#sigh back to writing

[missyscorner]

greasy bangs rafe cameron come home the kids miss you

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[reksink]

A Gaggle of Masks

[lifeof-pink]

do you think part of the reason why dokja’s face is so unclear/censored throughout most of the story is because his self as the oldest dream (ie 15 year old him) cant imagine himself surviving to adulthood

[misc-obeyme]

prompt: Mammon

a/n: I know, I'm late. I had... a lot going on yesterday. So you get Mammon late. I was going to do Levi today too but I can't find the notes I wrote for his anywhere. So you'll get Levi at some point, maybe tomorrow? I dunno, I might just be a day late forever now, too lol. Anyway, I'm sorry for the low quality of this, like I said there were extenuating circumstances. @om-adventcalendar

Mammon x GN!MC

Warnings: more fluff~

It was the end of a lovely night out, courtesy of Mammon winning big at the casino for once. He insisted on spending it all on a date and who were you to refuse him?

You followed him out into the parking lot after finishing a delicious meal at Ristorante Six. When you reached his Demonio, Mammon put a hand in his pocket for his keys. You watched him as he frowned and checked the other pocket. Then he looked at you in confusion as he began patting down the pockets of his jacket, clearly checking for keys that he couldn't find.

Finally, he peered into the driver's side window, his hands on either side of his face to block any glare.

"Let me guess," you said, after watching this play out. "The keys are locked inside?"

Mammon pulled his head away and looked at you forlornly. You pressed your shoulder against his so you could put your face where his had been between his hands. Sure enough, the keys sat alone and discarded on the driver's seat.

"How did you lock the car without the keys?" you asked.

"This car is top of the line, MC," Mammon said. "It locks automatically."

You moved away from the car and saw Mammon rubbing at his face beneath his sunglasses for a moment. When he looked at you again, it was with the most defeated expression you had ever seen. It was so cute, you couldn't help but laugh.

“Oi!” he protested immediately. “It ain’t funny!”

You tried to suppress your laughter, but it it was difficult. "Don't you have a spare key somewhere?"

"Nah, this is the only key," Mammon said, folding his arms and pouting at your poorly concealed amusement.

You laughed again and took his arm. "Come on, don't look like that. You have to admit it's a little funny."

“I don’t gotta admit anythin’,” he grumbled.

You pulled out your D.D.D. "All right, let's call a locksmith."

Mammon didn’t say anything as you found a number for a locksmith and called. You gave them your location and told them your predicament. You had to wait only a short time before the demon showed up.

The demon gave Mammon a slight bow, clearly recognizing him as the Avatar of Greed.

Then he saw you and smirked. “This human causing you problems, huh?” he asked. “Coulda told you humans are dumb.”

The air around Mammon began to crackle, making you suck in a breath. He took a few steps, getting real close to the demon. He looked him dead in the eyes and said, "I'm the one who locked the keys in the car. Are ya callin' me dumb?"

The demon back pedaled immediately. “N-no, of course not!”

“Good,” Mammon said. “Now apologize to my human.”

The demon looked like he was about to shit himself. “S-sorry,” he stuttered in your direction, unable to meet your eyes.

Mammon backed off, returning to your side. He grinned and it was a little bit unhinged. “Now can ya unlock the door or not?”

The demon quickly unlocked the door, handing Mammon the keys and insisting there was no charge for the service. He got into his own vehicle and drove off so fast you thought he might take flight.

You turned to Mammon. “Was that really necessary? You scared that guy half to death.”

Mammon grinned at you, escorting you to the passenger side and opening the door for you. “Nobody insults my human.”

You rolled your eyes, but got into the car. Mammon closed your door then went around and got into the driver’s seat. He leaned over the center console toward you. “Ain’t it my duty to defend your honor?”

You snorted. “Pretty sure I’m the one defending your honor all the time. But I’ll let you see how it feels, just this once.”

You met him over the console with a gentle kiss, teasing his bottom lip with your tongue before pulling away.

