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felassanis · 2 years

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- Unwinding The Ties

Freyr x Original Female Character

Warnings: Smut +18 ONLY

Vali. A name once, her name. But now it was more of a command. Uttered to instruct, to demand. She hated hearing her name from the lips of her supposed family. The ones who looked at her with scorn, with confusion. Odin with his expectant stare, always watching her like an owner waiting for the dog to perform a trick. She loathed the way her name sounded from him.

But not with Freyr. She longed to hear her name spill from his lips. Heavy on his breath, a curse and a prayer. Her name has never sounded as sweet. Hands slide through her hair pulling her away from his lips before he can suffocate.

It was just another way to rebel against her father at first, her and Freyr. It started with long walks through Vanaheim. Carrying herself through the forests with the same self-importance and entitlement as her father. Not only to get away from the dull everyday of Asgard, but to prove to herself that not only could she do anything she liked, but that she had the balls to.

And to prove that the All-Mighty Odin couldn’t control her movements, and the wise god was none the wiser to her ventures.

And when she met the Vanir prince, who had initially been hostile to her, she realised she could spite the All-Father even more. Freyr and her saw in each other the same pain that only victims of similar experiences can. Both of them were missing something Odin had torn from them. Both wearing the scars of his cruelty. His burn marks, and her adult form. This silent understanding made them fast friends.

And so she slipped them intel on Aesir movements to help him with the war. And by doing so advancing her silent rebellion against the All-Father.

And sleeping with Freyr? The All-father’s daughter with the prince of the Vanir? It brought a smile to her face.

Soon, it became more than a simple beneficial relationship. Soon Freyr saw an Aesir working against her people, and respected her. He saw a daughter immune to her father’s infamous manipulations and admired her.

When she would slip through the realms to his humble camp, he’d insist she stay for food and drink. Welcome her presence at the campfire and encourage her to sing and dance with the rest of his people. She was more than a tool, and that had been a first.

Vali had never been a child for more than a day thanks to her father. And so never developed that fantastical idea of romance that forms from hearing stories and that sticks with you until you mature. Building up expectations and hopes that will soon be crumbled by the reality of men. She had been stuffed with the experiences and intellect of an old, wizened man. And so she saw people as pawns. As means to an end.

Perhaps that was the only reason she was not so quick to bend to the whims of her father unlike her brothers. In many ways, Vali was Odin. And only Odin knew what a fraud Odin was.

Freyr changed that. He gave the experience she had always lacked yet unknowingly craved. Human connection.

“Vali,” He whispers into her skin. His nose nudges at her chin to look up, to which he immediately trails a journey of kisses along her jawline. Suckling on the skin. “Don’t go yet,”

“Hmm,” She notes the smile pressing into her skin as her hum vibrates in her throat and against him.

“I mean it,” A light nibble on her neck. She knows his game by now, luring her further into him by doing everything she likes. To stall her return to Asgard.

“And if Odin realises I’m gone? How do I explain my absence?”

Freyr’s arms snake round her waist, letting her know he really has no intention of letting her slip away. “You’re wiley enough to come up with a story,”

At this point, the warmth travelling through her has lulled her into complete laziness. She wants nothing more than to push Freyr onto the floor, knowing that if she left for Asgard now she would be unbearably cold.

“I was taken hostage by an impossibly charming Vanir,” She starts. “He had me trapped by force. I could not hope to get away,” Her arms shimmy to his elbows, pulling them so his arms tighten around her. “Then…he interrogated me relentlessly for an hour…”

“Not all night?” He pulls away from her neck briefly to shoot her a knowing smirk. A smirk which sends a shock of excitement through her.

“My, my. Freyr of the Vanir is not easy on his prisoners, is he?”

Freyr laughs, a sound she wishes she could bottle and take home. “That’s my girl. See? How could Odin see through that?”

Upon hearing her father’s name again, a wave of frustration spurs her next movements. She struggles out of Freyr’s iron grip. And the look of worry on his features is quickly broken when Vali pushes on his chest. Sending him on his back and huffing on impact, with her hurriedly straddling him.

“Enough about Odin. I come here to get away from him…”

Freyr puts a hand over his heart. Feigning offence. “Not for any other reason?”

“Well…” Vali leans over him, her lips but a hair’s width from his own. “There might be other reasons. But suddenly, my memory is so…hazy?”

Fingers snake behind her neck, nails lightly digging into the nape pulling her to close the gap between them.

“Let’s jog your memory then, sweetheart,”

They’re lucky Freyr’s portion of camp is removed from the rest. Hugging the edges as Freyr liked to be the first line of defence should they be attacked.

That was her Freyr, always thinking of others. That extended to the bed covers as well. He was no selfish lover, always tending to her needs before even letting her think about touching him down there.

Her robes come off quickly, leaving her chest bare with only slithers of her skin covered by the myriad of chains and rope that dangle from her neck. Freyr’s hands languish over her stomach, over her ribs, trailing an agonisingly slow trail until they come to where she desires them. Fingers rubbing over her budding nipples as she sighs into his mouth. Her necklaces clinking against his adventurous hands as she licks at his bottom lip telling him what a good job he is doing already as her fingers dig into the dirt beside his head.

Before Freyr opened her eyes to it, sex had never been a point of fascination before. She knew what it was of course. Yet any enthusiasm was eclipsed by her father’s attitude. Rotten by the idea it merely served as reproduction, as a means to continue his line.

All of his attitudes were ingrained into her. Attitudes Freyr was slowly unwinding…

Freyr loved her with the devotion of a worshipper. Gazing upon her like art, touching her like she was woven of the finest silk, lapping at her like wine to be savoured and devoured…Her one and only worshipper. The only one she would ever need.

“Freyr,” Vali whines as too much attention was on her breasts and not enough on the pooling heat that was between her legs. She pulls away and Freyr gazes upon the jewellery adorned along her chest in amazement.

“Yes?” He says breathless. Still not meeting her gaze as his hands continue to fondle.

“Don’t act coy now…” Her cheeks flush over her embarrassing whine. Her hand clasping over the one that has her breast in his palm. He was going to be mean, wasn’t he? Satisfied that he had been successful at convincing her to stay. Well, she could not have that.

“I’m no mind reader, Vali,” He leans forward. Kissing the valley between her tits. “Tell me what you want,”

I'm glad you are not. She thinks briefly, before shaking those thoughts out of her mind as Freyr bites her other breast. Abusing it with tongue and teeth.

“What I want?” She gives an experimental roll of her hips. Feeling his hardening member just as she expected. It made her chuckle that the God of fertility would become hard so quickly. Fitting she supposed. “Silly boy, you know what I want,”

He groans into her, biting harder out of impulse which rips a whine from her throat and a hand snapping to his head.

“What’s the saying? All good things come to those who wait?” He murmurs.

“I have one for you too, since when have you known a God of Revenge to be patient?”

Her hands clutch his long chestnut locks and pull him forcefully away from her chest. Her skin throbs from pain that would burn blue come morning, yet she loves the way her flesh burns from the scrape of his teeth and the suction of his lips. A delicious kind of pain.

Vali looks down at him, her eyes hooded with the same intensity she reserves for battles she knows she’ll win. At first, he simply remarks on his handy work with a smug grin. Staring at her chest like an artist reviewing his work. Until he finally looks up, caught under the gaze, his smile shifts from pride to excitement.

“Is that what you want?” He tilts his head. “Revenge for making you feel this way? This good?”

She rolls her hips again hard, feeling his cock twitch underneath her, answering his question.

Perhaps the rest of Freyr’s company could hear her shouts as Freyr’s lips land on her sex as soon as they rid themselves of their clothing. How she croons loudly as his tongue finally entered her after tackling the many layers to his attire. But she doesn't care if all the nine realms heard her. Sex was blissful, it was raw and intense and damn it if she was going to restrict her journey of it by being silent.

Freyr seems to agree. Lapping at her sex more intensely as if her cries were not loud enough. As if his efforts were not appreciated enough. His hand stroked her inner thigh tenderly, while another pressed against her stomach. Keeping her from writhing away from his attentive mouth.

“Fuck!” She thrusts against his mouth as her eyes squeezed shut. Solely focusing on the alien yet pleasurable feeling of Freyr’s tongue entering her over and over and over again.

“That’s it, come on…” He encourages softly. Turning his attention to her clit. Sucking diligently while wrestling her bucking hips with the ease of a man merely enjoying a meal.

When she opens her eyes to peer down out of curiosity, she is not ready for the sight of Freyr down there. Hooded eyes watching her intently as he eats her out. Nor the complete bliss in his face as he registers her awareness. She was taken aback by the expression, that she alone was the one to make him look like that. And soon her thighs clamp over his head, fingers scratch at his scalp, and finally heavy waves of ecstasy befall her. His mouth is still working with her as she rides out the high.

Freyr removes his mouth from her once her body stops writhing, wiping his lips with the back of his hand he starts making his way to her lips. Peppering kisses here and there and nipping along her stomach and chest along the way. Happy at how dishevelled and content she looked beneath him. He gives her lip one kiss, the tip of his nose lightly brushing hers.

She catches her breath, cradling his neck lovingly as she pecks his lips back. “Not bad,”

He snickers, bumping their foreheads together. “Not bad? Is that it?”

“What do you want? A review?”

“Couldn’t hurt. I barely get compliments anymore,”

She grins up at him, feeling bold and slightly guilty, she draws her hands downwards till they land on Freyr’s shoulders. His skin is hot and glowing beneath her fingertips like a molten furnace. Slowly she pushes him onto his back with her above him like they were before.

She likes it this way. Peering down at him when he is in the throws of passion. She watches him organise battles and missions all day hunched over that damn war table. The weight of his world on his shoulders. Vali wants to take control away from him, allow him to simply enjoy this without worrying about taking over.

She reaches down; taking hold of him and stroking slowly. “I can think of something better than compliments,”

Freyr’s breath come quickly now. “Hah…so can I,”

A few pumps, enough to get Freyr to roll his head back in pleasure, and she starts to line him up with her entrance. Merely stroking herself with the tip for the moment, just to elicit a few whines from his beautiful lips, before sinking down on him.

She’ll never grow tired of that feeling fullness he gives her. Like a piece slotting into the right place, like he was scratching an itch she didn’t know she had. She pants as she takes him all the way, smiling as Freyr’s hand grabs at her hips to steady her yet this be over before it truly begins.

She gives him a moment, and when he finally looks up at her, she’s taken aback by how beautiful he is. Sure, Vali noticed Freyr’s beauty when the two of them met for the first time. She noted how he seemed to personify Vanaheim, with his natural grace and easy charm, his untamed hair adorned with feathers and beads from the land. But this was a different sort of beauty. It was one only she was allowed to witness; of his parted, puffy lips and blown out eyes. His dishevelled hair like a halo around his head. It was unique to her, allowed only to her. And therefore so much more valuable than the beauty of an eclipse.

She begins to move, keen to watch every expression flash across his features. Freyr huffs, trying hard to maintain eye contact yet his head kept rolling back from the pleasure as if manipulated by a magnet. Skin slapping on skin in a delicious symphony

“Freyr…I-” She can feel her abdomen clenching with ecstasy as she huffs. Building up like a hot ball in her stomach as his member thrusts in and out of her at hurried speed. She’s set on unwinding with him yet he seems to be unwinding her faster than she can comprehend. As if her body has a mind of its own, slamming her hips down all the faster as she chases that high.

Freyr gets other ideas however, wasting no time in securing her waist in his arms as soon as he senses her closeness. Tossing her over easily onto her back like she weighed nothing while still moving inside her. She yelps in surprise yet is very quickly muffled by his lips melding against her. All the while he keeps a brutal pace deep inside her.

“Fuck!” He sobs, burying his face into the crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. Doing everything in her power not to scratch at the rippled skin from his scars.

At this vigorous pace it isn’t long before Freyr’s hips stutter into the cradle of her hips, his movements rapid and messy as he breathes hard into her neck. One slow glide of his cock however, and Vali’s cries are finally dragged out of her again. A strangled cry as she comes, feeling her limbs shake and her walls clamping down on him. Serving to tear the waves of pleasure from him too at the feel of her.

He moves in and out of her, pumping slower and slower until his weight collapses on her. The smell of sex and nature is all around them blending into a rich smell as their breathing slows down. And Freyr finally finds the strength to roll off her and lay beside her. His arm came up to twiddle with a strand of her hair, still needing to maintain contact somehow.

“Whoo…that was…” He swallowed thickly. They both stare at the canopy of trees looming overhead, eyeing the trails of stars that exist between the leaves. Their only witness to their love.

“Amazing,” She finishes, feeling her body completely drained and satisfied. Each time they do this serves to be and more invigorating, only fueling her desire to keep laying with him. If only to chart the parts of him she has yet not experienced.

Freyr turns his head to gaze upon her. “Still thinking about going back to Asgard?”

She meets his gaze. Suddenly feeling the urge to sleep for a thousand years. “No…not tonight,”

It was clearly the answer he wished to hear. As a great big smile creases against his freckled cheeks. The hand that had been loving fidgeting with her hair glides to her cheek, caressing her as he moves to plant a kiss to her lips. When he pulls back however, that smile is surely replaced by a look of contemplation. Which unwinds into hesitance…

“Good, I want you to remain. I hate seeing you go back to that maniac…not knowing if you’ll return,”

“He needs me,” She answers nonchalantly.

Freyr frowns, shaking his head. “You say that like it’s meant to reassure me,”

“It means he has no intention of getting rid of me-”

“While he needs you,” Freyr sighs. “That’s what I’m afraid of. The day when he doesn’t need you anymore…”

She knows he has a point. Odin’s children were less like family and more akin to tools; assets part of a grander scheme. Cogs easily scrapped when they stopped working…

“For a God of fertility, you’ve got shit pillow talk,” She muses, hoping he’ll work with her to change the subject.

Freyr looks down. “Well, we haven’t got pillows. Just the nice hard ground,”

“So I’ve noticed,” She makes a show to stretch out her aching limbs.

“Never say I don’t spoil you,” He shoots her a guilty look before propping himself on his elbow to peer over her. “When this is all over, I’ll take you somewhere nice,”

“Nicer than the forest ground? Impossible,” She snorts. Moving her hand to his chest, hand over his beating heart. Charting shapes across the freckled skin, careful not to linger on the burn marks. “I’m not a flowers kind of woman. The forest floor, the war table, in a tent…hell if you wanted to try the trees I’ll do it. So long as it's with you,”

“You’re right. Your pillow talk is much better than mine. Maybe they ought to make you the God of fertility,”

“After your performance, I see why they call you that,” She smiles.

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Vali is a real god from Norse Mythology, having been a babe for only a day before Odin aged him up. He is the one who punishes Loki for killing Baldur, personifying vengeance in this regard. I thought he was an awesome character considering how very metal he is in the mythology and how he is not present in God of War.

I have essentially genderbent this deity and made her my own character. Though I explain her situation briefly in the fic, I thought putting a note here would also be required. I hope you enjoyed the fic!!

#God of war #God of war Ragnarok #Freyr #Freyr GOW #Freyr God of War #God of war Freyr #GOW Freyr #Freyr x reader #fanfic #Felassanis Writes #GOW fanfic #GOWR #GOWR Freyr

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gothsuguru · 6 months

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You Have to share some little bit details about the Halloween fics.. like the tropes and dynamics pllllsss 🐍🐍

OH BESTIE I GOT YOU COVERED THANK YOU FOR ASKING :3 ALSO love the snake emojissssss 🐍

• “faceless beauty”

— OKAY THIS IS THE ONE I WAS TALKING ABOUT BEING MOST EXCITED FOR! this’ll be based on the korean film “faceless beauty”/“hypnotized”, i’ve never watched it & i’m only taking a few plot points from it so essentially it’ll be about: suguru being in love with satoru’s wife, and he hypnotizes her so at midnight she will always come by his room. it’s quite dark/morbid, & it’ll be a delving into suguru’s unstable obsession and the aftermath that causes to everyone involved.

• “tar black soul, blood-red jam”

— vampire!priest geto my beloved… this one will be almost like a character study about the inherent darkness that lives inside suguru that overcomes him. in my personal opinion, corruption & devotion go hand in hand, therefore him being a “priest” & a “vampire” works so well! suguru has an obsession with reader & this small town has a string of heinous murders happening with no leads to who’s doing it. suguru wants to keep reader safe and will do whatever he has to do in order to ensure that.

• “inertia”

— suguru is a detective & reader is a serial killer who’s responsible for multiple murders in a once calm town. suguru finds himself utterly obsessed with reader but can’t seem to get them out of his head… reader is dangerous, heinous, a psychopathic murderer who doesn’t feel much, but knows they feel a certain… glee, when they see suguru. this story has a lot to do with corruption of self & how far one will go in order to feel something.

• “kiss of death”

— no curses au! grim reaper!reader follows suguru along the course of his lifetime from high school to adulthood. suguru finds an odd friend within the angel of death, and catches himself in multiple shenanigans with the specter! a fun little take on the grim reaper & the souls they reap — or don’t reap.

• “the house on the end of the street”

— suguru geto, the town’s infamously beautiful man, owns the house on the end of the street. everyone says the house is teeming with ghosts, ghouls, & terror-inducing creatures — that the manor’s owner is the cause of all these curses and ghoulish frights! reader is new to town and wants to befriend everyone, even the devilishly handsome man the town steers clear of. the incarnate of gothic horror (suguru) meets the incarnate of modern delight (reader)!

• “we’re a little ditzy!”

— satosugu x reader but let me explain the gist: satoru x reader are a ditzy couple! richboy toru & silly sweet reader are soooo enamored and in love with each other! their best friend suguru (who loves them both but desperately is in love with reader), tries to get with them in the best way he knows how — role play as GHOSTFACE bc his two little dummies won’t know/care! this is a smut so it’ll essentially be suguru corrupting satoru & reader (but he loves them so much, he’s just a nasty freaky perv!) it’ll be: dom!geto x sub!reader x brattysub!gojo

• a few more ideas in my mind: angel!geto x fallen angel!reader, morticia!geto x gomez!reader, finalboy!geto x ghostface!reader, & a few soft autumnal fics of geto as well! <3

#asks #anon #THANK YOU SOOOOOOO MUCH FOR ASKING BTW HEHEHEHEHE #there’s so much i wanna write i’m just inundated w ideas 😭 it’s nice 2 yap about them!!!! <333 #but yes. i have so many more ideas that i have planned i’d put them in here but it’d be soooooo long then 😭#if you’re curious feel free to ask me again! <3 BUT THANK YOU AGAIN FOR BEING CURIOUS MWAH MWAH MWAHHHHHH <333 #snippets

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crystal-in-nagasaki · 11 months

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the story of kiwi

As many people from Facebook know, I accidentally became a cat owner earlier this year when I decided to pick up an injured cat from the road. If you aren't familiar with how things typically work in the US, there are many shelters and animal rescues that will take in sick or injured stray animals. I have had instances in the past in the US where I find an injured animal, drive it to a shelter, hand it over to a professional, and go on about my day. I learned the hard way that Japan is not so easy.

On February 25th 2023, the same day I helped clean up the farmhouse with other ALTs from my last post, I was driving down a seluded country road on my way to stay at my friend's house in Minami Shimabara when I found a kitten in the road. He was sitting in the middle of the road loaf-style, and my first thought was "this stupid cat is going to get hit by a car because he's sun bathing in the road." So I pulled over and got out of my car with the intention of shooing him out of the road and going on my way. But as I approached him, I noticed that he was very dirty, shaking, unreactive to my approach, and there was blood on him and the road. Realizing that he had probably been hit by a car, my friend and I picked him up and drove him to the nearest vet.

Now, in the US, I could just hand him to the vet, or receive information about a place that I could hand him over to and be done with it, but this was not the case. The vet seemed confused that I had even bothered to pick him up, simply gave him a fluids shot to keep him alive (he had many other obvious problems that the vet didn't treat or examine), charged me for the care, and sent me out the door.

Many people have heard of the many stray cats in Japan or of its many infamous "cat islands." This is because Japan has a huge stray cat problem, and very few people are trying to fix it or even care about it. Many Japanese people seem to view stray cats as any other wild animal, and I often see dead or very ill cats in the streets. There are some catch and release programs which make efforts to control the cat population by neutering them and releasing them again, but these efforts are pretty futile considering the immense size of the population. I've also heard that many animal shelters that do exist in Japan have a very high kill rate of their animals, as many people buy from pet stores rather than adopt. This leaves a whole population of unwanted and uncared for cats, while pet shops continue to breed and sell purebred cats with a plethora of breeding-related health problems for ridiculously high prices.

