#infamous snake owner

[tapedsleeves]

Thank you <333 Everyone is so loveable 😭 I'm so glad you added Hutton cause I vaguely remember him playing in a few games but the lip sync video is sooo funny

One last batch of questions if you're up to it cause I adore how you describe everyone <3 looking at the roster I think the last guys left are Barbie and ammo? (the funniest nicknames 😂) and guys like Dorofeyev, brisson, and jiri patera but I think they might fall under the Henderson duckling group?

also if you don't mind, I keep seeing patches and Reilly smith pop up when I scroll thru himbeaux's blog. I've heard a lot about marc andre fleury before but I didn't realize how many other ex-players were also so beloved! I'd love to hear about any of them if you have the time

There are actually a couple I haven't talked about in depth, but Hertl & Hanifin have only been on the team since the trade deadline. I don't know probably more about them than you do.

So, here's the list of current roster guys I'm gonna touch on: Ivan Barbashev, Michael Amadio, Pavel Dorofeyev, Brendan Brisson, Brett Howden, and Jonas Rondbjerg

and the traded guys I'm gonna talk about: Marc-Andre Fleury, Reilly Smith, Max Pacioretty, Robin Lehner, Ryan Reaves, Erik Haula, and Dylan Coghlan.

Now you see why I was like "I don't know if I can do it all in one ask" - because not only is team chemistry defined by who's there currently it is SO informed by who's been there.

These blurbs are probably gonna be shorter, because there's (counts) 14 of them.

That's many. And there are some that I don't know a whole bunch about. That's truer for some than others.

Ivan Barbashev Traded to VGK at the trade deadline in 2023. Learned about the trade at the same time as his wife (she screamed in the other room). was very excited to play with petro again, since they're good friends. got headbutted by LT and was very cute about it. his little face when jack yells He's actually just. giggly in general. he was part of the 12 Knights of Giving and was VERY VERY cute about giving ppl their groceries for free. his face on this save is REALLY CUTE. He fell off the bus during the STL parade. this supports my theory that he's made of like. variable density. it's impossible to knock him over and yet he is SO fast and agile? it's fucking wild.

he's got really good taste in sunglasses

2. Michael amadio: UNDERRATED!!!! i love Ammo. based on getty, i think either he and nic roy have very similar schedules or ride in together bc they are almost always in walkin photos together. i'm just now finding this out.

I don't know a lot about him, because he's very quiet, but he's got really nice eyelashes and his face looks very soft. even his beard. even his voice is soft & deep. he seems really nice. just a cool room guy.

3. Pavel Dorofeyev: Dorothea!!!. Ok so this is not his actual nickname. I call him this bc when Dave Goucher says his name on the broadcast it sounds like Dorothea. And when Dave had Laryngitis, and he said his full name, it truly sounded like he said "pebble dorothea." this is his name in my head.

Dorothea is SO cute. He looks like a Tall Bitty to me, and i can't get that out of my head.

I know that's not very informative, but that's just.

true.

when Brendan Gallagher busted his teeth in, alec martinez picked them up and carried them to him. Dorothea is one of the HSK guys, who are the closest.

4. Brendan Brisson - son of famous agent Pat Brisson. babysat by Sidney crosby. Umich guy. lots of ppl know more about him than me. always wants to tuck himself into a hug. this is very funny hwen the other guy is shorter than him

lots of people who followed him at umich know more about him than me, i'm sure.

5. Brett Howden: Bread!!! Just a sweet young manitoban guy. Childhood friend of nolan patrick went through Tampa & New York before coming to Vegas. changed his play style to play with Mark. Was part of the 2018 WJC team, but hasn't been implicated in any crimes :(

Grabbed Marchy by the jersey and yelled "we did it we did it" when they won the cup

Jonathan Marchessault followed up with him after and said "oh i had to tell you, when i had my vision of winning the cup, we weren't wearing the white (away) jerseys. we were wearing the gold ones"

indicating that??? Marchy??? has prophetic visions?? and shares them with brett howden???? what the hell is happenign here i love this so much. (seriously this video has SO MUCH. keegan kolesar kissing marchessault on the face SO MUCH. jack and marchy beign sO romantic about Marchy's conn smythe win "I did it for - you did it for me." / "that's the best thing i've ever seen" and all the i love yous. I just. love them)

6. Jonas Rondbjerg - Ronny is just a really sweet, quiet HSK guy! he's not the main roster, so when he gets called up, he hangs with the guys he knows. He was best friends with Jake Leschyshyn before he got traded to the NYR.

