#but we want feedback

[jananimal813]

Not sure if we have something here.

Got to talking about how Jack Harkness was somewhere between Ace Rimmer and Zap Brannigan.

Threw in Jack Sparrow cause it seemed appropriate.

Categories are; Eternally Horny(or charming), Eternally Enduring(or immortal), and Eternally Zany (or chaotic).

Open to suggestions for those fill ins. Landed on Loki (Marvel), Zeus (just classic mythology), and Seahawk (She-ra princess of power)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[monobani]

some Maria outfit variations I did for fun because I miss her leopard print :'>

[humming-fly]

Just like Justin Mcelroy's callbacks to the chilean miners I have once again emerged to deliver this, More Team Greed Nonsense, this time featuring stupid questions ed asks to get out of work

ngl drawing this is the most clear headed I've felt in weeks if i go longer then seven days without drawing greedling I start going through withdrawl

to that end have a second bonus:

Team Greed Doodles Masterlist

[elucienweekofficial]

Hi all!

I hope this is the last post we need to make about this. Please do not turn our appreciation event into a battleground to fight other shippers. We will not be responding to any more posts on the matter, nor will we be reblogging/interacting/tolerating negativity toward people who ship things we do not. That is antithetical to our community of eluciens who want to enjoy shipping Elain and Lucien without needlessly fighting.

If some folks want to host a longer event, they are welcome to do so- there is no rule that says we can only have one elucien week. But this event, which has historically hosted every elucien week since the inception of the ship, will not be doing a longer event, nor will we do so simply to "bombard" other shippers with content. We create out of love, not dislike, and I hope I am not the only person who believes this.

Please block tags if they offend you and otherwise remember that other shippers host events for the same reason we do- they love their pairing and want to get together as a community to celebrate that. We will continue to be supportive of our larger ACOTAR community.

[tennfan2]

I am so honored/excited to be part of this collaboration, which features a group of incredibly talented hypnosis creators taking turns to bring you into and back out of trance in under a minute, for a fractionation experience that will have your mind spinning.

What you're hearing here is the SFW version (in keeping with the general vibe of my channel) - it's got teasing, snaps, countdowns, rhyming, confusion, and relaxation with both "masc" and "femme" voices. The file itself is gender-neutral in language.

You can find links in most of the places you look for hypnosis content to other versions of the file that are more spicy, and that have just "masc" and "femme" voices!

If you'd like to hear more from these incredible creators, here's a link to everyone's socials: https://tinyurl.com/43n5pcbf

And as always: feedback is welcome! Please let us know what you think!

The cast, in order of appearance: Loopy_Loops, @mindthebaron, @dragontize1, MistressTess Starshine, FoxDen Hypnosis, Lady Portia, Blankmaster, @theleeallure, Ultra Hypnosis, Impish, Smutty, Pling, Mommy Mochie, Mr Snake Hypnosis, @ellaenchanting, @sex-obsessed-lesbian, Veiled Threat, Shorky, (Yours Truly), @mistresscalia, @chaotichypno, Rose and The Hypnotic Voice!

(Thanks to Calia for the image!)

[thepoisonroom]

'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.

I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.

About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'

-Casey Plett, Consciousness

[elfcollector]

WE’RE EXCITED TO ANNOUNCE...HE’S DEAD.

THE MURDER OF SONIC THE HEDGEHOG (2023) — developed by SEGA

[perplexingly]

I’m so damn tired

[plottwiststudios]

Offer: "Have you thought about tapping into the Chinese market with your game? We have services~"

Me: *Looks at miHoYo , Genshin, Natlan, and the toxic justifications that refuses to say the vile quiet part out loud.*

Me: *Looks at ALL of the character designs in my game* I... I don't think this offer has seen recent Genshin Impact discourse -- or the fact my game hasn't even sold well where diversity is most encouraged...

[skyward-floored]

I can’t be the only one who’s annoyed at ao3 bundling botw and totk fics together, right? Even from the perspective of someone who’s played both (I haven’t yet), doesn’t the option not to be able to filter between them get bothersome? What if I want to read just a botw fic? No totk anything? For me, who’s still trying to avoid totk spoilers, it’s maddening.

I can’t just filter out totk fics, unlike every other zelda game on the entire website, I have to block all the character tags, and all the ship tags, and any additional tags as well that might even remotely have anything to do with totk, and then just cross my fingers and hope that everyone tagged things properly and I don’t get smacked with a giant spoiler in any untagged stuff.

I’ve mostly just given up on reading anything botw. It’s not worth it.

[pearl-the-artist]

(You called for me) Gabriel / Reader Oneshot

Ok please be patient with me on this. I spent over 24 hours in a car on a trip to Russia a few days ago and it made me do something I've never dared to before: write a fanfic. On my humble Samsung notes.

