helluvaoutlaw

[helluvaoutlaw]

6 out of seven! Lucifer will be sold with Adam. The sins, as humans! Enjoy them as stickers too!!

[helluvaoutlaw]

I couldn't help myself to draw my impsona with my fav characters as the kitten merch!! It turned out so cute! 💕💕✨

[helluvaoutlaw]

Striker let out a long sigh, rolling his eye.

"Stubborn woman..."

He muttered, but there was no real bite to it. If she was set on staying, there was no arguing her out of it.

Fine.

He let himself drift off, not quite meaning to, but exhaustion weighed him down too heavy to fight it.

—

A couple hours later, his body stirred on its own, aching but stronger. The burning throb in his limbs had dulled, the worst of the fog in his head lifted. He cracked his eye open, blinking against the dim glow of Hell’s eternal twilight.

Time to move.

With a grunt, he pushed himself upright, wobbly but steady enough. His tail flicked, testing the strain, and he clenched his jaw at the sting that shot up his spine.

Didn’t matter. He’d make do. He always did.

"Gotta get back to my hideout."

He muttered, mostly to himself, steadying against the nearest bit of crumbled stone. His gaze flicked to Cori, expecting—and already bracing for—her protests.

Cowboy In Distress

(closed RP thread for @second-wife-playbook )

–––

Striker gritted his teeth, every step a battle against the agony searing through his body. The flames had done their work well: his skin burned raw, his clothes tattered, and the acrid stench of charred flesh clung to him like a curse. Every muscle screamed, but he refused to stop.

The alleys of Pride twisted around him like a labyrinth of filth and shadows.

He clung to the walls, using them for support as he dragged himself forward, his tail curled close to his body, too scorched to be of use. The neon glow of the district barely reached these backstreets, leaving him swallowed in darkness, a wounded predator slinking away to lick his wounds.

Blitzø. That damn sonuvabitch.

Again.

The rage bubbled beneath the pain, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

Not now.

Not when he needed somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only one person knew about.

Cori’s secret garden.

The memory was a lifeline. An overgrown, forgotten corner of an abandoned park. The only place in Pride where Striker could breathe without feeling the weight of the city pressing down on him. A place that smelled of earth, not smog, where vines crept over rusted iron fences, and wildflowers bloomed despite the filth of the Ring.

He could make it. He had to.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he forced himself forward, every inch of his body screaming in protest. He wasn’t sure how long he crawled, how many times he nearly collapsed, but when he finally reached the cracked stone path leading into the forgotten park, his vision blurred with relief.

The gate was still broken, still half-buried under ivy and thorns. With the last of his strength, he pushed through, staggering until his knees gave out. The cool earth welcomed him as he collapsed onto his back, staring up at the swirling red sky above.

Safe.

For now.

[helluvaoutlaw]

Striker blinked as the fabric settled over him, the scent of her still clinging to it—warm, familiar. It was softer than he expected, carrying the faintest trace of whatever perfume or oils she used.

A scoff left him, low and tired.

"Ain’t some fragile thing, Cori..."

He muttered, but he didn’t push it off. Didn’t have the energy to, really.

His good eye flicked up to her, reading the tension in her face. The way she was trying too hard to keep her expression steady. He knew that look. Knew what it meant.

His voice softened, just a little.

"I ain’t dyin’ on ya, sugar. Ya really think somethin’ like this is gonna take me out?" A weak smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eye. "Gonna take a Hell of a lot more than some damn fire n’ bad luck to finish me off."

His tail barely twitched beneath the weight of exhaustion, but his fingers curled faintly into the fabric of her shawl.

"Don’t gotta stay here frettin’ over me. I’ll be fine."

Cowboy In Distress

(closed RP thread for @second-wife-playbook )

–––

Striker gritted his teeth, every step a battle against the agony searing through his body. The flames had done their work well: his skin burned raw, his clothes tattered, and the acrid stench of charred flesh clung to him like a curse. Every muscle screamed, but he refused to stop.

The alleys of Pride twisted around him like a labyrinth of filth and shadows.