Having learned this, I realized that taking this cat in became something much bigger than just dropping him off at a vet or shelter. I realized that if I released him or handed him to a shelter, he would likely die. So with the advice of a helpful expat cat expert living in Tokyo, I began navigating the cat rescue scene in Japan.

I got into contact with a very kind local woman named Ito-san in Omura who runs cat adoption events. She lent me a cage for my furry little guy, who I attached the placeholder name of Kiwi to, since that was the name of a song that was playing in my car when I picked him up and was the first thing I thought of.

I took Kiwi to a proper vet to get examined and discovered a heap of health problems. Not only was his jaw dislocated from being hit by a car, but he had matted fur from being caught in a glue trap that needed to be shaved off altogether, he was covered in ticks, and he had a bacteria in his stool that the vet said was from eating snakes or frogs in the wild. I couldn't even tell what color he was because he was so dirty. His temperment was very calm at first. He sat very still with wide eyes and didn't react when he was touched or moved. I wondered at the life this tiny cat had lived in the mountains of Shimabara, getting stuck in glue traps, navigating the typhoon season, and eating frogs and snakes.

Now, I am but a lowly assistant language teacher with a criminally low salary, so I'm very grateful for the support I received on the GoFundMe I started for Kiwi's care. Through donations from friends, family, and people in the community, we reached our goal and were able to cure all of Kiwi's health problems as well as get him neutered and vaccinated.

The next step was to get Kiwi adopted by a loving family. Of course, I didn't want to take him to a kill shelter, so I worked with Ito-san and my vet to get the word out. I gave flyers to the vet office and adoption events, made a listing on an online adoption website, and brought Kiwi in for adoption events in person. However, being a feral kitten recovering from a traumatic injury and change of lifestyle, he was terrified of people for months, and I was worried his personality would never become more open. As I mentioned before, not many people adopt pets in Japan, so very few people even came to the adoption events, and the ones that did weren't interested in a cat that hissed and backed away when they got close, and who had half of his fur shaved off and a wonky jaw.

Needless to say, it was rough going. In the meantime, I kept Kiwi in my apartment. I fed him, bought him toys, and kept his cage clean. Eventually when I felt he was ready, I opened the cage and began to let him into my apartment. At first he only came out at night, and would hide under my bed. But slowly he began playing with the toys I left out (quite noisily actually, I couldn't sleep well for months.) At some point he started to come into the room to eat while I was around, but still wouldn't come near me. Then he started letting me play with him with fishing toys, while still keeping his distance.

Several months in, in May, my father suddenly passed away. I booked a ticket to go home and be with my family, but spent two long days in my apartment alone, barely eating or getting out of bed. During this time, Kiwi opened up when I really needed it and let me play with him, and even purred a bit.

A friend looked after Kiwi while I was in the US, and when I returned, something amazing happened. Kiwi began rubbing against my legs and purring. He did this for a few days, and one day I reached down to pet him and he didn't run away. He leaned into my hand and let me scratch under his chin and behind his ears while purring.

That was the end for me. I canceled the listing on the adoption site and told my vet to take the flyers down. I decided Kiwi was mine. I begged my coordinator to let me keep him even though my apartment doesn't allow pets, since it will only be for one year until I return home. Now we're looking into steps needed to prepare him to fly to the US with me next year. I really love him and I'm so happy to have him in my life now.

This post is rather long, but I wanted to share my experience with this in Japan, since it was surprising and disappointing to me that Japan has such a lack of resources around animal rescue. I hope that in the future, Japan's animal rescue system can grow and begin to see the cat population growth for the problem that it is and work to correct it. It's frustrating to see tourists brag about their trips to Japan's cat islands, when these are not quirky tourist spots, but ecological and inhumane disasters.

I want to thank everyone who offered support to Kiwi's recovery, including my coordinators who really went above and beyond to help me take him to the vet and find ways to get him adopted. I really felt a sense of community coming together, and it made me hopeful about the kindness of humanity.

Anyway, Kiwi is growing, happy, healthy, and has all his fur back, (though he is down two tiny balls.) He yells at me in the morning for food like any other spoiled cat and loves to cuddle and play. He means the world to me and I'm so happy that I plucked him out of the road that day. I recently made an Instagram account to post pictures of him, so if you're interested in following, the link is here.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope we can all work together to improve the stray animal situation around the world.

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 2 years

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Azalea Crawford

(I’ve already made an information post like this, but said post is pretty long; in fact, it’ll just get longer and more expansive as I develop new characters and stories for [The Future Mob Project]. And I’m worried that the sheer length will make readers lose interest when they click on a link to look for a specific character. So, I’ll be making separate information pages for each character while still maintaining the all-inclusive post. Got it? Good.)

Who She’s Based Off Of: Rosanna Pansino (Nerdy Nummies)

Her Method of Work: She knows pretty much everything there is to know about poison. Toxic plants, venomous animals, man-made chemicals, you name it. The collection she keeps for hit-jobs and the like goes way, way beyond your typical arsenic. She even has a greenhouse full of deadly plants (including her namesake, obviously) in her backyard. When she’s on the clock, she’ll usually take care of targets by slipping poisons into a nice little baked goodie. Azalea’s not squeamish about needles, but this is easier and more discreet.

Red Attire: Headband (Cherry)

Notes:

This lovely lady is Caliban’s sister, and shares a strong sibling bond with him. (In fact, she actually taught Caliban a lot of what he knows about cooking. Sure, it took a bit of trial-and-error for some recipes to work with human flesh, but it just be like that sometimes.)

She has a pet scarlet kingsnake named Cuddles. Scarlet kingsnakes are harmless, but they specifically evolved to mimic the coloration of coral snakes, which are infamously venomous. Azalea understands the irony of this perfectly. She also understands how easy it is for people to mix up the color patterns, so, of course, she’ll occasionally handle Cuddles purely for confusion/intimidation.

She’s the owner/head chef of Aftertaste, a popular restaurant/bar, in order to help keep up appearances for The Pentas Family. The building is connected to the abandoned subway tunnels.

If any Pentas members decide to use poison for a hit-job, then they need to go to Azalea for help. She’s one of very, very few people who can be trusted to use such dangerous substances properly. (But sometimes, even mobsters aren’t immune to hubris. So, Azalea keeps a stockpile of antidotes/painkillers in order to fix certain mistakes.)

She’s the reason Caliban was able to adopt Snare. She found the hare in the basement of one of her past targets (who was the leader of an exotic animal trafficking ring); he reminded her of her brother, so she ended up giving him to Caliban as a present.

(If you’d like to see some awesome artwork of this character, please go here and show the artist some appreciation!)

Current Stories: What’s That Saying About Cinnamon Rolls. . ?, Update the Letter Board!, Toxic Tutorials, (Goretober 2023) Day 3: Broken Bones, (Goretober 2023) Day 7: Needles, Bloody Tricks and Even Bloodier Treats

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asteriuszenith · 2 years

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Mayhaps.... A little snippet of mine and @seaswalllow current lil project for y'all...

The scene soon changed into that of a woman who was sitting primly behind a cleaned brown desk backed by a wide window which had a wide view of the city. She wore a personally customized designer’s brand black suit with a red roses printed tie that emphasized her figure. Her back length dark brown hair had been perfectly styled to curl around her face, accentuating her sharp features and drawing people’s eyes to her enchanting silver-gray eyes.

Resting on her shoulders, crimson eyes trained intently upon the camera, was one of her soul familiars which the Aphelions are infamous for. A snake with gleaming pitch black scales were curled around her neck, its chin resting on her right shoulder content in its current position. It appears that Nidhogg is the only one out right now. Eldrulth, her other snake, must be away somewhere.

“Our dearly beloved people,” the princess’ voice was deep and husky, it has a demanding presence to it that draws all of the room’s attention to its charismatic owner, “I have heard all of your concerns regarding your grief and wish to end the bloodshed that has pitted our people with Ignari’s people. So many of our loved ones have been lost to this long, long war. So many unsung songs and stories were cut off before they could be heard and written…”

‘She was really laying it on thick,’ Skye thought, grabbing her glass of milk to wash away the bitter taste of her toast from her tongue.

“Well, I say no more! No more! This has gone on far too long. Are we not civilized people who have learned enough, who have known enough that we should consider all options before turning to violence? Have we not had enough of sending out our children to die for no cause but to continue this blood feud that our ancestors from a hundred years ago began?” Her voice raised with her passion, the princess’ eyes are glowing bright with her magic and her strong resolve. “However, we cannot have peace so long as we do not take the initiative to move towards it. That is why I invite you now to be a bit more patient. Give us a little bit more time and we shall give you the news that you have all been waiting for.”

Their eyes met over the screen and even though Skye knew that that look was meant for the people, there was a part of her that felt Seen. There was something brimming in those gray eyes, something like a growing typhoon that was about to pass over the plains and drag everything and everyone along its destruction.

@egopocalypse

#osas #of sunflowers and swords #writeblr #snippet #fantasy #romance #slowburn

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kathyprior4200 · 1 year

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Helluva Boss S2 E4 “Western Energy” (Part 2)

Part 2: “Striker’s Story”

“From out of the fire Came a man cruel and bold Farmhand and a hitchhiker By night he drank whisky By day killed weak imps And the townspeople knew him as Striker”

“Trotting down deserts and volcanos Adored and feared In saloons and brothels and the like-er With snake eyes of greed And an inferno steed Pumping guts full of lead, he’s Striker”

“Striker! Striker! Striker! Striker!”

“A ladies’ man indeed, from horns to his tail A hybrid-born hitman and fighter His legend’s known well In the Wrath Ring of Hell Beware ol’ scheming Striker”

This is the twisted tale of Hell’s most infamous rootin’ tootin’ cowboy residing in the wild western Wrath Ring. Although he was an imp, there was something special and unique about him that left him shrouded in mystery. Not many citizens could forget the horned figure dressed in cowboy attire, dashing into the sunset on a hellish black equine aglow with flames. Or during the times when he’d lounge and gab at a nearby saloon, a bottle of Satan’s Wrath in one hand and a curved red dagger in the other. Sometimes when he ordered a drink, he’d place a few hellish dollar bills called souls in front of him and stab his dagger through them for intimidation. Those who made him mad received black eyes and bruises in brawls…at least the lucky ones.

Unlike many imps, he had a long pointed tail with four black stripes and eight sharp spines lined up on them. The tail sometimes made rattlesnake noises when it moved, like it had a life of its own. His black and white horns were jagged in appearance, curved upwards. His face was a pale faded red; his eyes yellow and green, glowing in spiral hypnotic patterns. A gold tooth glinted among his sharp teeth. He stood a little over six feet tall, his skin possessing incredible endurance and healing powers. A wheat straw was often seen in his mouth.

Though an impoverished outlaw, he still made a name for himself. Though proclaiming himself a messiah for the downtrodden imp race, he despised the weak and nearly everyone around him. Though developing a hatred for royalty, he ended up working for one. Here was an arrogant, selfish, and sadistic man, marinated in complexity. Rumor has it that he had never lost a fight. Even the roughest toughest hooligans parted whenever they heard the tapping of his tall boots and the ominous hissing from his tail.

In his quest for money, fame, and his vision of righteousness, he was an unstoppable force.

He was Striker…assassin, outlaw, legend.

0 0 0

Early Days

Striker was born in the Wrath Ring to his imp parents. His father was a muscular, snake-like imp named Butcher. Butcher wore a brown cowboy hat, thick pants and had a long spiky tail. The unique feature about him was his yellow glowing eyes and snake fangs. Butcher was the proud owner of the Kill-Count Casino, a popular tourist destination in Wrath. Bucher also prided himself on his beer and brewery. He showed Striker all the fine arts of weapon-wielding, dirty-dealing and occasional stealing. Several of Striker’s favorite childhood moments included going on train rides with his family, riding his horse and munching on Paté loafs of meat at family dinners.

Then there was Striker’s mother, Ambrosia. She had thick black hair, black pants, and a tank-top shirt. Her tail was also spiky and pointed and her horns were black with white stripes. Tough and sexy at the same time, she was a bartender at a nearby saloon. After Striker’s parents had met, they decided to combine their businesses together, to better make ends meet. Both parents loved their son, dearly. They took turns taking care of him, but Striker remembered his mother the most.

As Striker grew up and inherited both places, the saloon was soon called “Striker’s Saloon.” His father gifted him with his very first horse, Bomb-proof. They had an unbreakable bond ever since. As a young teen, Striker loved flirting with the lady imps and drinking Satan’s Wrath Whisky with his friends. Striker’s skill at fighting also came in handy when warding off vandalizer imps and rival cowboys.

“I’m so proud of you son,” said his dad. “I knew you would be a great asset to our business.” His mother kissed him on the head.

Everything was going rather smoothly…until they came.

Striker’s village of imps soon saw tall figures on horses wearing crowns and colorful robes. Two guards rising horses with many eyes on them held up banners displaying various Goetia sigils. Striker backed away behind his worried parents. Trumpets sounded and a tall Goetia bird wearing robes and a mask over his face posted a piece of paper onto a building.

“ROYAL DECREE: All surrounding businesses within the radius of the train tunnels shall be demolished and renovated in two week’s time to make way for new malls, apartments, and parks, sponsored by his majesty King Paimon et al. All imp residents shall kindly sell their stores and relocate elsewhere or risk the warning of a fine and the second warning of…you don’t want to find out. Many thanks and sealed by Your Infernal Majesties, the Ars Goetia.”

“What is this madness?” Butcher asked his wife.

“Are the birds planning on taking our land?” asked another imp.

“Where will we move to?” asked another.

“Move? We can’t move! We’re Wrathians, we must fight!” Butcher called. Many imps shouted in agreement.

“Fight the royals?!” spat Ambrosia, eyes wide. “Are you fucking insane?! They have better weapons and magic. And don’t forget about our son!”

“He can fight if he wants to!”

“No way! He’s just a kid!” Ambrosia cried.

Striker anxiously looked back and forth between his parents.

“I agree with Butcher here!” called another imp with his family.

In a matter of days, the Wrathian imps had made protest signs in black marker that read “LEAVE OUR BUSINESSES ALONE!” “FUCK THE ROYALS!” “GO HOME, GOETIA SCUM!” The Goetia, of course, ignored them.

Ambrosia knew things would go south the moment the Goetia returned in two weeks. The young Striker’s world crumbled as the imps rushed at the horses and royals to no avail. The horse’s hooves crushed the imp’s swords and pitchforks. For every beer bottle thrown at the Goetias’ heads, blasts of fireballs would incinerate the imps on the spot.

“This is your last chance to leave in peace,” the royal leader told Butcher.

“Fuck no!” he spat. “You assholes ain’t takin’ my casino or my son’s saloon.”

“Have it your way,” the royal added. With the flick of his hand, he hurled a fireball at the Kill-Count Casino and it exploded with an ear-shattering blast.

“Adding to the imp kill-count, sir!” laughed one of the royal men next to the leader. Two other royals ransacked the saloon, burning the contents inside and trampling the screaming imps.

Ambrosia looked at Striker with tears in her eyes. “My son, you must leave!”

“Where?” Striker asked.

“Head down to the mine tunnels. They won’t find you there.”

“No, mom, I’m not leaving you!”

“I have to help your father, now go before they see you!”

Striker buried his face in her thick hair for one last hug and ran off to hide.

After several hours, Striker emerged from his hiding place…then wished he hadn’t. All the buildings were charred and destroyed. All that was left were the Kill-Count Casino sign, the blue snake Venom sign and the Striker’s Saloon sign.

To the teen’s horror, there were bodies of his imp neighbors, family, and friends everywhere who had died fighting for their land.

But Striker’s worst nightmare came true moments later. To set an example, the royals hung the imp leaders in the gallows. Striker burst into tears at the sight of his parent’s limp bodies hanging with several others.

As the sun set, Striker realized he was all alone. A lone survivor of the genocide. His family…his businesses…his entire life…gone. The royals had taken everything from him, and he was barely into his teens.

Now he had no choice but to move on. He lifted up the signs and the remaining memorabilia and carried them down into the mine tunnels, making his hideout. His life was hard, rough, and impoverished ever since. His heart filled with disgust as he soon spotted the royals and other imps enjoying themselves in the malls, motels, and tourist sights in the spots where his family used to be. Striker’s only companion was his horse, who nuzzled his head to comfort the imp.

From that day forward, Striker swore he’d get his revenge. He became Wrath’s most wanted assassin and was willing to go great lengths to get Goetia blood on his hands.

And as for the statue with his big dick…Striker had made that himself in his spare time.

0 0 0

Farmhand by Day, Assassin By Night

It wasn’t long before Striker began to make deals in his adolescence in order to gain power. With his reputation as a master hitman, clients from all over Hell would speak with him. Mostly they were other imps, itching to get their revenge on their rivals. Other times, they were Sinners whom Striker recalled, “could care less about who he was.”

“Just get the job done, imp,” they would spit. “I ain’t got all day.”

“Are you sure you’re tough enough for the job?”

“Go back to the ghetto, farm-boy.”

“Chameleon fucker can serve us any time.”

Despite the taunts, Striker carried out his duties with the silence and grace of a ninja. Whenever he got money, it would just as easily be lost to bets, beer and battles. In harder times, Striker would salvage scraps of food to survive. Water was very scarce in the drought-stricken land. Thankfully for him, he could usually find a few people to kill or kill for. He kept up his trade, because it was what he was good at. It got him enough money to get by. Plus, it was entertaining stomping out the meek and weak so easily.

Oh, but it was never enough. Not enough money to spend for long, not enough imps to bully and taunt. An insatiable bloodlust. He wanted more; he always did. Striker knew that he’d have to possess or do something incredible in order to not be stuck in his second-class status. Once an imp always an imp, it was said.

There were a few times where Striker traveled to the Pride Ring to meet with his Sinner clients. While he was up there, he briefly heard of one imp who had started his own official killing business. He didn’t know who the imp was, but he found the feat to be pretty impressive.

Though he could travel easily enough, there was no way he could form a business on his own. Not when he was his own boss.

He moved from motel to motel, stopping at bars and sleeping in alleyways during the night. A few allies allowed him to sleep on couches.

Striker made many deals, killing various rivals while sometimes fleeing from the more powerful demons. He gained more power, energy and respect the more deals he made. He soon grew wary of Sinners, deciding to stick more with the chaotic familiarity of his imp brethren. Tales of the infamous (and sexy) cowboy spread like wildfire throughout the Rings.

“If I can get enough people to fear and respect me,” Striker thought with a sinister grin, “I could experience the luxurious lifestyle of an Overlord someday! I could be the first imp Overlord in Hell…then no one would dare mess with me or my kind again. Who needs Overlords or pompous Goetia demons when I could slaughter them all?!”

It was these self-righteous thoughts that kept Striker going each and every day. No matter if he was wrestling a hellish beast or searching for scraps to get by, the spark to survive and thrive never faded.

0 0 0

Striker discovered something extraordinary one evening while he was in town. He turned his head sideways, yellow eyes narrowing as he heard hushed muttering from three figures. They were leaning against a wall, hidden in the shadows. One imp wore a trench coat and smoked a cigarette, his head hidden underneath a dark hat. The two other ones had thick curved horns and black mustaches. The cloaked figure spoke in hushed whispers to his companions.

“Did ya hear what happened not too long ago? After the last Extermination, several angelic weapons were found on the ground. Just a bunch of glowing treasure left there. After all their bodies were disposed of, there was a brawl over the weapons found. A bloodbath, I tell ya.”

“I heard that at least a dozen imps offed themselves for good after fighting over them weapons,” said the second imp. “Heard that a couple of imps managed to grab hold of one of them before running off. They were planning on giving it to Satan as a gift.”

“And?”

“And they decided to raise the price of it even more in front of him,” the second imp chuckled.

The third imp spat on the ground. “Too bad Satan’s infinitely rich.”

“Nobody’s as rich as Lord Mammon,” said the leader. “Everyone knows that he’s the king of Greed, for fuck’s sake!”

“Well Lucifer’s the king of Hell,” said the second imp. “He’ll find out about the weapon for sure.”