If this isn't a total flop I might make more? I dunno? Maybe hop on ao3?

Criticism and feedback is appreciated ok thank youuu have fun

Another restless night, another hour spent lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above you. The room was shrouded in the comforting night air, more illuminated than usual by the soft glow of the full moon outside.

You look at the clock on your nightstand; precisely midnight. Two hours after your drunken father came home again, letting his pent-up frustrations and anger out on you in a one sided yelling match. Of course, as usual, neither was your mother of any support; only giving you that same disapproving, disdainful glare. You were never really welcome, not even in your own home- your parents biggest mistake lingering around only to weigh them down, and remind them of what they could've had. Or so they've told you, many, many times before. Tonight was no exception.

When the broadcasts first announced the new threat infesting the county, "alternates" they called them, you were, admittedly, both terrified and somewhat relieved. You were never really one to believe in the supernatural, but who knows, your parents were just superstitious enough to maybe fall for their schemes.

The first announcement had been around, what, a year ago now? Not much had really changed admittedly, although the population had begun falling drastically since then.

Your parents had of course used this opportunity to also confiscate your phone, the CRT TV in your room and old little MP3 player gifted to you by a relative, god forbid you let an alternate in to potentially threaten them, your own safety not even really a point for consideration to them.

Living with your parents was already hell, but getting by without your favourite albums and shows? Torture.

So tonight when you lied in bed unable to fall asleep, your mind wandering as usual, it may have wandered a little too far.

You recalled something you overheard your parents talk about. A friend of your dad's, a man of unwavering faith, who had been found dead in his own home a few weeks ago, seemingly in the middle of his usual prayers. Even though his family mentioned having seen an odd, ghostly figure outside their home that night, the doctors seemed to blame the cause of death on a brain hemorrhage.

It made sense, come to think of it. When you first saw the emergency PSA, it explained all kinds of methods to protect yourself from alternate attacks, one of which being avoidance of religion, faith, and philosophy.

So then, the alleged "ghost" that visted that poor man just might've been... Well.

This gave you a bad idea, but you weighed the options available to you.

Either you would die in a similar way as the old man, or... you might just get lucky and bargain with it. Alternatively, nothing happens, and you remain stuck with an unhappy married couple that hates each other as much as they hate you.

It was definitely stupid, but at this point it seemed like you had nothing to lose anyway. You weren't really much of a believer yourself, so you didn't exactly know how to pray, but you gave it your best shot. Sitting up in your bed, hands clasped together with a bowed head and closed eyes, you tried your best to focus.

If there was a god out there, may it hear your pleas. Wordless whispers called for help, begging to be heard, while you did all you could to try to concentrate on any spiritual connections. All the while you knew you may as well be praying to a literal demon.

A few minutes passed as you racked your brain for what to say before you stopped, your hands falling back into your lap.

What the hell were you doing? Yes you hated it here, and you couldn't even run away if you wanted to, but inviting an alternate to your house just like this? It was a death sentence, and not a pretty one, that much was certain.

You shook your head. It probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Right, this was all just some silly superstition, not that different from those "send this to 5 other people or you'll die tonight" chain e-mails. You laughed internally at how silly it was that you even thought this would work to begin with, and, admittedly, felt a brief sense of relief. You decided that you were ready to just go back to sleep, and just as you pulled your blanket up to crawl back underneath it- you almost jumped.

It was a voice, faintly audible outside your window. You didn't even process it until a few seconds after, a barely legible, strained whisper.

"I heard you praying."

You froze. A cold wave shot right to your stomach. Slowly, agonisingly so, you turned around to face your bedroom window.

A tall figure stood outside, its hands clasped together similarly to how you just had a few minutes ago. With long, flowing white robes and silver, wavy locks that reached down to his shoulders, he looked... Ethereal. Not to mention the massive, pure white wings folded neatly behind his back. His head blocked out the full moon, the light creating something almost like a halo around him, making him appear even more angelic.

"Woah."

You couldn't help the little gasp of awe. He seemed to find it amusing, his grin spreading a little too wide for comfort. Admittedly, you almost doubted if he even was an alternate at all. Maybe you'd come out a person of faith yourself, after this.

"Are you... An alternate?"

You whispered hesitantly, quiet enough to try to conceal the trembling in your voice and also not alert your parents sleeping upstairs, though you weren't sure if he actually heard you at all.

He didn't respond for a moment, tempting you to ask again, before that inhuman whisper was heard again.

"You called for me, and now I am here."

Avoiding your question, huh. Suppose he was an elusive sort. You quickly glanced around your room, eyeing the door in particular just in case; you really hoped your parents were asleep.

"May I... Come closer?"

