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pileofmush · 6 months

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don't crush the wings

pairing ➸ luffy x fem!reader

details ➸ tags: modern au! humor & spice! gratuitous use of the f-bomb // cw: no smut, but a little suggestive; drinking. everyone's at least 20 & this doesn't take place in america; reader wears a dress & is called a girl at one point // wc: 2k

a/n ➸ happy halloween! 🎃 muahahaha

“We are gonna get fucked up tonight,” Nami sings into your ear with a sharp giggle. She’s sitting on your lap, turned towards you with a long bottle in her dainty, manicured hand. Fishnets run up her thighs, up, up, up into her short black miniskirt, and the fabric rides up farther as she wiggles in your lap.

“Or just fucked,” you mutter, side-eyeing your friend. You know for a fact that Nami has goals she plans to achieve by the end of the night, and they probably have something to do with a pretty girl whose name starts with ‘V’ and ends with ‘ivi’.

It’s Halloweekend, a Friday night, and you’re pregaming in the shoddy little apartment you share with Nami and Usopp. Nami’s dressed to kill as an alluring vampire vixen, and Usopp’s fiddling with the zipper of his Party City superhero costume. Knowing your friends, you expect for a little mayhem to occur tonight. Especially considering the party you’ll be attending: hosted by none other than the ASL brothers.

If there’s one things you can trust the ASL brothers to do, it’s to wreak havoc on society. If there’s a second thing you can trust the ASL brothers to do, it’s to throw a decent party.

Nami swats your thigh at your remark and thrusts the bottle into your hands. “Drink more,” she orders. “You’re not nearly drunk enough.” You fumble for your Hello Kitty shot glass and pour liquor into your glass.

“Just drink from the bottle,” Nami chides, fingers curling around the hem of your dress. You take this in stride; sink into the spotty old couch Usopp salvaged from a flea market with a sigh. Nami’s a flirty drinker: you know this. Get a couple drinks in her and she’ll get touchy and bossy—or, bossier than she already is. The girl cocks her chin up at you in challenge. “Don’t be a pussy.” She’ll also get mouthy.

You reject her protests with a minute shake of your head. “No way.” Usopp trots over from across the room with a matching Hello Kitty glass, and you tip the bottleneck until vodka pours out, to Nami’s displeasure. “I’m not a fucking heathen.”

“Cheers to that,” Usopp says, then clinks his glass with yours—Hello Kitty to Hello Kitty. He throws his drink back and immediately starts coughing.

You smile at your friend’s pathetic demonstration, raise your glass, and toss the drink to the back of your throat. It goes down a little smoother than your first had, but still lights a fire in your chest, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

A loud knock has your head swiveling to the front door. “The calvary is here!” Someone from the other side shouts.

You say Usopp’s name, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says and shuffles toward the door, probably resenting the day he signed a six-month lease with two bossy girls. He quickly unlocks the door, swinging it wide open. A boy springs through the entrance with a loud whoop, arms in the air. Behind him struts the moss-headed Zoro, who heads straight for the kitchen, determined to find the booze and drink you out of house and home, you’re sure. Hovering by the entrance lingers Sanji, who towers over Usopp.

“Are you seriously dressed as Batman?” You hear him ask.

Usopp’s pitch raises unnaturally as he defends himself. “The ladies love Batman!”

Sanji snorts. “What do you know about ladies?” He asks, stepping around the Walmart Superhero. Suddenly, he halts, gaze locking on you and Nami like a fucking aim-bot.

“Nami-Swaaaaaaan!~” He croons.

Nami grabs the bottle from your hands and takes a giant swig.

“And you must be an angel,” the blond appears at your side, sighing dreamily. A crown rests atop his head; his hair shines like spun gold. Blegh.

“A fairy, actually.” You reply, jab your thumb at the iridescent wings strapped to your back.

He nods reverently. “Ah, but of course. You’re made of faith and trust, magic and whimsy, my ethereal little pixie.”

You blink once, twice. Wonder if this loon pregamed the pregame, or if he’s just naturally this ridiculous. Nami takes another shot of vodka, and Sanji’s eyes track the curve of Nami’s neck as she gulps and sighs.

Damn it all to hell. You debate stealing the bottle and drinking from it like a heathen. Nami was right. You are most certainly not drunk enough for this.

Nami and Usopp’s friends are… Well. They’re something, alright. You met the duo in college and fell in love with their snarky energy, but their non-college friends? You pan your head from Sanji and Zoro, who are halfway to beating each other’s faces in in the middle of your kitchen, to their springy friend Luffy, who’s quite literally bouncing off the walls. Yeah… You try to avoid them when you can.

But. Tonight’s Halloween. The one day you’re legally required to make bad decisions.

So, more alcohol. You tug the bottle from Nami’s death-grip and take a healthy swig. “What happened to ‘not being a fucking heathen?’” She quotes, mirth bubbling in her voice.

You open your mouth to say something unbelievable witty and dry, but are interrupted. “Who’s fucking heathens?” Someone behind you asks. Both you and Nami turn to face Luffy, who’s leaning over the back of your couch, upside down.

“Nami,” you deadpan, at the same time she intones your name.

Luffy laughs, boyish, but also… Not. His hair’s pulled towards the ground, black curls pulled back to reveal thin brows and half-lidded eyes, and the expression is a little… Sexy. Somehow. Impossibly. Kinda lazy-like, with a shit-eating grin, and it’s...

You clear your throat, feeling a bit warm.

“Shouldn’t you be with your brothers? Y’know. Hosting a party right now?” You ask. Luffy chortles. In your peripherals you can see Nami considering you, undoubtedly smelling blood in the water.

“Nah. Ace n’Sabo threw me out ta stop me from eating all the snacks,” he says. His words aren’t quite slurred, but come out as a drawl, low and intoxicating. You have no idea how this man did a complete 180 in the span of 30 seconds. It’s giving you serious whiplash.

The front door opens once more, and Nami lets out a little squeak. Ah, that’s probably Vivi and co. Hmm. Dimmed lights, a sultry voice warbling over the speakers, intermingling with the occasional drunken shout… This is turning out to be a successful pregame.

Nami jumps off your lap, stealing the bottle from your hands one last time. Her limbs tremble before she inhales deeply, steeling her nerves.

“Have fun,” you say, shooting her a look.

“Oh, bite me,” the vampire snaps, then stalks off to go flirt with Vivi. You silently wish her luck (the amount of times you’ve had to listen to her hopelessly pine is staggering) and turn back to face Luffy again, a twinge of uncertainty in your gut.

He’s dressed like a football player, you realize. It’s a good look on him. His jersey is neon yellow and trimmed in green, but the color’s not as obtrusive as it might be in brighter lighting. And it shows off his lean figure, which is. Nice.