He clung to the walls, using them for support as he dragged himself forward, his tail curled close to his body, too scorched to be of use. The neon glow of the district barely reached these backstreets, leaving him swallowed in darkness, a wounded predator slinking away to lick his wounds.

Blitzø. That damn sonuvabitch.

Again.

The rage bubbled beneath the pain, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

Not now.

Not when he needed somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only one person knew about.

Cori’s secret garden.

The memory was a lifeline. An overgrown, forgotten corner of an abandoned park. The only place in Pride where Striker could breathe without feeling the weight of the city pressing down on him. A place that smelled of earth, not smog, where vines crept over rusted iron fences, and wildflowers bloomed despite the filth of the Ring.

He could make it. He had to.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he forced himself forward, every inch of his body screaming in protest. He wasn’t sure how long he crawled, how many times he nearly collapsed, but when he finally reached the cracked stone path leading into the forgotten park, his vision blurred with relief.

The gate was still broken, still half-buried under ivy and thorns. With the last of his strength, he pushed through, staggering until his knees gave out. The cool earth welcomed him as he collapsed onto his back, staring up at the swirling red sky above.

Safe.

For now.

[helluvaoutlaw]

I wanted to test on Blitz past fit (where he met Millie) So i did this and…WOW HELLOOOO DADDY- 😳

I have no regrets 🔥

[helluvaoutlaw]

Happy Valentines Day <3

[helluvaoutlaw]

Striker let out a rough chuckle, the sound more air than voice, but still carrying that familiar cocky edge.

"Darlin’, ya worry too much."

He shifted slightly, wincing as the movement tugged at his burns, but he still managed a smirk.

"Imps ain’t like them fancy highborn types...Hell, we’re tougher than just ‘bout any demon. Been through worse and came out just fine."

His good eye met hers, sharp despite the pain.

"I’ll be back on my feet real soon, you’ll see. Ain’t nothin’ that’ll keep me down for long."

His tail gave a sluggish flick, as if trying to prove his point.

Then, with a lazy grin, he added:

"Though I sure ain’t complainin’ ‘bout gettin’ doted on by a pretty thing like you..."

Cowboy In Distress

(closed RP thread for @second-wife-playbook )

–––

Striker gritted his teeth, every step a battle against the agony searing through his body. The flames had done their work well: his skin burned raw, his clothes tattered, and the acrid stench of charred flesh clung to him like a curse. Every muscle screamed, but he refused to stop.

The alleys of Pride twisted around him like a labyrinth of filth and shadows.

He clung to the walls, using them for support as he dragged himself forward, his tail curled close to his body, too scorched to be of use. The neon glow of the district barely reached these backstreets, leaving him swallowed in darkness, a wounded predator slinking away to lick his wounds.

Blitzø. That damn sonuvabitch.

Again.

The rage bubbled beneath the pain, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

Not now.

Not when he needed somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only one person knew about.

Cori’s secret garden.

The memory was a lifeline. An overgrown, forgotten corner of an abandoned park. The only place in Pride where Striker could breathe without feeling the weight of the city pressing down on him. A place that smelled of earth, not smog, where vines crept over rusted iron fences, and wildflowers bloomed despite the filth of the Ring.

He could make it. He had to.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he forced himself forward, every inch of his body screaming in protest. He wasn’t sure how long he crawled, how many times he nearly collapsed, but when he finally reached the cracked stone path leading into the forgotten park, his vision blurred with relief.

The gate was still broken, still half-buried under ivy and thorns. With the last of his strength, he pushed through, staggering until his knees gave out. The cool earth welcomed him as he collapsed onto his back, staring up at the swirling red sky above.

Safe.

For now.

[helluvaoutlaw]

(second-wife-playbook)

Not only is there a first smash cake for the babies to share, but a beautifully baked apple pie with hearts on a lattice crust, all for Striker.

"Happy Valentines Day darling."

Striker’s grin stretched wide as he took in the sight: the cake for the boys, that gorgeous apple pie made just for him, and most importantly, her.