You couldn't even recall the last time you were this polite to someone, though it was your best bet not to piss him off while he was still friendly, if you could even call it that. You had no point of reference, though he wasn't actively trying to harm you, so it was a start.

The angel, his smile unwavering, simply nodded, waving his arm in an invitation to approach.

It took a moment for you to will your body to move from the initial shock, but with slow, careful steps you moved to open the window to properly speak to him, a pleasant cool breeze inviting itself into your room.

"So... What's your name?"

Did alternates have names? Suppose they just took on the name of whoever they were trying to mimic. You leaned onto the window frame, trying to catch a good look at his face; and for the first time in god knows how long you were met with eyes that, albeit a bit creepy and lifeless, looked back into your own with an unfamiliar lack of hostility.

"You may call me Gabriel, child."

Gabriel? That name sounded familiar- Oh! The Saint Gabriel's church at the edge of town. Suppose that made sense, given his angelic appearance, if it wasn't just one morbid coincidence. Your thoughts and scrutinizing stare dragged on for a bit longer than you were aware of, though, as his voice pulled your attention back to him.

"Are you lost, my lamb? I can save you. Let me in. Let me into your mind."

The last bit seemed a bit more... Pushy than the rest, making your stomach feel just a little heavier. You gathered your thoughts anyway, trying to push that feeling aside for now. You did do this for a reason, after all, though now that he was actually here you were starting to second guess things.

Gabriel seemed to take note of your hesitation after a while of you not responding.

"Open your eyes, my lost little one. Look at me. I can grant you anything you wish for. You just need to let me in."

An odd mix of dread and comfort you'd never felt before settled in, and the feeling was almost... Refreshing, in a way. You quickly glanced back up at him, and he was still staring at you, ever so patiently, eerily.

"Uhm... I was just- well, it's probably kind of silly."

No backing out now, not when he was already here. Even if you wanted to, you don't think he'd let you go so easily. As you verbally stumbled over your own thoughts, he simply waited, his unblinking eyes staring into you, gouging out your soul. Or so it felt.

"I just thought... Is it possible for, well... Is there a chance for humans to be able to ally with alternates? Can I join you?"

Surprisingly, that got his smile to falter, if only a little bit. A flicker of emotion you couldn't quite explain showed in his eyes- surprise, perhaps, or consideration.

"What for, my child?"

That uncanny whisper of his never gave away any emotion, monotone and unfeeling, yet not unfriendly. Admittedly, his question made you pause; you hadn't exactly thought of how to explain this to him. You hadn't even expected him to show up at all.

Fidgeting nervously, unsure of whether to tell him the truth or not, you tried to think of what to say. Despite your rationality screaming at you for being an utter moron, you knew you were in too deep at this point.

"I don't think I'm any good to these people at all anymore, I just... don't know what to do anymore. With myself. I have nowhere else to go. And, maybe..."

You weren't sure if you should say it or not, you already let more vulnerability slip than you wanted to. But your spite driven words were quicker than your brain, and man did it feel good to open up for once.

"...maybe for revenge, also."

Gabriel listened to you surprisingly attentively, very interested in your words. At your last statement, he perked up with an almost malicious twist to his grin. Before he could respond, though, you suddenly heard the sound of your parents creaky old bedroom door and footsteps from upstairs. And you could tell by the sound of them that it was your mother. And she was pissed.

For a very panic filled moment you weren't sure what to do, your thoughts racing- instincts called for you to jump into bed and pretend you were asleep like you usually would... but with Gabriel here, you couldn't- and that's when you realized you really only had two real options.

Stay here, and continue living this miserable life, and also deal with the imminent outburst of your mother.

Or go with him, and then... Well, nothing and no one could possibly guarantee what would happen to you then.

"Choose wisely, my dear lamb."

Your dilemma seemed to be rather palpable to the "saviour" as he pulled you out of that mental spiral, and you were rather grateful for it. As much as it made you nauseous with uncertainty and anxiety, you finally snapped out of that paralysis and turned towards the window.

"Please, help me. This is the only favor I'll ever ask of you. I will do anything you want in return, I promise."

You began to plead in an urgent, hissed whisper, practically leaning out of the window, causing him to take a step back.

Desperation and panic shook your words as you glanced back at your bedroom door.

"Get me out of here."

He chuckled, an amused sound mixed with something you couldn't quite explain that made you feel more fuzzy than you'd care to admit.

"Come. Come to me, my child. Step outside."

For the first time tonight hesitation became a foreign concept as you practically leapt out that window. Your bare feet felt the cold gravel beneath, just in time as the door to your room swung open.

The angered yelling of your mother were drowned out by the feeling of suddenly being lifted off the ground, Gabriel taking you up into his arms like your weight was akin to a feather.