“Hmph,” said the third imp, crossing his arms. “It’s always the Goetia and the Overlords who can afford the good tools. How I’d love to get my hands on it.”

“Too bad,” said the leader. “Cause that weapon’s gonna be in my possession soon enough.”

“Nonsense, Crimson,” said Red, the second imp. “It’s helluva expensive.”

“That’s why I’mma use your souls to get it!” said the leader. “They don’t call the currency ‘souls’ for nothin’!”

Just as Crimson raised a knife before them, Striker plunged his sharp tail into his chest. He gasped, shuddered and gagged before Striker pulled his tail back. Red and Burgundy swiped at him with a mace and large fists, but Striker was too slippery. He slid underneath them, dodging the mace and tripping Red to the ground. Burgundy held out a pistol and fired close to Striker’s head.

“You gonna kill me, little man?” Striker grinned. He knocked the pistol out of his hands and shoved him away. He then kicked and gripped at Red, shoving him against a nearby wall.

“Ah you fucker!” growled Red before Striker slammed his head hard against the wall. Black blood spilled out and Red slid to the ground. Red collapsed by his leader, their eyes slowly glazing over. Striker then turned to the cowering Burgundy, grabbing him by his collar and pinning him against the wall.

“So then…” Striker began, wrapping his long tail against the struggling imp’s throat. “Tell me about this weapon of yours?”

“It ain’t mine, asshole!” Burgundy sputtered. The tail tightened. “Ah, aurgh, shit…”

“Talk, you pathetic little pig,” Striker spat.

“O-okay! It’s a .42 caliber pistol, blessed-tipped with bullets to kill demons instantly.”

“Where is it?”

Burgundy wheezed.

“Answer me!”

“In the b-black market! Just down the lane! Good luck tryin’ ta get it!”

“Oh, I won’t need luck,” Striker said, before he promptly shot the imp through his chin with his weapon. The imp slid down in a black mess as Striker blew smoke from the holes of his pistol. He examined his brown weapon.

“I could use a new one of these,” he mentioned.

Striker strolled down the lane, a wheat straw in his mouth. He entered a dimly lit alleyway and then went down a darkened flight of stairs. His eyes allowed him to see easily in the shadows.

A vast underground chamber was revealed. Bustling among the torches were hordes of chattering imps and demons, anxious to purchase rare wares. Striker looked and saw an exotic manticore locked in a black cage while snakes with many eyes slithered in silver cages at a booth. Lava lamps glowed and clothing made of soda taps shimmered on hooks. A sign read “Human Hides, 25% Off!” while another sign shouted in bold, “Demon Meat Made Fresh!” Rows of stuffed animals were also selling fast by a taxidermist imp.

Several stalls sold occult books, cannibal recipe books and various porn magazines. Another stall consisted of jewelry made of silver, gold or in some cases, wires. A tattooist hunched over and inked a flaming horned skull onto the chest of a beefy male imp. A cacophony of discordant music echoed throughout the vast space. Imps were playing guitars, drums and electric keyboards while several demons sang in ancient foreign languages. It sounded like Latin at certain times, Indian at other moments, ever changing.

“Get your wares here!” called a large woman selling bottles of aged liquor and a row of skulls.

“Get your fixes over here!” called a scrawny imp with a white beard selling cocaine, meth and weed in plastic bags. “Don’t go for the regular prices, get ours at only 666 souls.”

Striker noticed a family of chained saddened imps beside a man who hollered, “Slaves for your every need! Farming, sex, murder, you name it, we got it!” Two of the imp children cried in their mother’s arms as other consumers looked them up and down.

“Fresh fish from Envy Ring over here!” called another imp dressed as a sailor in blood-stained clothing. Eels, fish, crabs and sharks swam in small tanks. “$66 per fine specimen. Nearby lost my life trying to fish for these!” He waved a hook in place of his hand as Striker continued on.

“Scarot cards! Intense incense! We tell your fortunes better than royalty!”

“Rumor has it!” called a man, “That this black key can allow Sinners to travel to any Ring in Hell! No more being restrained to Pride! You can kill and visit those former humans anytime, anywhere!” He held up an old-fashioned black key with wings and a pink eye at the top. “The Sinner’s Key!”

A crowd of imps “oohed” and gathered around.

“Um,” said the imp beside the vendor. “Isn’t that just an old-fashioned key painted black?”

“Shut your trap,” the vendor seethed to his companion. “I’m tryin’ to make a good sale here!”

At last, Striker came across the largest section in the area. A large wooden sign in bloody capital letters read “WEAPONS!” He quickened his pace as he entered. The area was packed with imps and demons of all shapes and sizes. Indeed, in addition to food, the Wrath Ring was known for its vast selection of weaponry.

Striker’s eyes grew wide at the collections. All around him were weapons on display. Swords, knives, spears, daggers, scimitars, tridents, axes, hooks, chainsaws, harpoons, katanas, so many silver blades in one place. Maces, clubs, catapults, crossbows, darts, crowbars, chains and rods were located in another section not too far away. Then Striker stopped at the last and more modern section. Rifles, shotguns, pistols, revolvers, sniper rifles, tank missiles, even nuclear bombs were all prepped and ready for purchase.

Striker didn’t notice a dark shadowy individual sneaking nearby, watching his every move.

Striker took a close look at the most expensive weapons. A few swords, harpoons, rifles and pistols had strange glowing white patterns on them. Unlike the other weapons, they were propped up within glass cases.

Striker strut over to the counter and his eyes landed on a pistol. A brownish blessed-tipped pistol with a glowing white trigger handle. On the bottom in glowing white were cloud designs and a small eye surrounded by six angel wings.

“That must be the one that imp was talking about,” he thought. An angelic weapon…one that could kill demons for good.

All it took was one bullet.

“Howdy, sir,” Striker greeted the mustached imp.

“What weapon do you have in mind?” the imp asked. “Rob” was on a name tag.

With a slight wiggle of his finger, Striker pointed to the pistol in the glass case.

“That’s a big buy,” Rob smirked. “It’ll cost you an arm and a leg…perhaps literally.” He snickered.

Striker grinned and hosted up the bag of money he had retrieved from the horse-riding imps. Rob counted the bills and coins.

“A lot of souls for sure,” he mentioned. “But see the price tag? It says 66,000 souls. You only have 9,000.”

Striker’s eyebrow raised, his eye twitching. “It’s over 9,000! You sure you counted right?”

“Absolutely. The calculator doesn’t lie…most of the time. But I don’t have all day. Come back when you have enough.”

“I have to have it,” Striker said, coming up with an idea. “My family’s been killed off by an outlaw and I have to kill him before he steals water from my town!”

The imp scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “A likely story. Tell ya what, I’ll take the money. You can have the weapon, but only if ya suck my dick first!” Snickers and catcalls came from behind him.

“Not a chance.”

“Scram, chameleon cunt!”

Striker’s rattlesnake tail hissed menacingly. “Do you not know who I am? I am the only and only man who makes ladies drop to their knees and men cry from seeing me in their nightmares.”

“Get lost, punk.”

Striker pulled out his older pistol. “I’mma blow so many holes in ya, your guts’ll be leaking lead!” Striker mocked.

Rob merely grinned as two other imps pointed long guns at Striker. “Try me.”

“Vermin,” said Striker in a husky voice.

This time, Striker was surrounded on all sides. He could flee easily if he wanted to. But fighting a group in such a packed place…

“Anyone want 66,000 souls for this here pistol?” Rob called. “I may have not stolen this from Lucifer himself after donating money to the Morningstar family and being a groundskeeper all these years.”

Rob smirked as Striker stood his ground, eyes darting back and forth. The imps clicked their guns, daring him to make a move.

“Y’all be sorry you messed with the infamous Striker!” he called, still unafraid of death.

Rob called out. “Anybody? Going once, going twice…”

“Put it on me,” said a low demonic voice. Several imps parted as a figure in a long dark hood strode over to him.

And who are you?” Rob asked.

Without a word, the figure held up a badge with a sigil on it. A handful of golden soul bills were placed in front of him. Rob reached toward them, but they became transparent in his hand. He growled in anger as the figure held out a hand.

Rob laughed nervously, eyes wide. Though he was selling the weapons, he secretly wanted both the money and weapons for himself. “This must be some mista…”

A force and a terrible screech emitted from the figure, Striker and the imps covering their ears. Rob’s head exploded in black blood as the nearby glass cases shattered. The figure tossed Striker the angelic pistol while they retrieved an angelic rifle.

“Tell Lucifer I wish him well,” the figure spat at the dead Rob. “He won’t be needing these anymore.” Striker walked along on his way, twirling his new pistol. He dodged several imps clawing desperately for the weapon. Then the shadowy figure materialized in front of him.

“Holy shit, wha…”

In a flash of light, a piece of white folded paper appeared in Striker’s hands. He glanced down with a glare and saw elegant handwriting.

“Sinister Stars Saloon, Wrath Ring 12AM sharp tomorrow Come alone.”

Striker looked up, but the mysterious figure had vanished.

0 0 0

True to his word, Striker entered the Sinister Stars Saloon at midnight. A bunch of drunken imps were still roaming around, smoking and chatting. A smoky haze filled the small dark room, no light save for overhead red lights along the ceiling borders. A few imps were playing cards and telling stories of tribal wars. Several demons and hellhounds feasted on a hellhog in a booth. An ogre trimmed his long yellow nails with a knife.

Striker looked around before barely spotting the cloaked figure in a corner. Striker hovered a hand over his pistol in case a fight broke out. Behind the figure, a wooden door opened slowly by itself. Seeing the figure suddenly appear not too far behind him, Striker made his way inside the small room. The door closed behind them. Striker sat in a wooden chair while the imposing figure stood before him.

“So,” said Striker. “You’re the one who called me?”

“Yes,” they said. “And I warn you. I’m not here to fight you. But one word of this gets out, and you’ll be disposed of for good like the common scum you are.”

Striker seethed, fingers clenched, tail waving in warning. This figure was powerful; he could feel it. The figure was no ordinary imp. His hair stood on end. Was it fear? Or anticipation?

“My lips are sealed,” Striker said.

The figure’s eyes glowed bright pink. “Good. Because I’ve come to you with a…prince problem.”

The figure removed the hood.

Striker gasped. “Who are you?”

The white swan demon spoke, wrath in her eyes. “Lady Stella Goetia,” she said. Her dress was light pink, and her crown was small and golden on her head. From underneath her cloak, a small red imp butler appeared, shivering in fear.

Not wanting to appear rude, Striker played it safe with a small bow. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your majesty.” He took her long black hand and kissed it. Stella didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “Yeah, let’s brush past the formalities.”

“As you wish,” he said, stepping back and sitting down. He propped up his boot-covered feet onto the table.

“So first of all,” Striker asked, “What does a high-class demon want with someone like me?”

“I’ve heard stories about you, Striker,” Stella answered. “From the newspapers and the news. Once I saw you in person at the market and heard your name, I had to see if the legends were true.” She paused, looking him up and down. “Apparently they were.”

Striker beamed with pride. “I’m not surprised. Even royalty knows who I am.”

“As much as I despise your vile violent kind, you imps are experts in killing and war. And no one else seems to match your level of expertise.”

Striker grinned. “I’m flattered, ma’am. To be honest, I see myself as better than all those pathetic excuses of demons. They’re nothing but brawn and no brain. They just use brute strength and argue all the time instead of being civilized and making a real life for themselves.”

Stella nodded. “I mentioned before that I have a prince problem that needs to be addressed. If you can do this job for me, I will elevate your status beyond that of a regular imp.”

Striker cocked his head before bursting into laughter. “Lady, please! Don’t fool with me! I’ve never been a ‘regular’ imp!” He then spoke in a serious tone. “But for your request, I charge a great deal of money.”

Striker was cut short when Stella tossed a bag full of souls, bills and coins in front of him. “Would this be enough?”

A bowl of meat and several large bottles of fresh water appeared as well.

Water…actual water! Water that could help many imp farmers, but more importantly help his parched throat.

He stared into the bag with a greedy expression on his face. He reached in for a handful of coins, only to have the majority of coins vanish. One lone gold coin was left in his hand. Striker reached for the water and food, but they vanished, too.

Striker stared in annoyance. It was too good to be true.

“Don’t forget the one who helped you get that rifle. And the pistols and rope and knife. You won’t earn your rewards until the job is done.”

Striker took a breath. “So, you want me to kill someone.”

Stella nodded.

Striker grinned wider. He could not resist an interesting proposition such as this. To be able to have not just money, but food, fame, freedom…

Stella pulled out a framed picture and held it in front of his face.

“Do you see this demon?” she asked, venom in her words. Her dark finger pointed to the owl Stolas, who was lying on his belly on his bed, smiling. His feathery chest was bare, his arms were tied, and a ball gag was around his neck. He wore his black top hat and crown. “This is my husband, Prince Stolas Goetia. He’s the man I want you to kill.”

Striker was taken aback. “Oh my. Marriage problems, I see.”

“Oh, there’s more than that!” Stella barked. “You see that thing?” She pointed to a naked Blitzo who was riding on Stolas with his member fully erect. “That’s the monstrosity imp that he’s been fucking with behind my back! I found this picture lying around on his work desk.”

Striker grinned. “Now things are getting interesting. You want revenge for adultery. Never thought I’d become a marriage counselor! Hahaha!”

Stella seethed. “I want you to frame that imp for Stolas’ death.”

“Hmm. That can be arranged, I think. What’s his name?”

“I don’t fucking care! I just want them dead!”

“Okay, okay,” Striker said, keeping his cool.

“That imp rides my husband like a horse and what’s worse, all of Hell will soon know about it! Do you know what will happen next?”

Striker could only guess.

Stella continued. “Once everyone knows what my husband did, the whole Goetia family will be a laughingstock. Lucifer, the Overlords, the Seven Deadly Sins…they’ll all bring our line to the ground, and I’ll be no better off than you and the commoners!”

“Right,” Striker began, narrowing his eyes.

“And I cannot just divorce him, either. Our marriage was arranged, and I had to work hard to get my position. I married him and I got money and power like I wanted. But then my Octavia was born and then Stolas ruined everything. He slept with that imp in our fucking bed! Fooled around in a motel like plebeians! He doesn’t respect his loyal royal wife of one thousand years, but instead goes for a childish perverted scum he just met! If I divorce him, I’ll lose my status and his imp toy will replace me as his consort!”

Striker laughed nervously. “Oh, really?”

Stella leaned in close to his face, “Yes, really!” before leaning back.

“Well, I can see why you’re desperate,” Striker said.

“Once Stolas and that imp are gone, I’ll finally be able to regain some proper power in Hell. I’ll restore the Goetia tradition and help Octavia be a worthy heir.” Then she added in a demonic voice, “Whether she likes it or not!”

In the blink of an eye, Stella grabbed onto a nearby white mouse and promptly consumed it. She chewed and swallowed before looking at Striker again.

Striker folded his hands together, wheat straw in his mouth. “So now begs the question, how can I kill demon royalty? And what do I do to frame that imp?” He spit out the wheat straw.

Stella smiled sinisterly and beckoned the imp butler over. With effort, the butler hosted up a long brown case onto the table. He opened it and there lay the carmine colored blessed tipped angelic rifle with the Christian fish symbol, eyes and crosses glowing on it. Striker studied it in fascination. “How beautiful.”

“You remember when I got this from the market,” said Stella. “Supposedly Rob got the weapon from Lucifer’s people.”

Striker licked his lips.

“You’ll use this weapon to kill Stolas,” Stella explained. “A hand-crafted weapon not from Hell but from Heaven. This can kill high ranking demons. Consider it a blessing gift to aid in your task. Make sure no one else gets a hold of it. And be protective of your other weapon too.”

Striker nodded and took the rifle and case.

Stella then presented him with more weapons: two black angelic pistols with halos and wings decorated on them, white blessed rope, and a sharp angelic knife with glowing white lines on it. Striker grinned widely. Maybe being a temporary underling wouldn’t be so bad.

“And to answer your second question,” Stella barked. “During every full moon, Stolas and that imp screw around so the imp can access his grimoire to kill humans on Earth. We know that traveling to Earth isn’t allowed and by letting the imp have his book, Stolas is neglecting his duties.”

“Indeed he is.”

“Plus,” Stella continued, “If Lucifer and the Overlords find out Stolas’ mistake, I will be stripped of my status, be banished or worse! The Goetia line will be reduced to stardust. With powerful demons and traveling to other dimensions, everyone could be fucked!”

Striker nodded. He couldn’t believe it. Now was finally the chance to prove himself.

“Well ma’am, consider yourself a widow,” Striker grinned with a tip of his hat.

Stella grinned and held out her hand. “So, it’s a deal then?”

Striker stood up and shook her hand. Sparks and light flew from their palms. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said. “You have engaged my valuable services, your majesty. Just tell me, where and when I can find this prince?”

Stella spoke lowly and Striker chuckled. With his imp tail, Striker impaled his red dagger into the picture, creating a torn hole where Stolas’ face was.

“Stella’s pretty face will be next!” Striker thought.

0 0 0

Far out in the desert countryside, two imps were sitting by a recently dug hole and a makeshift gravestone. One imp was beefy with red skin, white hair, a small white mustache and white scars on his arms. His wife sat next to him, her black hair wild, skin red, eyes yellow. Both of them wore farming clothes and had their heads lowered. In front of them was the body of their last farmhand. On the gravestone were the words, “Here lies Fred, he is dead.”

Joe comforted Lin and briefly stared at the charred burned remains of their cottage.

“I can’t believe it,” Lin sobbed. “Fred was just doing his job, tending to the farm. But then this fire twister blew in outta nowhere.”

“Thank Satan we and our family could take shelter underground,” Joe mentioned. “Fred stayed behind to try and save the animals.”

“Our crops, our home, our farmhand…all gone.” Lin sighed sadly. “The kids aren’t gonna like this when they get back from visiting town.”

“What will we do now?” Lin asked.

“Well until we can get our place fixed up, we’ll just have to sleep in the wilderness somewhere. Or maybe a motel.”

“Well, howdy,” Striker called to the two imps.

Both of them looked up to see Striker trotting toward them upon his horse. “Sounds like you two could use a helpin’ hand.”

“You bet we do,” said Joe. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Striker, sir,” said Striker, hopping off his horse and shaking his hand.

“A fine name Striker is,” Joe mentioned in approval.

“Reminds me of the battles we fought in our younger days!” Lin added. “Crushing the heads of imps who tried to raid our land. Even just blowing other imps away in competitions. All we had to use were our bare hands and stamina.”

“I must’ve strolled along to the right place,” Striker said with a grin.

“I’m Joe and this is my wife Lin,” Joe drawled. “You new here?”

“Lived in Wrath for a while.”

“Well then, Striker, if you can help us repair our cottage to start, consider yourself hired!”

So that’s what Striker did. After a week, the cottage was restored, and the family returned to their old life. To Striker’s delight, Joe and Lin paid him reasonably well for his hard work. Besides fixing their house, Striker helped fight off coyotes, wrestle hellhogs and slaughter their livestock when it was time for dinner. Even the rival farmer imps didn’t come sneaking to the May property anymore.

Joe later showed Striker a picture of his family. “You’ve already seen my sugar pie Lin. These are all my kids. Mildred, Sallie, Billie, Willie, Dillie, and Tillie.”

“My, that’s a lot,” Striker remarked. “Why does Mildred sound so different?”

Joe pointed to the picture of Millie. “We sometimes call her Millie.”

“Ah, makes sense now.”

“Yes, she’s a wild one. She and her sister Sallie are perhaps even more rambunctious than their brothers. They killed several competitors at last year’s Harvest Festival. Millie killed nine in one round and now she’s off doing freelance work in Imp City. She is an unstoppable force.”

“Heh. Mighty cute, too.” Both men chuckled.

Striker paused. “The Harvest Festival, huh? I’ve witnessed it a few times.”

“It happens every year. The Pain Games is a competition to see who can be the toughest imp of all.”

“Now that sounds like fun!” Striker grinned.

“You’ll be great for sure. The festival is just a few days away!”

“How interesting,” Striker thought. Stella had told him that it was the event that Stolas would be attending. It would be the perfect moment to make his move!

0 0 0

At the Harvest Moon Festival

“Speaking of strong hands,” Joe said to Blitzo and the gang. “Y’all should meet our newest help.” He then called out, “Hey, Striker!”