Appreciative as you are of his frame, you’re thinking up exit strategies by the minute. This is uncharted territory. You can count the number of times you’ve had a one-on-one conversation with the man on a single hand, and, don’t really feel like stumbling your way through small talk.

“You’re glowing,” Luffy notes. “S’pretty.”

Never mind. This is cool.

“Thanks,” you say, sheepish. “It’s the body shimmer. I’m a fairy.”

“A pretty one.”

Ah, fuck.

You don’t really feel the alcohol all that much, but there’s a pleasant buzz floating through your body, and it’s making you a little more… susceptible. To simple compliments like that. It has your heart stuttering, but in a good way. You want him to say it again.

“What, that you’re pretty? ‘Cause you are.” He nods. “So pretty,” he concludes; dark eyes sweeping over your frame.

Did you say that aloud?

You blink. Rack your brain for something coy to say. “You’re, um. Yeah. You’re pretty, too.”

Fuck.

Luffy laughs at that, and you’re grateful, because you are totally off your game tonight. But he doesn’t seem to mind, just leans in closer, still upside down, and it gives you an open view of the column of his throat. Golden brown skin, taut and firm until he swallows. You tense and back up a little to see his whole face.

He’s close, incredibly close. You can smell the Corona on his breath as he exhales. And you don’t really kiss random people at hangouts after only like, two compliments, but your brain is starting to consider him the exception.

You pull in your bottom lip reflexively, and his eyes dip to your mouth, tracking the motion. His pupils dilate. He looks, he looks hungry.

Fuck fuck fuck—

The door opens again and more people trickle into the apartment, pulling you out of whatever weird ass trance you were in, and you curse. Is this a pregame or a party of its own? The fuck.

You lean back, hands seeking purchase on the couch cushion to support you, but maybe you’re a little more drunk than you think you are, because you completely overshoot it, body tipping toward the floor. Your head spins as you realize in real-time that you’re about to eat shit, squeezing your eyes shut before impact.

Somehow, quick hands race up your body and flip you so that instead of falling on your back, you’re braced on top of something, cushioning your fall. Your eyes open. Luffy grins from beneath you.

You’re straddling him, you realize. Make to get off him, but his hands tighten on your waist and then loosen. A suggestion.

You stay.

Everyone’s eyes are on you, searing into your skin, but they’re nothing compared to the hot hands sliding down, palming your thighs. You don’t know whether to be mortified or grateful that you chose such a short dress. Luffy hums appreciatively.

Grateful it is.

Time to do some damage control.

“Mind your own business,” you hiss, looking up at the room. Everyone returns to their previous occupations, albeit reluctantly, sneaking glances out of the corner of their eyes.

You turn your gaze back to the man underneath you. “How the hell did you do that?” You accuse. It should be humanly impossible for someone to perform such complicated maneuvers—while inebriated, mind you!

He just shrugs. “Didn’t wanna hurt your fairy wings, did ya?”

That is. Ridiculously sweet.

“Fuck,” you say. It just slips out.

Luffy’s eyes sharpen. “Yeah?”

“What?” Your breath hitches. God, you sound wrecked.

Luffy waits a beat. Runs calloused hands up and down your thighs, and you just barely contain yourself from shuddering in his grasp. But it may be for naught, because you’re melting like putty in his hands.

He yawns, then licks his lips. “Wanna make out?” He asks abruptly.

It’s at this moment that you wonder exactly how you wound up here. What choices did you make in your life to end up like this? Splayed out on your apartment floor, surrounded by tipsy acquaintances, straddling the most bizarre man you’ve ever had the misfortune to come across? Fucking Halloween, man. This might just be the most humiliating thing you’ve ever experienced.

...

You say yes.

In the end, you don’t end up making it to that party.

#mushy writes .𖥔 ݁ ˖#luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #one piece #one piece imagines #one piece fanfiction #tw: alcohol #tw: drinking #m.luffy #m.op #off the cuff;

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suchafaunystory · 6 months

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a faun gets grabbed in the club, someone groping her body. someone a full head or so taller than the cute, squishy faun. she tries to resist for a moment before a pink cloud is puffed into her face, and everything changes. heat flows through her body, overwhelming her senses, and all her reservations are drowned out by a flood of desire. she sinks into the arms of the stranger, who keeps her from falling, easily supporting her weight with one arm, the other snaking down her body. squeezing her cute tits, pinching a nipple through her too-thin shirt, eliciting a little whine, rubbing her belly thinking about how big they're going to make it, how stuffed she'll be, and lower, and lower until resting between her legs, pressing on her cute, quickly hardening cock.

the faun is barely aware of anything but the feeling of the hand along her skin, the hand moving from her neck, down her front, then sliding up her shirt to play with her sensitive tits. and as she whimpers and whines, the body pressed against her back shifts, and she feels another pressure. a hard shape, pressing into her lower back. the poor doe's mind floods with images of what it could look like. big. stiff. leaking... gods she needs it.

the figure leans down, squeezing a tit in their hand, letting out a low, hungry growl into the faun's furry ear, the ear flicking, eyes widening, pupils dilating as the growl, the scent, the experience of it all activating something in her. a prey response of sorts. cornered prey.

while some react with fleeing, and other try to fight, there are some, always some, who simply

Faun

#hornyposting #faunposting #my stuff #i made smut #cw: noncon #or at least #cw: dubcon #cw: aphrodisiacs #dunno if this is clever or just silly but i like it #i liked the punchline #tbh this was an off the cuff write #i did not plan besides “hey aphrodisiacs are hot”#so yea #hope y'all like it!

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birdybirdnerd · 10 months

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👀 bifrost incident stage play????

youve opened pandoras box my friend. get ready

okay so i had this idea back in 2019 when i first got into the mechs and specifically first heard tbi. im a theater kid and have chronic amv/animatic brain where i visualize things real easy, so when i first listened to this album i was SLAMMED with the realization that, actually, tbi is PERFECT for a stage adaptation

imagine, if you will:

inspector lyf, at his desk side-stage and in front of the curtains. stalking across the stage, talking direct to the audience as he waves the black box, setting the stage and the story ahead and theorizing as to whats going on

the first chords of odins launch speech are heard, and the curtains open wide on the exterior of the train, odin at a podium, and a crowd listening intently

during each of lyfs speaking parts (cold case/person of interest/etc), he walks across the stage and explains things, as the set changes behind him. new characters arrive, spotlights shining as lyf wonders what theyre doing there, if they were the one that sabotaged the train

in the style of kabuki theater, the stagehands are dressed all in black, silently moving the set around the actors, changing things and completely invisible, the audience accustomed to ignoring them at this point

lokis song comes, and the whole time she sings, she is beset by these stagehands, dragging her around like another set piece, harassing her, interacting with her but still invisible to everyone else. sigyn tries to get her attention during her song, tries to pull her into their wedding dance- but the stagehands keep pulling loki into dances of their own, all while sigyn has no idea why her wife wont so much as look at her

losing track, lyf is losing track and the suspects are lined up onstage, singing, taunting as lyf stalks among them, grabbing their arms and faces and demanding answers. as he loses his mind, falling into despair, they turn to him and grab him back, pull him down, yell the only words they have left at him as he despairs.