He was cold, lifelessly so. And yet the soft silken robes, the way he held you in his arms, and his deceitfully promising whispers were lulling you into a sense of security you hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"A lost little lamb, asking their shepherd for guidance..."

His eerie, yet strangely comforting laugh filled your ears once more over the noise of your mother not yet realizing you weren't in your bed. You're surprised she wasn't hearing him at all. Maybe it was another mind game of his.

"You made the right decision. I knew you would. Such a smart, yet scared little thing you are, are you not?"

You leaned your head against his chest, sighing deeply, beginning to forget what you were ever doubtful about during the start of this whole fiasco. Your weight began to sink into his arms as you relaxed. He held you a little tighter in turn.

"Of course I shall guide you, my child. Come with me; you will be mine. You will be safe."

Just as the furious woman realized to check the opened window, Gabriel vanished as swiftly as he appeared, leaving behind the sight of nothing but an empty garden, peacefully quiet, as if you were never there.

[politemagic]

slasher iii & slasher iv

oh geez oh boy oh god here it is. i had to strangle this thing out of my brain and she came out kicking and screaming. unedited, just some fun slasher iii & slasher iv content on this saturday evening. this is... something

there's a good bit of triggers in here, please proceed with caution.

1.15k words

The two of them are just hardcore horror fans, right? They've seen all the classics a million times but as they're getting older it's just not enough. III is the first one to suggest it as he turns off the television after watching the newest horror box office flop. At first, IV thought it was a joke. An outlandish suggestion to throw him off his game. That was the kind of jokester that III was. But there was no humor in his voice when he said in a sinisterly quiet voice.

"We could just do that shit ourselves."

The thought caused excitement to pulse through IV's veins as III laid out the details of his fantasy. It was almost too perfect, he thought. Their calculus professor was a piece of shit who was always too hard on the class, so he made an obvious target. He had no family, which further eased IV's conscience. They'd be doing the world a favor.

It was an experience unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, the thrill of watching the light wink out of his horrified eyes as he clawed at the masks covering their faces, watching the fight leave his body as he fell limp to the floor. He found he didn't quite mind the feeling of his blood soaked jeans clinging to his legs.

III had done most of the dirty work, but who was IV to deprive him of the joy he received from plunging the knife into his victim's stomach? They tidied. up after themselves enough to erase their presence, and waited for someone to find him.

The discovery of the beloved professor’s body the next day came as a shock to the whole community, leaving the town a worried mess. Things only got worse as III and IV selected their next target. She was a young woman, engaged to be married, known for babysitting just about every kid in town– the two of them included. IV’s stomach soured at the thought, but the grin on III’s face stirred his excitement enough to quell his conscience. 

“Don’t worry mate, she’ll be perfect.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder and pulled him into his pickup truck, the bed loaded with enough hunting knives to butcher a stampede.

And perfect she was. They managed to slip into the garage undetected, slinking through the darkened hallways towards the illumination and chatter of the television in the living room. She had nodded off on the couch, her head tilted back and nestled into the corner, surrounded by blankets and pillows. III gave him a silent nod and IV walked around behind her, wrapping an arm around her neck and clamping his hand over her mouth. Her eyes shot open in fear, panic overtaking her body as her eyes raked down every intimidating inch of III as he knelt in front of her, sliding a knife out of his boot. 

IV could feel her gnashing at the flesh of his palm, and simply pressed the crook of his elbow further into her jugular. He could feel her resolve dwindling as she thrashed against his hold, trying to shove III’s towering figure away from her. But III only laughed and swatted away her comparatively small hands as he began tracing the tip of his blade up her pajama clad leg, the twinkle in his eye indicated to IV that he was thoroughly enjoying the muffled whimpers coming from behind IV’s hand, relishing in the way that her body lurched away from him.

When IV felt his hand dampening from her tears, he audibly groaned, looking down to see her beautiful eyes squeezed shut, tears running down her cheeks. If his mask wasn’t covering his mouth he would have leaned down and licked those tears off of her perfect skin himself. But instead, he managed to catch III’s attention, nodding down to her streaming tears and III laughed evilly.

He leaned over her, wiping her tears away with his thumbs, gently caressing her cheeks as he did so, despite IV’s hands covering most of her face. 

“Hey, no use for that,” III cooed. “No point of doing that at all, love.”

Her eyes opened, a bone-chilling fear shooting through her body as she saw the murderous glint in III’s eyes. The tears flowed faster, and as she tried again to break free III restrained her arms with ease, resting his body weight on top of her as he brought his knife up to her line of sight again. 

“We’re going to have a lovely time, the three of us.”

She screamed from behind IV’s hand, making one last attempt to bite at him and managed to find purchase on the meat of his palm, causing him to yelp. She sank her teeth in until she could taste his blood on her tongue, but she found his grip only tightened. When she dared a glance above her, she could see his eyes shut, breathing labored, but when he looked down at her, she realized what a mistake she had made. 

