass shaming session where Squirrelstar asserts they won't be accepting new cats, Sunbeam and Fernstripe join in on condescending them, and we get this;

"It would have felt bad turning them away, but if they chose to go home (AFTER BEING BULLIED FOR SEVERAL CHAPTERS) then there was no need to feel guilty"

This does not come across as these two earnestly missing home and choosing to go back; it comes across like they're accepting the fact that they are unwanted and getting out of dodge before it gets worse.

Honestly, I'm at the point where I can't call this a lack of self awareness. The difference between ThunderClan's treatment of Gorse and Lizard vs RiverClan's treatment of Wasp is obvious to me. The narrative is straightforwardly pro-xenophobic as long as it isn't overtly violent.

Social bigotry is fine. Good, even, to separate the "desirable" immigrants from the "undesirable" ones. What defines those categories? A good one will assimilate fully and leave their culture behind; a bad one only wants safety and a better life for their family.

Terrifying, imo, considering how the irl overton window has shifted on migration at the time of writing this in 2025. Does the spectre of the times loom over these words as I speak them? I hope not.

[yuesya]

Xiuke’s father is back!

It’s a miracle. Truly, a miracle.

Xiuke’s people live by the seas, but the waters are inconstant. Sometimes their seafaring men return bearing fruitful bounties, and other times only stragglers manage to come back to them, speaking of treacherous waters or god-monsters that care little for mortal men.

For this is a dangerous world, where gods and monsters dominate the lands.

Xiuke’s father is a courageous man, braving the sea again and again in order to provide for the village. Even despite the many dangers, the ever-changing weather and difficult sailing, the many god-monsters that dwell beneath the waves–

Her father heads out to the sea again and again.

When only three survivors had returned bearing tales of whirlpools that had torn their boats into shreds, Xiuke had feared the worst. She’d feared that her father’s luck had finally run dry, that the relentless seas had finally claimed for itself the man who loved it so much.

Teary-eyed and trembling, Xiuke had been in the middle of preparing funerals along with the rest of the village, when her father returned with their other sailors.

All of them scraggly, battered, and filthy –but alive.

“Our boats were destroyed, but we managed to cling onto the pieces. Eventually, we washed up on a small island,” Xiuke’s father explains. “We didn’t know how long we’d be stranded, so we decided to survey the island and see what resources we could find and use to return home. That was when we noticed the bubbles.”

“Bubbles?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tao-ge, don’t keep us in suspense, now! Go on with your story!”

Xiuke’s father laughs. But the cheer swiftly fades from his face, and is instead replaced with something that’s much more solemn and… reverent?

“We met the Great Water-Fox,” he says. Xiuke has never heard of a ‘water-fox’ before, and from the confused sounds that she’s hearing from the other villagers around her, this is also a new term to them. “Larger than five huts stacked together, with beautiful white scales that glistened like a rainbow beneath the sun.”

“You met a monster?!”

“Not a monster!” Xiuke’s father denies vehemently. “Wu-lang disturbed the Great Water-Fox by accidentally popping one of the bubbles that drifted over him, but was met with no reprisal. We pled our case before the Great Water-Fox, and they brought us home.”

More accurately, Xiuke’s father and the other men had prostrated themselves on the ground the moment that they realized they’d brought a… a water-fox’s attention upon them. They’d begged for mercy, knowing that their strength was nothing before that of a sea creature’s, and–

And the water-fox had not said anything in response to them, nor acknowledged them in any manner. Merely flicked its tail, sending a wave of bubbles and seafoam cascading over them.

When Xiuke’s father regained consciousness, he and his fellow sailors were on the shores of familiar land once more.

…

(After this, the village gains a new custom: Praying to the Great Water-Fox every time before setting sail. For if your heart is true, then the Great Water-Fox will ensure that you return safely.

Xiuke isn’t so sure about this. The water-fox that her father speaks of never shows up around their village, not even when they end up holding a festival in its honor, so it’s doubtful that it’s actually acting as their protector.

But there are worse things out there to worship than an absent probably-benevolent water-fox. Xiuke has heard stories of the Mistress of Dreams who rules the lands to the north, who delights in cruelty, and she can only be thankful that she does not have the misfortune of living in a waking nightmare.)