Mammon's eyes were glazed over for a moment before he cleared his throat and started the car. You noted how he took the quickest way back to the House of Lamentation with almost no regard for speed limits. He parked the Demonio in its usual spot in his room, but it was a long time before either of you got out.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[glowingsand]

mob my son *explodes*

[sunnymainecoonx]

Horror's silly I guess..... idk sometimes I just want him to slam people idk

Sighs the man's a little angy don't judge him... Jesus he's ugly

[unjustgalaxy]

not enough lintroller on my account recently... i miss them what have i been even doing

do u guys like vampires

[mediumgayitalian]

The crooked, creaky door of the cluttered infirmary storage room pushes open and slams shut in the span of a second, just barely allowing someone to dart through. Nico jumps, banging his head on the shelf he’s hiding under, chomping full force on his lip to bite back a shout. The shadows, on lucky reflex, bend around him and shroud his face. The rest of him he tucks further into the forgotten corner between two filing cabinets, holding his breath.

Under the unflattering light of the single swinging lightbulb, Will looks dull.

A thin headband attempts to hold back his frizzy hair, although it does very little. Curls stick out oddly and many shorter hairs are plastered to his temples and the back of his neck. His skin is unusually lacklustre, even pale, except for the high flush around his cheekbones. The bruising under his eyes rivals Nico’s. He has been wearing the same scrubs for the last two days.

With one last look at the closed door, nothing but garbled voices filtering through the heavy wood, he slumps. He drops his face into his chapped and bleeding hands, heels pressed into his eyes, and holds them there for ten seconds, twenty. Slowly, with trembles so minute they are at first glance unnoticeable, his shoulders begin to shake. The long fingers flexed and tensed around his forehead curl tightly, and he twitches, whole body trembling, teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip to stop his chin from quivering.

It does not work.

The first sob is quiet. He catches it quickly, forcing it back down, breathing heavily through his nose and out his mouth to beat it back. The second follows quickly, though, and it’s harder to choke down. When his face crumples, his resolve goes with it, and his knees hit the floor, sharp crack swallowed by the stillness of the room. He curls forward until his nose nearly hits his knees, hands sliding through his hair and over his ears and settling finally clutching together in the dip of his chest, bouncing with every heave of his chest. It’s quiet, his crying, enough that every dropped tear can be heard as it hits the dusty floor. The only time his sobs are ever audible is when he opens his mouth, trying desperately to soak up enough air to catch himself, to carry himself through.

Mute horror holds Nico’s tongue hostage.

He’d escaped in here the second Will had been called away this morning, dragged for the umpteenth time to handle a crashing patient or a complicated hymn or to soothe someone’s nerves. For the past two days he’s been doing his best to monitor Nico and a handful of other front liners who’d exhausted themselves in battle, but his focus has been split and the infirmary has been crowded. Whenever he runs off to put out whatever fire had cropped up — sometimes literally — the whispers start, the glances, the skin crawling up Nico’s back. Nico can hardly tell anymore what’s the shadows and what’s the people around him, watching him out of the corners of their eyes like they’re waiting for him to bust out a scythe and a black hooded cloak and start reaping.

The storage room is supposed to be an escape. Out of the way and forgotten as it is, it is supposed to be the place he can hide for an hour, escape the heavy gaze of the rest of the camp, collect himself before braving it all again.

Clearly, though, he’s not the only one who thinks so.

There’s something disorienting about seeing Will Solace cry. In the few times Nico has spoken with him during his visits to camp, he’s been a barely-contained explosion of energy, whether talking Nico’s ear off with updates about people he barely knows and references he hardly understands or cussing him out for overextending himself. He’s used — as much as he can be to someone he’s only beginning to really get to know — to his wildly flailing hands and widely playful grin, his loud drawling voice, his painful, constant brightness.

His hands, now, clench until they’re bloodless, trembling. There is no hint of his wide smile or twinkling eyes, because his face is hidden by all the hair that his given up on the pretence of the hairband, and the only sound from him are his gasping breaths and swallowed-back sobs. Nico watches him because he cannot look away. He flinches because every cry, every rough, scraping inhale, sounds like shattering rock, like an iceberg breaking off a glacier.

A quiet beeping startles them both.

For a stretch of time Will is motionless. The beeping continues, steady and soft, bouncing off the cluttered shelves and fading before they echo. After the third round — and Nico counts, if anything for something to do besides watch the chafed skin on Will’s hands crack and bleed with every flex — he drags himself upright, nails drawing lines in the thick dust of the floorboards, and rests back on his heels. He breathes for a moment, shuddering, hands pressed flat to his face; in, beep, beep, beep; out, beep, beep, beep. None of his breaths are ever steady, but he wastes no more time, swiping under his eyes and pinching his cheeks to restore his face to some of its usual colour. He grips onto each board of the shelf to his right as he yanks himself upwards, hand over hand, until he’s stretched, finally, to stand, although there remains a slouch to his broad shoulders.