Notable Guys who've been traded

Marc- Andre Fleury - found out he got traded on twitter. Known prankster. Everyone loves him, excellent but aging goalie who is going to retire after 24-25. After retirement, he's moving back to Vegas to live during the non-summer months. If he hadn't been a goalie, probably he'd have been captain. I love him so much and he tried to fight jordan binnington while he was on the Wild.

Reilly Smith - OG Golden Misfit, traded to VGK with Jonathan Marchessault. Jonathan Marchessault said of him that he was relieved when they got drafted / traded that wasn't scared to go to a new place bc he would know somebody. And when Smitty joined VGK for their White House Cup Visit, Jonathan said in the interview after "Everywhere he is is home a little bit"

Reilly started the Battle For Vegas, a charity baseball game during the summer, which is a great time which Jack Eichel took over since Smitty got traded. Said "What a time to be alive" with an absolutely blasted voice while on the ice right after they won the cup.

Max Pacioretty - Traded to Vegas after doing frankly a nuclear option with his prior agent (switching to Allan Walsh on draft day) because talks with Montreal had gotten so bad. was SO happy to be in Vegas. When Stone was traded in February, was kind of worried bc they'd been such rivals during their time in MTL & OTT respectively. but they were almost immediately complimentary of each other. They were best friends. Patch says that he knew, almost as soon as Mark came in that he was gonna be the captain. Which is WILD. Bc it had been almost 3 season without them having one. but Mark is their captain. He was right.

Ryan Reaves - is a GREAT room guy, and a WONDERFUL guy off the ice. Loves a prank. ate spicy chocolate. He's done B4V a couple of summers (he did it last year iirc) and it's just. Really sweet. A lot of these guys just. really really bonded for life during that first year, you know? I know that Belly is still friends with a bunch of the OG Misfits, and so is Reavo (he was pumped to play on the wild with flower, for instance). Reavo said that when mark stone fought tomas hertl that "Those hands aren’t made to fight; they’re made to dance. They’re supposed to be soft." basically "I'd rather they let ME do the fighting, their hands are meant for better things" like. ReAVO MY GUY. UGH.

i love him

Erik Haula - Another guy who does B4V, got traded to the Canes (who mistreated him) and is now with the Devils (who love him). Is still best friends with Karly.

Dylan Coghlan - came to VGK in the Erik Haula trade from the Canes system. Was VERY VERY good friends with the younger guys, Haguer, Roysie, Whitecloud, Keegan, Howden, etc. Went to a concert with Jack, Haguer, & HOwdy/ Also still does B4V and excels at it. Is a defensemen, but when we didn't have any forwards, filled in. I would know him by his teeth anywhere (very distinctive). adorable.

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Map of Soho Good Omens Season 2 - Part 3 (the intersecting street)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 Update: Map and pictures further down now have Lucky Snake, and the description of both the Lucky Snake and The Chinese Buffet Restaurant have been updated too.

We don't know the name of the street that crosses Whickber Street. It starts between the market and the furniture store, and after a crooked crossing of Whickber St., it continues between the bookshop and the Dirty Donkey Pub until it ends on Wardour Street. On that upper block we have: -A. Z. Fell & Co. The bookshop has a backdoor that leads to this street. -Bilton Scaggs Hats and Caps This shop has been here for centuries. Originally Bilton and Scaggs was a publishing firm that printed among other things "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, witch." Neil believes they went out of business in the late 19th century and the hat makers took over. Their shop was called Bilton and Scaggs Milliner & Haberdasher for a while and eventually they changed to Bilton Scaggs Hats and Caps. But honestly, only Aziraphale knows the whole story.