[zvahlne]

headcanon: shadow knights can't cry.

it takes him a long while to notice. he had never considered himself much of a crier. it wasn't that he thought there was anything wrong with crying. he was just one to keep moving, keep doing, show the people around him and under his care that it would be alright, no matter what had happened. some might accuse him of bottling for this, though whether it was selfless for others (so they wouldn't worry; so they could cry while he carried it) or selfish (so he wouldn't have to think about it, wouldn't have to feel it), up for debate. either way, he would disagree, and had whenever someone close enough to him to notice the pattern mentioned it (usually cadenza).

...the last time he remembers crying was with cadenza. it was about joh.

he didn't cry in the nether (no water can last long there; how could he? your eyes could never get wet enough. every blink in the nether is stinging).

he didn't cry when he was brought back, not for his sight, not for ungrth (more surprising, but he was in shock. nothing felt real in those days, and after, he had things to do, people to care for).

it's when he loses 15 years and he comes back to his father's death and can't shed a single tear that he finally thinks he really ought to be crying. but he isn't. he can't?

he goes to ungrth's grave and he thinks of ungrth and he thinks of hayden and he thinks of joh and he thinks of garroth and he grits his teeth, he digs his nails into his palms, he gets a headache from how tight his brows furrow, he feels an ache so intense in his chest he's gasping for breath, but his eyes are as dry as they've since the day he died (he wants to cry, he should be crying, why isn't he crying?).

his life is taken from him, replaced with facsimile. the man he trusted more than himself betrayed him, and is now lost a dimension away. he's lost fifteen years, his father passed without him present, his friend's grave has been desecrated, the places he lived in and loved and protected fallen and rebuilt, all in his absence, all to be discovered all at once. he loses nearly everything, he watches helplessly as he loses even himself. and yet...

laurance can't cry.

[hibischush]

Hii! Could you write March falling in love with the farmer and everyone around him noticing but the farmer? I think it would make him go completely crazy xD

sure thing! 🌺

March didn't even realize it until Elsie literally spelt it out for him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He bristled, crossing his arms against his chest.

Elsie let out one of her elegant laughs and patted him on the shoulder. 

"Sure you don't, dear."

March blinked.

Elsie's eyes widened with surprise. "Oh my stars! You truly don't know, do you?" she guffawed, and everyone in the carpenters' shop turned to look at them.

It was odd to see Elsie here whilst Olric and himself visited Landen and Ryis, but not entirely unbelievable. What March didn't expect was for him to be mercilessly attacked by the older woman about his love life.

He blushed. He shouldn't have mentioned that stupid farmer. 

"Everyone knows that you have harbored feelings for the farmer, honey. There isn't any shame in admitting that."

---

It developed all too quickly a few months back. It was March's birthday. And it was raining.

He really didn't mind that it was so dreary-- he was going to work for most of the day and then celebrate with his brother and Ryis at the Inn.

He sat behind the counter, rolling a pen up and down the table. Not many people come in to purchase weapons or armor. Except for that infuriating farmer.

March has had to make several suits of armor for them, every time upgrading in quality and materials. And every time he would remember their exact measurements to ensure that the armor would fit on them perfectly, and that it would be the best pieces of metalwork he would ever produce. Not that he would ever admit that to them, though.

The shop's door swings open, and March's heartbeat ramps up as he recognizes who it was.

"Hey! Sorry for dragging in all this water." The farmer, drenched from head to toe, beams at him as the door shuts behind them.

His breath hitches. Their clothes, sopping wet, cling perfectly to their frame.

He coughs. "What do you want? You just got an armor upgrade. Do you actually have a life? Or is all you do is mine?"

They rolled their eyes, a smirk still gracing their lips (not that he was looking at their lips), "Oh March. You never change. Even after all that copper and tesserae."

They saunter over to the counter, and March inhales sharply through his nose, hoping the extra oxygen would help his head function around them.

"I came to give you a present! Happy birthday, March." They smile softly, handing him a small box that was wrapped with care. He took it cautiously, and nearly jumped when their fingers grazed against his own. He tried to push the electric feeling down. 

Attached to the bow that held the lid down was a slip of paper with his name written by the farmer on it. Eyeing them suspiciously, they only smiled and nodded their head encouragingly. Pulling the bow and the lid apart, he was pleasantly surprised with what he saw. Amazed, even.

It must have shown through his expression, because the farmer began to explain themself.

"I was on one of the lower levels of the mines, and there was this untouched chest stuck in the dirt. I dug it up, and lo’ and behold..."

Sitting on a velvet pillow laid a shiny golden band, which was formed into an unfinished circle. Instead of joining in the middle, the two ends were molded into a pair of dragon heads, with what looked like tiny sapphire eyes.