The beeping continues, emanating from the watch on his left hand, growing softer or louder as he trails his fingers over the shelves from one end to the other, from the first, the second, the third. He pauses finally on a collection of bottles, turning them carefully to read the labels, then tucks them each gently into his already bulging pockets until he is left with what he must carry between his fingers.

The shadows bend to cover Nico again as Will turns, unknowingly facing him, and pulls himself suddenly straight-backed, chin set high, shoulders squared. He smiles, wide, fractured, squinting his eyes deliberately. The beeping stops. He breathes, in, smile, out, nod, and turns, striding, back to the door, opening it with flourish and swiping the dust off his clothes.

“Found them! Sorry it took so long, I really had to look —”

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Nico stares at it with bile churning in his too-empty stomach.

———

art by the incredible @clingonlikeclingwrap

[kirishwima]

I've been thinking a lot about scarily possessive Satoru.

Not in a creepy, stalkerish way. More like...Satoru who thinks love's meant to be painful, because that's all he's ever known.

Satoru, and his thoughts of consuming the one he loves because he knows no other surefire way to keep them beside him.

He's so uneasy the moment they step away, he knows they could never be as strong as he is, could not be protected as well as they could beside him, if their body melded into his, and so he bites and nips and laps up the bloodied marks.

You think its his kink or something, but it runs so much deeper. It's his need to keep you as safe as possible yearning to keep you comfortable in his mouth because his fangs are sharper than anyone else's-and so long as you're trapped between his canines, no one will ever even think of stealing you from him.

He'll be careful, he promises-but he's clumsy with love, never knows just how hard to bite down to keep you safe, keep you near, and how much will make you bleed and pull away.

One day you try to teach him love's not about biting at all, it has no use for teeth-what it needs is gentle lips to kiss, hands to interlace, but he just laughs. He's always learnt to hold the things he loves with sharp talons and never let go. All good things leave him if his grip's not tight enough, and you? You're the one, sole thing, he'll never let go. Even if it hurts. Even if it bleeds. Since that's the only way he'll know for sure you're his.

[ohworm-writes]

Just thinking about veteran and or retired neighbor Price right now *sighs dreamily while twirling my hair*

Like, okay - imagine having a house next door to Price situated in a small, cozy village up somewhere in Northern England, surrounded by nothing but green, grassy plains and dense forests with a stream that runs through the small village. I see him living somewhere cozy... quiet. Away from the loud, noisy environments that he'd been so used to, finding somewhere calm to settle down.

I see him having a pet. Maybe a lazy dog or a farm cat, something that'll follow him around and take a nap with him after a long day, either laid across his body or beside him. But, at the same time, maybe he'd like a pet that has a bit of energy - you can take a man out of the military, but you can't take the military out of a man. He still has so many traits and habits he's picked up from the military, and if you know anything about older, retired men, it's that they always need something to do and busy themselves with.

RANDOM THOUGHT but I feel like he wouldn't retire unless Laswell grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and forced him out of the military, likely for his own good. If it were up to him, he'd stay in the fight until he died, so I'd think that him getting close to it was what pushed for the decision to be made for him to retire - maybe he was injured to an extent that it wouldn't be smart for him to keep going or something of the like - I could totally see him with an amputation of sorts (like, twinning with Alex lol).

I think he'd like to keep to himself for as much as he could. I don't see him as one of those super friendly, "oh, let me help you with that" type of neighbors unless the situation is right, or, rather, unless he's called upon for help. Like, he's grumpy and stoic, but only until somebody comes to him asking "hey, sorry to bother, but can you help me with something" and he'd soften up - begrudgingly, it seems, but, really, he's happy to offer some assistance. It makes him feel useful.

God, imagine moving in next door to him and struggling to unload your car of all the boxes and things that are haphazardly packed inside of it, and him walking out of his house, seeing the way that you're struggling, and letting out a heavy sigh - just like "welp, suppose I know how I'm spendin' my mornin' now" and coming over to offer his assistance, a little awkward at first, but that quickly melts away as he settles into comfortable conversation with you.