On the other side of the street we have: -The Dirty Donkey We don't know how long this pub has been in business, but we know that it was already there in the 40's when the zombies used it to hide and spy on the heroes. And then in 1967 Crowley used a private room to set up the caper to steal holy water from a church. The set was also used to set up two of the pubs where Gabriel and Beelzebub met. Both scenes were filmed on the same day! After the tour, the first episode of Season 2 was screened inside the pub for those lucky enough to win spots. The Dirty Donkey Pub has also appeared in Neil's "We Can Get Them for You Wholesale" and "Sandman: Overture." In the show, one of the elevators to Heaven and Hell opens inside the Dirty Donkey, maybe this supernatural ability allows it to show up in many different Neilverses ;) -"Model" This is Mrs. Sandwich mysterious establishment. Nobody really knows what happens there. We know the upper floor has lovely pink curtains, presumably for her girls who also love coffee. -Will Goldstone's Magic Shop Named after Will Goldston (not sure why an extra "e"), a stage magician who wrote many books on magic. The store existed in 1941 when it was run by Pat (who met a gruesome end at the hands of zombie nazis). Will Goldston himself died in 1948. So, was he the owner of the store and Pat just an employee? Did someone use his name? Or is that the reason behind the additional "e", to claim it wasn't him? We don't know. In current times it is operated by Mutt.

This street ends on Waldour Street and because we don't see much of it, I included those shops in this post: -Chinese Buffet Restaurant (updated) The English sign just says "Chinese Restaurant", Google translate gave me "Chinese Buffet Restaurant" for the sign on either side (if you look closely both sides say the same thing). There is no other writing that I could see so I would say that we don't know if it has another name or where is it written (inside maybe?). @embracing-the-ineffable raised the question of how do we know Mr. and Ms. Cheng own the restaurant. The truth is that we don't know for sure. We have assumed it probably because Aziraphale and Ms. Cheng are in front of the restaurant when he invites her to the meeting, but for all we know she was just walking on the street when they met. The Chengs could easily own the Herbal Pharmacy or the Grocery Store. We just don't know for sure -Lucky Snake (updated) To the right of the restaurant (our left) there is another store with yellow walls and red lanterns. It was brought to my attention (thank you!) that this is the infamous Lucky Snake we see in Aziraphale's typed list of shops. In Season 1 it was called "Oriental Delights" but this season it is a grocery store. -Herbal Medicine and Pharmacy - Traditional Chinese medicine appointments To the left of the restaurant (our right) we have the herbalist/pharmacy. This is written in English while "traditional medicine appointments" is written in Chinese. There is no other name outside either.

Turning around and looking towards Whickber Street, we can get a peek all the way to Great Windmill Street, between the news agency and the market. -Windmill Theatre Today it is called Windmill Soho but the name Windmill Theatre is equally recognizable. In 1941 it was owned by Mrs. Laura Henderson. The theatre was famous for 1)not closing at all, even during the heaviest of bombings and 2)its motionless nude girls (tableaux vivants) called the "Windmill Girls". Because of this, it used the motto "We Never Closed" (although people modified to "We Never Clothed"). In the set, the doors are not props, they are the real doors to the internal docks of the studio, which honestly it is very clever.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

[billy-royalton]

(my local restaurant had "cobra kai ribs" on their menu and @russolaw said "Ck au where daniel goes to a restaurant and sees this cause Johnny is the owner" and i went "omg wait that could be something" and wrote exactly that immediately after)

The place has an average rating of 2.5 stars which should have been the first red flag. Daniel would never consider himself a "foodie" out loud but he does go through the Yelp and Google reviews thoroughly before deciding whether or not to actually order from some place new. And the reviews for Johnny's BBQ (shortened just like that too, no time to spell out the full name, Daniel guesses) are a mixed bag: "the owner is a total asshole but the food's worth it" "make sure you go in on a night the owner is there!! he's sooooo funny (and really hot)! GET THE RIBS!!" "honestly it's a miracle the place is open and they can serve food to the public. no way this joint has passed a health inspection. ribs are 🔥 though."