the live band is dressed in theme, all steampunk-ed up, on a mini stage off opposite lyf with minimal lighting on them, until- expert testimony comes by, lyf bemoans having to go to the imprisoned bandits that annoy him so, as he crosses the stage, only for the lights to rise on the band and guess who theyve been the whole time!

red signal. lyf stands center stage, frozen in place as he chants, summoning that squamous something from beyond the veil, as those stagehands, all-black, all-invisible, shift and change before the audiences eyes, pulling out rainbow scarves, makeup once hidden shining bright and vivid in sudden black light. they dash off the stage as the rip between worlds widens, run amok the audience, slamming through doors and screeching as lyf voice raises higher, higher, until-

intermission

and when the audience comes back, the stage is... wrong

more black light, the set has warped and twisted. rainbow lights shimmer brighter on the backdrop, splashing in pools on the stage and the actors faces. the stagehands run free now, the monsters from behind the veil, the unholy things now attacking the actors directly, tearing them apart as the train falls into chaos

thor confronts the all-mother, transformed; she stands at the top of a podium now, the top of a platform while her costume has expanded around her, grandiose robes melting into a massive, writhing puppet manned by the stagehands, a bright and staring eye projected behind her head, staring at the audience, watching. thor fights off the hands, loses, and finally throws his hammer at the eye- replaced with a bright, white crack as the stars claim them both

loki and sigyn share a final tender moment in the engine room, they get their dance in before sigyn slips the line into her wifes arm. they share a final kiss as the curtains close on them, leaving...

lyf, standing center-stage. bottle in hand, exhausted, terrified. he bids the audience good luck, laughs wryly about the bandits disappearing - at some point, the live band quietly disappeared from their side-stage - and slips behind the curtain

terminus

the radio static fizzes, and as we hear the panic spread across the galaxy, the curtains part for bows. the bell tolls, flashing that bright, staring eye back as all other lights go off, plummeting everyone into dark and stark relief

so yeah, ive thought of this a normal amount

#the mechanisms #the bifrost incident #personal #my writing #technically??#anyways i havent actually opened the doc this is all in in years #but ive thougth about this and turned these thoughts and visuals over in my head enough times #that i completely one hundred percent was able to just rattle all this off the cuff #can you tell im autistic. anyways if i had unlimited budget i would one hundred percent make this #but theres so much that i just cant see happening on your average local theaters budget. so

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kamuucab · 2 months

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I don’t know if anyones pointed it out yet, but Floyd is silly. Goofy as hell. Even if he doesn’t have much of an outward personality in the movie, his dialogue shows a lot of character.

Most of those boyband puns in the script come from him, and he’s sarcastic towards Velvet and Veneer in such a way that shows he’s naturally witty and quick-thinking. Calling them “talent-stealing succubi”, quipping about a “desperate Christmas album or one-off national anthem performance”, commenting on his imprisonment and impending death in a off-handed snappy way (“Yea sure, dying sucks but at least it's for some sweet 'bling a ding' and some boho chic home furnishings.”) Floyd’s funny.

He’s naturally resourceful and charismatic as well. He hatched an almost-successful escape attempt and almost convinced Veneer to release him too! He wasn’t just taking his imprisonment lying down; he was probably constantly constructing plans in his mind and subtly manipulating Crimp and Veneer when Velvet wasn’t there. If things went slightly differently, or if he had more time, he probably could have escaped on his own.

I know he was typecast as “the sensitive one” in the boyband and doesn’t have much of a role besides being the victim of V&V’s scheme, but there are crumbs here and there that I definitely enjoy and think about.

#dreamworks #dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls band together #trolls 3 #Floyd trolls #trolls Floyd #anyway do you think some of Floyd’s solo act was him doing stand up #cause I def believe he did stand up #there’s no way he’s that funny off the cuff without practice #I think it’s cool that most of the realy good lines are from Floyd #kamu writes #also he is still very obviously empathetic and kind #but he’s definitely sassy and confident

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nicollekidman · 5 months

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all museums hold this tension but the smithsonian museums in particular feel so strained bc the tension between thoughtful, nuanced, and important exhibitions curated by brilliant people that highlight so many facets (often underdiscussed) of america’s history and people…. that still nonetheless all circle back to reinforcing and utilizing the framework of american exceptionalism and place as a “superpower”…… its really Something…..

#obviously this is more complicated that a tumblr post i write off the cuff but the insanely high quality of a #smithsonian museums makes the repeated emphasis on the success of the american project all the more jarring #anyways finally visiting the african american history museum and its stellar but also

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critrolesideblog · 2 years

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Caleb was pulled from his warm, hazy doze by whispered curses in Undercommon. Not an uncommon occurrence in and of itself, but the rhythmic frrrpt, frrrpt of stitches being pulled from knitted fabric was a new sound to his ears. He lifted his head from the pillow where he had been resting for seven minutes and sixteen seconds and peered groggily at the elf sitting next to him in bed, who was looking at a lopsided bit of knitted fabric with great consternation. Essek froze momentarily mid-pull on the thread of yarn connecting the fabric to a nearby particolored ball, as he realized Caleb was watching him, and then resumed his task.

"I dropped a stitch." He said without looking away from his work.

"You dropped a stitch?"

"To be expected, as a novice."

"And… how long have you been knitting?"

"The past five minutes."

"Ah… and when did you decide to take up knitting?"

"Earlier this afternoon." Essek paused as he carefully reinserted the knitting needle in the remaining stitches. "I was speaking with Beau this morning," he said, slowly as he resumed his work. "We were discussing that case she's been working on. At one point, I mentioned my numerous sins, and she told me to, ah, 'get a hobby.'" Caleb gave a soft a snort of laughter as he settled back down onto his pillow, which earned him a brief, withering glare, before Essek continued. "Uraya used to knit -- still does, I assume -- when they were working on a particularly troublesome problem. They said it helped clear their mind. I was always intrigued, but I did not have the time to pursue it before."

"The colors are lovely," Caleb yawned, as he brushed his fingers against the soft ball of verigated oranges, reds, and deep purples.

"I'm glad you think so… I thought I would add a scarf to your collection."

Caleb smiled as he closed his eyes. I love you, too.