March's throat dried. He struggled to understand why someone so sweet would give him something like this despite the poor way he treats them. His face got hot, and he silently struggled to fight tears pricking in his eyes.

"March?"

He panicked. "This better not be cursed."

The farmer laughed. "I promise,"

They stood there for a second more. It almost seemed as if they wanted to say something else, but instead they just gave a small wave goodbye and turned towards the door.

Just as they reached the doorknob, March yelled their name.

"Th-thank you. For the gift." He mumbled.

They smiled. "You're welcome, March."

When they left, he felt his heart drop as he sighed. They'll never realize what they do to him.

--

March turned to Ryis, begging via eye contact for his friend to save him from this overbearing granny matchmaker.

Ryis only shrugged. "Sorry, man, but it's true. I've seen the way that you act around them."

"What do I act like?!"

Ryis recalled the time that the farmer hugged him after he gave them the bracelet he made them. The carpenter said he didn’t know that he could even get that red, especially after the farmer told him that ‘it was the most thoughtful gift they’ve ever received,’ and that March was their ‘closest friend.’

Before he could retort, his brother stepped up. He explained that March almost poured molten iron on the floor instead of the ax-head mold while he was checking them out. "C’mon dude. Even I can pick that up." Orlic chuckled.

"March, I've lived a long life, and with the way you stutter around them...everyone knows that you're interested in them." Landen butted in.

Elsie sighed, “And what’s worse, the only person who hasn’t noticed is the farmer,” she turned to March, “I don’t know how much more obvious you could be, dearie.”

This farmer was going to be the end of him.

March's face feels so hot it's almost like he stuck his head directly into a crucible filled with molten copper. He covered his face with his hands.

"All of you suck." March mumbled.

Did I get too carried away with this? Yes. As always, hope you enjoyed 💗

[dillomancy]

Finally saw the movie Isle of Dogs and I think it's my new therian vibes movie

[gunnrblze]

[insert Ghost man] who is so devoted to you, so intensely zealous, that you get to watch in real time, a soldier bend to your will.

He’s not necessarily religious, however, he could make a religion out of you. The man would worship you, lie at your feet, build an altar in your honor and keep it blessed with offerings if you’d only let him. To whisper a prayer with your name on his lips would be of the highest honor.

He will not readily preach of you, though. You are too sublime for this. The opportunity for others to taint your image once they learn of your beauty, is not something he will allow.

Your regard, your attention, your praise, gets him through his days. However much you indulge him…whether you allow his head to lie in your lap, raking your nails soft and gently across his scalp.

Or if you don’t even so much as look in his direction. He feels fortunate to even be in your presence whenever you’re near. It feels holy, and that’s all he can ask for. Something, anything to believe in. He is content with believing in you, whether or not you even note his mere existence that day.

And when you aren’t there, he doesn’t go without feeling you either. Like you really are anointed by some higher power, he feels your presence wherever he goes. As if you exist through the fabric of time, your energy cultivated all around him. Sanctifying everything you touch. Following him and swallowing his soul whole, flesh and bones consumed.

An angel, he assumes. That’s the only explanation for someone as divine and otherworldly as you. It doesn’t matter who you are, the kind of person you choose to be-he finds you magical-utterly resplendent.

The most refined portrait there ever was.

You could be the devil in disguise, he wouldn’t know any better. Nor would he care. Blinded by your light, he’ll happily let it sear through his corneas before he ever suggests you less than perfect.

If he could give you every last dying wish you had, he would sail the seven seas and wade through whatever murky waters necessary to do so. He’d spin the earth upside down on its axis if he were able, bend physics to your will.

You just have to ask, beloved.

Your most devoted follower, your only follower, teary eyes begging you to look at him, to acknowledge his existence. It is pitiful and it is exactly what he needs. To beg, to grovel, to work for it. For you. Your ethereal existence.

After all, nothing that blessed is easy to obtain.

[ga-lily-o]

They Don’t Kiss (but They Really Should)

Eve Wilkins x reader

⚹ Reader is written in a soft/feminine light, but is not necessarily gendered ⚹

Tags/warnings: Friends to ??? Idk! // Mildly suggestive language // one (1) whole swear word // lots of tension // lots of physical proximity // Reader character doesn’t do makeup often // wlw coded but could also be nblw

Summary: You and Eve are friends, first and foremost. However, Eve also wants you more than she has the guts to say. Not that you know… or maybe you do, because none of this is casual.