He didn’t waste a second before pulling Cori close, kissing her slow and sweet, his hands resting at her hips. When he pulled back, his eyes gleamed with something soft, something rare.

“Happy Valentine’s, love.”

He murmured, and then, with a little flourish, he revealed a stunning bouquet of roses from behind his back. Reds, pinks, a mix of blooms as fiery and vibrant as his feelings for her.

“Figured I’d get ya somethin’ just as beautiful as ya are.”

[helluvaoutlaw]

Striker let out a slow breath, feeling her fingers ghost through his hair. The coolness of her touch soothed the dull sting where the burns crept up toward his scalp, but her voice, laced with unease, brought a flicker of awareness back to his haze of exhaustion.

His good eye cracked open, finding hers.

"He's fine," he murmured, voice raspier now, but steady. "Left him back at the hideout in Wrath. Wasn't ‘bout to bring him into all that mess."

A weak smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, just for a second.

"Ain’t stupid enough to trust Crimson with anythin’ that means somethin’ to me."

His gaze drifted, exhaustion tugging at his features.

"Didn’t wanna risk him gettin’ caught up in it if things went south."

He let his head sink further against her lap, exhaling slowly.

"And they sure as Hell did."

Cowboy In Distress

(closed RP thread for @second-wife-playbook )

–––

Striker gritted his teeth, every step a battle against the agony searing through his body. The flames had done their work well: his skin burned raw, his clothes tattered, and the acrid stench of charred flesh clung to him like a curse. Every muscle screamed, but he refused to stop.

The alleys of Pride twisted around him like a labyrinth of filth and shadows.

He clung to the walls, using them for support as he dragged himself forward, his tail curled close to his body, too scorched to be of use. The neon glow of the district barely reached these backstreets, leaving him swallowed in darkness, a wounded predator slinking away to lick his wounds.

Blitzø. That damn sonuvabitch.

Again.

The rage bubbled beneath the pain, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

Not now.

Not when he needed somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only one person knew about.

Cori’s secret garden.

The memory was a lifeline. An overgrown, forgotten corner of an abandoned park. The only place in Pride where Striker could breathe without feeling the weight of the city pressing down on him. A place that smelled of earth, not smog, where vines crept over rusted iron fences, and wildflowers bloomed despite the filth of the Ring.

He could make it. He had to.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he forced himself forward, every inch of his body screaming in protest. He wasn’t sure how long he crawled, how many times he nearly collapsed, but when he finally reached the cracked stone path leading into the forgotten park, his vision blurred with relief.

The gate was still broken, still half-buried under ivy and thorns. With the last of his strength, he pushed through, staggering until his knees gave out. The cool earth welcomed him as he collapsed onto his back, staring up at the swirling red sky above.

Safe.

For now.

[helluvaoutlaw]

Striker’s muscles remained tense, his body still thrumming with the remnants of anger, but as her fingers ghosted over the unburnt side of his skin, he felt some of that fire dull to embers. His breaths, though still heavy, slowed just a bit.

He didn’t speak at first, just let himself focus on the warmth of her touch, the grounding sensation of her hand against him. He knew that silence—knew when someone didn’t agree but chose not to argue. Cori wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what kind of demon he was. She’d known from the start.

When she shifted the subject, he didn’t fight it. Not right now. His body ached too much, and the promise of brandy was too damn tempting.

His lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk as she lifted the cup to his lips.

"Y’know, sweetheart, if ya wanted to get me drunk and vulnerable, ya didn’t have to go through all this trouble~" His voice, though weak, still held a teasing lilt.

He took a slow sip, the burn of alcohol mixing with the dull throb of his wounds. He let out a low sigh, his head pressing slightly against her lap as he swallowed. "...Ain’t bad."

Another sip, another slow exhale.

His tail gave the smallest, sluggish flick before stilling again, the exhaustion pressing heavier now that the fury was simmering down. His good eye barely cracked open, looking up at her with something softer, something quieter.

"...Appreciate it, Cori." The words were quiet, genuine. "It's nice, havin’ someone to come back to."