#a little off-the-cuff lunch break domestic knitting drabble #so I can go back to working on my Verin WIP in peace lol #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #shadowgast #my writing tag #descriptions are vague because I crochet

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thevikingwoman · 4 months

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Inspired by this wolquestion and discord discussion thx friends for rotting my brain

Fandom: FFXIV | Words: 431 | Read on Ao3

Emmanellain de Fortemps & Meryta Khatin | Somewhere between 3.3 and 4.0 | friendship, fluff Rating: G. bad romance writing, hint at fantasy racism, friends being silly, maybe the WoL has time to relax once, past Emmanellain/Meryta

The Perils of Ishgard Publishing Houses

Emmanellain de Fortemps is sprawled on the couch, feet dangling over the armrest, empty wine bottle at the floor beside him, full glass beside it. His attention is focused on the book in his hands, the cover boldly reading Taming the Warrior - a High House Novel.

Across from him, Meryta leans back among the pillows on the oversized armchair. A half empty wine glass sits on the table in front of her.

"Delightful," Emmanellain grins, and continues to read aloud: "Meryta sighs, her leaf-green skin a contrast against Atoriel’s red doublet, and looks up at him, her orbs brimming with unshed tears. Her sweet pillowy bosoms heave... "

Emmanellain looks up at her, waggling his eyebrows. "Pillowy indeed. How fondly I remember —"

Meryta groans, and tosses a pillow at him, hitting him squarely in the face.

"Anyway. She leans against Atoriel’s broad and solid chest and says: Oh Atoriel, I love you so much. We must be together. I will give up adventuring for you and only fight for the glory of house Fortemps! Atoriel kisses her brow, and looks at the horizon with his cruel blue eyes – cruel alright got that right – his chiseled jaw is as sharp as his words.”

"I am afraid it would not work my darling. My Father would not allow it, someone so foreign as the wife of his heir. I love you darling, but it cannot be."

Emmanellain scoffs and stops reading.

“Ha! At this point I'm sure Father will be happy if my dear brother married a nice boy and adopted some brume rats as heirs. Not that it will ever happen; who’d want to spend that much time with him.”

“Someone likes him, Emmanellain. At least the person who wrote the book seems to think him very handsome.” Meryta grins and amends, “And I think you’re doing your brother a disservice. He’s trying to help your father the best he can.”

Emmanellain sits up and grabs his wine glass. He sticks out his chin, pouting.

“Meryta, pretty girl. Do you think my jaw is chiseled?”

“Emmanellain. You're handsome enough on your own. Stop it.”

He drinks down half his wine, and flops back into the couch.

“Alright - let me skip to the good part. There should be a chapter where the Lord Speaker and my dear brother spars half naked. It's very dramatic, according to the reviewers.”

“Reviewers? How many people are reading this? Spare me! Tell me of you latest Ul’dah ball instead.”

Meryta throws a pillow over her face, and Emmanellain laughs and starts flipping the pages.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #final fantasy 14 #meryta khatin #writing about meryta #completely off the cuff writing #fluff and fun #I had fun #aka my brain would not shut up #is it sad or funny I know the plot of the whole novel #emmanellain de fortemps #viking writes #published 12/14/2023

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whispers-of-masser · 5 months