The sound of rapidly clopping hooves approached. Black legs with golden hooves raced across the ground. Small plumes of smoke emitted from the legs and sparks flew off the hooves and onto the rocky path. An imp dressed in cowboy attire rode atop his horse, using his long tan pointed tail to whip the horse’s flank. The imp’s tail moved and hissed like a rattlesnake. The hell horse leaped over a wooden fence and moved toward the group. With a mixture of a roar and a neigh, the hell horse Bombproof reared up on his hind legs before lowering to a complete stop.

The inferno equine was magnificent. He had a coal black coat and three black ribs exposed underneath him. His underbelly, mane and tail consisted of dazzling crimson and orange flames that matched the speed of the creature’s movements. Three golden circles were decorated near his flank and his flaming tail was also black with small spikes on it. The horse had glowing small holes in his face for eyes, seven black spikes jutting out from his long neck and a few sharp fangs from his elongated mouth.

“Well, howdy!” Striker greeted.

The tall imp had a faded red face with reptilian-like features. He smiled a dazzling grin of sharp teeth, a gold tooth standing out. He had a small black mustache and white hair with two jagged black and white striped horns that pointed upward. His long tail was pointed, with four black stripes and eight accompanying sharp spines.

Striker wore a stereotypical brown sun hat, tall cowboy boots, a red scarf and torn white pants. He had a black shirt and a dark navy vest with black cuffs. A light red scarf was around his neck. A straw of wheat was in his mouth. His eyes were yellow and hypnotic with a spiral pattern.

“Oh, lookie here!” Striker spotted Millie and jumped off his horse. “You must be the famous Mildred.” He playfully poked her with the wheat stalk. “Heard some good things about you from your folks, little lady.”

He winked at her, and Millie laughed sheepishly, waving her hand. They both shook hands.

“What’re y’all doing so far away from Imp City?” Striker asked. “Heh. Free working finally slowin’ down?”

“Oh no! Freelance isn’t free! It’s a…” She paused. “Never mind. We’re just visiting for the festival. The prince is our boss’ boyfriend!” She said “boyfriend” dramatically.

Blitzo glared at her, making a slapping gesture. “Millie, I’m not above hitting a female in front of her daddy.”

“Boss, huh?” Striker asked before noticing Blitzo. “Ohhh, so you’re the bold imp to start his own killing biz?”

Blitzo grinned smugly. “Yeah, well if you’re good at somethin’, you should probably capitalize.”

“Not many imps start businesses on their own. That’s pretty impressive, sir,” Striker complimented with a snap of his fingers.

“Oh. Yeah? It is…” Blitzo stuttered. “I-I-I I guess it is, isn’t it?”

“So, you even conned that ditzy blueblood into gettin’ you to the surface?” Striker asked.

Striker and Blitzo shook hands.

“Well, it’s long and complicated but the short answer is, yes,” Blitzo answered. “But he’s not like, you know, we’re not like, we’re not doing it…” Blitzo stuttered. “It’s a transactional fucking, you see.” He did a motion of putting a finger through a hole.

“You know,” Joe called, “You boys should enter the Pain Games!”

Blitzo walked sideways toward Joe in excitement. “I heard games! What games? I’m in!”

“Every Harvest Festival, there’s a competition to be the roughest toughest bastard in Wrath!” Lin explained.

“Yeah! Wish I could play!” Millie pouted, crossing her arms in disappointment.

“Millie,” Lin chided, “You know you get too carried away. The last competition ended in fifteen separate funerals.”

“I’m aware, but I only caused nine of them!” Millie protested. “How come Sallie May still gets to compete?”

“Your sister doesn’t have a neighborhood head count.”

“She so does!”

In the background, Sallie May carried a sack while a smaller imp dragged an imp body on the ground.

“Doesn’t count if they don’t find the bodyyyy!” Sallie May sang as Millie seethed.

“Still, you get to root for her and your brothers and now you can cheer on your boss!” her mother encouraged.

Moxxie put a hand on Lin’s shoulder much to her disgust. “You know, she can also cheer for me.”

Joe laughed and slapped his leg. Then he raised an eyebrow and pointed. “Wait, you?”

“Yeah! I can compete, can’t I?” Moxxie asked. Lin elbowed him hard in the side and he teared up in pain. Joe chuckled.

“Sorry boy, but I don’t think sensitive thespian types would last very long in the games.”

“I was born here too!” Moxxie protested. Then he drawled, “I have some fight in me.”

Striker put a hand on Moxxie’s shoulder. “Huh. Well then little fella, why don’tcha help me wrangle one o’ them hogs for dinner?”

Striker mentioned to a large sleeping gray hell hog in a pigpen with large black tusks, spikes along the back and closed eyes on its side.

Moxxie held up his head, nose in the air. “Simple. Watch me!”

“Nah. With these,” Striker said. He tossed a red knife and some rope into Moxxie’s hands.

“Bullets can’t pierce the shell. You gotta get the knife underneath them and pry yourself an openin’.”

Moxxie gulped. “Oh, right, right. I knew that.” Moxxie was better equipped for long distance shooting. He was an expert marksman, but not so proficient when it came to raw physical strength. To say Moxxie was out of his comfort zone would be an understatement.

To make matters worse, Blitzo leaned in toward Moxxie and grabbed his shoulders.

“Now just remember, your rep with the in-laws is on the line here! So, no pressure at all, you totally will not make an ass of yourself in front of everyone important in your life.”

Blitzo’s words were laced with sarcasm and mockery. Moxxie’s eyes twitched, his pupils dilated in fear. He could already envision being beaten up and sent away from Millie by her parents.

“Go get’ em tiger,” Blitzo grinned, shoving Moxxie forward.

“Oh.”

“Mox, you don’t need to do this,” Millie countered.

But her words fell on deaf ears as Blitzo remarked, “Oh, he totally does!”

There was no turning back now.

Moxxie hopped over the pen fence and nervously stalked through the mud, rope and dagger in hand.

“Kick its ass, Moxxie! Yeeeeaaaaah!” Blitzo hollered, making punching gestures.

Taking a deep breath, Moxxie leapt forward and wrapped the rope around the hog’s neck. He brought down the knife, which bounced harmlessly off the hog’s armor shell. The glowing eyes on the hog opened up and the beast let out a ferocious roar.

Moxxie yelled out as the hog raced around the pen, trying to buck him off. He held onto the rope for dear life. Blitzo’s cheers added to the intensity and stress.

“Fuck yeah, Moxxie! Ride it, Moxxie! Making that bitch you won’t call back in the morning!”

Loona snickered. “This is fucking beautiful.” She held up her black cell phone and recorded a video.

“Doing great, Moxxie!” Blitzo said with a thumbs up. Then he whispered to Loona, “Send me that video later.”

Moxxie screamed and tried to stay on as Millie watched in concern.

A shadow fell over Moxxie, and he was soon knocked off. He landed in the mud and glared at the figure above him.

It was Striker. He twirled the red knife with his fingers and held it high above his head in a smug pose. He brought the knife down hard, straight through the hog’s tough skin. The hog roared and squealed before dropping dead. Striker had slaughtered the beast.

“Ow…My clavicle,” Moxxie cried, rubbing his neck. Striker towered over him with a grin, his tail rattling.

“Don’t worry, little one. You never stood a chance.”

Moxxie bared his teeth in anger as a proud Striker carried the dead hog on his shoulder back to the group.

“Hey, boss man,” Striker called to Blitzo, looking at him with a sideways turn of his head. “You wanna help the men skin this thing for dinner?”

Blitzo puffed up his chest in pride. “Oh, I am always down to skin the manly meat with the manly men!”

“That’s what she said!” Loona called out, as she tapped on her phone and followed the imps inside.

“What, ‘who said?’” Blitzo asked before asking in anger, “Wait, what bitch is talking shit about me?!”

0 0 0

Wally Wackford stood on the wooden stage, holding a gray microphone decorated with an eye in the center and small horns on the top. He wore his usual white shirt, vest, white pants and dark boots. He twirled his black cane and tipped his black top hat. Large speakers with skulls on the inside stood off to either side. Nested under a stripped tent in the back center of the stage sat Stolas on a stool. He wore his usual crown, black top hat and royal red robes. The grimoire lay on his lap. A white banner held up by high spears read “Harvest Moon Festival” in bold blood red letters. Stolas’ sigil and a pentagram decorated the banner background.

Wally Wackford spoke dramatically through the microphone.

“Welcome, I say-a welcome all to Wrath-a Ring’s annual Harvest-a Moon-a a Festival! To kick things up, we have the great prince Stolas-a here to user in this here Pain Games!”

Stolas took the microphone from him and chuckled in slight embarrassment. “How kind, Wackford.”

Stolas then addressed the audience. “Greetings tiny Wrath Ring imps! I hereby welcome you all to another year of celebrating the spoils of your labor that continue to feed the citizens of Hell!”

A crowd of imps glared at Stolas and several boos were heard. Many of these Wrath imps were impoverished farmers who lived on scraps, meat, or good crops if they were lucky. The food they worked so hard to produce was consumed by royalty and those in the other Rings. But the reward for their work was being underfed, underpaid, and underappreciated instead. The unbalanced cycle had lasted for generations.

Striker too, stared at Stolas with a burning hatred. Here was this owl prince who paraded around in his garb while he had to deal with war and a daily battle for survival.

Stolas obliviously continued. “I’m happy to kick off the start of these games that will challenge the toughest imps to show their skill and dominance.” He did a little wave with his fingers. “Good luck to you all!” He noticed Blitzo in the crowd beside Moxxie and Striker and spoke lower. “Especially that sexy little one there! Yoo-hoo! Blitzy!”

“Ugh. Fuck me,” Blitzo scowled. Striker smiled in amusement.

A gun went off and the games began.

0 0 0

The first event was the race. Moxxie was instantly trampled by the other racers.

The second event was the high jump. Striker climbed over the high wooden ramp structure with ease and raced after Blitzo who jumped past him. Moxxie struggled to keep his balance as he reached the top. He slipped down, trying to use his claws to hold on. He fell with a splash in a small puddle…and was promptly chewed on by a monstrous black and white shark with several red eyes.

The third event was an event with rope. Striker grinned as he held a tied up Blitzo. Blitzo’s arms, legs and horns were all tied up. Moxxie gulped as a stronger grinning imp tied him up with ease.

The fourth event was tug of war. The crowd cheered as the two teams pulled hard. Striker, Blitzo and Moxxie were on a team. Moxxie stumbled and fell into nearby water, where the shark attacked him again.

The fifth event was mud wrestling. Blitzo and Striker grinned as they wrestled each other, Striker getting the upper hand as he held Blitzo down, arms locked. Moxxie was instantly crushed in a football hurdle by a group of imps. As they got off of him, Moxxie sat up. And the shark leaped out of the water and over the fence.

“Mother fucker!” Moxxie screamed as the shark crushed him. (Moxxie somehow survived all this.)

Wally Wackford was back on stage.

“I say, I say for the first year ever, we have a tie, for the winner of the Harvest Moon Pain Games!”

Stolas took the microphone from him again.

“The winners are…Striker, aaaaand my darling Blitzy!” Stolas did a one-legged pose as the crowd cheered.

“Just say my name right!” Blitzo complained. He muttered “Fuckin’ dick,” as he and Striker walked onto the stage.

Millie and Moxxie watched from the stands. Moxxie was dirty and bruised, one of his eyes was swollen. He crossed his arms.

“Alright, so he has the ‘physical advantage.’ I’m better at other things. Like singing!”

Just then, Striker pulled out a slender dark indigo guitar with knobs made of bones at the top. It was decorated with a brown horseshoe in the center, the guitar curling up into uneven horn-like shapes arching toward the strings.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to sing a quick song I wrote just now, about me winnin’.” He strummed the strings.

“Oh, what the fuck?!” Moxxie bellowed in disbelief, both his arms extended. The crowd began to cheer. The backstage lights turned pink as Striker began his song.

“Sweet victory I smell it sweet From up in stinkin’ Heaven To the rugged rocks of Hell”

“Sweet victory With everything I do With every talent I’m so much more talented than you Every time I tryyy I push it and succeed…me! Every first attempt at every single deed”

“Me! I’m totally the best! The super cool me, handsome guy”

A fangirl imp squealed with tears in her eyes as she raced over to the stage. Striker kicked her in the face, sending the happy imp into the arms of a larger imp. The girl was then mauled by a group of vicious imps.

Blitzo arrived with a slice of Swiss cheese on a stick. He happily jumped into the spot next to Moxxie and Millie, taking a bite of his snack.

“Isn’t this guy great?” Blitzo asked, his mouth full.

“False!” Moxxie declared. From the moment he first saw Striker, Moxxie’s instincts told him that he was not a trustworthy person.

Blitzo squirted some red-hot sauce onto his cheese and took another bite. “It’s gonna be nice workin’ with him!”

Moxxie couldn’t believe his ears. “Working with him? What?!”

“Yeeeeaaaah! I asked him if he wants to join I.M.P.”

“You asked…but…” Moxxie began.

Moxxie lowered his head, visibly hurt. Millie sensed that something was wrong.

“Mox, I think you’ve had enough for now. Let’s head back to the house and get you clean.” Millie lifted his chin up and Moxxie smiled a sad smile.

Striker glanced over at Moxxie with a cruel grin. He sang, “Heh. Moxxie go fuck yourself!”

Tears spilled out of Moxxie’s eyes as he scowled and turned away. Millie led him back to the house.

“Did you hear something? It was just the wind.” Striker finished in song as the crowd cheered. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

0 0 0

The sky was blazing red and yellow lava spheres glowed at the top of large volcanoes. Back at the ranch, Bombproof the hell horse ate a dead animal carcass near a bladed windmill. Blitzo lay on his stomach, feet in the air, watching the horse with utmost adoration.

Striker arrived back at the cottage after the performance. He went off to see if he could mock that weakling imp friend of Millie’s. He flickered out his tongue and sniffed the air. Someone was in his room.

Striker, being cocky, had accidentally left the door unlocked and had also left open the glowing weapon in the case. Climbing up the wall and leaping through a window, Striker soon appeared inside by the door.

Inside the house, Moxxie walked glumly up some stairs.

A faint humming sound made Moxxie open his eyes and lift up his head. Moxxie noticed a sliver of light coming through the crack underneath one of the white doors. He raised an eyebrow. His cloven hooves stopped in front of the door, catching the light. The humming grew as he stepped closer.

“Well, that’s troubling,” he commented.

Moxxie opened the door and peered around. No one was in the bedroom. Nothing but a gray ceiling fan, a bed with a skull on the headboard and a nearby vanity on a dresser.

Moxxie almost froze when he spotted the source of the light and the humming sound. It was coming from a box on a table. He walked closer to inspect it.

“Oh, my crumbs!” he breathed, his yellow eyes wide and shining.

Sitting in a brown gun case lay an intricate and very expensive looking rifle. It was a dark reddish color with glowing white swirl-shaped designs along the side. The area near the trigger was decorated red. A white Ichthys fish Christian symbol was on there as well.

In fascination and dread, Moxxie ran a hand along the side.

“A genuine carmine crafted blessed-tipped rifle.”

A weapon with angelic bullets.

Moxxie stared in disbelief. “How…how in the fuck did he get one of these?!”

“Why don’t you ask me, little dude?”

That familiar dark southern drawl…Moxxie’s hairs stood on end.

Moxxie whirled around. “Shit!”

Striker was leaning against the doorframe.

Moxxie glared in suspicion and anger. “W-why do you have this?! Mister!” He pointed a finger at him. “You are aware this kind of weapon can kill…”

“…demon royalty,” Striker finished.

“Yes. That.”

“No shit. That’s kinda the point,” Striker remarked. He flicked the wheat stalk away, running his claws along the door before shutting it.

To Striker, there was no use to attempt to lie to this imp about being a “gun enthusiast.” One, because he would’ve seen through Striker's lies easily. Two, the imp was about to die.

Moxxie stepped back and stuttered. “Okay. Well, I’m…I’m relatively concerned by your possession of this…”

Striker grinned sinisterly, advancing toward Moxxie like a predatory rattlesnake. Striker’s pointed tail hissed in anticipation. Moxxie was cornered by the table behind him.

“I’m also glad my instant dislike of you has been vali…dated!” Moxxie added before gasping.

Striker wrapped his tail around Moxxie’s throat, causing the imp to gag. He tossed Moxxie hard against the wall, where he slid with a thud to the floor. Although Blitzo would likely be upset that Striker had harmed his employees, he could easily use manipulation tactics to get him on his side.

Moxxie sat up and clutched his head…then Striker was upon him. Strong hands firmly gripped Moxxie in a chokehold. He struggled to free himself, but Striker held him down with his body weight. Striker’s butt and legs were dangerously close to Moxxie’s crotch. Striker could already feel his dick getting hard at the feel of his victim struggling underneath. Moxxie tried to claw at him, but Striker easily avoided the swipes. A glint caught Moxxie’s eye, and he noticed a red glass vase on a nearby table.

With a grunt of effort, Moxxie kicked at the table, sending the vase crashing onto Striker’s head. Millie heard the crash from outside and raced toward the house. A freed Moxxie stood up and ran as fast as he could toward the door. He managed to open it before Striker pulled him back by his tail with a forceful yank!

“Aaah!” Moxxie screamed before his mouth was covered by Striker’s hand. Beams of red light shone into the room as Moxxie struggled in vain to get free. Striker leaned down and pressed his body weight against Moxxie, pinning him in place. The seconds dragged by, Moxxie losing consciousness. Moxxie’s eyes started to flutter, his body going limp as Striker held his chin.

Striker chuckled evilly. “Pathetic.”

A sudden slash of pain shot through Striker and he screamed. He let go of his captive and Moxxie fell to the floor.

Through bleary eyes, Moxxie could see the fierce figure of Millie. She was stabbing Striker in the back repeatedly with a knife. Her mouth was open in a snarl, her sharp teeth revealed, veins popping out near her glowing red pupil-less eyes. Little crosses were shown in her eyes instead. She was feral, ferocious…and never looked more beautiful.

She jabbed and stabbed again and again, black blood splattering this way and that. She then leaped onto his shoulders, a knife against his neck. Striker angrily moved around and gripped one of her hands. He grinned and rammed Millie hard against the wall.

Thud!

Millie collapsed to the floor next to Moxxie, grimacing in pain as a fresh wound in her leg oozed black blood. Moxxie weakly reached for her with a shaking hand. Striker had wounds of his own, but his thicker skin had saved him from the brunt of Millie’s attacks. Striker grinned triumphantly above them, grabbing them both by their hair.

What a shame…maybe if the pretty Millie had sided with him, they could’ve done incredible things together. Killing, sex, riding off to kill some more. Of course like Blitzo, Millie would’ve been just another secondary pawn for him to use.

A cellar door was opened.

Moxxie cried out as he tumbled down the stairs and onto the floor. Millie tumbled and followed suit. Unfortunately for her, one of her legs got caught in a black bear trap.

Snap!

“Owwww!” she cried out, black blood pooling onto the floor. Moxxie gasped in horror.

Both imps looked up at their captor.

“I’d kill y’all but I feel like there’s more leverage with your rodeo clown of a boss if I don’t!” His spiral reptilian eyes gleamed menacingly in the dim light. “Plus, you little things aint’ worth the cleanup.”

Moxxie raced up the stairs toward Striker, but he promptly shut the wooden doors.

That took care of them. Blitzo would easily join him once Striker threatened their lives. Either Blitzo would submit, or his employees would perish. A win-win either way, so long as he could go after his true target and goal.

Back on stage, after tapping the microphone, Stolas magically flipped through his grimoire, which hovered in front of him.

“My dear commoners of the Ring of Wrath, I Stolas of the Ars Goetia, hereby curse this year’s harvest with the glow of the true Harvest Moon!”

The sunset sky swirled above him until a portal appeared with a light purple sparkly rim. The portal revealed a beautiful pink-orange colored full moon in a clear starry night sky. The imp audience oohed at the splendid sight. One of them yelled out that he knew that Stolas would do the portal trick.

Not too far away, Striker focused on his target, his rifle drawn. Stolas’ face was shown in the reflector, the glowing white lines centering on his forehead. Striker chuckled darkly and prepared to take aim, wheat straw in his mouth.

A click sounded behind him. Blitzo stood with his tan flintlock pistol pointed at Striker.

