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sneezingfetishftw-fics · 3 months

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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.

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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.

#snezbin hotel #no beta we die like my dignity #this took forever but i'm happy with it so hopefully you guys like it #but like also if you have constructive feedback i am open to it cause if i write more of this i want to do even better lol

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guinevereslancelot · 20 days

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applied to a bunch of jobs! 😅🙏

#took me three days bc i really wanted my dad's input on my resume and he took a while to get back to me #but i reallyyyy wanted to have applications in my monday morning and now i do :)#also feeling much better aboutbthe whole thing now that i have stuff to be excited about #still really really sad abt leaving the kids at my current job tho #but i drove by some of the places i applied today and researched them and im really optimistic about some of them #i even heard back from one already which i was not expecting at all #she literally emailed me like half an hour after getting my application and started asking me questions #like a pre interview #so thats nice #we went back and forth a couple of times #its not my top top choice but that place isnt officially hiring and might take forever to back back to me #this place is a smaller home daycare type place and urgently hiring but the pay is super good and a home daycare environment might be nice #and the pay is pretty decent esp compared to what im making now #the top top place is a fancy pants private school that going to be way more thorough abt references and background check #so they'll take longer to get back to me #but i found out after applying that my friend's mom works there 🤯#so she's gonna ask her to put in a good word for me :)#but they're not officially hiring according to their website it just says they encourage people to inquire so i did #so p unlikely i would get that one but you never know #anyway!!!!#finally excited abt things and not just filled with dread and sadness abt leaving the current place and kids #still makes me sad but im not on the verge of tears thinking abt it anymore lol #this has been a shitpost

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spoopdeedoop · 2 years

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So I have been seeing and watching your work and was wondering if you could give basic body tips and maybe facial help (I LOVE HOW U DO FACES AND CHEEKS AND EYES AND- EVERYTHING)?

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER I WAS NERVOUS BUT HERE!!! SORRY MY WRITING IS KINDA ALL OVER THE PLACE I DID THIS VERY QUICKLY

#spoop speaks #answered asks #SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER I WAS THINKING OF HOW TO FORMAT THIS FOR AGES AND KINDA JUST WENT ‘fuck it we ball’#my art #im. sorry of this is largely incoherent i have no idea what im doing majority of the time when i draw #which is why im always flabbergasted when people give me asks telling me it’s good lol /pos #uhh yeah hope this helped im very sorry if it didnt #tysm for the kind words it really means a lot <333

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honeydots · 5 months

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Because I love you~Xanlow

"Because I love you." xanlow | 1.4k | rated T ask game

Laslow's been left in a heap of mud.

Not long ago, he and a small army of Xander’s personal guard were in the midst of fighting. Only against some bandits and ruffians, but they were facing off in a mucky marsh. That was trouble all by itself, it was hard to move around without worrying you were going to lose a shoe.

But Xander's father provided them with a battalion of faceless for protection during their travels. And as creatures that are notoriously hard to control, one of them carelessly thwacked Laslow in the chest as they fought. It knocked the wind out of him, and he actually flew backwards and straight out of the battle.

At that moment, Laslow was profoundly grateful for the squishy mud that broke his fall. It could've been a lot worse, and a lot more deadly, had he landed on something hard or sharp. The mud acted as a nice and slimy pillow, and he was promptly smothered in it.

Dazed, Laslow couldn't pull himself up right away. Then he started sinking, fantastically, and he had to use every muscle in his body to try and keep himself steady. With a dull ache in his chest, Laslow resigned himself to his fate of needing some help to get up.

Everyone left him behind, though. Smartly, the battle moved out of the swamp and onto the more solid ground of the forest. So now Laslow's stuck, alone, mind jumbled and chest sore, in a smelly bog. Perhaps the mud was more of a curse than he imagined.

Thick drops of rain begin flicking down onto Laslow's face. Ah, not good. He might actually drown if this place begins to fill up. He decides to stop mucking around (ha-ha) and give an honest attempt to get up. It isn’t exactly fun to be lazy in the mud, but he’s tired, and he wanted to wait out as much as he could.