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@dalishthunder you tagged me for a WIP thing back on July 26 and just missed me; a few days prior I went on an indefinite break. I didn't see the tag till just now, logging back in for the first time in months and scrolling through my dash – it was so far back it wasn't even in my activity log and I've already lost the post lmao Anyway here's a lil something I just thought of for it. In return I'm tagging you back, cause uh ... why not lol

~~~

"Hey. If we were animals, what kind would we be?"

You blink at Khash's sudden question, glancing over to the tree stump she's perched on, Xelzaz sitting on the ground right in front as she braids him a flower crown.

Before you can even think of an answer, Nebarra stomps past with a disdainful sniff. "You and Xel would be lizards, what else? And our dear dragonborn... well, as if that isn't obvious."

Xelzaz shoots him a lazy glare. "Your lack of originality is as astounding as ever, Nebarra. You even managed to forget to list yourself."

"Oh!" Khash's hands pause their braiding momentarily. "I know what Nebarra would be!"

"An eagle, I expect," the Altmer drawled. "Or something equally–"

"What? No – a mud crab!"

For several long seconds, there was silence.

You're the first to laugh, Xelzaz quickly joining in, even as Nebarra splutters an indignant, "What?"

"I mean," Khash begins, pointing at him with a bundle of yet-unwoven flowers, "you're covered in a hard shell of armour, a sword and dagger for pinchers, always fighting stuff much bigger than you – and you're cranky like one, too."

"She's got you there," you manage to laugh.

#uhh yeah that's it #ive been awake for over 24 hours at this point; Im surprised I even managed to write this much on the spot and off the cuff #but yeah hi after 3 or so months lol #it was fun coming back to a tag; ik I don't sound very enthusiastic rn but Im just tired I promise lol #my thoughts are splintering so uhh peace out im out #skyrim nebarra #whisper writes #skyrim khash #skyrim xelzaz #i don't think i tagged this fully but eh who cares lol

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pileofmush · 7 months

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i have a request for a luffy drabble!! i think he should be making a list/writing a love letter to you specifically :) what would he say?? 🫠💕

details ➸ tags: nothin but fluff! self-indulgent, teehee. // wc 0.7k

a/n ➸ this request is so cute! i'm melting. ty kitty for asking the real questions here.

Hey. Don’t throw this away, okay? This is important.

Read this now.

Duh, Usopp says. Of course you’re reading this right now. He says he’s a very reputable source in the affairs of love—just look at him and Kaya. I dunno what that all means, but I guess he knows what he’s talking about.

Usopp says I should just tell you how I feel. I do that everyday, but he says maybe writing it down would be helpful. You're the one with the fancy words, not me, but I'll give it a try.

So! Finish reading this.

And then read it again when you start to think too much about things that don’t matter. Don’t pretend you don’t do that. I know you, and there’s no point lying to a sheet of paper. So when you go quiet like you sometimes do, and your thoughts start to hurt you, follow my instructions and read this. Then come find me and ask for a hug. ‘Kay? Captain’s orders.

HERE’S SEVEN THINGS I LIKE ABOUT YOU! YES, YOU.

1. Your smile!

Sanji could probably go on and on about how you’re gorgeous, stunning, beautiful—all those words—when you smile. And all those things are true! But you’re also the most… you. When you smile.

You have different kinds of smiles: big ones! Small ones! Encouraging ones! Those smiles that mean you know something I don’t, and you can’t keep it in much longer.

But what I like best about your smiles is when they’re just for me. It feels a bit like a secret. And I don’t like keeping secrets, but I don’t mind those secret smiles you share with me.

2. Your laugh!

Your laugh is so… What’s the word? Contagious. That’s it. You are contagious. Just like your laugh. I like it when you bite your lip to try to hold it in, and when it bursts out anyway. I don’t know why you try. Nothing in the world sounds better than your hyena cackle, trust me. You’d give evil witches a run for their money.

You like to look at me whenever you laugh, I’ve noticed. Like you wanna know if I find it funny too. I don’t think you even mean to do it. You just do. But that’s okay. I’m usually already looking at you.

3. You’re easy to pick up!

If I’m not supposed to throw you over my shoulder and run, why do you make it so easy?

4. You’re expressive!

You like to think you’re so mysterious. Too bad! You’re wrong. I know those books you like to read aren’t “intellectual” like you say they are. Pretty sure they wouldn’t make you squeal and cover your face with your hands if they were. I wish you wouldn’t cover it. I like the faces you make when you’re nervous.

You’re probably nervous right now, aren’t you? You’re so easy to rile up! I like that about you, too. You get sort of mad, sort of not when I point it out. Your eyebrows scrunch and your mouth curves up and you cross your arms, all firm. I never know if you wanna kiss me or hit me. It’s cute. And fun. But wow, do you get a potty mouth when you're really nervous. Your words turn sharp and so does your stare, like you wanna cut me open with your eyes. Like it’s my fault that you’re stuttering out a quick, “Shut the fuck up.” Yeesh. You almost hurt my feelings there!

Just kidding.

5. You’re loud!

Even when you’re quiet. Especially when you’re not.

I like your voice. I like how it sounds when you just wake up. I like it when you finally sing the song you’ve been humming all day. I like it when you organize your thoughts out loud, and when you tell me about a joke Franky made earlier, and when you get real close and whisper things only meant for me to hear.

Sometimes, when I think, it’s your voice I’m thinking in. I like that, too.

So be even louder for me. Okay? ‘Cause everything you say is special, and I wanna hear it all.

6. You’re patient!

And kind. And smart and funny and mine.

7. You’re everything.

I like you ‘cause I like you. Isn’t it obvious? It’s not like I try to hide it.

So don’t hide from me.

—Luffy

#mushy writes .𖥔 ݁ ˖#this is me writing as luffy writing to me... inception #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #one piece #one piece imagines #one piece fanfiction #fluff #one piece fluff #m.luffy #m.op #off the cuff;

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ghouljams · 9 months

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I was just stalking your fae au and was reading the moose-creature-mimic posts, and I saw you mention that witch can feel when the mimic is trying to break her wards.

Whenever I hear about Fae, my mind immediately goes to the magic system from one of my favourite book series in which people who make wards have to develop wards for specific creatures, and if a creature that they haven’t warded against tries to enter, they can break through, if not break the rest of the wards.

Let’s say for a moment that something like that happens in the Fae AU, where some kind of unfamiliar creature from a foreign civilization comes a knocking on witches doorstep, and is able to break through her wards.

What do you think would happen? If Witch is connected to them, would Witch ‘break’ too? How would Price react to the pure panic and pain shooting through the tethers as an unfamiliar creature breaks through his darling’s wards?

I feel like she would be absolutely broken afterwards (if she survives that is-) Her wards are her safe space, she had never had that happen, she didn’t know what happened.

Would price still trust her to be safe in her own home?

Would SHE still trust her to be safe in her own home??

Just some thoughts 🫣

Oooooooooh. Ok yeah I can do some horror with this. Love the concept. So the Canon answer is that warding in this magic system can be as broad or as narrow as the caster wants. Wards can be weak and they can be broken, but it isn't going to harm the caster, maybe it'll give then a bad feeling but not any actual harm. Not a very good ward if it harms the wrong target IMHO.

For the Witch's home these are wards that are basically generations of people enforcing and reinforcing an all purpose boundary. It's an iron wall that nothing(save humans) is getting through without a permit, and it's tied to Witch both through her magic and her blood. She can feel when things mess with it, but it's like getting asmr, it isn't actually affecting her. She's mentioned before that her wards are threats, so anything that isn't stopped by a simple denial of entry is going to have those threats enacted upon it.

But let's say something broke her wards, let's throw some rocks through the windows and bust shit up. I am going on record to say, this isnt canon:

You feel something crack in the air before you feel it break. The splintering spiderweb of intangible bonds being pushed too far hits you between the ribs and you have to clutch the kitchen counter to stay standing. Something is deeply, desperately, wrong. You don't know how or why(or what) but something is working very hard to get in to your space.

It shouldn't be possible in the first place, you have known this house, these wards, your whole life and you've never felt it give way. You've felt it change, felt it ripple, felt it pop and fizz when it doesn't like what you've let in, but never this. Never the creaking pressure of it bowing inwards and splitting under its own tension. Your fingers wrap tight around your athame as you go to check your back garden, peaking through the curtains. There's nothing.

But you can feel it, you can feel it splintering like a pain in your chest. Tight and radiating out from your sternum. It tingles down your arm, makes your grip feel looser than you know it is. You grab your back door's handle, take a few breathes to give yourself strength, and open it to shoo away whatever is pressing your wards. And very suddenly the splinters give way, like a hole punched through a window.

It feels like all the air has been forced out of your lungs. A cool breeze blows through your door, wrong so very, very, wrong. The smell of moss invades your nose, burdened with the scent of decay. Slime mold oozing against your desperate breaths. You tug your shirt to cover your nose and mouth as the battering ram that had been beating your barrier steps through.

The horns of it scrape your ceiling, actually that bothers you more than it should, you're the one that has to fix it later. Velvet hangs from its antlers, freshly scraped and red, gory and divine. It stands on two clover hooves, and looks at you with malice. If you can even discern an expression from the thing. It's face is completely smooth save for its eyes, or it was smooth. A crack forms along the bottom of its smooth surface, splintering and chipping as it rips its mouth open and screams at you.

The sound is overpowering, dizzying, you feel your ears pop and then the noise is gone, replaced by a persistent dull ringing. You truly wonder when your life got so interesting. You hate interesting. You blame Price.

You cough, gag. You have to drop your makeshift mask to retch against the stench of rotten decay on this thing. It smells like death, weeks old bodies left to fester where no one will find them. You gag again, fingers curling around your throat as you try to keep you athame raised.

Your wards are silent, you home is silent, and you realize that you've never actually experienced true silence. Something is always buzzing or humming with magic, you always have music playing or bottles clinking, you're always surrounded by sound. Now it's all stopped. Even the ringing in your ears has settled into a cottony muffle. You can't feel any of your magic. Your numbed to it.

You drop your hand from your throat to your chest. You can't even feel the tethers there. Your fingers move over the fabric of your shirt without catching, there's not tightness to pull, not warmth to catch. You feel cavernous, empty past empty. What the fuck is that thing.

Whatever it is it seems to have finished its evaluation of you. Finished working whatever spell it was weaving. It takes a step towards you. You don't wait for it to take another before running. Scrambling away from the broken seal of the door towards whatever is heavy and throw-able.

You do your best not to let blind panic take over, to not just run wherever feels safe. You've always thought it was silly when people in horror movies don't do the smart thing, but you've never been in a horror movie before. You bolt towards your bedroom. It's the best guarded room in the house. Even if you can't feel your magic it should still be there. Right?

You feel the swip of the things claws through the air as it tries to grab you. You run straight past your front door without a second thought, sure you don't want whatever that is to be unleashed on the general public. It's claws dig deep gouges into the plaster of your wall, and you pray it doesn't do the same to your bedroom door. You know it will, but it can't hurt to pray. You're not in the mood to be picky with magic right now.

You get your bedroom door closed just in time to hear it splinter as the creature throws itself against it. You don't bother with chalk, digging your athame into the door and scratching sigils and circles as quickly as you can. When you tap them they sit absolutely dead. You smack your hand against your messy circle, willing the magic to respond. You smack it again as the creature throws itself against your door. The circle stays as it was, motionless, silent, still as a drawing.

You are suddenly much more comfortable allowing panic to overtake you. If you're powerless there's really no reason to keep your emotions in check. Your breath heaves, short and quick as you back away from your door and look towards your window. No magic swirls, no books rip themselves from your shelves, your panic heightens and nothing happens. How mundane.

One of the creatures claws punches a hole through the center of your circle, then another, and another. You back towards your window as it grips the wood of the door and attempts to pull it from its hinges. Your fingers push at your window, try to find the seams of it, try to get it open. It doesn't budge, it feels like it's been painted on. You bang your fist against the glass without so much as a crack. The wood behind you splinters. The crunch of it deafening over the silence.

"Price, Price, fuck I am not fucking around Price please," You beg pressing yourself back against the window as the creature drops pieces of the door onto your floor. Even if your magic doesn't work his still must. You've never hear of a fae not responding to their name. Granted you don't know the full thing, you don't know if that's really his name and not just a nickname. It might hold no power without the tethers between you. That doesn't stop you from saying it like a prayer, hoping if you speak him into existence enough times he might come and save you.

Your shoulders are grabbed by an invisible force as you are physically shaken. Your ribs shake, muscles tensed too tight to even take a breath.

There is a wet ache spreading over your stomach, you begin to tilt your head down to see what's wrong and Price catches you. His hand holds the back of your head, pulls it back up and shoves it against his shoulder. "Don't look," he tells you just as quickly as he'd stopped you. You nod against his shoulder.

He pulls something from you, rips the proverbial bandaid off, and you bite him at the pain. It feels like your heart has been knocked out of place, like your ribs have been played as a xylophone. Your stomach twists on itself. Suddenly you are back in your kitchen staring at the cabinets, the space where the creatures antlers had scraped the ceiling. The scratches are still there.

Then the shaking starts. Every muscle in your body starting to unspool in a violent shudder that must quake the very earth you stand on. It's loud. The house is so loud. The wards are practically screaming at you, you threshold wails and sobs where it has been brutalized. Your back door is still swung open to red and orange leaves, a lovely autumn day that leaks the smell of wet earth into your home. Price turns to follow your shaking gaze and kicks the door shut behind him.

"What-" You can't get anything more out around the aftershocks of panic. You're sure your house must look like a war zone.

"Probably some American invention," Price mumbles, "You weren't under long, deep breaths."

You suck in a breath, press your know into his shirt to smell the cool tobacco. It helps. Price keeps a firm grip on the back of your head, keeps you looking where he wants you to while his other hand does something. He touches you in a way you can't explain. It's almost metaphysical the way he zips you up, just on the right side of freezing. You can almost feel his fingers moving muscle and viscera out of the way as he does whatever he's doing. Fixing whatever just happened.

"Fucking hell your wards shredded that thing, surprised it even had the strength to touch you," There's something at the edge of Price's voice, fear your think. You're not sure what he's scared of, it isn't a comforting sound.

"How're you-" You try to focus on the important questions, like why Price hasn't been shredded.

"You lit up like a damn Christmas tree, thought I was gonna have my own attack with the panic you shot my way," He draws his hand away from your stomach, apparently finished with his fussing, "wards were too busy to notice me slip in."

Makes sense, even now they're too busy with repairs to pay attention to your regular.

"It broke my door," It's funny what you latch onto once shock starts to set in. "What did it want?"

"Same thing we all want," Price tells you, and you hate hearing him say it(we), because he doesn't mean it kindly, "you."