A mixture of her tears and IV’s blood dripped from her chin, and the sight sent a shockwave of excitement through III’s body. He was ecstatic to have a partner in all this, to get to experience his wildest fantasies with his best friend. To share this new side of him with his best friend. 

“Now for the fun part.” He whispered, more to IV than to her, but the words caused her heart to sink, she felt the resolve fly from her body– there was no salvation for her. The coppery tang of his blood on her tongue that had once tasted like victory now tasted of defeat. Not only would she die at their hands, she would die with their repulsive presence invading her every sense.

III felt the familiar rush of euphoria as the blade pierced through her belly, her muffled scream like a favorite song heard on the radio. He didn’t miss the way IV’s hip pressed slightly into the couch, spreading a wide grin across his lips.

This would be the fun part, indeed.

Hours later, III laid down in his bed, resting an arm behind his head as he replayed the events of the day, that same grin still plastered on his face. He felt his eyes drifting closed, sleep ready to take his body when he heard the sound of his phone vibrating on his nightstand. His heart leaped at the sight of your name, and your sweet message.

i guess you turned in early tonight. sweet dreams, i love you <3

As he laid back down, his eyes falling shut one more time, his mind conjured up the most beautiful plan for you. 

A special surprise.

[sneezingfetishftw-fics]

Why is it Always 1/8 of a Sex Thing?

Blitz and Striker fic is finally up! This is chapter 1, I'll probably do more chapters eventually but it takes a long time cause this is my first time writing fight scenes (hopefully all the googling paid off lol).

Story is set some time after "Oops" (season 2 episode 6) and before "Full Moon" (season 2 episode 8).

Warning: The following fic contains graphic violence, strong language, sexual themes (no explicit sex), as well as rampant messy sneezing... so yes, it's intended for mature audiences.

———————————————————————————

When Blitz opened the door to the warehouse, he locked eyes with a certain cowboy who’d been lying in wait. Blitz’s amused smile met Striker’s menacing grin, and for a moment, neither spoke.

This certainly hadn’t been on Blitz’s agenda for today. No, he was just stopping by to pick up some bullets because IMP’s supplier in Wrath was “understaffed”. Whether that was a ruse or an unfortunate accident, Blitz was beginning to think Striker had something to do with it. Striker bared his teeth, but didn’t attack immediately.

He was savoring the moment, basking in the anticipation. Blitz had defeated him one too many times and he would not stand for this humiliation. This was going to be the end of this stupid fucking feeling of incompetence. Or was it? Until the fight started he was both winner and loser. And he needed to be only a winner. He pulled out his guns, and in an instant Blitz was mirroring the movement.

“You again?” Blitz laughed at the cowboy. “You’re wasting your time, we both know how this ends.” “You don’t know shit,” Striker taunted, lassoing the imp and pulling him closer. Blitz raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re gonna tell me I got it wrong and you’re actually here to make out with me?” Striker growled as Blitz wriggled free of the rope, but before Blitz managed to go anywhere, Striker dipped the point of his tail in some powdery substance and stuck that point up Blitz’s nose.

A split second of confusion flashed across Blitz’s face, quickly replaced with a smug smile. “Ooh, not a commonly chosen hole, I gotta give you points for creativity! But really, if you wanted inside my holes so bad, you coulda just asked!” “You won’t be laughing for much longer. I reckon that stuff should kick in about 3…” Blitz gripped his gun and looked around, no obvious signs of danger. “2…” He did a mental scan of his body, no obvious signs of poison. “1.” “Heh’tsschew!”

Striker smiled, and Blitz rolled his eyes. “Look, I love a good release as much as the next guy, but I’ve got places to be, so let’s wrap this up.” He pulled out his gun and aimed at Striker, but before he could pull the trigger his focus was thrown off. “Hit’schhhue!” The shot went wide, and frustration flashed across his face. Striker chuckled. “Now you’re getting it.” “If by it, you mean fucked in a new hole, then yeah! You know, they say a sneeze is 1/8 of an orgasm. Wanna find out?” He winked. Striker sighed. “Seriously? You’re gonna make this one a sex thing too?” Blitz laughed. “Come on, you should know by now,” he said, aiming his gun again. “I always make it a se… eh… eh’TSCHEW! I always make it a sex thing.” Another missed shot, but this time Blitz didn’t let his smile slip. “I’m 3/8ths of the way there! Aren’t you getting excited?”

“Just shut up and let me capture you already, bootlicker!” “Oh, you wanna add some more kinks in there huh? I hope you know that costs eh… eh… eh… extra,” he said, holding off long enough to actually hit Striker this time. It was only his non-dominant arm, which didn’t seem to deter him much. But still, that was at least closer to target. Wait a minute, what was that about capture?