“Uh, excuse me? The fuck?!”

“Bliiiitzo!” Striker cooed and turned around in surprise. “I thought you were still at the ceremony!”

Blitzo scowled. “You thought I wanted to stand around with a bunch of hillbillies excited about corn n’ shit with a thirsty owl on stage?!”

Striker stood up. “Huh. And now you seem disappointed in me.”

“Yeah, well I’m not a fan of someone I offered a job to about to off my easiest lanky ticket to Earth behind my back.”

Striker casually leaned against the window frame, one leg propped up, arms crossed. Striker spit out the wheat straw and Blitzo pointed his pistol at him.

“Blitz, come on,” Striker said. “You know the two of us are superior than most of our kind.” He strode forward while Blitzo stepped back nervously.

Striker continued, circling around Blitzo like a vulture. “And you were so above suckin’ on a disgusting rich pompous Goetia, only to sneak topside for scraps and work for bitter Sinners who could care less who you are when you could be slaying Overlords.”

Memories flashed back to Striker as he spoke those words. Blitzo had more in common with him than he thought. Both had more strength, agility, charm, than many other imps. He knew that as hybrid imps, they were powerful, special, chosen to break free from the crowd and prove themselves to the rest of society. With demon-killing weapons, royalty would never bother them again. They could truly live free.

Blitzo froze, pupils darting back and forth. Blitzo stood conflicted, as Striker continued to try and get inside his head. It was amusing how uncertain he looked.

Striker’s shadow darted in the darkness, and Blitzo pointed his rifle again.

Striker continued. “Why struggle to run a business that is rigged against you? When you could partner up with me…”

Striker appeared in Blitzo’s face, fingers curled, “and kill the un-killable?”

Blitzo was soon pinned against the wall, both of Striker’s arms on either side. Striker sensed arousal coming from Blitzo and he grinned.

“Starting with the one who treats you like a plaything?” Striker said, his eyes glowing, red pupils, long tongue briefly out.

“I could easily dominate this guy in the bedroom,” Striker thought. “See how tough he really is. He’ll soon obey my every word. It’ll be so much easier when we can rule all of Hell together! Leave all those Sinners, Overlords and inferior imps to rot away under my glory!”

“We could be the most dangerous beings in Hell, Blitzo.” Striker leaned closer.

“Wow. That was a good fuckin’ pitch,” Blitzo whispered.

“Been workshoppin’ it.” Striker moved Blitzo’s pistol away with a hand.

Blitzo sighed and stared off to the side. “Y’ know what? Fuck it.” He grinned. I’m in!” Striker grinned too. Now he could use Blitzo to his heart’s content. No one would mess with him then.

Click.

Striker hissed as Moxxie appeared behind him, holding his prized rifle.

“Huh?”

Blitzo grinned. “Took you long enough, Mox! Ha ha! Wow, you should’ve seen your dipshit face!”

Striker seethed in anger.

“Wait…woah,” Blitzo began. Striker’s tail had wrapped around Blitzo’s knife as he held it behind him.

“Okay, cliché much?” Blitzo asked.

Striker punched Blitzo in the stomach before moving Blitzo’s pistol. The gun went off. Moxxie gasped as he blocked the bullet with the side of the rifle. Blitzo seethed in anger at Striker trying to use him to kill his friend.

“Oh, you daddy fucker!”

He clamped down hard onto Striker’s arm, the cowboy imp crying out. Blitzo elbowed Striker, sending him back. The two imps them fought and landed punches and kicks. A series of grunts were heard. Striker looped his arm around Blitzo’s arm and shoved him away. Blitzo crashed backward into Moxxie, sending both imps to the floor. Moxxie spotted the rifle and reached for it. Striker pinned down Moxxie’s arm with a boot.

“You dumb fucks lost the upper hand fast, huh?” he smirked, scooping up the rifle and aiming at them.

“Ha!” Blitzo declared. “You seem to have forgotten something, fucko!”

He moved his fingers to his lips.

Wheeoo-wheet!

He whistled several times. From outside, Loona’s ears perked up, but she continued tapping on her phone, ignoring him.

“Ugh, fuckin’ damn it, Loona,” Blitzo muttered.

“It’s a damn shame, Blitzo,” said Striker. “We might actually’ve made a good team.” He chuckled and aimed. “Ah well.”

“In your wet dreams, you honky-tonk goat!” Blitzo yelled.

He swiped his foot forward, tripping Striker. He got up and karate-kicked Striker away, causing him to drop his rifle. Moxxie grabbed it and growled. Blitzo then raced toward his foe and knocked his head with a vase. He landed hard punches at his face, while also swiping his tail at him. Black specks of blood fell from Striker’s nose and mouth. Blitzo used his tail to wrap around Striker’s waist, and promptly tossed him to the side. He landed in a corner with a yelp. He moved again, but Moxxie fired a warning shot near his head.

Striker remained silent as Moxxie and Blitzo closed in. Blitzo aimed his pistol at him, the bronze surface glinting.

“I still think it’s embarrassing,” Striker drawled to Blitzo, his gold sharp tooth glinting. “You’re wasting a lot of potential relyin’ on a weak little…”

Moxxie fired another warning shot, clipping off part of his cowboy hat. “You gonna finish that fucking sentence? Pard’ner?”

Striker just grinned in his defeat. “Vermin.”

Stolas, Moxxie, Millie, Blitzo…all were just vermin if they didn’t show him the proper respect.

“Who’s weak now, bitch?!” Moxxie mocked before a door slammed into his face.

“’Kay, I’m here,” Loona called as she stepped through the doorway.

Striker narrowed his eyes and used the distraction to slap Blitzo’s pistol from his hand. He retrieved the rifle on the floor before racing on all fours toward the open window. He grinned again at Blitzo.

“I tip my hat to you, one legend to another. Maybe you’ll get me next time, Blitzy.”

He grinned and leaped out. Blitzo aimed his gun again, but Striker had disappeared into the shadows. He stared at Stolas obliviously finishing the festival. Blitzo then hurried outside to warn Stolas of what had just occurred.

Blitzo skidded to a stop near the stage. Unfortunately, Blitzo saw the tips of Stolas’ gray tail feathers disappear through a portal back to his palace. The portal sealed and the sky closed overhead, revealing a plain night sky and no moon. The festival was over.

0 0 0

Somewhere in Wrath Ring lay a very shady motel. The sign had a border of round lights and a neon yellow cowboy hat on it. It read in bold letters “Hideaway Motel.” “Hideaway” was in white cursive, while “Motel” was in bold neon yellow with horns sticking from the “M.” “Vacancy” was in a red neon cactus. In movie theater style font below, it read: “The guy that tried 2 kill u def isn’t here.”

The windows were dark, broken and bordered up. Save for one room on the second floor that had a light shining from it. Lopsided broken blinds were in the lit-up window. Inside the room was peeling wallpaper and a bathroom with a sink and a broken mirror.

A long pointed imp tail hissed as the figure pressed a phone to his ear.

“So…is it done?” came the other voice.

“Huh,” came the drawling male voice. “I failed to kill the target at the festival.”

“I granted you that weapon. Just because I could afford it doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard to get,” said the other caller. “You still have it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Perhaps you can prove me wrong about my assumptions of your kind.”

“Don’t forget how much money you offered me. And additional food.”

“You’ll only get it once the deed is done. Only the most infamous assassin is worthy of this job.”

Striker was lounging on a bed, an orange old fashioned phone in his right hand, while his left hand twirled the glowing angelic rifle. He beamed with pride. “That I am.”

“I’m not doing this out of kindness, imp. You’re a means to a greater end.”

Striker hid his distaste. He was willing to do whatever it took to get that money…and the potential fearful respect that came with being the one to kill the prince.

How satisfying it would be to see the living symbol of all the hardships of the denizens fall before them. Royalty itself would feel the pain that the Wrath imps had felt for years. If royalty could be killed…who knows how much more powerful Striker could become. He already envisioned himself leading the imps to a greater prosperous future. No more moments to be shoved aside like dirt.

Striker would be the rootinest tootinest cowboy in all the…

“Do not disappoint me again,” came the other voice, snapping Striker from his daydreaming.

“I failed. But don’t worry, ma’am, it won’t happen again.”

On the other line, slender clawed fingers drummed the table. “It better not!” Another hand slammed down on the table.

“I want this cheating prick dead!”

It was Stella Goetia, Stolas’ wife. Her glowing pink eyes radiated in fury, her white feathery face devoid of its usual regality. “I don’t care who you have to go through! Make it happen!”

Stella sat with her family at the dinner table at the palace. Plates of pancakes, meat and peas were in front of them. They sat in purple cushioned throne-like chairs. She bared her teeth at her husband, who stared at her in concern, a pancake hanging onto his fork. He held a book in his other hand at the dinner table titled “Imps in the sheets.” In another chair, Octavia was bobbing her head to some music. The imp butler peered over the table with worry. No matter what side he’d decide to take, he was probably screwed. Stella briefly worried that she had gotten caught, but neither one of them had noticed.

“Understood,” replied Striker before Stella hung up the rotary phone.

Striker twirled his rifle again. He’d go through anyone he could. Succubi, imps, sinners, the Seven Deadly Sin Ring rulers. Perhaps even fallen angels. He knew how smooth his words were. There had to be other enemies of Stolas and I.M.P. around.

Striker twirled his black rifle, which had a glowing eye, white crosses, six glowing white wings and a small white halo on it, another angelic weapon. “I’ll get him next time.”

He’d get Stolas, Stella, Blitzo, Moxxie…everyone who dared to cross him!

Striker chuckled darkly before turning off the lamp. His eyes glowed in the darkness as he emitted an ominous rattlesnake hiss.

#helluvaboss

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tatakaebomb · 3 years

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Top dog

ꕥ Pairing : Dr*g lord Bakugo x Reader

ꕥ Synopsis : When your first, harsh undercover mission goes wrong - the real game comes from the repercussions.

ꕥ A/N : I don’t condemn drugs btw - send requests through we answer all :)

All characters are over 18!

ꕥ Word count : 2.8k

ꕥ TW : Deception, oral sex, cream pie, occupation of three holes, MENTIONS OF DRUGS, intoxicants, intoxication, drug usage, alcohol usage, sadism, masochism, non con, dub con, sexual preying, sexualising, anal fisting, mentions of ass play, vulgar language, sexual indications, oral fingering, doggie, submission, dom! bakugo, bakugo mean af, degradation, punishment, mentions of authority abuse, sensitive, death threats, rape, infliction, violence (?), blood, thigh biting, gun play, gun fucking, gun fingering, degrading, misogyny, orgasming, mutual release, dumbification, dacryphilia, cervix fucking, probs more just don’t do drugs or be a dumbass, 18+

'He's in here ma'am. Straight through.'

Walking your way in you take in the beads and decor of the underground palace. Palace was a slight bit of an over-exaggeration. This place was home to thousands of intoxicants, things that can kill you with just a small sniff. It's home to where millions of assistant deaths were given at the hand of greed.

That's what your job was. To investigate this place. Working as a private investigator for 5 years now you we're definitely familiar with situations like this. Being so close to hand with poison had you numb to things like this, but the fact your meeting THE owner of the infamous 'strip' club. The ones you've been getting tips and hints on for the last year or so, the one you've tried so hard to track down and finally you've succeeded.

You were almost there those would say. Your persona anonymous to all, for all they know you were just a pretty woman named JJ who wanted to talk with the chief for a little 'help'. It was impressive how sneaky you were, like a snake almost. You could slither yourself in and out of situations with such ease. That's what put you here, you were only 23 and yet so determined, such a fundamental key to your job.

Walking into the room you were greeted with the arouma of the familiar drug of cannabis and rough sex. Something you've also became immune too over your years. Music beating slightly around the room as you caught sight of the beads and posters hanging from the wall. Dead animal skin merely touching under the souls of your louboutins, a large round sofa circling around the room with a wide mirror hanging on top of the wall. Didn't look like anything you were particularly familiar with, definitely looked like something someone who would run a chain of illegal strip joints would design.

' JJ right?' You heard the faint voice call behind you, turning around you were met with the face of a topless man, smoke pouring from his mouth as he took a draw from his spliff. Toned body relaxed under the lighting as his sweats hung low on his body. Arms slumped over the back of the couch as he took you in. Quiet, unknown form.

'Yes. Hi. You must be ba-'

'What do you want?' He rudely cut you off, pinching his spliff out as he threw the remaining paper on the table infront of him. Cruel, squinted eyes so suspicious over you, he doesn't understand why a woman as beautiful as you would want to visit him.

Bakugo may be infamous but he's certainly not stupid. Anybody he knew him knew this, and from your research - You knew this. It was so hard to act normal around him, you felt your composure slipping, from the name you expected nothing but a sleazy old man, like ones that you've had before but he was a whole new persona. A young, attractive man. You don't really see many of those in your job sector.

'What?'

'You heard me. I don't usually get customers like...you...unless your here to get on your knees then you can leave.'

Abrupt words caught you off guard, what a dick?

You ignored it though. Something you learnt to do well whilst you've been in this area, ignore it until you get your result.

'Nice place you got here. Decorate it yourself?'

'Didn't you just hear me? Fuck ya' want.' Getting up he shrugged his arms off the couch. Body moving to greet yours as he peered you down. Dark diluted pupils staring into yours whilst his furrowed eyebrows indicated to you enough you needed to know. This guy was someone you needed to be wary around, no wonder he was so hard to trace, he was on the smarter side...

'I think it's clear why I'm here why else would I be here?' You replied, sass coming out of your tone.

Your tongue couldnt help but swipe at the bottom of your teeth as you once again observe the room. No pictures? No photographs. Nothing? Your finger reaching over the swipe at the dust on the table infront of him, you playfully pinched it, dragging your fingers against one another as you watch the particles float in the air. Small smile carving on your lips at the sight.

'Easily amused are ya? Sit down. Bimbo.'

Sighing, you trailed to the couch. Seeing how he shrugs his hand into the drawer and pulls out a small bag. A carrier contained with more than enough evidence, so close to your eyes. The music seemed to get slightly louder as the faint noises of moans and whines in the other rooms acquainted your ears. You had to ignore it though, what did you expect from a sex and strip club.

Your hands were placed neatly on your lap, eyelashes innocently batting up at him as he made his way over to you. Figure moving to sit next to you, slumped body still taking yours in. You felt uneasy at his staring.

'This what ya' want?' His fingers lazily clutched on the small pouch, swinging it in the air as your eyes attached on it. How can people possibly consume something as...drowsy as that.

'How much do I owe?'

'Needy bitch I see...'

His arm lazily hooked around your waist as he pulled you closer, your glasses almost falling off your nose at this point. Skirt hiking up your thigh and your shirt lowered enough for bakugo to catch sight of your cleavage. You knew you shouldn't have to subject yourself, but it makes it easier for disreputable men to trust you this way.

Bakugo didn't though, he knew you had ulterior intentions. How would a woman of your demeanour really go to someone like him? A drug lord you could say.

'Answer my fucking question and it's free of charge, okay?'

His breath lingered of liquor. Distasteful touch almost edible on your own tongue, your face so close to his that your heart race started beating. The pit of your stomach filled with nerves.

'Yeah...that's what I want.'

'You wanted a gram, right?'

'Yes...'

'Don't ever fucking lie to me again.'

The pitch in his tone lowered, teeth clenched and aggravated at this point, the grip on your waist tightening. You were shocked from his response, at this point the guy would be putty in your hands, your job should be pretty much done by now.

For the first time in a while you felt nervous. You felt trapped almost, you had never been put in a job so serious and for you to fuck it up so soon would be nothing that surprising to your company.

They thought of you as a good-for-nothing. A young, dumb girl, wanting nothing but a little male validation and praise for such hard work. Your grades clearly cheated for, you probably sucked off your teacher or paid people for it. The excuses you've heard through in through out. That's why when this mission came you were so keen on it being yours, you thought it would be a piece of cake. You underestimated it big time.

'What are you on about?!'

'I don't ever get customers like you. Do you know how hard I am to get hold off? Nobody fucking comes in here for a gram and is happy with it...'

His lips closed towards yours. Your body intrinsically leaning back, eyes widened and lips parting, throat slightly getting dry as you realised how bad you fucked up. You didn't even think that through...

'I- no I-'

'Nervous are we? What happened to the sass? Who do you work for. If you just tell me now I'll let you go, wouldn't wanna ruin the life of a woman so precious and perfect as you would I?'

His harmless flirting had you swooning slightly, eyes throwing daggers into his as you watched the way he got off to seeing your vulnerable form. His hand still pulling you towards his body, your breasts almost touching his chest. Palms sweaty and knees getting weaker at the feeling of him so close, you couldn't bear it.

Without thinking you patted your back pocket, only to your surprise it was empty. Gun holder left unarmed as your heart began to quickly pace.

A hearty laugh escaped the man infront of you whilst your eyes glanced over only to see the pleasure of the gun being cocked in his hands. His gaze observing the trigger and clutch. Fingers playing with it with ease, his other hand tapping at your waist.

'Aren't cops meant to be smart, blew your cover there a bit didn't you...y/n...'

A gasp left your throat subconsciously, he knew who you were all along. This could get you slaughtered, how did he know? Who told him?

'How the fuck do you know my name?!' You worry.

'Why's that the root of your problems? You just attempted to pull a gun on me. Your bravery is almost respectable I'll give you that...but for that..-

His lips quickly hovered over yours, gun placed to the side of your head. Your eyes swelling up with tears, heavy panting fanning his lips, smirk risen on his upturned mouth in despite.

'-you gotta redeem yourself.'

His lips latched onto yours in force, your body attempting to throw him off as he pushed you lower onto the couch, tears swiping your cheeks whilst the taste of his alcohol ingested tongue latched onto yours, saliva slipping past your lips down your throat whilst the gun at the side of your head was pushed harder into you. You didn't know what to focus on right now.

'Resist and your getting fucking murdered, got it.'

You remained still, body shocked in fright at what's going on. Chest heaving up and down in sheer fear.

'DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?!'

Frantic nodding to your head had you paranoid, eyes doing their hardest to connect to his.

A harsh slap to your exposed thigh made you gasp, his nails gripping into your skin as you winced at the feeling of blood drawing slightly from it.

'I like when my women use their words. Say it.'

'Yes-'

'Yes what?'

'Yes...daddy...'

His lips tucked up once again, teeth glancing out slightly for your eye to catch sight on his diamond tooth, the piercing on his tongue rimmed around the crown of his teeth in excitement for how submissive you looked.

The gun moved to prod at your underwear, rubbing up and down your clothed cunt, your back arching slightly unconsciously at the feeling of the glock, bakugo observing your every move.

'You like that hm? Wow. You really are filthy.' He chuckled at his comment, your scared eyes never once leaving his. The thrill of his sadist mentality really being at the root of his mind right now. He wanted to ruin you. Wanted to show you whose really boss. Wanted to prove to you to NEVER fuck with him.

Adjusting you he slipped your legs on the side of the couch, his body kneeling down. Teeth biting down gently at the skin on your thighs, nearing towards your root, a clenched hiss escaping your lips as you could do nothing but deal with it.

His fingers prodded between your legs, moving your underwear aside. Eyes catching on the way you already have slick coating up your fold. Menacing feeling running through his blood as you whimpered at the thought of what he's gonna do next.

'So excited to just ruin you...' was the last words you heard before you felt his tongue quickly delve inside you, hard metal ball ringing around your g spot as you moaned, hands moving to cup your mouth to try not scream at the sensation. Body submitting to him even though you know this is so wrong.

You could feel his grunting, the way he breathed you in even whilst being so deep inside you. He was enjoying this more than you, the wetness of your body slathering against his lips as he needlessly made out with your pussy. Taste so divine to him, your body thrusting slightly against his jaw.

'M- gonna cum-' you whined, glasses pushed off to the side of the couch as head rolled. Legs closing against his neck at the feeling of him.

Quickly, you felt his tongue being joined with something else, the gun accompanying him, pushing against Your clit at the same time as him. Motion harsh yet so tempting. Cold material sending shivers up your body as you once again felt your blood run ice. Fear pulsating through you but you chased the need to cum.

'Yeah? Fucking slut...' he snickered. His tongue lapping at you again as your moans began to get louder, the gun prepping at your fluffy spot whilst your eyes flashed white - being pushed to the back of their sockets as you finally released over his face. Juices gushing over him as he drank up every last drop.