#the way i gotta nerf witch to put her in danger #genuinely her wards cannot be broken #youre trying to breach fort fucking knox my friend #oc: witch #1fae1 #fae!Price #it feels very ooc writing witch with broken magic #idk if i like this one #very off the cuff and what not #the words simply pour out of me if im writing past 10pm #a ghost possesses me and compels me to write #anyway this is more creatures tryin to eat Witch #what a tasty snack she is no wonder price wants her all to himself #american myths genuinely scare me so bad #but this is a hannibal inspired monster

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warrior-of-waistbands · 1 year

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part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

#j's posts #fight and grind and paint and (monster!harold)#this is what it looks like when i write dialogue for cap completely off the cuff

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abyssaldyke · 1 year

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Fuck writing books all my homies hate writing books

#ya girl #writing tag #it's this chapter. it's this whole thing but mostly it's my lackadaisical puttering approach.#i literally dont know whats happening next. it's the most off the cuff first draft.

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themidnightcircusshow · 2 months

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Every new thing I learn about James Somerton's process just drives home how he almost (but really doesn't) knows what he's doing. Yes, of course you use the sources you read as a jumping off point. Of course you copy and paste the important sections into your outline document so you can reread them. That's why you put them in quotation marks.

#James Somerton #honesty time: I totally believe he did this by accident #his entire problem is that he writes like a fandom account with bad takes #his anecdotal evidence that Todd in the Shadows spent a two hour video trying to find sources for?#they're all fandom drama taken out of their cultural context #(yes fandom counts as a subculture and therefore has specific context)#and all of it gets attributed to straight white women coz everyone knows shippers are all straight and cis women /s #he simultaneously treats his videos like bad fandom meta and Documentaries of Great Importance and those just do not mesh #it's part of why his videos were so unbearable if you actually knew what he was talking about #he learned how to make a youtube video essay. He did not learn how to write or study any of his chosen subject matter #I think that's also why he was not expecting to be called out the way he has because I suspect he probably thought everyone wrote this way #a lot of old video essayists especially the Chez Apocalypse bunch were very good at not broadcasting just how much went into their videos #so their style that has now become the norm feels incredibly off the cuff but is heavily researched #but also they are using that research to support their own hypotheses and ideas as you are supposed to #so I wonder if when he got called out he just brushed it off because surely he just writes the same way everyone writes #(and hey fandom posts are rarely cited because they assume everyone knows what they are talking about)#it almost makes me feel sorry for him but all I can think about is how catstrophically bad he is at this job #oh and for everyone wondering: I've found the best way to research is to put quotes in quotation marks #paraphrasing in either different punctuating or a different colour #and your own personal thoughts based on the source in something different again #all with the correct citations for your preferred style #this makes sure you have everything cited so when you put it all together you can do it easily without having to go back through it all #and prevents this from happening #(tbh I'm kinda sad I'm not still teaching. This would have been a perfect meme for how to do your damn citations week)

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seasaltandcopper · 10 months

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vampire hunter AU Pt 2

[Prev] | [Next]

Summary: Mal is handed over to Teddy by the vampire hunters.

(This one got longer than I expected, and is still mostly set up for the story and dynamics, but it's also chock full of whump, so I feel like I'm splitting the difference.)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Profanity, mentions of torture, blood and gore, violence, manhandling, nonsexual nudity, imprisonment, starvation, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun (only used by one character)

“Mal.”

One word. One name. It dropped from the hunter’s lips and snagged Mal’s attention like a fishhook through the gut. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard someone say his real name out loud.

Years, probably.

And now it spat from the mouth of this woman, this hunter, like a curse. Like some personal ax she had to grind with him.

Like she knew him.

Stiffly, Mal raised his head enough to get a better look at her. Short. Subtly curvy, but muscular. Dark skin, deep brown eyes, well-kept hair, all leather and denim and piercings with an attitude to match. The ensemble practically screamed, pick a fight with me and see what happens.

Teddy smelled like clean sweat, gun oil, and the intoxicating vibrancy of blood flowing through her veins. Life. Food.

God, he was starving. He was so fucking hungry it hurt. More than hurt. Hurt was a broken arm, a knife digging between his ribs, the burn of a cigarette put out on the arch of his foot—this was closer to losing a piece of his soul. Feeling it shredded and screaming in agony without relief.

Mal swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth before he choked on it, and tried to ignore the twisting in his gut as the smell of them permeated the cramped space. He held Teddy's gaze, sunken eyes peering out through a mess of filthy hair, but the flash of recognition he hoped for never came. She stayed unfamiliar. A stranger.

But one who obviously thought she knew him.

“Today’s your lucky day, bloodsucker,” she said, eyes flint-hard and sharp enough to cut. “You’re coming home with me.”

What?

Mal blinked. It took longer than it should have for reason to catch up and plunge icy fingers past the fog of exhaustion and pain. He’d expected—well, more of the usual. Another guest looking to blow off some steam, or getting “justice” for someone Mal had likely never laid eyes on in his life.

This wasn’t the first time the hunters had brought in a friend; honestly, the bleak-humored side of Mal was surprised they hadn’t thought to charge admission. Probably could’ve made a nice little profit on the side.

Still, the script stayed the same: they took him out to hurt him, and after they got tired or bored or felt they made their point, someone dragged Mal back to his box. Time passed, alone, in the dark—sometimes hours, sometimes days—before he was fed just enough blood to heal the worst of his wounds.

Then the cycle repeated.

Over and over and over. A horrific, never ending nightmare, but a familiar one.

Leaving with another human—no, a hunter, who knew his name, how did she know his name, who was she?—smashed every established pattern to pieces. Unease tangled like thorny brambles inside his rib cage, clawed at the back of his throat.

Mal couldn’t ask what the hell she meant; he couldn’t even open his mouth, muzzled like this. Cautiously, he glanced towards Brooks, hoping for some kind of clarification.

The hunter chuckled. Hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, and leaned back against the wall, smug as could be. The nasty glint in his eyes sent a cold tremor down Mal’s spine; he dropped his gaze back to his lap.

Brooks was one of the ones who’d taken a personal liking to Mal, early on. Back when they’d been uncommonly cruel in their attempts to wear him down, testing the limits of their creativity with techniques that still left Mal nauseous to think about.

If Mal’s heart had been capable of more than sluggish, off tempo beats, it would’ve raced.

“You got your own restraints for transport, or should I write up a slip for loaner gear?”

Reaching behind to unclip something from her belt, Teddy flashed a standard issue set of cuffs and a muzzle, then tossed it to him. “Here.”

Brooks snagged the gear out of the air. Stepped away from the wall with a sigh. Tensing, Mal pulled in a shallow breath through his nose, and watched Brooks out of the corner of his eye. The man’s black-polished boots crunched on the grit strewn floor.

The woman made a noise at the back of her throat. Derisive. “And hose him down or something before you bring him out. Smells like someone left roadkill in a hot van.”