Blitz felt the lasso pulling him closer again. He was about to try wriggling out when he suddenly had a better idea. “HEH’TSCHIEEEW!” Striker recoiled in disgust as Blitz drenched his face, providing Blitz the opportunity to escape. “What the fuck?” “What, don’t wanna get a little wet? I thought that was the point?” Blitz said, flashing a grin as he leaped away.

His escape was short-lived, however, as he soon found himself frozen in the throes of another sneeze. “Heh’heh’hetschue! Itschh! Hah’tschew! Hit’SHEW!” That was enough time for Striker to tie him up and drop his gun to the ground, so Blitz resorted to his usual methods. “Ohhhhhhhh! Oh God that feels so good! I guess it really is true!” Blitz writhed and moaned underneath the rope.

And honestly? It did kind of feel good. Not the sneezing, necessarily, though he didn’t hate it. But the thrill of the fight. One doesn’t get into the business of assassination without some appreciation for the adrenaline rush. And his opponent had given him a new toy to play with—a challenge. It seemed like a detriment right now, but was there a way he could use it to his advantage? This would be fun.

“I don’t think you’ve had enough,” Striker said, dipping his tail once again. Blitz did a spit take that had far too much actual spit (and snot) for Striker’s liking. Striker shook himself like a wet dog and poked the powder-coated tail into Blitz’s other nostril. Blitz gasped. “Deeper!” Striker pulled out with a glare. “Shut yer trap,” he drawled. “Make me,” Blitz replied, sticking out his tongue. “I already did,” Striker said, his arms crossed. “Heh’tschh! Heh’itschuu! Hah’TSCHIEEEW!” “Kind of hard to talk when you need your breath for something else,” Striker retorted, smirking.

“Ok, are you sure you’re not trying to flirt with me?” Blitz asked. “Cause you seem pretty determined to insert some innue… eh… eh’tschieu! Innuendo.” Striker sighed. “Flirt with you? I’d rather fuck a cactus.” “Ooh, you like it rough, huh?” Blitz was contorting himself in all sorts of positions, trying to find an angle that would let him get at the knife in his boot.

Striker rolled his eyes, which meant his focus was diverted just long enough for Blitz to get that knife out… except it wasn’t there. Fuck! When did he lose his knife? Had Striker somehow taken it when he was distracted? Was Blitz really losing his edge that badly? Ugh, he should have listened to Moxxie’s pitch for the kind of knife that was built into the boot instead of just a pocket. And with that reverie, Blitz had lost his opening. Striker began pummeling him.

One hit for every time Blitz had hurt him. One hit for every time Blitz had wounded his body, or his pride, or… just a lot of hits, okay? And some kicks too while he was at it. He wanted this man bruised and bloody, but just conscious enough to remember how he’d lost. To remember who really was superior. Those rich assholes and the ones who supported them needed to remember their fucking place. Blitz wasn’t worth the dirt he walked on.

Blitz groaned, his mood as dark as the new bruises that were forming. He was going to need a new escape route. As he took in Striker’s ferocious grin, he remembered that sharp teeth could be quite good at cutting things. After a few chomps on the (disturbingly mucus-covered) rope, he realized this wasn’t going to get him out any time soon. Especially given that he had to keep pausing to sneeze. No, he would have to be smarter about this.

“Hey, cowboy! You haven’t seen my knife, have you?” “Oh, you mean this knife?” Striker waved his tail, brandishing the knife with a smirk. “Yeah I’ve seen it alright.” “Thanks!” Blitz replied cheerily, slipping out of his now cut ropes. “What the hell?” “You must be in love with yourself, cause you sure are blind!” Blitz chuckled. He knew he could count on Striker’s ego to overlook the obvious consequences of holding a knife close enough for Blitz to press the rope against it.

No, this wasn’t happening. He was Striker, goddammit! Fearsome assassin and skilled cowboy and whatever other shit that annoying little band liked to sing about him. He didn’t make mistakes. And he wasn’t going to lose! Certainly not to a pathetic little pissbaby like Blitz.

Blitz reached for the knife, but Striker had already backed out of arm’s reach, continuing to put distance between them as he resumed shooting. Blitz picked up his gun in return. The same gun that was trembling with every hitching breath. Fuck. How the hell was he supposed to aim like this? He ducked down for another sneeze, which worked out rather conveniently as another shot from Striker sped through the air where his head had just been.

On second thought, maybe Blitz didn’t need to aim at all - he didn’t need all the shots to hit, just one of them. He tried shooting more rapidly this time. The bullets were coming close, but not close enough. And he still had to keep leaping out of the way and hoping his nose didn’t betray him and give his opponent an opening. That exact betrayal happened a moment later, keeping him frozen for just long enough for a bullet to graze Blitz’s shoulder before he was moving again. Another shot from Blitz missed, but this time it gave him an idea. The shot went just over the top of a crate, one of many in the room.