And he tries to escape! He really, really does! He just realizes that he's still sinking more than he's making progress and stops quite quickly afterwards.

So that's horrible. Laslow’s senses don't sharpen exactly, rather he begins to panic. Wait, is he really stuck? He tries to struggle less aggressively, but he can't find any sort of solid ground, and he really regrets letting himself sink down this far. Oh, it feels gross, and the rain is still coming down. He’s going to be devastated if anything gets in his mouth.

Which makes Xander’s sudden voice all the more heaven sent.

“Laslow!”

Laslow tries to lift his head enough to see where Xander is—and he eventually spots him, only his blond hair standing out against the dark. But he’s looking around quite aimlessly, Laslow realizes.

“Milord?” Laslow calls, and Xander snaps to attention, eyes finally on Laslow in his personal mud bath. He comes running over, and Laslow kind of awkwardly plops his head back down. “I’ll have you know I was just thinking about getting up, but somehow my limbs aren’t entirely cooperating—”

“Are you hurt?” Xander asks, kneeling next to Laslow while safely out of any gooey spots. He’s looking him over, and also absolutely staring at the mess of muck Laslow’s gotten himself into.

“Oh—I think so. But I’m not bleeding.” At least he’s pretty sure he isn’t. He feels oddly moist, but he’s certain that’s because of the frequently aforementioned mud. “I think it’s my ribs? I’m achy.”

Xander frowns down at Laslow. Then, in what seems to be a quick decision, Xander grabs the top of Laslow’s vest in a hard grip, and begins to lift him out of his muddy heap. It’s weird, even more so because it works, and Laslow stumbles onto solid ground on his hands and knees.

An exhaust comes over Laslow in the moment. It was hard work, seriously, to keep himself from sinking, lazy as he looked. He slips a bit, rolls over to sit down, and looks over at Xander quite pathetically.

It should be noted that pathetic looks work enormously rarely on Xander. So when he sighs and begins to turn, at first Laslow thinks he’s actually leaving him to his own grubby devices.

But, a cautious “Climb on my back,” from Xander speaks a different truth which Laslow readily accepts.

“Ah, my savior,” Laslow says as Xander stands, holding Laslow’s weight very well. But he always does, despite the many burdens Laslow brings along with him. “I was worried I’d drown for a moment there. Someone once said to me that it’s not a bad way to go, but how could they possibly know that? I’m not convinced, I'm really not.”

“You’re awfully talkative.”

Laslow sighs. “I’m very lightheaded.”

“We’ll find a proper place for you to rest soon.” Xander continues walking, carefully avoiding the deepest mud pits in the bog. “You were quite a ways, you know.”

“Because you all ran off and left! Abandoning me in a literal pile of goop.” Laslow flings a slop of mud off of his hand for good measure, and Xander shakes his head with a scoff. It gets a laugh out of Laslow, which makes also his chest hurt. So he just rests his chin on Xander’s shoulder. All cold and metal, of course.

“…You came back and found me, though,” Laslow says. He’s teasing a bit, too.

“I did.”

“What made you?”

Xander scowls, eyes still ahead and looking at the thicket of trees they’re slowly approaching. “What made me? You disappeared.”

“I suppose so.” Laslow tilts his head back and forth, chin still planted on Xander’s armor. “Any better reasons?”

Very often, Laslow fails to amuse Xander. Unfortunately, there isn’t a happy ending to this. “I will grant you the mercy of not assuming that you were hoping to be praised for having been trapped in mire.”

“Well thank you, because I wasn’t. I’ll admit, however, that I’m always open to my ego being stroked.” Laslow tilts his head a little far, and manages to bonk the side of Xander’s head lightly. Xander doesn’t shake him off—he doesn’t really do that anymore. Laslow has been gracefully granted the right of toleration. “My heart needs an extra beat or two, or I’ll die right here.”

“Quite the exaggeration,” Xander says plainly. Laslow scrunches his nose.