Cowboy In Distress

(closed RP thread for @second-wife-playbook )

–––

Striker gritted his teeth, every step a battle against the agony searing through his body. The flames had done their work well: his skin burned raw, his clothes tattered, and the acrid stench of charred flesh clung to him like a curse. Every muscle screamed, but he refused to stop.

The alleys of Pride twisted around him like a labyrinth of filth and shadows.

He clung to the walls, using them for support as he dragged himself forward, his tail curled close to his body, too scorched to be of use. The neon glow of the district barely reached these backstreets, leaving him swallowed in darkness, a wounded predator slinking away to lick his wounds.

Blitzø. That damn sonuvabitch.

Again.

The rage bubbled beneath the pain, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

Not now.

Not when he needed somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only one person knew about.

Cori’s secret garden.

The memory was a lifeline. An overgrown, forgotten corner of an abandoned park. The only place in Pride where Striker could breathe without feeling the weight of the city pressing down on him. A place that smelled of earth, not smog, where vines crept over rusted iron fences, and wildflowers bloomed despite the filth of the Ring.

He could make it. He had to.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he forced himself forward, every inch of his body screaming in protest. He wasn’t sure how long he crawled, how many times he nearly collapsed, but when he finally reached the cracked stone path leading into the forgotten park, his vision blurred with relief.

The gate was still broken, still half-buried under ivy and thorns. With the last of his strength, he pushed through, staggering until his knees gave out. The cool earth welcomed him as he collapsed onto his back, staring up at the swirling red sky above.

Safe.

For now.

[helluvaoutlaw]

I actually can’t believe I never drew him in this fit

[helluvaoutlaw]

Striker clenched his jaw as she touched his face, her fingers warm against the unburnt side. His good eye flicked to hers, but the moment she spoke of avoiding Blitzø, something deep inside him snapped.

His tail, despite the agony, gave a sharp, warning rattle against the ground. His lip curled, a low, venomous hiss escaping between his fangs. His golden tooth caught the dim light, gleaming as his expression twisted into something dark, something furious.

"Never."

The word was sharp as a blade, carved from pure spite. His fingers twitched, balling into weak fists against the dirt, his whole body tensing with unspent rage.

"If I turn tail now, that smug little bastard wins," he growled, voice raw but seething. "Ain’t ‘bout luck, ain’t ‘bout who gets the drop on who. It’s ‘bout who’s still standin’ in the end."

He exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, but the fight in him didn’t fade.

"I had him, Cori. I had both of ‘em. Blitz n’ Fizzarolli. Dragged ‘em straight into Crimson’s den, had that sleazy bastard grinnin’ ear to ear."

His fingers curled tighter, claws digging into his own palms.

"Crimson wanted Fizzarolli to get a leash on Asmodeus, and he sure as hell had revenge in mind for Blitzø."

His tail twitched again, a flicker of lingering pain ignored beneath his festering anger.

"But Blitz, he don’t know when to stay down. Ruined everythin’." Striker’s breath came heavier, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tried to suppress the sheer frustration clawing at him.

"That imp’s been a damn thorn in my side one too many times, Cori. One day, I’m gonna cut that thorn right out."

He let his head fall back against her lap, shutting his eye, but the fury didn’t fade. It simmered, burned low beneath the exhaustion. His voice dropped, quieter, but no less deadly.

"Just gotta be patient..."

Cowboy In Distress

(closed RP thread for @second-wife-playbook )

–––

Striker gritted his teeth, every step a battle against the agony searing through his body. The flames had done their work well: his skin burned raw, his clothes tattered, and the acrid stench of charred flesh clung to him like a curse. Every muscle screamed, but he refused to stop.

The alleys of Pride twisted around him like a labyrinth of filth and shadows.

He clung to the walls, using them for support as he dragged himself forward, his tail curled close to his body, too scorched to be of use. The neon glow of the district barely reached these backstreets, leaving him swallowed in darkness, a wounded predator slinking away to lick his wounds.