“If you were half as good at shooting as you were at sucking blue-blood dick, you’d be out of here by now!” Striker sneered. “Pathetic.” “Says the man who had to level the playing field by fu… uh’tschh! Fucking me in the nose,” Blitz retorted, sniffling. This stuff was really strong. “Also, did you just compliment my blowjob skills? Are you sure you’re not hitting on me?” Blitz asked, clambering up the shelves. Striker hissed and continued shooting, but Blitz had squeezed himself in behind a box that proved to be surprisingly bulletproof.

How were Millie and Moxxie getting on? Blitz wondered as he took shelter. He thought back to earlier in the day when he’d told them he was going to pick up the shipment. They’d offered to come with him, but Blitz had insisted it was his job alone as the boss. “Just… stay home and fuck or something,” he’d said. Millie gave Moxxie a look, and Moxxie melted, nodding silently. Blitz hoped they were having fun without him. He’d find a way out of this eventually. He didn’t need anybody else.

Striker grabbed the box with his lasso and pulled, but it was heavier than he’d anticipated and it didn’t quite fall. Taking advantage of this momentary lapse in judgement (and Blitz’s momentary lapse in symptoms), Blitz executed his carefully planned shot. The box may have been invulnerable to penetration, but it was still affected by the momentum of a shot at point-blank range. The box hurtled through the air with alarming speed. Striker was so shocked by the absolute absurdity of it that his reaction was just a hair too slow. He jumped back and narrowly avoided being bludgeoned, but his guns weren’t so lucky.

Blitz chuckled. “I was hoping to crush your body,” he said, leaping down to meet his opponent again, “but crushing your spirit’s not bad, either.” Striker scanned the warehouse. There had to be more guns nearby, if he could just get to a crate…

Sweet victory, with everything I do. With each step he repeated the mantra in his head, trying to make it stick. He was a winner, nothing else. He would succeed. He was almost to a crate and by god, he was going to get those fucking guns.

Just as he took his last step to the crate, Striker felt the slam of Blitz shoving him into the shelving units. The knife dropped out of his tail from the force of the impact and slid across the floor. It seemed grabbing another weapon wasn’t exactly a viable option right now. No, that would have been too easy. But a little challenge would make the victory sweeter, he liked it hard. “I’m sure you do,” Blitz replied. Wait, had he said that last bit out loud?

Any revulsion or embarrassment Striker might have felt was pushed aside by the overwhelming sensation of Blitz pressed against him, wrists clenching with each hitching breath. Striker prepared his head to dodge, in case Blitz tried the same trick again - the cowboy was definitely not looking for a repeat spray.

What he hadn’t expected was for Blitz’s head to pitch so far forward that his horns dug right into Striker’s chest. As he felt his blood mix with mucus, he was seriously beginning to regret his life choices. He cursed his weakness as the disgust kept him paralyzed long enough for Blitz to rake his claws over his arms.

After a long and slimy struggle, Striker finally managed to tear free. Tear was definitely the operative word. Those gashing wounds were nothing to sneeze at (not like that would stop his opponent, though). Much as he wanted to lunge into a counterattack, he needed a moment to lick his wounds. No, not lick - he shuddered at the thought of how that would taste. But he needed to stop the bleeding somehow.

His expression soured even further when he realized what he had to do. He needed to stop the bleeding, and there were limited options available. He flung off his jacket. Blitz gave a long whistle that was cut off abruptly by a vigorous series of sneezes. As the imp tried to clear the irritant from his system, Striker removed his shirt and wrapped it around the wound in his chest. That still left his bleeding arms, though.

“Taking a break, huh?” Blitz taunted. “I knew you wanted to fuck me!” Striker growled, partially in response and partially in dread of what he was about to do. He dropped his pants, and Blitz’s eyebrows rose so high it looked as though they would launch above his head. Was he actually…?

Striker split the pants and wrapped one leg around each arm. Walking out of here at the end of this was going to be awkward. But he had more important things to focus on right now. He ripped open the nearest box in search of a gun, but it was only bullets. And there was no telling how long the powder would last—in his tests it seemed to vary quite a bit from person to person. He’d need to act quickly.

Blitz made a run for his knife, but Striker had gotten a head start. The cowboy pinned him to the floor. That same cowboy who was half naked. “So, did you bring lube or what? Hit’schhew! Never mind, I’ve got enough for both of—” Blitz’s remark was interrupted as Striker’s teeth dug through his neck. He avoided the throat, though. As much as he’d love to kill that bastard, Striker reminded himself that Blitz was of far more use to him alive. And besides, wasn’t the real goal to make his enemy suffer? He would say he was trying to humiliate his opponent, but that was rather hard to do with someone as shameless as Blitz. Still, seeing him helplessly sneeze over and over again did give him a certain sadistic satisfaction.