“Won’t you indulge me? Savior?” He earns a huff from Xander for that.

“Was there something noxious in that mud?”

“You wound me!” Laslow kicks his feet about, until Xander readjusts and makes Laslow nervous to fall. “I’ll be quiet if you tell me something good.”

Xander seems annoyed, but not nearly enough so that Laslow will stop being playful. There’s always some room for this, he thinks. Unless Xander gets actually mad. But lately, many things have changed, and… He doesn’t, as much.

“Why did I rescue you,” Xander repeats, not quite muttering. “Am I correct that you wouldn’t be satisfied with my saying that you’re my valuable retainer?”

Laslow grins, feeling a small warmth radiate in his chest. It’s just beneath the pain, settling in soundly. “It would’ve been enough, though you’re welcome to go on.”

Because Xander is fundamentally a kind man, he doesn’t just drop Laslow for the comment. But there’s long enough of a pause before Xander speaks that Laslow’s sure he considers it. “What would you like me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Laslow presses his lips together. “Because I’m invaluable and not an idiot for getting knocked into a pit of mud and almost dying very stupidly?”

…Laslow is kind of embarrassed, actually.

“Hm.” Laslow waits, but that’s all Xander provides.

“Hm?”

Xander looks around. Though the army isn’t in sight even still. The two of them are very much in their lonesome, unless this muck and gunk all over Laslow is sentient.

“May I say because I love you?” Xander asks.

Laslow feels himself blush. He grunts a little, and he stuffs his head into Xander’s cloth collar, digging his nose into his neck. For a moment, he rests there.

“That works, I think,” Laslow says, still nestled in. He pauses. “…May I say I love you back?”

Xander slows his pace a bit, and he rests his head against Laslow’s. “Will you always be so needy with me?’

“Only a little.” Despite how he can’t find any exposed skin, Laslow still kisses Xander’s neck. “Thank you for saving me.”

Xander exhales. And he keeps walking through the forest while Laslow pecks his neck and bumps his jaw.

“It was only some mud.”

#thanks for the request~~~!!!!#i will be like oh maybe this time i wont do established relationship--#(in walks established relationship with a steel chair)#I JUST LOVE THEIR BANTER. OKAY. THEY ARE IN LOOOOOOVE #i dont know why i keep writing fics where laslow gets thrown into [substance] and xander has to rescue him but here we are.#its good and fun SUE me (dont)#dots answers asks #anonymous #dots writing games #<- it took me forever to find this tag LOL i forgot what it was #im also gonna use #dots writes #might go around reorganizing tags soon bc im such a mess w these #anyway thank you again~~!!! ah its always so fun to write these two than k youu

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blackjackkent · 3 months

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By far the most annoying thing about the battle with the Avatar of Myrkul is this motherfucker:

Fundamentally what this means is that anyone near the big boy cannot get healed, which is a problem given that Rakha has the constitution, robustness, and mental stability of a single sheet of tissue paper.

Nevertheless we persist.

MVP status for this fight goes to Lae'zel, who landed a disarming attack on the first strike of the battle and knocked Myrkul's giant-ass scythe out of its hands, then action surged four attacks on it and dazed it with a pommel strike.

Aylin continues to eat shit repeatedly every time I do this fight, which I continue to blame on her having been a century out of practice, bc she always does a lot better in Act 3. :P

In the end, Rakha gets the final blow with a barrage of magic missiles that smash in the avatar's skull mask and send a shower of bone splinters raining down around them.

-----

The monstrous form fades. Ketheric collapses at Rakha's feet, a man again, mortal. His blood soaks him from head to foot, drips out in gory spatters on the rock.

The beast screams with glee in Rakha's head, watching him die. You mocked me, but you die like all the others, whimpering, pitiful. Who is the mad dog now?

"Impossible," he wheezes. "Death cannot take me... I am its master..."

He struggles to his knees, his eyes lifting again towards the cavern's ceiling. "My Lord! Hear me!"