(Author’s note at the bottom)

“My makeup?”

Eve watches you nod, enthusiastic and excited, and she can’t help the fondness twitching her lips into a smile the way you regard her like she was a snapshot of the stars taken by the Hubble telescope. Still, she’s skeptical, enough that it shows. Her brow raised as she regards you in the mirror of her vanity where you’re standing behind her.

“You want to do my makeup?” Eve parrots, emphasizing the first lilt of the question.

“Yes,” is your enthusiastic reply, brushes in hand as you wave it in the mirror, and she can’t help the way it makes her smile widen.

“I don’t even remember the last time I saw you do your own makeup,” she scoffs, but it’s a heatless remark as she spins in her chair to face you, and has to grapple with the immediate cuteness aggression coiling like a viper in her gut. She wants to grab at your wide-eyed face and kiss you silly, just to see that enthusiasm melt, but she has restraint. “Why mine?”

“Because I want to touch your face.” You don’t flinch admitting it, but Eve almost does. She wants to tell you that you could’ve just kissed her instead. Wants to tell you she’d rather your lips on hers than to anguish over the daydream of it while your hands roamed her face. But you’re friends, and you’re… probably just joking, even if she wishes you weren’t.

So when she opens her mouth, it’s not to ask you to kiss her. “Weirdo.”

But still, “Fine.”

———

The brush is just a tad shaky when you ghost it over the apple of her cheeks, patting it like you’re layering gold leaf onto some fancy $80 dessert. You’re all but straddling her lap, knees bracketing either side of her thighs like you’re about to give her a lapdance and she’s genuinely going insane. Her throat feels dry at the way one of your hands is cupping her jaw as you apply a light foundation with the other, and she can feel your breath kissing her skin.

She’d asked you earlier, hesitating, heart beating wildly, if you needed to be so close by, but you merely responded by looking at her through half lidded eyes and asking so sincerely if she wanted you to move away. Of course she just told you that that wasn’t what she was saying at all, and neither of you prodded or elaborated.

“You’re gonna poke my eye out like that,” she mumbles, meaning to hiss but the wanting’s screwing up her throat.

You don’t acknowledge her beyond a grin, thumb brushing just once across her cheekbone, and it’s enough to shut her up quick. Then when you press your teeth lightly into your bottom lip? She wants to pass out. You look so focused, on her, and she has to settle her breath while her nails dig into the vanity desk behind you, her arms either side of your waist.

The brush sweeps back and forth, a light layer of foundation where sleepless nights have stained her under-eyes like a muddy eyeshadow, your thumb smoothing out what the brush can’t. It should be noted, Eve thinks, that the face you make when you pull back to assess the evenness of the application is unfairly gorgeous. When your lips part to speak, she doesn’t know if she wants to launch forward to kiss you or just let you speak to hear your voice.

“Does it feel cakey?” You ask, completely unassuming as one of your hands comes back to settle on her face.

“It feels fine,” she huffs, hoping to whatever’s listening in out there that you can’t feel the way her heartbeat’s running just from the proximity. You nod, pulling back to switch your brushes, or products— she really can’t tell at this point what you’re doing anymore. All she knows is that she wants it to be your lips on hers.

You tell her anyways with a grin, half turned to the mirror still where you’re meeting her eyes in the glass, “I wanna try a trick I learned online on you, is that ok? Just gonna—“

You gesture with your pinky, following along the curve of her under eye, and she feels exposed the way you grin at her in the glass when you realise she’s barely looking where you’re pointing in the first place.

“I’m gonna try a smokey eyeshadow trick,” you tell her, facing her fully, and her throat feels dry.

She licks her lips, catching the way your eyes dip down to follow the gesture, and her voice is quiet when she speaks, “Just don’t make me look ugly.”

Eve would bottle up that smile you give her after, just to replay it back when things get tough. “Couldn’t, even if I tried, Eve.”

And then you’re easing back into it, gently asking her to cooperate— “Close your eyes, here, yes! Thank you,”— or cooing at her when you pull back, and it’s overwhelmingly good the way you feel so close to her.

She barely notices it when her hands find themselves catching at your waist, fingers splaying along the small of your back like she’s anchoring you both, and Eve feels something boil in her blood the way you stop still to look at her. Not with disgust, or discomfort, like she might have feared, but with a stutter to your expression that makes her heart skip; your lips ever so slightly parted in surprise.