Striker forced himself to remember that as helpless as Blitz might appear, he was still a skilled opponent. He felt the imp’s body threatening to break free and knew he needed to raise the stakes. Striker stopped playing with his prey and moved the knife to hover over Blitz’s neck. His claws were nearby, ready to stop any attempts at an escape.

Blitz froze, trying to quell the hitching breaths. If his head pitched forward with a sneeze, he would be done for. Surely Striker had realized that, which made this threat an even higher risk. Was Striker genuinely prepared to kill him for this? Something about it just wasn’t sitting right with Blitz. Of course the cowboy had good reason to hate him, but would he really gain more from Blitz’s death than any other outcome? And if not, then why would he take the risk? “Ooh, that’s some nice edge play we’re getting into now! Real kinky today, aren’t we?” He fluttered his eyelashes seductively, but his body took the cue and his breath caught as the tickle he’d been holding back returned with a vengeance. Not yet, please! He just needed to hold out a little longer until Striker got bored or otherwise decided to change tactics.

Striker kept unwavering eye contact with his enemy. Fuck the plan. Fuck the bargaining chip. He wanted this man gone. It would be so easy. He was clearly powerless to escape in his current state. So then why hadn’t he slit Blitz’s throat yet? Why did the very idea feel so hollow? He would be happy to wipe Blitz from existence. But something was missing. Ah, right, the suffering. Death just wasn’t humiliating enough. And the possibilities for capturing Blitz were quite attractive: he could think of at least one person who’d gladly put himself in harm’s way to get his little “Blitzy” back. So, it was settled then.

Just as Striker had made up his mind to let Blitz live, Blitz’s neck got distressingly close to the blade. He could hold back the sneeze no longer, but the result surprised both of them. Instead of a knife coated in blood, Striker was instead holding a knife coated in mucus. Blitz must have taken the time during the buildup to figure out how to aim even with this strange angle. Striker somehow resisted the urge to drop the knife in disgust, but it didn’t matter. The knife was so slippery as to be impossible to control. Blitz leapt up and bit Striker hard in the shoulder. Striker shuddered from the unholy mix as Blitz sneezed directly into the wound. “I hope you get something real nasty, you piece of shit!”

This was not the plan. Goddammit! This was not how this was supposed to go. Blitz should be fully incapacitated by now, or at the very least writhing in agony. Instead, he was making a mockery of Striker. Even in what should have been his most helpless moment, he was continuing to fight back, finding new ways to inflict pain and humiliation.

This was not the plan. Christ on a fucking stick! This was not how he’d wanted his day to go. Blitz should be back at IMP headquarters by now, getting ready to blow humans’ heads off, or at the very least putting the merchandise away. Instead, his nose was making a fool out of him. He wasn’t quite helpless just yet, but his stamina was waning. There was no way he could win a war of attrition in this state, and yet he was grasping at straws to land a decisive blow.

Striker responded with a bite to Blitz’s hand, a decision that filled his mouth with snot and his mind with regret. He spat it out and hissed. “Ooh, somebody’s enjoying the bodily fluids! I got another one I can add to the mix for ya,” Blitz said with a wink as Striker raised his fists. He tried not to dwell on how the effort of smiling was actively draining. Instead he looked for an irritated reaction from Striker, taking that as his opening to flee.

As Blitz raced to the door, his mind replayed the fight. Why the fuck had he been so stubborn? Sure he could hold his own in a typical fight but this wasn’t a typical fight. As much as he’d love to wipe Striker’s smug smile off of his face and take him permanently out of commission, he needed to remember his primary objective: getting the fuck out of here. After all, what good was getting revenge on the one who hurt his friends if Blitz couldn't be there with his friends? So he kept running and running and running… god, this warehouse was huge! He hadn’t even made it out of the room and he felt like his lungs were going to give out. Sure, he was athletic for work, but it’s a bit different when your lungs are constantly focused on taking gasping breaths and forcefully expelling over and over and over again. Eventually, he had to catch his breath.

In the relative silence of his labored breath, his dulled senses picked up on a persistent beeping. He thought back to Crimson’s warehouse with Fizz and his breaths became shallow as panic set in. The realization came too late, for the forklift had already made contact with a shelf. As everything came crashing down, Blitz had one last thought: this sneezing was really fucking annoying.

[regenderate]

watching nanowrimo defending ai blow up after years of abuse and mismanagement from nano hq is like watching every writer on the internet go "i can excuse rampant forum moderation abuse on two different websites but i draw the line at machine that helps you write"