Trying To Write A Smutfic But My Own Writing Is So Good I Have To Routinely Pause To Get Myself Back
trying to write a smutfic but my own writing is so good i have to routinely pause to get myself back on track and thinking normally
More Posts from Fusiondancespork and Others
what do you mean i can’t make two fictional men kiss. what do you mean i have to “go to work” and “clock in for my shift”
if war soldier ena theory, then genie perchance resembles the glorified promises of war/the nationalist dream? because the genie offers to grant wishes and despite ena’s “sins” (crimes committed in war) she offers a wish to ena anyways, but per capitalism of course ena can’t get money/happiness/not even punishment for her crimes or transgressions because in the eyes of society she just did her job, and all she can do with the payment for it (the wish) is to further the way the society is headed (get rid of the smoke to complete “find boss” job)
was sitting at my desk, blatantly avoiding homework, when i thought: “what if gabriel and v1 fought with fists instead of guns”
so here you go. not that good imo but i need to get back into writing
Beware the story you are about to read!
Warnings: blood, gore, standard ultrakill stuff.
and barely veiled gayness
Summary: gabriel and v1 fight with fists. v1 uses gabriel as a personal juice packet. gabriel is too unconscious to fight back.
An arm around his throat, his heels scraped against the floor as V1 dragged Gabriel away from the center of the room. Unlike the machine, he had a windpipe that should go unobstructed; his gauntlets clawed uselessly against the metallic arm. Coughs and choked sounds escaped the angel, letting air out but not allowing it back in.
V1’s grip left his neck. He was able to suck in a quick breath. His head was slammed against the wall.
With a loud shout that was more akin to a groan, Gabriel wheels around towards the machine once more, fists clenching before throwing a blow towards the smug bastard’s optic. They dodged to the side, but their movement was too swift; V1 clattered to the floor and Gabriel was on them before they could get up.
Knees pinning V1’s legs and a hand restraining the machine’s by the wrists, his one free arm begins to beat them into a bloody pulp. A dent on the side of their head, a scrape down their chassis — every blow inflicted a new mark.
He punched until his knuckles hurt. V1 struggled. He punched until his arm hurt. V1 writhed. He punched until his lungs screamed for air and his own armor was ragged.
They both breathed, just for a moment. Motes of dust floated through the air. Gabriel’s ruffled feathers shifted somewhat in what little breeze there was.
Gabriel didn’t know his grip had loosened until a fist connected with his jaw, sending both right back into a tussle. Movements were sluggish and uncoordinated on both sides. Mechanics malfunctioned and flesh tired and bruised. Their fighting became wrestling, and that became more so grappling, until both of them were on their knees and still trying to win.
Head falling against Gabriel’s chest, V1 claws at his side. They can feel Gabriel’s nails digging into their shoulders, but that pain is nothing compared to them diving their fingers into a barely-healed gash.
A cry of pain escapes him, no longer muffled by hisses of gospel or mutterings of verses. V1’s fingers force the flesh apart, palm pressing against the widened wound, sucking in the blood Gabriel had to offer. The angel slumped against the machine, trying to push away, but both were too worn out to move or be moved.
Ragged breaths and whirring fans filled the room. It wouldn’t be wrong to say they were still fighting; V1 kept moving from one slash to the next, prying them open and pressing whatever body part was closest into the gore. But there wasn’t exactly resistance on either part. The host had finally succumbed to the parasite, wings drooping until they eventually landed in the puddles of mess on the floor, feathers dirtying surprisingly easy.
Gabriel fell still, save for the faint rise and fall of his chest. V1 let him as they both sank to the floor, tying themself up in his limbs, drinking in the blood.
bro no i swear im not a masochist i just fucked up my parry timing. i just fucked up my parry timing is all. hit me again im ready this time
Me if I were a rambunctious mobile phone
no kane!!! holding it in doesn’t do anything!!
i love kane sm
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