“So you don’t fall off,” is her quiet explanation, green eyes peering into yours like it explains the way her breath feels heavy in the space between you two. The barely there, almost extinct, space between you two.

“Right,” you start, like you’re unconvinced the way you purse your lips, “Thank you.”

And you shift on her lap, impossibly closer, and she feels like she’s going to die the way her hands start shaking.

———

There’s been many things that have tried to kill Atom Eve during her time as a hero— or even just as Eve, the civilian, with a troublesome life and a rocky relationship with her parents. But you? In her lap, hands on her face, thumb tracing over her fucking lip like you’re memorising the texture of it with the pad of your finger? This might do her in.

Never mind the way you’re looking at her, eyes half lidded and laser focused on her lips as you apply a lip-stain with your own hands, just because you keep insisting that’s the best way to do it. You want to kill her, she’s sure. You want her dead with want— or maybe, something hopeful and dreadfully vulnerable pipes up in her heart, you want her like she wants you.

Not that she wants to entertain that; to risk having you at all for the chance to have you as she wants you. But god, if you’d let her she’d—

“All done!” you chirp, bringing her out of her reverie as you pull away with that brilliant grin, pride and sincere adoration shining from you like a lamplight to her face; her cheeks warm.

It takes you turning to the mirror for her to remember beyond you and admire your work, first catching that heart-fluttering emotion on your lips like how a petal curls on the flower, before she catches her own reflection.

She sees herself, barely tampered with save for the smokiness wrapping gently around her eyes, highlighting the green of them to make them strike like cut emeralds; a patch of living forest saved in the aftermath of a forest fire, framed by her red hair. And god, when you turn back to her to tuck a loose strand of it behind her ear, eyes crinkled in just a way, she wants to kiss you breathless. Hands gripping softly tighter along your waist and back, curling into the fabric of your top.

“So?” You pry, not seeming to mind at all the way she’s curling around you like a vine.

Eve wets her lips, swallowing thickly. Refusing to break eye contact. “Not bad.”

A/N: I felt like loving women, I was bored, I just had lunch, and I dm’d @sobbingscripter for an idea 😛 She proceeded to say something about doing Eve’s makeup and my brain exploded.

I wrote this first on my notes app (I always start on the notes app) and moved it to docs to edit for grammar and flow, and had it beta read at some point, but I’m ngl I feel like I blacked out writing this. The yearning came over me so hard, I genuinely just couldn’t stop until it was done. Like I was actually shaking by the end while writing this HELLO . 😭

Also: sorry if she’s ooc 😞 I do not have a full grasp of her character yet but trust and believe I will!

[feroluce]

For some weird reason, I've always been fascinated by how wildly different Sampo operates in the Underground vs the Overworld.

Sampo is present in both places and even in official sources, he's not really counted as one side or the other- now that the theory has been confirmed in-game, he's generally just lumped in with the Masked Fools.

But there really is a big difference!

Probably the most obvious and well known instance of Sampo's...business practices *cough burglary and fraud COUGH* in the Overworld is from the Belobog Museum event. In it, you don't find out Sampo is the main culprit until near the end, because Pela has to set up a sting just to catch him in the act. And that sting is necessary all because the initial suspect they arrested, Norbert, had pretty much no idea of his partner's identity. Sampo wouldn't even speak to him face-to-face.

And whereas Sampo is normally very pleasant and friendly with the trailblazer...when he thinks he's talking to Norbert here, he straight up says that they are NOT friends. Like he really shuts that shit DOWN.

There's also an Overworld NPC, Chavez, who heads the "Dark Blue Scam Support Group." And he. Really really really does not like Sampo fjkdasjklfdj

Chavez clearly wants Sampo caught, and has literally no positive feelings about him. So. Why call it the Dark Blue Scam? Why not just out him by name? Chavez obviously doesn't give a single shit about Sampo's dignity or privacy. But he never once refers to him as "Sampo," and even the pamphlets he passes out make no mention of it. No one in the entire support group seems to know how to identify him or how to refer to him except by his hair color. If the trailblazer says his name, Chavez reacts as though he's never heard it before.

(I've seen people say this means Sampo Koski is an alias and not his real name? But Ray pointed this out, and honestly I agree; even the Fools call him Sampo, after all. I think it's just that Chavez never knew Sampo's name in the first place, and given his immense distrust, immediately assumes it's an alias.)

And then there's his characters stories, where he proceeds to pull off a heist in the Overworld while in disguise as Brughel Poisson the entire time. Literally his own stories don't mention Sampo's name even once.