Silence, but for the low slap of water against the rock around them. His shoulders slump. Blood drops through his beard, along the ridges of his armor.

"Nothing..." he whispers. "I am forsaken."

She steps forward, grips the front of his armor, gives a short, sharp jerk. "Answer me before you die, Chosen of Myrkul," she growls. "Tell me what I need to know. Who am I?"(*)

His eyes drift out of focus past her shoulder. "You... have no idea what you've done..." he whispers weakly.

"WHO AM I?!" she bellows, releasing him with a jerk. He nearly topples over, all the strength gone from his body. Light begins to pour from his eyes, his mouth.

"Isobel..." he whispers, and she watches and feels the deep shuddering pleasure of the beast as the life flows out of his body.

His corpse collapses in a heap at her feet.

Silence.

Rakha's head aches. She stares down at Ketheric's body. This has been her only goal for so long, almost since the crash, almost as long as she can remember, and now it is finished. She feels empty, drained - she waits for the feeling of fulfillment and it doesn't come.

What do I do now?

Before she can muster the energy to speak, a pale white glow streaks down from above them, an avenging angel homing in on the broken body before them.

"THE VILLAIN IS DEAD!"

The Nightsong. Aylin. She slams her boot into Ketheric's head and Rakha watches as his skull explodes, brain matter spattering in all directions, coated in black, corrupted blood.

"THE WRETCH!" she howls. "TOGETHER WE HAVE CRUSHED HIM, BODY AND BRAIN!"

Rakha watches, fascinated. Aylin's eyes are alight with her goddess's magic. Her movements are jerky and frantic, desperate. She pounds her boot again and again into Ketheric's head, flattening it into the ground, into a pile of shapeless meat.

She is just as majestic in this moment as she was in her flight out of the Shadowfell - but Rakha sees beneath that facade of light. Underneath is a river of rage, the fury of the prisoner released after a century of torment. Vengeance. Animal destruction.

This is what Rakha looks like when the beast overtakes her, reflected in the form of this creature of ostensible good. It is surreal to see it in another.

Eventually Aylin calms. Her eyes lift; the light has faded from them. Rakha recognizes that look on her face, too - the weary acknowledgement of her own violence, its mindlessness, its ultimate pointlessness.

"Now," the aasimar says softly. "Now we pick our way toward our fates... unleashed."

Rakha doesn't answer. What is my fate? she thinks bitterly. A lost animal, doomed to stagger forward forever, hoping only to sink her teeth into the 'right' prey.

To her astonishment, Aylin straightens and inclines her head with a sudden air of respect. "You have my sword - my fealty."

Fealty. Rakha blinks, bewildered. Why?

She draws a slow breath and lets it out. Because there is more ahead. Ketheric is dead, but the Absolutists still live. The tadpole still sits in her head. Her vengeance isn't complete.

And she realizes she is afraid. She is beginning to learn that there is nothing good for her in the memories that are lost to her - and also that following the trail of the cult will only lead her to more glimpses of whatever dark path she once walked. She will have no rest from the beast, from the war inside her head, because the path that lies ahead will be as soaked in blood as the path behind.

But the cult marches on the city. Rakha has never seen it - but Wyll has. It was his city, once. His father is still in the Absolute's clutches. She has to keep going - for Wyll, if not for herself.

She swallows. She doesn't feel able to speak. But she meets Aylin's eyes and she nods.

Aylin returns the nod, sober and serious as the grave. Perhaps she understands something of the turmoil that boils in Rakha's head, just as Rakha understood the rage that burns in hers. "Do what you must," she says softly. "Then we fly this foul place."

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #well this took forever to write lol #this is very much not the unqualified victory that it was for hector #rakha is very much in a bad place #the shadowfell -> almost-murder of wyll -> meat basement -> ketheric battle combination really beat her to hell #i'm not deeply in love with the writing i've done this weekend (minus the bit with lae'zel in the last post XD )#but act 2 denouement this week and then the big drama of act 3 begins #looking forward to seeing how we climb rakha out of this pit c:#ty all for reading as always <3

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