*slamming fist against the table repetitively* BRINGING HIM FOOD OR TREATS AS A MEANS OF THANKING HIM FOR HIS HELP! A little reusable container held between your hands, to your chest, walking over to his place and knocking on the door, outstretching it towards him and being like "thank you - for your help... I wanted to show my appreciation, you know? so, I made you this" and giving the container to him.

AND WHO IS HE TO SAY NO??? (He tries, believe me, but that sweet, eager look on your face, wordlessly begging for him to take it... he can't deny you). AND HIM RETURNING TO YOUR PLACE A FEW DAYS LATER WITH THE CONTAINER IN HAND, BEING ALL GREATFUL AND STUFF. God, someone let him be real, pleaseee.

Becoming comfortable neighbors with him, spending rainy afternoons over at his house, or, in contrast, him at yours, sat on the front porch with a cup of tea or coffee or hot chocolate in hand, gossiping about some of the neighbors that live within the houses along the street, the both of you sharing your own life stories here and there, him divulging about his time in the military without shame.

Okay, I know a lot of people like to think that he wouldn't ever share or talk about it, but I can't see that. It's not like he's ashamed of his time - he's proud of the work he did, if anything, and it's all behind him now, so why should he be shy to share about the things he did? Of course, I don't think he'd go into gruesome detail about it or share about everything he's seen, but he'd totally be like "yeah, I've been all over the world - did a few OPs in X, Y and Z countries, took down terrorists, et cetera" and answer any questions with pride.

Him totally being The Man™ who you can go to if you need help with anything. Need help with a leaky sink? Give him a few minutes and he'll be over with a toolbox. Want to do an oil change on your car but have no clue where to start? Don't worry, he's got an oil pan, jack and a few rags around somewhere, he's sure - he'll be over in a few. Want some simple, good ol' company? He's outside the door already.

He'd be more than happy to give you a tour of the village if you ask, pointing out which neighbors to trust and which to be wary of, telling you about his favorite pub that's posed all the way on the far side of the town, but he promises you that the food, drinks and atmosphere are like nothing else. Walking with you down the stone pathways, footsteps clacking against them, taking in the sights with you and answering every question you may have, or, simply settling into a comfortable silence with you. At peace. Comfortable.

I'm so *laying on my bed on my stomach and kicking my feet slowly in the air behind me* I need him.

[toxintouch]

Headcanon that Ais never feels fully rested. He doesn't feel tired, but he doesn't feel right either. Not since joining the groupmind.

He sleeps, but his mind is never really at peace. When and if he manages to fall into a deep enough sleep, he's in a constant state of something akin to lucid dreaming.

He gets flashes of the other members of the group mind in place of any real rest. Their current actions; errant memories; whispers in long-dead languages he's leaned to understand.

[reminiscentrainclouds]

They infect my art history notes once more.

[lostinthewalls]

Coming at ya with a sad little angsty prompt. Late night thoughts, really.

Tinies absolutely petrified of fireworks. Say it's new years or the fourth of July or some other holiday including fireworks. So obviously, the giants are setting them off outside.

The poor tiny is huddled under a blanket, curling in on themselves, desperately trying to escape the barrage of sudden noise. Whimpering and crying as the explosive blasts reach their ears, yet they have no idea where it's coming from.

Now, either they are alone or undiscovered, and have to stay awake until God knows when, and when the blasts finally stop, their ears are ringing uncontrollably and they're still a sniveling mess but! can never be too loud or else the giant will find you.

Or, take the fluff route. Their giant companion/lover has stayed inside for the night, and, when looking for the tiny, find them gathered up in a pile of blankets, clutching their ears. The giant picks them up in their gentle hands, blankets and all, and carries them to a different, quieter room.

They hug the tiny to their chest, whispering soft nothings as the tiny clutches their shirt, dry-heaving and gasping for air as overwhelmed sobs escape their throat. Eventually, they settle down, and fall asleep in their companions hands. Not the best nap in the world, but the noise is muffled when held against the giants chest, so it's something.

And the giant is stuck there. But is happy about it! Atleast the tiny isn't stark terrified anymore.

Oh my God I went off the RAILS for that one but just...petrified tinies afraid of fireworks or loud noises....please........

[dollyyun]

and i haven’t even write out the smut part yet🗿

[lottiecrabie]

me writing buffy the vampire slayer fanfiction in the year of our lord 2024 to an audience of 5

anyway buffy reckoning with what she has to become to be a slayer 🤓😝👇