You felt fucked out your mind, emotions rambling all over the place.

Bakugo stood up, your eyes latching onto the way his cock strained at the sight of your terror. Lazily, he swiped at the state you made on your own gun. Watching how your slick shined off his fingers whilst he played with it infront of your eyes.

'Put your mouth to good use hm?'

His fingers neared towards your lips, darting inside your mouth as you temptingly sucked on his fingers. Hand gripping onto his wrist whilst he pushed it so far back you felt the restrain. Gagging noises slipping from you, tears once again dripping from your face from the surprise.

He quickly ripped off your shirt,hiking up your skirt onto your waist whilst your heels were the only thing left on you properly. Your hair lazily draped over your face whilst your body was flipped over. Ass pushed towards katsukis crotch, hips banging you slightly, his hard on making your eyes widen at the sheer feeling of him.

Rapidly your hair was yanked, face pulled back to meet his as he got harder at the sight of your swelling eyes, mascara and lipstick ruined, breasts sat pretty covered in water. Bra discarded to the side somewhere whilst he took in your state. You were an attractive woman none the less, he really scored jackpot with an idiotic dish like you - no need for his gun to have all the fun.

'Mm- please...' you drag out your pleads. Katsukis digits wrapped around your throat, squeezing down on your box whilst his humping got faster, clothed cock slapping against your cheeks.

'Beg for it slut.' He commanded, pace increasing faster.

'Please daddy please please please- wan' you so bad-'

'And I'm meant to be punishing you right now...'

You felt a long rip tear inside of you, loud screaming poured from your throat as your cunt was filled, loud slapping and sloppy noises occupying the room. Your ass hitting against his hips, skin mesmerised to his eyes whilst he watched the way it jiggled up and down. You could feel him getting even harder inside you, the gaping of your ass cheeks so mesmerising to him as you were spread and fingers pushed deep inside. Quickly you felt all three of your holes occupied. His palm almost touching your tongue from how deep he was shot inside your mouth. You could do nothing but drool and cry at the feeling of being so full. Stomach easily showing the way his cock bruised your cervix. His fingers pushed harshly inside your ass as he neared closer and closer to his edge.

'Fuck- your so fucking tig- m gonna cum-'

He pounded faster, rate increasing. Your cheeks glowing pink and vision black. Orgasm almost achieved just a few more hits to your G spot would have you gushing once again.

'Mmm....' You moaned aimlessly around his digits

Quickly you felt him release inside you, his cock stil relentlessly pounding into you as the way you screamed over his fingers turned him on further. Head falling back to just fuck his orgasm out. Soon after you followed, shared juices from the two of you mixed together. Your body slumped forth from the removal of all his inserts. Weak and tired figure under bakugos eyes. Your makeup stained cheeks were perceived from even behind you, your hair a state and once clean, neat clothes now thrown somewhere you couldn't care less about.

'Fuck-' you coughed out. Body heaving quickly to try catch your breath and recollect what's going on.

Sperm leaking out of your hole, your ass hole still spread from the feeling of his fist recklessly pounding inside you. Your drool marking the couch under you. You truly were fucked silly.

'Don't give up on me now. I still got many ways for you to redeem yourself...'

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terrence-silver · 2 years

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oooh how about “I’m a man, I would know!” and “They were basically undressing you with their eyes.” for poly! John and Terry?

Sometimes, there's such a thing as an outfit being too flattering.

Terry never wanted to fire his stylists for being too good at their job.

But, hey --- first time for everything.

Johnny was never a fan of these events anyway, even though he looked more ravishing in a tuxedo than any of these Beverly Hills bigshots in tailored suits with a stick in their asses, but this time around, Terry finds him brooding more so than usually. He knows the reason. You're the reason, of course. You and your delectable dress on an otherwise mundane gathering they had to soldier through, is all. Terry was brooding too, silent, from the balcony. Actually, quietly enraged fit the bill better as he signalled for one of the servers to usher you upstairs lest Terry go down personally. If he went down personally it would be a scene. He needed to stay in control. The owner of General Motors was sizing up your derrière, clinging to the outline of your dress and you didn't even realize. Your posterior practically sparkled in the clinging tight gown riddled with sequins, inviting attention like moth to a flame. Was, literally speaking, impossible not to look at. You didn't have eyes on your back unfortunately, so you couldn't see the onslaught of stares lingering and following your every move in that bit of snake skin called a dress you put on. You're embarrassed and shocked when he tells you, in the company of a surly John who seemed like he was pondering of scaling the wall and showing himself out. Resourceful, impatient John. You shake your head. How would he know, you inquire. How would he know it wasn't an accidentally wandering gaze.

There was no such thing as an accident, in his experience.

-“I’m a man, I would know!”-

Terry shoots back, seething, pointing his finger into the crowd downstairs.

He doesn't really care who hears the altercation.

They're lucky he doesn't have the whole venue evicted.

-“They were basically undressing you with their eyes.”-

John interjects, gruff, looking off into the distance, leaning unto the balcony fence, tie undone, sleeves rolled up, champagne glass in his hands, slightly disheveled, effortlessly every bit a man --- statuesque and build beneath his suit --- he didn't realize he too was being eyed up the whole evening even though he stubbornly kept to himself and Terry didn't like that either. Didn't enjoy his beloveds leered at. Well, maybe he enjoyed it a little, gleefully --- a way to flaunt what is his and nobody being able to do a damn thing about it. The residents of West Hollywood and The Hills knew he was with two people, for lack of a better word. That Terry Silver famously, or rather infamously, had two close, intimate paramours he was very, very, very territorial of. It was common knowledge, even though it was often relegated to a hush-hush piece of high profile gossip. it was common knowledge State-side too. Terry didn't care. Terry was power. Terry could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He was the maker of social conventions. He employs said attitude by leaving the event prematurely and not sticking around for the aperitif. Nothing for him here, he concludes. Packing beloved one and beloved two into the limo promptly and entirely post-haste, Johnny under the weather, you, draped into the mercifully oversized overcoat of Terry's blazer to hide your body as he orders the chauffeur to drive back home.

Back home where he could have you two all to himself.

#terry silver #john kreese #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #john kreese x reader #john kreese x beloved #80's terry silver #80's john kreese #poly!terry x john #polyam #polyamorous #kk3 #cobra kai #terry silver x reader x john kreese #yandere

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mlmxreader · 2 years

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The Son of The Sheriff | Corinthian x m!reader

Anonymous asked: Bestie. I hope you’re into this jdjsjdjd

Cowboy AU with the Corinthian as an infamous bandit feared by everyone and their mom in the west. He arrives in a town and takes a shine to the Sheriff’s son and sort of "seduces" him to run away with him, become an outlaw. Nobody’s ever been able to catch the Corinthian’s attention and gain his favor like that, trust me, they tried.

summary: a well known bandit comes to a quiet and sleepy little town that hardly ever sees any issues, but when he meets the son of the sherrif, he knows exactly what he wants of them.

tws: swearing, mentions of murder/violence

Living in a quiet and sleepy town out of the way from the big city and the fuckwits that lived there, you had grown up to expect nothing much could ever happen; sure, sheep would get out of their pens and wander around, and sometimes someone's horse got spooked outside of the shops, but that was about the most that ever happened. Those big stagecoaches carrying the rich often rolled by, but never stopped as they headed towards the next town over; you never had much interaction with anyone outside of your own town. Everyone knew everyone and it was quiet. Comfortable. The bounty posters on the wall of your father's office hardly ever changed; the only one that did was one for an infamous bandit that everyone dreaded to so much as hear the name of.

The Corinthian.

He was well known for robbing and stealing and murder, his tell was always taking the eyes of his victims without a care; it was unlikely that he would ever come to your sleepy little town, though. Nobody really took much notice, but as his bounty grew bigger, the posters would change; nothing else would though. Your father would ask bounty hunters who passed through if they would take up the one for the Corinthian, but they were always too scared; even hired killers shit themselves at the mention of his name.

As you sat on the hill just on the outskirts of town, you let a bullsnake you had found slither across your arm and down onto your thighs where it sat quite happily; snakes were always common, especially little garters and big bulls. Snakes were easy to deal with, though, and you often threw out rats and mice near where you knew they often hunted and basked when the local saloon owner complained about the rodents; snakes were good for the land, and they were nice little critters. Beautiful to look at and they were so placid if you only showed them a little respect, a little understanding and a little kindness. You watched the bullsnake's scales catch the light, which made you smile; such a beautiful animal and yet people hated them simply because they did what they were born to do, what they evolved to do. Snakes weren't any harm to anyone, they were good. But when the bullsnake on your lap suddenly raised himself up, and hissed loudly, you furrowed your brows; you stole a look around, and when you noticed a guy approaching, you took the snake in your hands, and hummed softly.

"It's alright, pal," you said to it. "It's probably just my dad - but he's okay. He likes snakes, too, he won't hurt you."

But as the guy approached, you realised that it wasn't your father, and you protectively put your arm over the snake a little more, shielding it; he stopped not far from you, and pulled down the white bandanna that covered his face. "Howdy."

You didn't recognise him, not with his white cowboy hat and his black sunglasses covering his face, and you furrowed your brows. "You lost, stranger?"

"No," he chuckled, sitting down beside you and holding out his hand, allowing the bullsnake to slither onto his palm as he smiled. "Pretty, ain't they?"

You nodded, swallowing thickly; this stranger sure was handsome. Blonde hair, tall, a slight southern drawl and country twang in his voice. You wondered who he was. "What are you doing here, if you're not lost?"

"I'm just passing through, figured I could stop here for a couple of days," he told you with a shrug, letting the bullsnake relax and go limp and loose around his shoulders. "See, people think snakes are evil, but... you show 'em a little decency, and they're not that bad."

"Yeah I know," you hummed. "It's like they refuse to believe that just 'cause they're not fluffy little rat dogs, they're somehow bad or they're not worthy of respect... but you can't change an animal's nature just because you don't like that they're predators... say, you're not from around here so, uhm... well, why don't I show you around a little bit? I'm pretty sure if people see you with me, they'd give you discounts on a lot of stuff."

"Sure," he shrugged. "It'd be nice to be shown around by a handsome man like you."

You grinned, shaking your head. "Mustn't talk like that, now. Small towns don't like it when a cowboy has feelings for men and all that... or at least, they don't like it when anyone has feelings for anyone without, y'know, wanting to get married and shit... I'm (y/n), by the way. I forgot to tell you."

He nodded, clearing his throat and offering you his free hand. "Corinthian."

You didn't think anything of it, sure there was a bandit with the same name whose bounty poster hung on your father's wall, but you thought maybe it was a popular name in the city - it didn't particularly strike you as anything else, and there was no way that a guy who was so gentle with a bullsnake could be a bandit. Nah. Still, as you let him put the snake back on the ground, watching it slowly slither off to find a rock to sit on, you grabbed his arm, and you smiled; the town wasn't too far away, but when you walked into the local saloon and approached the bar, everything fell weirdly silent.

Ahmed Wiart, who was a timid and older gentleman but was ever so lovely when you got to know him, put down his glass and furrowed his brows; beside him, Erich Horstmayer, a kind and smart man who was friendly and often invited everyone over to spend Ramadan and Eid with him and his wife, hummed as he got out of his stool and approached. His dark brown eyes looked black in the dim saloon, but when he pulled you aside from your new friend, he shook his head.

"(y/n), do you know who that is?"

"No," you shook your head. "Should I?"

"That's the Corinthian," Erich huffed. "Y'know, the fucking bandit? The one who takes people's eyes after he's killed and robbed them?"

"No," you scoffed. "It can't be the same guy - he was nice to a snake."

"I have known you for over twenty years," Erich grumbled, shaking his head. "How many times have I told you not to befriend people just because they're nice to snakes?"

"Well, you keep telling me that," you admitted. "But Aneesha always said that if people are nice to animals then they're usually alright."

"That's not... no," he shook his head. "I'm gonna go grab the bounty hunters that passed through last night - they're not far, so you just sit him down and wait until I get back."

You didn't want to, though, so when Erich left out the front of the saloon, you grabbed Corinthian and you dragged him out the back, past the barber Bruce who smiled at you kindly and asked if you needed anything, but you shook your head and hurriedly brushed past him; it was raining, the type of rain that sounded bad but didn't look like much, and you quickly pushed Corinthian against the wall.

"Are you a bandit?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "That a problem?"

"Jesus fucking wept..." you ran a hand down your face and licked your lips. "I'm the son of the sheriff. Erich's gone to get bounty hunters to come after you."

"But you'll get me out," he guessed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and nodding slowly. "Why?"

You shrugged, pouting a little; you weren't sure why, exactly, maybe it was because he really was so fucking handsome, but you didn't want the bounty hunters to take him away. You stole a look around, and then smiled a little. "Doesn't matter, but... down the trail a little, there's a barn - I'll give you the key, but... promise me you won't get in trouble?"

Corinthian considered it for a moment, trying to weigh up whether or not the pleasure he took in killing was worth it, but then he nodded. "I promise."

"Go," you fished around for the key in your pocket, pressed it into his hands. "I'll be back later. I'll bring you something to eat."

He did was he was told, stealing a quick look at you before he headed over to the barn; it wasn't exactly the type that was used for livestock, at least. Bales of hay and animal feed were stacked up high enough to reach the ceiling, and once he got up the ladder, he found that there was already a bed there; it smelled like whisky and cigarettes, but when he saw a little sketch of a checkered garter snake, he had a feeling that this was where you would sleep on occasion, so he made himself as comfortable as he could.

His Mustang horse was still out by that hill, though, and Corinthian needed it in case he was to make a quick getaway; maybe he could take you with him. Show you the other side of the train tracks. Then again, he doubted that you would run off with a man you had just met; perhaps he ought to give it a while before he proposed such a thing. That was, if he didn't get caught.

That first night wasn't so bad, though, you brought him food and you stayed up with him to talk; not even the Corinthian could deny that the way you talked about things you were passionate about made him smile and yearn to hear more, even if he wasn't paying attention to the words as much as he was watching your mouth move and seeing your eyes light up with excitement. That first night wasn't so bad; you fetched his horse in the morning, though, and tied it up near the bales of hay, always next to yours. They seemed to get along at least; his Mustang, a blue roan, seemed to actually adore your white Welsh cob.

The times when you visited in the following days were the best that Corinthian had experienced in a while, he liked you the more you spoke and the more time you spent together; you showed him everything. The river, where you stripped down to nothing and let the olive coloured water cool your skin. The fields, where you stole blackberries from bushes and shared them. The woods, where you scrambled up trees and laid down comfortably on branches. The hills, where you sat at the top and let the snakes slither onto your hands. Still, the thought of you running away with him to become an outlaw didn't leave his mind in the slightest; to corrupt the sheriff's son was one thing. To be your lover was another.

As you lounged on the roof of the barn, your hands behind your head and a cigarette between your lips, your cowboy hat tilted slightly forward as you brought one leg up slightly, you couldn't help but to feel that like you could have gotten used to this. "We got lucky today, y'know... there were a whole bunch of bounty hunters."

Corinthian hummed, his hat on his chest and his glasses smeared with the sunlight, he had one arm behind his head as he sighed and dared to tilt his head to the side so that he could get a good look at you; you were so handsome he never could go long without checking you out. "I'll be gone in a matter of days... you should come with me."

"Go with you?" You dared to laugh, rolling onto your side so that you could get a better look at him. "Why would I do that?"

"Well..." he moved his hat, letting you straddle his waist as his hands found their way to the back of your thighs, tugging at you a little so that you ground against him for a split second. "You could see what it's like to be an outlaw. Live without rules. You could do whatever you wanted, when you wanted. See the world... you wouldn't have to sneak around to see me, either."

"I wouldn't?" You asked, putting your hands on his shoulders when he moved to sit up, starting to kiss at your neck softly, even daring to bite down on the soft skin. You chucked your cigarette away. "Fuck..."

"You could be all mine," Corinthian murmured, moving one hand up and beneath your shirt, his fingertips cold against the skin of your back. "All mine and only mine... I'd kill anyone who got in our way."

You nodded, grinding against him a little before you dared to steal your chance, letting him knock the hat from your head as he pulled you into a harsh kiss; his tongue slipped between your lips as he brought a hand to your throat and squeezed it. Heat rushing through your veins as you went down with him, not even breaking the kiss when he pinned you beneath him.

"Run away with me," he growled when he eventually pulled away. "Run away with me and be mine, (y/n)."

You bit at the inside of your lip, debating it for a moment. You nodded. "I'm all yours."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

#mlem writes #the corinthian x y/n #the corinthian x reader #corinthian x you #corinthian x y/n #corinthian x reader #the corinthian imagine #corinthian #the corinthian #Corinthian imagine #the sandman x reader #the sandman imagine #sandman imagine #sandman x reader #the sandman #sandman

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usernoneexistent · 2 years

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Zola Serena Albatross

Life hasn't been easy for Zola Albatross, her mother unknown and her father and brother (later turned out to be grandfather and father respectively) are locked in Azkaban infamous for the Albatross burglary, leaving her with her aunt who gives her just enough material provisions but neglects her emotional needs. Her only escape from her home life was reading the haroing adventures of cursebreakers in the newspapers, one in particular of Juniper Moss. She became Zola's idol which made Zola determined to become a cool and independent curse breaker herself.

PROFILE

Nicknames: Zozo by Tarragon and Flynn.

Born: 23rd April 2000.

Hometown: Lambeth, South East London, England.

Nationality/Ethnicity: Black British.

Language(s) spoken: English (British).

Accent: East London.

Blood status: Halfblood.

Gender identity: Witch (she/her)

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Face Claim: Willow Smith.

PERSONAL

Myers-Briggs Type: ENTP-A (The Debater).

Alignment: chaotic neutral.

Strengths: charismatic, energetic, flirty, confident, original.

Weaknesses: argumentative, quick-tempered, stubborn, procrastinator.

Interests/hobbies: quidditch, adventures, researching ancient runes, parties, playing the guitar, singing, having flings.

Favourite colour: dark green.

Favourite food: burger.

Favourite drink: cola/cider.

APPEARANCE

Height: 1.65cm/ft as an adult.

Weight: 52kg as an adult.

Hair: afro texture hair, naturally black but changes it regularly depending on her mood. She mainly keeps her hair in either dreadlocks or braids but more likely dreads.

Eyes: hazel.

Skin: medium warm brown.

Defects: none.

Style: Zola's style is definitely edgy with an artistic flair. Zola loves to self express with makeup, hair and fashion. She doesn't go by the trends, preferring to choose what she likes.

WITCHCRAFT

Wand: Blackthorn and Dragon heartstring core.

(Blackthorn, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in my view well-merited, of being best suited to a warrior. This does not necessarily mean that its owner practises the Dark Arts (although it is undeniable that those who do so will enjoy the blackthorn wand's prodigious power); one finds blackthorn wands among the Aurors as well as among the denizens of Azkaban. It is a curious feature of the blackthorn bush, which sports wicked thorns, that it produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts, and the wands made from this wood appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded. Given this condition, the blackthorn wand will become as loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish.)

Animagus Form: snake.

Patronus: snake.

Patronus memory: meeting Tarragon and befriending her.

Boggart: dementors.

Riddikulus: turning them into a puff of smoke.

Amortentia (what does she smell?): it changes all the time.

Amortentia (what does she smell like?): Musky, jasmine and sandalwood.

Magical abilities: none.

AT HOGWARTS

Hogwarts House: Slytherin.

Best subject(s): Ancient runes, D.A.D.A, Flying.

Worst subject(s): Astronomy, Divinations.

Third-year options: Ancient runes, Divinations, and Arithmancy.

N.E.W.T.s: Ancient runes, Arithmancy, Charms, D.A.D.A., Potions.

Quidditch position: chaser (from year 2 to year 7)

Extracurricular: dueling club.

AFTER HOGWARTS

July 2018 - April 2024: Assistant Cursebreaker to Juniper Moss in Eastern Europe.

May 2024-?: Freelance Curse breaker mainly focusing in the Americas and Africa.

RELATIONSHIPS

Family:

Magnus Albatross (Father/grandfather) - Zola was raised by her wizard grandpa whom she believed to be her father for a long time. Magnus was incredibly strict on Zola and would slap or punish her if she ever did anything wrong. She was aware of her grandpa's criminal activities and that he would regularly travel up to a pub in Scotland called the Naughty Cliffs, that turns a blind eye to shady business dealings, smuggling and black market deals to occur.