Brooks snorted. A half-beat later, the toe of his shiny, black-polished boot slammed into Mal’s hip. It tore a pained exhale from him as he lurched to the side, the clatter of metal singing against brick. Catching himself on his forearm, Mal winced at the stripe of skin he lost for his trouble. Blood welled up in dark beads, staining the pale firebrick with more of the same.

Dead blood.

It wouldn’t satisfy like fresh, human blood would. It didn’t smell like anything at all. But the sight of it still tied Mal’s insides in knots as the instinct to feed spiked in response.

All his body understood was that it was starving, and that looked like blood, even if logic knew it was only a trick.

“Look, I don’t give a shit about the transfer order. Whatever. You want the vamp, you can have it. But we’re not runnin’ a grooming service. You want the thing washed and styled, do it on your own damn time.” Eyes still on the other hunter, Brooks tangled a gloved fist in Mal’s hair and hauled him upright. “Alright, shitsucker, let’s go. Up.”

Scrambling to get his legs under himself before Brooks left him with a bald patch, Mal twisted and choked on the words trapped in his throat. The sudden shift in gravity left his head spinning, limbs somehow both too stiff, and too wobbly to fully bear his weight.

Legs shaking, Mal planted his feet as best he could, but stayed on his feet. Barely.

Just do it. Hurry up and get it over with, I can’t—

Brooks came to the same conclusion a second later. He hissed an irritated sigh, and released his grip on Mal's hair. Unsupported, Mal sagged on his feet, brows pinched in a pained grimace.

“Lazy motherfucker,” Brooks muttered. “Told you. Give ‘em an inch…”

Yeah, and I'd tear your throat out, you fucking bastard.

Strong fingers dug into Mal’s arm as Brooks worked to unlock the manacles. Heavy iron clattered to the bricks. Then again, as Brooks stooped and did the same for Mal’s ankles.

Without the added weight, Mal felt marginally steadier on his feet. And uncomfortably naked.

Gingerly, he ghosted bony fingers over the red, raw patches of skin circling his wrists. Black humor bubbled in Mal’s chest, and he swallowed back a laugh. Now he felt naked—without the extra pounds of iron weighing him down—but not because he hadn’t worn clothes in years.

On his list of priorities, Mal's desire for pants had dropped depressingly low over the years.

At least when Brooks cuffed him again, arms behind this time, he left Mal’s ankles unshackled. The muzzle went last, and a part of Mal hated himself for the way he tilted his head without prompting, obediently offering Brooks better access to the buckles; the rest of him didn’t give a shit, as long as it got the fucking thing off faster.

Brooks tugged it, giving the muzzle a disgusted look as no small amount of crusted gunk and scabbed tissue pulled free too. Mal barely noticed. After days suffocating in the thing, he was just glad to have it off.

He sighed. Worked his jaw, and held back a groan as sore muscles twinged all the way down his neck. Dried bits of filth Mal definitely did not want to identify crumbled loose with the movement. More of it itched under his nose and around his mouth, but the worst still matted the scruffy mess of facial hair stubbornly clinging to his jaw.

Even when they deigned to leave the muzzle off, there was only so much grooming he could do without access to water or rags or full use of his hands.

At some point Mal just gave up trying.

Gloved fingers snagged his chin, pulling Mal from his thoughts. He flinched. Not enough to pull loose—even reacting blindly Mal was smarter than that—but enough to earn an amused snort.

“Maybe it could use a hose down,” Brooks muttered. He ghosted a leather-clad thumb over Mal’s chin, squinting. “Ehh.” Then shrugged, wiped his finger clean on Mal’s shoulder, and lifted the replacement muzzle to fit in place.

Mal shivered as worn leather kissed his skin again. It sat overlapping some of the bleeding lines chafed by the old one, bright stinging pain sinking into a deeper, throbbing burn as Brooks cinched the straps tight.

At least this one was purely to prevent accidental bites—just a simple, boxy wire guard and leather straps—not like the ones Mal was used to, meant to completely immobilize the jaw.

He could still open his mouth. Take a real, full breath. Run his tongue over the outside of his teeth, or lick his lips. Talk.

This was fine. Mal could deal with this. This was—better.

After double checking his handiwork, Brooks laid a heavy palm on the back of Mal’s neck. He tensed, visceral disgust tingling down his back and making his skin crawl. Touch didn’t carry many pleasant connotations these days, but being touched by Brooks left Mal feeling genuinely sick.

The hunter squeezed once, pinching with his index finger and thumb. A warning.

“Let’s go,” Brooks ordered. “Move.”

Gentle pressure turned to a vice grip, and Mal hissed. His entire body was an ugly patchwork of marks—welts, burns, the scabbed over remnants of a recent caning, bruises layered on bruises; and his neck was no exception.

Brooks’ fingers molded themselves to older blue-green imprints, pressing hard. A sharp boot-tap to the knobby part of Mal’s ankle followed, and he cringed at the pathetic, wounded-animal sound that rose in his throat. Lurching forward, he struggled to stay on his feet and limp along at Brooks’ pace.

“I’m—trying,” Mal rasped, frustrated. He tripped again on the lip of the kiln. Would’ve fallen if Brooks hadn’t literally had him by the scruff. Shit.

The world pitched. Dark spots burst across Mal’s vision.

“Quiet.”

Fuck you.

Teddy followed silently, a dark smudge in the corner of Mal’s vision as Brooks manhandled him out of the room. Up one flight of concrete stairs. And another. Past the living quarters, and then into a part of the compound Mal only remembered seeing once: a pair of heavy steel doors that led outside.

Out, to the wide, open world and a night sky Mal hadn’t laid eyes on in years. He didn’t notice he was shaking until they stopped. Blinking rapidly, his vision strobed. He felt light, fuzzed at the edges, like he was about to pass out.

The pressure vanished from the back of his neck. Replacing it, a hand curled around his upper arm. Skin to bare skin. Warm skin, and slender, strong fingers. Though Teddy's hands were smaller than Brooks’, one of them still managed to encircle the entire circumference of Mal’s bicep.

There just wasn’t anything there anymore.

Side by side, Mal figured he stood a good five or six inches taller than her, but she probably weighed more. She sure as hell could’ve picked him up if she felt inclined.

“I got it from here,” she said, to Brooks.

A nod. “Sure. An’ listen, you change your mind, you can always drop it back off. Teddy, right? No questions asked.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah, alright,” Brooks said. “You got my number if you need anything—” A pointed pause. “Y’know, anything—handlin’ advice, someone to share a drink with…”

Grimacing, Teddy shot Brooks a look that would’ve vaporized a weaker man on the spot. “Yeah,” she drawled. “I got it.”

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Brooks took the hint. “Alright, alright, Jesus.”

Eyes the color of dark amber settled on Mal’s face, and this time he visibly grimaced at the attention. Swallowing hard, he tried unsuccessfully to push back against rising anxiety as Teddy addressed him directly.

“You try anything and I’ll break both your legs, and drag you the rest of the way to the truck by your hair. Got it?” He nodded.

Yeah. Mal got it. And his tentative hopes for ending up somewhere even marginally better than here dwindled by the second.

Warm, sweet smelling night air folded around them as they stepped outside. Grumbling to himself, Brooks turned and vanished into the compound without a word, not even sparing a glance back.

He’d probably agonized more over tossing out an old pair of boots. Or getting shot down by a cute hunter.

With a sharp bang, the doors pulled closed behind them. Sighing, Teddy tightened her grip. Something Mal couldn’t identify flickered across her face. Disgust? Anger? Whatever it was, Mal blinked and it was gone.

“C’mon. I wanna beat the sunrise home.”

AN: Annnnnd we're about to start really getting into the meat of it. I actually planned for more to happen in this chapter and had to shove that in the next one, and this still ended up 3x longer

Next chapter we get to meet Will, the other half of the hunter duo

Taglist: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @thecyrulik @lookbluesoup

#whump #vampire whump #whumper turned whumpee #vampire whumpee #original writing #salt ocs #salt oc: mal #salt oc: teddy #misc aus #wyn i'm tagging you since you said you wanted to know when I post these things LOL #i'm going to impulsively post this tonight #and prob find a million errors tomorrow #i'm flying by the seat of my pants here #these are off the cuff #also some of the meanest stuff I've posted on here so far I think #you want whump? i'm giving you whump #my writing #vampire hunter au

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