So anyway, all this shows that when he's up in the Overworld working cons, Sampo is incredibly slippery and secretive about his identity. The only people who seem to know him are Pela, Serval, and Gepard. He doesn't get close to anyone else, and is even surprisingly unfriendly. Nobody knows his name. No one knows his face. He has zero qualms about backstabbing or double-crossing, and even plans for it in some cases.

Meanwhile, down in the Underground, I'm pretty sure literally the worst thing we hear of him doing is scalping tickets in front of the Fight Club. Which isn't even illegal in a lot of places (although it's certainly a dick move).

In Hook's companion quest, a vagrant miner steals Fersman's equipment and tries to sell it to Sampo. Even before the trailblazer and Hook jump in and out the vagrant as a thief, Sampo hesitates to buy it because it sounds like stolen goods, which he doesn't want any part of.

Even knowing that a geomarrow detector is rare and incredibly valuable in the mines, Sampo makes no attempt to double-cross Hook or profit off of her loss, and even tells her who to go to to get it fixed.

And my favorite example of Sampo in the Underground is the Survival Wisdom adventure mission. In it, Sampo starts up a business with Peak, another miner. And like. In wild contrast to all the cons he pulls above ground, Sampo is actually super nice and helpful here.

Just the same as with Hook's quest, Sampo talks to Peak face-to-face, with no disguises or barriers. When the trailblazer finds them, they're just in the Great Mine, no secretive meeting places. Peak knows Sampo, is familiar with him, and calls him by name. It's not even a con! There's nothing illegal going on; it really is just a business partnership. Peak is more than happy with their deal, he's even pretty enthusiastic about it, because thanks to Sampo he can now make enough money to get by while also accommodating his chronic fatigue.

The only person Sampo lies to in this whole ordeal is the trailblazer, who he manipulates into getting Peak's mining equipment back from the vagrants that stole it in the first place. And when it's done, he rewards them with a legit treasure map.

So when he's working in the Underground, Sampo is MUCH more upright and lawful. Part of this is probably to do with his "business" model- Sampo only takes advantage of the wealthy, and poverty runs rampant in the Underground. When he charges Peak an extra 30% (the same percentage he charges Norbert as a consultation fee in the museum heists- Sampo seems to go by percentage instead of a flat rate, which means his prices are more fair for lower incomes) for carelessly losing their supply, Peak literally starts counting out pocket change.

Dude's working for pennies and good will down there dknsmdmd

And you can twist this into a Robin Hood thing if you want- Sampo IS technically working to feed orphans and heal the sick. He says himself he's more than happy to make up the shortfall between the greedy and the marginalized- I mean he says it in the shadiest way possible, but I doubt the people benefiting from his work really care that he's a slimeball if it means they can survive another day. Even the two heists he pulls in his character stories are literally just him stealing absurd amounts of food.

Personally though I think it is solely because of Natasha, and Sampo is hilariously well-behaved specifically for her, because she keeps him on a short leash JSKZJMSMSKS

[marz-barzz]

I made a non character specific fanfic for the sillies

No tws for this

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"I missed you." He rasped, eyes heavy and swirling with a sort of desperate look that pleaded for you to hold him, begging to remedy all the sorrows, all the pain, all the tears shed in a horrible past long to be forgotten.

"I missed you too.." You murmured, his strong palms cupped your cheeks with such tender affection and sweet care, his crooked and misshapen nose brushing against yours. Bringing his palm to your lips, loving and gentle hands cupping the back of his large and firm ones. 

He felt perfect, you made him feel so perfect, so appreciated, so wanted, so... loved. In his eyes, you were the deity that loved him and him alone, no one earned your attention like him, no one worshiped you like him, no one laid down their devotion, their affection, and adoration for you like him. You made him feel like a human, and he wanted to thank you for that in the only way he could, the only words he knew how to convey his gratitude.

"I missed you so much..." an exasperated whisper left his chapped lips like it was a horrible secret that only you were allowed to know, kissing your lips so sweetly, so carefully, and downright lovingly, so gentle and sweet.

His love could've given you cavities, like a candied apple covered in sticky caramel and or a rich chocolate candy in a heart-shaped valentine's box.

He Pulled away with a small smack of puckered lips, eyes fluttering open to meet yours with the same love and adoration as you did, like a love-sick puppy, all for you and you alone. 

"Welcome back home." You smile, pulling him in for another kiss “I missed you.”

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