Jeremiah Albatross (Brother/father) - Her brother treated Zola a lot kinder but only showed that kindness out of the ear short of Magnus. He tried his best to spoil Zola and look after her. Zola always believed that Jeremiah was probably her half-brother and her mum was some woman that Magnus screwed. However, the truth is that Jeremiah actually was Zola's father at 16 and dropped out of Hogwarts at the end of 5th year to raise Zola. His father convinced him to lie to Zola about their actual blood relationship to draw less attention. Jeremiah still to this day refuses to talk who Zola's mother is. There's speculation that Jeremiah slept with a witch from an affluent family that don't want their name tarnished so they made an agreement with the Albatross family.

Gracie-Mae Pearce nee Albatross & Andrew Pearce (Aunt/great aunt & Uncle) - Gracie-Mae, a squib along with her muggle husband Andrew Pearce weren't too happy when her brother, Magnus and nephew, Jeremiah were sent to prison, leaving them with seven year old Zola. They fed and clothed the girl and gave her comfortable enough bed to sleep in but neglected the girl for everything else. They let Zola stay out late and cause trouble in the muggle neighbourhood and at her muggle primary school. They were very happy that Zola was accepted to Hogwarts because it meant that they didn't have to deal with her for the majority of the year.

Juniper Moss & Charlie Weasley (unofficial adopted parents) - Zola ran away from home and found herself at the Moss household. Juniper feeling both sorry and instant connection to the girl made her always welcome to their home. Charlie and Juniper wrote to her aunt for permission for Zola to stay with them and her aunt was happy to do so.

Friends:

Tarragon Weasley-Moss - When Zola found out that her idol's daughter was in her year, she was over the moon and quickly sought Tarra to be her friend. She was very surprised by how much Tarra was not like Juniper but still they became friends and loved the stability that Tarra provided for her.

Duncan Ludwig - Both meet through Tarragon and they both enjoy causing some mischief through pranks.

Rylie Hopper-Lee @thatravenpuffwitch - Zola and Rylie share a love for ancient runes and interests in becoming a cursebreaker after Hogwarts.

Ryan Oakley @hogwartsmysteryho - Zola appreciates Ryan's love of research as she too like researching but for cursebreaking adventures.

Love interests: Zola has had many relationships, both in the wizarding world and muggle world. She is happy for anymore romantic encounters.

Flynn Nowak - Zola thought Flynn was cute and they had a brief relationship in the Spring of their 4th/5th year. Zola was the one to end their relationship. Later in her 6th Year, they had a brief fling which Zola did start to genuinely think they could be something but Flynn graduated. Later on they ran into each other again and again so there mist be something, right?

Muggle boy - A muggle boy in Zola's neighbour showed interest in her and Zola, feeling lonely at the time enjoyed a brief summer fling before her starting 3rd Year at Hogwarts.

Samuel Murad @hogwartsmysteryho - Zola showed interest in her fellow Slytherin and asked him out so they dated briefly in the start of Zola's 4th year. She didn't judge Sam when she found out about Aiden and was very supportive actually they did break up and stayed friends.

Rory McTavish @the-al-chemist - Zola knew before entering that this would be a fun friend with benefits only to end up falling hard for Rory in the spring/summer of their 5th/6th year. When Rory ended things, Zola was quite heartbroken.

Pets: A ginger cat called Tiger due to his stripes.

Rivals:

Reva Amari @lifeofkaze - They became rivals on the quidditch field (nothing to do with houses) though things intensified when Reva told others of Tarra's crush which led to a physical fight.

#zola albatross #oc profiile #hp next generation #new oc #Next generation oc

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hitory--chan · 3 years

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Day 5: Queen of the Garden

(Ranked T)

Title: In my withered roses you lay resting

Around the forest there were always legends of all kinds, about fantastic creatures and horrifying monsters beyond human imagination, about nymphs, fairies, werewolves and giant snakes that would devastate the entire town in a few minutes if they wanted to; they were just legends, stories to amaze or scare whoever would listen to them, hypnotizing the virgin ear that listened to them with their magnetism, leading their victim to demand more, driving them mad in the search to satisfy that need.

But there was one in particular, the biggest, the most fantastic, the most sublime and the most terrifying no one ever dared to tell, the one whose existence was only known to the oldest of the town who defended tooth and nail its veracity, but nevertheless only tell each other, remembering and crying the intense agony that each word conveyed.

The legend of Hinata, the queen of the garden in the heart of the forest, and Sasuke, the infamous king who without any army was able to penetrate the invulnerable barriers that protected the queen.

The king who never returned.

“My King!” One of her courtesans shouted. "Please, I beg you to reconsider!"

He ignored her, tightening the draws of his armor as the guards placed the shoulder pads and handed him his helmet, which he took.

It was still dark, the moonlight hanging over the entire sleeping kingdom as he prepared to leave.

"My lord, he turned, now listening to his first officer, Kakashi, who was speaking to him "Are you sure this is a good idea? Going into the forest alone?"

"It's not something I didn't do before, Kakashi, you should know" he replied without much interest as he grasped the reins of Onyx, the majestic black horse that had accompanied him for years.

"I understand, but it's not the same, your majesty, it never got beyond the Stone River" the man said, his voice so slow and dull as if it was something he was trained to say, but Sasuke knew him better than many as to know that there was concern hidden behind those dead tones “It is a great risk to take to find a woman that we do not even know exists”

"People are dying Kakashi, of hunger, of disease ..." He inclined his head a little towards his first officer, not enough to really see him “If that woman, that… witch exists, it will be our chance to solve all the evils that afflict us, if I find her, then I save my people”

“And if you do not find her, my lord?”

“Then we will have to take more drastic actions, actions that I don't think we're ready for right now, Kakashi”

The silence that followed told Sasuke that the man knew what he was referring to.

They had recently fought a war against a rival kingdom that wanted to take over all his lands. They attacked in the middle of the night, cowardly seeking to have the tactical advantage darkness gave them without expecting the surprise that they were ready to fight back with much more violence than would be expected of a small kingdom that barely prospered in comparison to others. Many lives were lost on both sides, but his army had kept the slightest advantage over the invaders and captured the main officers of the intruders, executing him right on the battlefield as he had ordered them to do, closing any openings to negotiation the rival might propose.

They rose above them and conquered, drove the remaining invaders from their lands and proclaimed their victory, but they had not come out without casualties, as happened in any other war.

Their crops were burned and their women desecrated. Bodies of infants who had adventured out of their hiding spots now laying among the corpses of their fathers and men who sacrificed their lives in the name of the king's sovereignty, waiting to be buried or burned while their mothers, wives, and brothers mourned their losses.

Soon after came the diseases, plagues so violent that even the best physicians in the kingdom had succumbed to permanent contact with the infected and were now lying in beds, signaling with weak voices to proceed to their charges.

The only hope was the woman who dwelt in the depths of the forest, a queen in her own right, the oracle told him, whose miraculous fingers brought life to everything she touched. A witch, servant of the devil, counterattacked the priest, who would only bring bliss before plunging them further into misery.

A queen, a witch, Sasuke didn't care, he only wanted her hands to heal his people, determined to cut them off if necessary to save the few that were left.

Then Sasuke mounted his horse and reached out his hand, taking the sword that Kakashi had prepared for him and fastening it to his waist strap, where it would remain with him throughout his journey.

"Itachi will be in charge while I'm gone" he decreed, looking at his court, who looked at him in surprise and disbelief.

“My king, my lord!” The woman spoke again “His majesty is very ill for this task, I fear that his condition is too delicate to carry the role, your highness!”

“My brother already ruled once in a worse state than the one he currently is in while waiting for me to grow up to cede the throne, he certainly can do it a bit more while I'm gone”

“But sir…!”

"In case his condition worsens ..." he interrupted, with a tone of voice as icy as the look he gave the woman "in case he´s not an act to continue, then Kakashi will make all the decisions in my absence and my brother's disability”

Several indignant murmurs were heard from the other members of the court, annoyed by the possibility of a military man would rule them, but with the same look he gave the insolent woman, he quieted them all.

"Kakashi" he called and the man walked with him towards the limits of the kingdom that served as the border of the forest, trotting slowly as his first officer followed him with great ease "I trust you to keep everyone safe, especially my brother” he said, stopping his steed and staring at the man.

"My king's orders are my perpetual la," Kakashi recited, quoting the motto of imperial strength as he brought his right hand to his heart and bowed to him.

Sasuke nodded, but before starting his horse again, he spoke for the last time.

- And Kakashi ... execute her

Kakashi bowed again and Sasuke pulled the reins of his horse to start running, going into the forest when the first rays of dawn hit the ground, and knowing his order would be carried out without hesitation.

-----------------------------------

Inside the forest the thick trees hid any trace of the sun, giving the illusion that it was still night even though Sasuke knew it must be after eight.

Still he didn't back down, mentally reciting the directions the oracle had given him to find the mysterious woman.

“Once crossed the river of stone, the road will split for you, one more dangerous the other, competing for the new prey that appears before them. Be guided by the horrendous noises that make the bones of the strongest of men tremble, by the trail of perdition from which your eyes will not be able to turn away, from the putrid stench of those who defied the sanctity of the earth who stepped on impure feet.

Along the way you will find death's favorite resting place. Do not drink or eat the natural delicacies that will be shown for you, instead you must use your senses, facing the great beast that will attack from the shadows.

If the combat is satisfactory, then the beast will show its respects by leading you to its queen, otherwise, there will be the place of your last rest"

Naturally, oracles liked to be cryptic with their words to the point of making them indecipherable, but the more than a century old woman who had served three generations of her family had put those fanfare behind her, preferring to be as clear as possible in her revelations than risk a bad future for the kingdom because of misunderstandings out of her tongue.

Upon reaching the Stone River, he took a moment to observe the waters peacefully.

That river had been named this way not only because of the rock formation that simulated a natural bridge in the center of that great pool, just covering its surface with a thin layer of water that made it extremely slippery, but also because of the rock at its bottom, arranged in the shape of spikes so sharp that even the slightest fall on them could cause fatal injuries to the unfortunate victim.

He allowed Onyx to drink some of the water before venturing across the stone bridge.

His horse, fearless just like his owner, also had some afraid. On rare occasions he’d tried to cross that path through the waters with the equine, but his partner had acquired a phobia at that particular step when, being very young, he slipped on the stone and it was almost impossible for him to get back on his feet, almost falling to the bottom of the river when with desperate movements he slid to one side before finally reaching the bank of the river and climbing, being completely exhausted on the grass, all under the frightened gaze of his owner who had remained on dry land while his horse struggled.

He remembers that, after that, he had remained with Onyx there for longer than he ever was in that place, being found by the royal guard and brought to the castle only to remain expectant all night at the possibility of having to sacrifice the animal.

Now, Onyx was a majestic and imposing stallion with more history than half his stablemates, but from time to time he would turn back into a fearful foal when they were near that place.

However, while he normally wouldn't push him any further than he considered Onyx could take, this time around he couldn't afford to be understandable to his horse or to be left without a mount for the rest of the way.

“Come on boy!” He encouraged him, shaking the reins several times and smiling as Onyx, refusing at first, approached the rock and put his front legs on it, whinnying loudly as he took small terrified steps.

Even in the slippery material, the new horseshoes he had had his horse put on were being especially helpful in preventing the equine's legs from slipping over the rock even when Onyx's steps were somewhat shaky, leading the horse to gain a little confidence with every step until he was finally on the other side.

“Well done, Onyx!” He congratulated the horse, patting and stroking his neck before pulling out an apple, which he happily accepted.

He wasted no time and continued with the journey, reaching the place where the road divided in three.

At first glance they did not seem dangerous at all, leading him to wonder if the oracle had been wrong with her interpretation or if he had deviated from the correct path himself, but the sudden sound of something sliding on the ground caught his attention and put his whole body on guard again, waiting for any sign of attack.

Instead what he received was the cawing of birds, crows, he recognized, noises of something sliding and the screeching of bats that flew directly to his face at that moment, causing Onyx to panic and stand up on his two hind legs, almost making Sasuke to fall.

When he regained his balance and Onyx was back on all fours, Sasuke looked at the central path, remembering what the oracle had said and thinking that this should be the way to go, so he made the horse move forward, despite the reluctance of the animal.

The putrid stench started only a few minutes on the road before dead animals began to appear on the road, being replaced only a few meters later by human corpses in various states of putrefaction, from skeletons to bodies that should barely have been there for a few days. , and even recognized the uniform worn by the third-rank guards in his kingdom, only stuffed with bones, each corpse wrapped by vines and other local weeds.

He was forced to breathe as little as possible when the stench became impossible to bear, coming to vomit in the section where everything was strongest, without having the opportunity to breathe until the road began to clear of so much death, showing to his sight a great stone plateau clothed with climbing vines and rosebuds.

He got off his horse and gave him another snack, tying the reins to the tree farthest from the ferns and other plants full of fruit that he knew they shouldn't eat.

Slowly and carefully he approached the great structure, gazing at it in fascination. Up close, he noticed the spines that protruded around the roses of different sizes that decorated the plateau, which, he noticed, were deceptively sharp, cutting him at the simple touch and spilling a thick drop of blood that bathed the thorn that caused his wound.

The sudden tremor in his spine appeared as the slight trembling of the earth beneath his feet, accompanied by the sound of something sliding - something that must have been big and heavy, from the way it sounded - and then deafening silence was present. .

“Onyx!” He shouted, turning around when he heard the horse whinny and stop suddenly, expecting to meet the animal where he had left it, however in its place he found another type of animal, giant and with shiny black scales, which were only cut with the three red lines of scales on the tip of its tail, raised in the air with a swaying motion.

The gigantic snake kept its eyes fixed on his, hissing and showing off his forked white tongue.

Eyes wider than they had ever been in his life, he diverted them just a little to the rest of the great reptile's body, almost growling in pain at the bulge protruding from where, he guessed, was the stomach of the immense snake, sure it was the product of his horse swallowing.

Feeling the flame of fury ignite and grow in him, he grasped the hilt of his sword in a slow motion and drew it lightly, as the serpent rose a little higher above him.

With one swift movement he pulled it out completely as the snake lunged at him, barely being fast enough to avoid its jaws, but not fast enough to dodge its tail, which slammed it against a tree and left it stamped there until he nailed the sword almost halfway.

Even his powerful armor hadn't been enough to shield him from that blow, catching his breath cut short by the pressure of the limb that had held him captive, but he had no time to think about that as he tried to get away from the great perimeter that covered the snake.

The injured tail slammed into the ground next to him, causing him to stumble from the din it caused.

The reptile's head also collided with the ground a few feet from his back and then glided at high speed towards him, using its nose to push him up when he collided with him and sent him flying into the air as the snake rose again, now with its jaws open.

But Sasuke was able to hold on to the tip of the animal's nose and avoid being swallowed as he had done with his horse by resting his feet against the bottom of the snake's mouth and giving a little jump before it closed it, being helped by the impulse that the same reptile gave him before the abrupt movement it made while trying to make him fall.

Sasuke stayed on the snake's skull and held onto its scales as best he could before stabbing his sword - which he had clung to as much as he could during the attack - into one of the animal's eyes, which let out a shrill and strange sound before, to Sasuke's immense amazement, it made a 180 ° turn and threw himself hard against the floor, taking him with and crashing him on the flat surface, a blow so violent that it caused him to lose his helmet, his mobility and his strength.

--------------------------------

Only seconds before he lost consciousness he saw the towering snake - now one-eyed - rise above him before launching itself with his jaws open just as Sasuke's eyes finally gave up.

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was the immense throbbing pain in his head that only got worse when he tried to open his eyes, being hit by the brightest sunlight that forced him to close them again.

Where had so much light come from?

After a while, and when he was sure he could resist it, he opened his eyes again.

It took him a long time to regain the clarity of his sight, but once everything was clear he was astonished at what he saw.

In front of him a large colorful space, green above all, stood proud in all that light. Huge trees were here and there, casting great shadows, covered with fruit in great quantity.

A few meters from him was a lake with crystal clear waters, reflecting everything that was shown from above.

It was only when a slight movement behind him caught his attention that he realized he had been leaning against something cold, and when he turned around he felt as if his entire being had left his body when he found himself face to face with the giant eye yellowish that he recognized instantly.

He backed away quickly, grunting in pain as his muscles protested at his sudden movements, but instead of stopping to ease them, he fought them and reached for his sword at her waist, surprised not to find it.

The snake stared at him for a few seconds before lazily deflecting its head toward the center of the thread that had turned its body.

—You must not fear, it will not hurt you

He turned quickly and looked around, searching for the soft voice that he had said those words.

"Onyx" he breathed out, seeing the mate he had thought he lost, now lying on the grass, asleep on the other side of the lake.

Naturally those words were not said by the animal, but by the other person next to it, who was gently stroking the mane of his horse.

Their eyes met and he forgot how to breathe, incredulous of the moons that were his pupils, beautiful, and that without a doubt were looking directly at him.

The woman stood up and he could see her completely: snowy skin, long dark hair that swayed with every step she took. Her body was covered in leaves, branches and flowers that clung to her like a second layer. The upper part of her was covered by vines up to the middle of her breasts, being enough to cover the most. The lower part was a skirt, much less rigid than the upper one as it was made entirely of green leaves in different sizes, stopping only a few inches above her knees.

A long vine rested in the center of her abdomen, joining the two pieces as one.

She was barefoot and her hair was decorated with the most elaborate flower crown he had ever seen in his life.

As he passed by the lake, he stopped, crouching in the direction of the water, taking from the ground a large leaf of a plant that he did not recognize - and which he had not realized was lying there - and wrapped it gently until it formed a bowl that she plunged into the water until filled it, rising again and resuming its way towards him, now with the makeshift pot that spilled tiny drops from its bottom.

When she finally got to him, he saw her more clearly: thin and natural pink lips, a small and upturned nose, perfectly shaped eyebrows and long eyelashes that only marveled her appearance even more, also highlighting the lack of the slightest freckle on her face.

She offered him the bowl but he did not take it at first, still fascinated and hypnotized by the beauty of the woman in front of him until she pushed it to his chest, forcing him to hold it as she took one by one his hands between her smallest and drew them to the sides of the blade, releasing it when she made sure his grip was firm.

She, with one of her index fingers, touched the surface of the water three times in different parts, and when her hand lowered three different flowers grew in the water: a lotus, a calla and a water lily, which immediately disintegrated and mixed with the liquid, giving it a color that ranged from pink to purple.

"Take it" she said, looking into his eyes "it will help you heal."

He didn't know why, but he obeyed her and took the entire tonic in one gulp, grimacing when the bitter taste of it touched his tongue and she slid down her throat.

She smirked and turned around, walking back to where Onyx was now awake, looking at them wearily.

"It's you" was the first thing that came out of his mouth, looking at her completely uncovered back as she walked away from him “The witch”.

Her walking stopped and she turned around again, looking at him now with a frown, offended.

“That's very rude!. I am not a witch" she protested "My name is Hinata Hyuga, and I am the queen of this garden" she said proudly, turning to resume her march as if her statement was enough to deny his word.

But he would not be fooled; he had witnessed for himself what she had done in the water she had given him to drink.

He looked around him and his sight fell on his sword and armor, arranged neatly on the grass near the giant serpent's tail.

Slowly and careful not to be heard he approached his things and took the sword at the same time that with difficulty he took three steps back as the snake's tail moved to hit the ground and then returned to its original position.

It took a bit of trouble, but he was able to raise his sword and hold it with both hands, directing the tip in the direction in which that woman - that witch - was, now again sitting on the grass, stroking the back of his horse, looking at him unimpressed.

"Witch, you will come with me" he demanded "Everything will be easier if you do not resist, you will get a decent treatment: you will sleep in the softest bed, you will wear the finest clothes ... otherwise, if you resist, you ... you ..." He stopped for a moment, not for lack of words, but from shortness of breath —If… if you resist… the dungeon… the smallest and dirtiest dungeon will be…

"You’re hurting them" she interrupted, and he didn't understand.

The witch looked down and he followed her eyes, stopping at the sword that was now stuck in the middle of a small group of flowers.

When had he lowered his sword?

“What did you do to me?” He growled, aware of the progressive loss of strength to which he was subjected.