Blitzø. That damn sonuvabitch.

Again.

The rage bubbled beneath the pain, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

Not now.

Not when he needed somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only one person knew about.

Cori’s secret garden.

The memory was a lifeline. An overgrown, forgotten corner of an abandoned park. The only place in Pride where Striker could breathe without feeling the weight of the city pressing down on him. A place that smelled of earth, not smog, where vines crept over rusted iron fences, and wildflowers bloomed despite the filth of the Ring.

He could make it. He had to.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he forced himself forward, every inch of his body screaming in protest. He wasn’t sure how long he crawled, how many times he nearly collapsed, but when he finally reached the cracked stone path leading into the forgotten park, his vision blurred with relief.

The gate was still broken, still half-buried under ivy and thorns. With the last of his strength, he pushed through, staggering until his knees gave out. The cool earth welcomed him as he collapsed onto his back, staring up at the swirling red sky above.

Safe.

For now.

[helluvaoutlaw]

Striker let out a strained chuckle, though it quickly turned into a pained hiss as she dabbed at another burn. His fingers twitched at his sides, but he forced himself to stay still.

"Ain’t like I went lookin’ to take a bath in the stuff..." he muttered, voice rough and tired. "Blitzø got lucky. Again."

His lip curled slightly, frustration flickering beneath the pain. "Bastard shot some oil tanks... Whole place went up before I could get clear."

He winced as she spread more of that cool cream over his burns, his body involuntarily tensing against the touch.

"Damn, woman…Feels like yer rubbin’ ice on me." He exhaled sharply, then added under his breath, "Not that I’m complainin’ too much."

At the mention of trouble, he gave a dry, humorless chuckle.

"Ain’t the first time, won’t be the last."

His good eye cracked open slightly, glancing up at her with a weak smirk that barely had the strength to hold.

"Besides, I ain’t dead yet, so that’s somethin’."

His fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her clothes, just enough to feel she was real. "Thanks, Cori." His voice dipped, softer now. "Especially since I’m sittin’ here ruinin’ yer evenin’..."

Cowboy In Distress

(closed RP thread for @second-wife-playbook )

–––

Striker gritted his teeth, every step a battle against the agony searing through his body. The flames had done their work well: his skin burned raw, his clothes tattered, and the acrid stench of charred flesh clung to him like a curse. Every muscle screamed, but he refused to stop.

The alleys of Pride twisted around him like a labyrinth of filth and shadows.

He clung to the walls, using them for support as he dragged himself forward, his tail curled close to his body, too scorched to be of use. The neon glow of the district barely reached these backstreets, leaving him swallowed in darkness, a wounded predator slinking away to lick his wounds.

Blitzø. That damn sonuvabitch.

Again.

The rage bubbled beneath the pain, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

Not now.

Not when he needed somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only one person knew about.

Cori’s secret garden.

The memory was a lifeline. An overgrown, forgotten corner of an abandoned park. The only place in Pride where Striker could breathe without feeling the weight of the city pressing down on him. A place that smelled of earth, not smog, where vines crept over rusted iron fences, and wildflowers bloomed despite the filth of the Ring.

He could make it. He had to.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he forced himself forward, every inch of his body screaming in protest. He wasn’t sure how long he crawled, how many times he nearly collapsed, but when he finally reached the cracked stone path leading into the forgotten park, his vision blurred with relief.

The gate was still broken, still half-buried under ivy and thorns. With the last of his strength, he pushed through, staggering until his knees gave out. The cool earth welcomed him as he collapsed onto his back, staring up at the swirling red sky above.

Safe.

For now.

[helluvaoutlaw]

i love striker he's like if helluva boss had a designated hentai woman

textless to showcase the fact i gave everyone in this drawing abs

[helluvaoutlaw]

A little self indulgent pinup Striker because i like that stupid cowboy ~

[helluvaoutlaw]

Some practice drawings of that asshole

[helluvaoutlaw]

Hatred fueled by grief and loss ?

Maybe, maybe not. In my angst obsessed brain, i do like to think maybe.