"It's the medicine" said the witch, calmly "for your body to heal, it must first rest”

And as if that were a command, his body fell apart, causing him to fall to the floor on a tall grass bed that he could swear was not there a moment ago.

- Witch! ... You will pay...

Unconsciousness welcomed him.

--------------------------------------

When he woke up there was still sunlight, quite clear, so he thought that maybe he had only slept a few seconds, but the environment felt different from before and he could hear the distinctive galloping and neighing of Onyx, going here and there as his footsteps slightly covered the happy laugh of the female.

He could not move his body freely, only just his fingers, and mentally he cursed himself for having taken that concoction that this evil woman had given him, clearly using her sorcery to weaken him.

“Your body still needs rest” he could have shuddered at the sudden voice if it weren't for the fact that he was paralyzed, shortly afterwards the witch's face appeared in his visual range, tilted from above so he could see her “you´ve been very hurt by your confrontation with Munda, your injuries will take a little longer to heal”

He grunted, annoyed.

“Why have you risked your life to get here, mortal?” She asked him, now in a more serious tone.

Then and once again without really knowing why, he began to tell her about his kingdom, about the moments of wealth and prosperity before the war struck, about the deaths and the lack of food that besieged them, making their situation worse. He told her about his brother and his mysterious bedridden illness, about the sudden barrenness of his lands, and how he had preferred to make this trip alone rather than take away much-needed protection in case they tried again to invade them during his absence.

In her face there was no sorrow, annoyance or joy for their misfortunes, instead it was pure curiosity what he could see while he finished explaining the reason why he was looking for her.

"Okay, I'll go with you" she answered with conviction.

He, who had gradually regained mobility to the point where he could now sit up and the waves of heat attacked him insistently, looked at her in surprise, unable to avoid questioning her decision.

"I'll go with you" she confirmed again "However, the starting path is more dangerous than the one you traveled to get here, so you will have to make a full recovery first" She stood up and looked at him “I cannot be away for long, this place depends on me, so I will help your people and leave immediately, it is my only condition”

He watched her, almost denying immediately that he could leave that easily, but he was quick enough to bite his tongue before speaking.

"Okay, then we have a deal" he agreed.

She nodded pleased and stood up, walking away from him and up a tiny hill where she began to press with her fingers the closed buds and the withered flowers that surrounded her, opening and coming back to life with the simple touch of her.

Despite having accepted, in his mind they only danced ways of how he would interrupt her departure, it would be very foolish of him to let her go that easy, a person with her abilities, whether witch or not, was unique, one in a million , and no self-respecting kingdom would let her go that easily.

He could try to convince her by showing her everything that she obviously didn't have in her "garden", the wonders of modernity, and if that couldn't convince her, well, he had dungeons at his disposal that he could trick her into or even without them, but surely he would not lose those abilities from his hands.

Satisfied with that plan, he began to touch the back of both of his hands, searching and removing the splinters that he did not know how he has nailed himself.

Even though Hinata's tonics were helping him recover faster than he normally would, it felt like it was actually taking forever.

There, the days and nights seemed to last longer than normal, as if the clock had 36 hours instead of 24.

Each remedy that Hinata gave her were different and she healed something different, like the one she used to make his bruises disappear, which were a combination of wild flowers and citrus fruits that melted in the water as soon as she created them and released. Those bruises that would normally take a week or more to fade, she had done it in almost three days.

The problem is that she could only give him a tonic for one thing at a time, along with the first one that she had given him so his body relaxes and rests.

Now he was drinking one that she claimed would help with his internal ailments, and he guessed she was referring to the bruised bones that barely allowed her to walk or breathe. This was particularly bitter and she had to take it several times a day, which was a mini torture considering that these wounds would take even longer to heal.

He was washing his armor when he heard her scream.

“No! Go away, you can't be here!”

His skin prickled when she heard it. Had someone entered that place? An ally or an enemy? The great snake that was supposed to be the only one that could make someone else reach that place, Munda, hadn't moved from the rock it had spread on the day before, almost looking dead if it weren't for the hiss it left escape from time to time, maybe someone had found a way to enter without facing the great reptile?

“No! Get away!”

Wasting no time he dropped the piece of armor he was washing into the water and instead grabbed his sword, gripping it tightly and ran - or rather, he limped quickly - looking beyond the trees and bushes until he saw her midnight hair, covered with small flowers of various colors, and he went quickly towards her, who kept her fists clenched and her arms stiff down, slapping the floor with one foot while she kept yelling at whoever was there to leave.

But as he got closer to her, he still couldn't see anyone else; maybe it was some invisible person? It would not be unreasonable to think about that.

Finally, when he got to her side, he saw whoever caused her annoyance.

"This… creature…" she began, making an exasperated gesture with her hand at the wild boar that nonchalantly ate the blackberries from the orchard it raided "This annoying creature won't go away!" I've tried everything but it keeps coming back”

He looked at her in disbelief.

“So much fuss over a wild boar?”

“Is this the name of this demon spawn?” She asked him, looking at him intensely "Do you know him?"

"It's a wild boar, there are hundreds of them in the forest" he said more calmly, dismissing the accusation of her previous question.

“Hundreds?!” She gasped in disbelief.

"Calm down, just ... get rid of him."

“I´ve tried it! But this ... boar keeps coming back”

He let out an exasperated sigh, thinking of suggesting of making her pet snake eat the animal, but dismissed the idea as he thought the reptile was pretty useless when it don´t came to attacking and killing unsuspecting humans and their horses near the plateau of stone.

Since he first woke up he had only seen it move a few inches and change position, so another idea occurred to him.

“Can you hold it?” He asked him “with your ivy?”

She looked at him curiously and suspiciously, but instead of answering vocally, she raised a hand and made a few short movements with her fingers before clenching her fist, catching the animal that began to screech in panic.

He approached it, and with a certain movement, cut off it head.

When he heard her loud gasp he looked back and there she was, her brows furrowed, her eyes staked and both of her hands covering her mouth.

He looked back at the now dead animal, grabbed it head and raised it before asking.

“Do you know fire?”

Sasuke sat on a rock while at the same time bringing the now cooked boar meat to his mouth, biting off a large chunk and tearing it from the rest so he could eat it.

Sitting on another rock on the other side of the bonfire he had made, Hinata found herself with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed, looking at him with such intensity as if she wanted to make his head explode with just her powerful gaze.

She was upset with him, that was clear. Since he had killed the animal and cut its meat into smaller portions so he could stick them into branches and put them on the fire to cook.

The turning point, however, was when he gathered branches and leaves and started the fire that he had surrounded with rocks of different sizes as a barrier so that the fire did not spread.

Apparently, she could forgive him for killing an animal even if she was clearly against it, but lighting wood and using leaves as a burning material was where she drew the line, practically declaring enmity at the prolonged silence she had maintained.

It was funny to tell the truth, even if preparing that meat and the dressing he had bathed it with to give it a little more flavor had been torture for his sprained wrist, it was worth it if I could see her normally relaxed and smiling face distorted with annoyance and disappointment, her lower lip sticking out childishly.

Furthermore, and despite the wide variety of fruits she had been feeding him - more delicious than he had ever eaten - he had really missed the taste of meat on his palate.

“Hey!” He called her even though it wasn't necessary, since she hadn't taken her gaze from him for a second. "Try a little" he said, spreading some meat even though he was too far for her to reach.

That scandalized her.

“I will not do it!” She vigorously refused, looking quite offended by his proposal “I'm not a savage!”

"Me neither" he said, shrugging even though he wanted to burst in laughs at her expression.

“You are eating a living being”

“You eat the children of your plants, but I don't judge you for doing that”

The expression on her face finally overcame him, making him laugh.

With difficulty and care, he rose to his feet and walked around the fire, sitting next to her and extending with his good hand the piece of meat he himself had previously been eating.

"Try a little" he repeated, but she pursed her lips and turned her face away, refusing.

“No, I do not like”

"You can't say you don't like it if you haven't tried it yet" he told her, repeating the words his mother had repeated so much to the fussy eight-year-old he was.

But she kept refusing, so he took another approach they used to use with him when he was especially difficult to feed: negotiation.

"How about this" he began “If you try a little of this, I promise I won't complain and take all your strange meds even if they taste like hell itself, you don't have to like it, just try a little”

She looked at him scrutinizingly, apparently looking for some kind of dishonesty, but he just brought his injured wrist to the center of his abdomen, in a well-camouflaged dirty little manipulative move, which he knew was working when she looked at his wrist and then again to in his eyes.

“Just a little?” He nodded "And will you take the medicine without complaining?" He affirmed again.

Hinata closed her eyes and took a deep breath before letting it out again in the form of a long sigh.

She opened her eyes again, now with a look of determination and nodded.

He smiled and brought the meat to her mouth.

“W-wait!” she yelled, holding his wrist.

He was really having a hard time not laugh again.

Without letting go his wrist, she barely opened her mouth and bit into some of the meat, chewing it and stopping after swallowing it.

He looked at her expectantly, watching as she frowned again and sudden tears began to fall from her eyes.

Was it really that bad?

He began to feel guilty for forcing her to do so, but he was surprised when she now took a bigger bite, taking the meat from his hand to grab it herself, saying between sobs

"It's good!" she sniffed and cried harder as she ate more of it.

________________________

That night he woke up because of the pain that attacked his healthy wrist, grunting and looking for the reason for that, and when he looked at it, he was surprised and out of breath to see how a bracelet of branches wrapped him, which would not be a problem if it was not for the fact that they seemed to come straight out of his skin.

________________________

Another few days passed and he had kept thinking a lot about his situation.

Due to his suspicions, he decided to do an experiment.

For a few days he stayed especially close to her, touching her skin with his fingertips in the most subtle way he could, leading him to offer help during the moments when she did her self-imposed tasks that were not really necessary - there was not much to entertain herself with, he supposed — and despite confusion at his sudden need to help, she agreed and directed him what to do, frustrating him when any of those tasks kept him away from her.

But at the end of the day he touched her enough without going overboard - tapping her shoulder to get her attention or patted it awkwardly as he congratulated her with a "good job" - and then he walked away from her and went to the makeshift cot she had created for him, leaving her more confused than at first.

The first night he waited awake for something to happen, for the branches to start coming out or for his skin to turn green, he wasn't entirely sure what could happen, but he waited.

And he received nothing.

He repeated the experiment several more times and nothing happened, so he thought maybe it was a side effect of the last potion she had given him to drink? It would make sense that his body is no longer producing more vegetation by changing the type of medicine she was giving him, and it would also make sense that she did not know that effect as something out of the ordinary, since her own body seemed to produce by itself the plants that dressed her.

Then he forgot the topic, classifying it as a one-time occurrence.

Until he wasn't.

That morning, when he no longer had any kind of ailment and was beginning to feel he was finally regaining his strength, he had helped Munda - who, he learned, was really peaceful when he was not protecting the entrance to that garden - to get rid of the little debris that had stuck to him after his last shedding of skin.

"Good work," Hinata said, patting him on the shoulder as best she could since he was significantly taller than her “Munda's shedding of skin is usually a disaster because it is more resistant than normal, so I always have a hard time cleaning it when it's in season” she revealed, now with her hand fixed on his shoulder “you are very good at that”

He accepted her congratulations with a small hint of pride on her chest.

They passed the day with normally, and at night, while taking a bath in the lake, a sudden pain attacked his shoulder.

When he tried to move his shoulder in circles, he couldn´t, the pain and stiffness prevented him from the slightest movement, then he brought his other hand over said shoulder to try to massage himself, but when he felt his fingers prick, He stopped.

Surprised, he looked at his shoulder and couldn't believe what he saw: it was covered in thorns right where Hinata had touched it.

The fire of anger ignited in him and spread like forest fire, was that it? Her hands? Were her hands causing his body to produce leaves and thorns as if it were a simple plant? Although, now that he thought about it, he had been a fool not to realize it before, after all, she was nothing more than a witch whose hands could grow trees and flowers out of nowhere.

He had been fooled. He had let his guard down and this witch was turning him into another plant in her garden.

Who many more had she done this to?

He looked at the surrounding trees for the hint that any of them were once a man, but he had done his job so well that there was not the slightest trace of a previous humanity in them.

Angry, he left the lake and put on his pants, not caring they were dirty and dusty from the activities he had done that day. He dressed in his armor and took the sword with him, searching for Hinata and finding her, as always, in the center of the small flower-covered hill that surrounded her.

His quick and heavy steps caught his attention, turning and smiling at him when she saw him approaching, but that expression quickly changed when he entered, stepping carelessly on the flowers that she loved so much.

"Sasuk ..!"

"In two days we will leave," he interrupted, placing the sword under her chin and applying enough pressure so the tip dug lightly into her neck, hurting her “I have already lost a lot of valuable time with your stupid games, as of today, I command”

He turned around without giving her the opportunity to speak and went to the farthest part of that garden, where he found what seemed to be the oldest tree of all, the most leafy, where he sat down and pressed his back against it, crossing his arms with his sword still in his hand, quickly creating in his mind all the logistics of what he would do next.

______________________

The desperate neighing of Onyx woke him up.

He hadn't realized when he had fallen asleep, but it seems as if the apocalypse had taken place once he closed his eyes.

He blinked, trying to clear the blurry view of him until everything was terrifyingly sharp.

In front of him, Onyx kept crying, rising on his hind legs and then dropping the front legs in heavy blows, kicking up the dust with each fall.

It was daytime, he could tell, but the whole environment was so bleak that his brain had a hard time understanding it.

He looked around him, all the space that had previously been green and colorful had turned to the darkest gray he had ever seen. The trees shed their leaves at an impressive speed, the same ones that were now on the ground, surrounding him.

He tried to take one, but the blades were so brittle they broke with the simple touch.

"Onix, take it easy" But the horse ignored him; instead, he whinnied louder as if urging him to stop and then ran, leaving him behind.

He walked carefully, looking everywhere: the bushes were dry but still held some of their fruits, of which he took one and put it in his mouth only to spit it out instantly, disgusted by the horrible taste of the previously delicious blackberry had taken. As he walked, a foul stench began to fill his nostrils, aggravating the closer he got to the lake, until he realized that was where it came from. The waters, previously clean and clear, were now as black and thick as tar.

What was happening?

It didn't take long for him to find the cause.

Still on the small hill was Hinata, motionless and with her head bowed, the flowers around her were wilted. Munda surrounded the hill, making a great circle with its whole body, as trying to be a wall of protection for her owner.

The great snake gave him a warning hiss, glaring at him, now with both of its healthy eyes, as if it was challenging him to come closer.

Even with the threat of the reptile, he did, he knew how protective he was, but he had learned that in here Munda was more like a puppy playing at being brave than the gigantic and terrifying snake really was.

Already within the circle of protection of him everything was more horrible, here the flowers were not withered, and instead they seemed burned. Hinata's body remained immobile, not even seemed to breathe, and when he surrounded her and was face to face with her, he was surprised by the horrible state that in just a few hours she had gotten.

Her skin was as gray as the rest of the earth, her previously pink lips were now dangerously close to black, almost all the flowers in her hair and crown had lost their petals and the ones that remained would fall at any moment. Her eyes were open and she kept them that way, without blinking, and the only sign that told him there was still life in her was the trail of tears that fell without stopping.

He crouched in front of her and called out, but he didn't get the slightest bit of recognition from her.

He grabbed her face and winced at the ease of movement he had from her, even if her body seemed stiffer than could be possible.

Then the dark green trail that fell from her throat to her abdomen caught his eye, and he felt as if he had been hit with the strongest metal as he remembered what he had done.

Was this his fault?

"Hinata," he called her, lifting her face so he could look into her eyes, which seemed to be empty. "Hinata, I'm sorry."

But his attempts were in vain because she did not respond or make the slightest movement that indicated she would do it at some point.

Desperation began to fill him and he didn't know what to do, stroking her face and trying to wipe the tears away, but they kept falling and instead, sliding over and around his thumbs, mocking his unsuccessful attempts to stop them.

Then, in a moment of utter despair he did something he had only thought would happen in his dreams, and kissed her.

His lips froze over the cold, chapped of hers, and all ambient sound that he had previously not actively noticed disappeared. He made no move, just stood with his lips joined, praying inside his mind for a reaction, until her lips trembled.

One sob left them, then two, until it was totally a symphony of wailing.

He hugged her and pressed her to his chest, quietly apologizing to her and preferring to hear her cry than remain in the deathly silence of moments ago.

----------------------------

Recovery was slower than he could have imagined. While it took less than one night to produce the disaster, fixing it was a matter of a long time.

She avoided talking to him and he couldn't blame her, not after all that he´d caused.

She was just getting back to her normal color and at the same time so did her garden, slowly returning to the green it was when he had arrived.

He hadn't given her a reason for his action in the first place, and he didn't think he'd do it sometime soon - never, if he could.

He just helped her silently, discovering that when he kissed her, she recovered a little more.

So he kept doing it, morning, afternoon and evening, until the pink on her cheeks appeared and the flowers in her hair began to bloom.

That, however, came at a price, and it didn't take long for him to realize that the mere touch was more powerful than that of her fingers.

It first reflected on his nails, which turned brown and their textures became like that of a tree trunk. Then on his chest, where leaves and thorns came out again.

It was a much faster process than he had thought.

"I think we can leave tomorrow" were the first words she spoke to him after days of silence, smiling shyly at him, speaking in a low voice.

He nodded as best she could, his neck stiff from the changes taking place in him.

That day his feet stuck to the ground, and pulling them off felt as if he had lost a limb.

"Sasuke" Hinata called him the next morning, worried about what she was seeing. "Since when has this been happening?"

He looked at her, but he didn't answer.

He was still lying on his grass cot, trapped by the ivy that had tightly encircled his arms, torso, and legs to keep him in place.

"Wait." The desperation in Hinata's voice was palpable, but he could barely recognize anything.

With her hands, Hinata touched the plants on top of him, but was surprised to see that instead of obeying her and disappearing, they seemed to tighten around Sasuke.

She looked at her hands without understanding what was happening and tried again, her eyes clouding over as she obtained the same result as the first time.

The tears left her eyes and the sobs soon appeared the more she tried and failed, becoming more energetic and miserable with every second more.

"Hinata," he called out, barely a hoarse whisper as he felt a new plant grow from his stomach and slide its roots through his esophagus, slowly exiting his mouth "There is no time for me…”

“Do not!" She shouted shakily" Don't say that!”

“S. Save them ... my people ...” he said, barely breathing.

"I-I will, but-but first ..." A sob interrupted her "you first..."

Sasuke wanted to deny, but he had neither the strength nor the mobility to do so.

"There ... there is ... no time for ... me" he repeated.

“Sasuke”

“Please”

Without finding the words to answer him, she just nodded.

Sasuke smiled and looked at her, grateful as a single tear slid down the side of his face as more roots came out of his mouth.

"Thank you" he said, his voice cracking, closing his eyes, "I lo ..."

But he couldn't finish his sentence, losing the last breath he had and finally letting the roots slide out of his mouth and dig into the ground beneath him.

A heartrending scream came from Hinata's mouth, the loss, for the first time in hundreds of years, completely ripping her apart.

She cried over his body, feeling a pain much worse than that of a few days ago completely invade her, feeling again how she was fainting rapidly.

But she still had one last promise to keep.

Unwilling to leave him, Hinata placed both hands on the ground and gathered all of her strength, screaming as she transferred her power beyond the forest, filling all around with the life that he had come looking for.

The earth shook and great thorny walls rose above all of her garden, joining in the center without closing completely, and leaving a small gap through which the sunlight entered.

Exhausted, she walked to where Sasuke's body lay covered in roots and she dropped down beside him, placing a hand on his chest, slowly closing her eyes and melting into him.

------------------------

From the highest tower of the Uchiha castle, the cries of the courtesans invaded the room of King Itachi, whose body was covered by a white sheet as his court surrounded him.

"You did it, my king," Kakashi whispered, watching from the window as the kingdom began to fill with the vivid green of the growing plants and the colorful buds of flowers and fruit that followed them, though his attention was really fixed on the large bud that it had formed in the farthest part of the forest.

While, at the gates of the kingdom, Onyx the steed without his king arrived.

@sasuhinamonth

#sasuhina month #sasuhinamonth2021 #day 5 #sasuhina #queen of the garden #theres a spanish vertion #but im not publishing it here #too long

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