There's no menu available and the website is just a giant crude drawing of an eagle with a chicken wing in its talons on a garishly red background with the open hours and address. No phone number, no link to DoorDash or UberEats. Just the address to a strip mall in Reseda that Daniel drives to with a sort of morbid curiosity and an empty stomach. Sam had told him about the place initially. One of her friends from school started working there and brought in these infamous ribs for everyone to try. Sam hasn't stopped talking about them since.

The restaurant is fairly nondescript from the outside. A true hole-in-the-wall that makes it indistinguishable from the other shop windows it's sandwiched between. The parking lot is half-full and Daniel wonders how many people are here for the barbecue joint.

Most people, it turns out.

There's a line that wraps around the counter and two tables, both of which are occupied. Everyone else is eating with their elbows on the counter, covered in sauce and smacking their lips delightfully with each bite. There's no menu board behind the counter but there is a giant poster of Iron Eagle.

The line moves quick, the skinny kid taking orders at the front looks like he's in way over his head as he shouts out orders to the cook behind him. Daniel can hear the sizzle of meat on a grill and it smells amazing in here. Like a backyard party in the summertime, all smoked meats and hot grills and sweet and tangy barbecue and his mouth is waterning thinking about it.

He gets up to the counter and the poor kid has beads of sweat coming off of his forehead that he wipes hastily with the back of his hand. He shoots Daniel a shaky smile.

"Hi welcome to Johnny's barbecue what can I get you," he gets out in a rush of a single breath.

"Never been here before," Daniel says. "Is there a menu I could look at."

The kid nods emphatically and pulls out a piece of paper that's smeared in sauce stained fingerprints. Daniel takes it gingerly (he now understands that one review about not passing a health inspection) and reads through it. It's your standard fare with some creative liberty taken on the names. Wings with "Thunderstruck" sauce. "White Snake" Drum Sticks.

And there at the bottom of the page, Daniel sees two words that make his eyes bulge and his heart begin to race.

Cobra Kai Ribs

The kid at the counter must see Daniel's face and mistake his terror for awe because he leans over and grins, pointing a saucey finger at the words.

"Oh yeah, you're gonna wanna try those," he says, beaming. "That's Sensei's specialty."

Sensei? Daniel thinks and before he can think to ask a single question he hears from the window -- "Miguel! Quit yapping and start slinging these orders before they get cold!"

Daniel's eyes travel to the source of the sound and there in the window behind an apron covered in barbecue sauce, is Johnny Lawrence. Same bright blue eyes, though there are added fine lines etched into the skin that borders them. Golden locks kept out of his face (and, hopefully, out of the food) by that familiar black karate headband.

He looks. Good. Really good. That review about his looks wasn't lying.

Johnny doesn't see him, eyes trained on Miguel who is mumbling "yes, Sensei, I'm on it" and running to the window to call out orders by their number as customers swarm the counter. Daniel keeps watching him, content to peer through the little window and watch his high school bully get to work on flipping a rack of ribs over with a pair of tongs. The way his white t-shirt, stained and dirtied even with the aporn over it, clings to his body. A body that time has been very, very good to it seems.

Miguel comes back to Daniel with that same exhausted smile and asks, "So? Any thoughts?"

And Daniel says, "Yeah. I'll get an order of the ribs to go."

"One order of Cobra Kai Ribs, coming right up!"

And god dammit, Daniel thinks when he takes his first bite. They are really fucking good.

At least now he has an excuse to come back.

[carameldansan]

Originally an ignyhide student who was politely asked to transfer to the pompfire dormitory after accidentally getting a ransomware virus by visiting sketchy websites meant to pirate korean soap operas. An unusual student at Raven college, known for being a destructive, careless individual who lacks foresight. Despite the infamous reputation of collecting lost items, never considering the owners; Suzuanne uses her unique magic to transfuse these various nicknacks to create an entirely new creation, primarily stuffed animals.

The origin of the lady’s infamous reputation involved a past incident with another first year student, whose family heirloom became the ingredients for Suzuanne’s newest stuffed animal, a purple elephant named Lumpy. Unfortunately, despite trying to be civil this altercation got heated requiring staff to break the altercation. Students who were in the lunch room at the time could only stare onwards in shock. Not long after, Suzuanne became a social wallflower, despite her earnest efforts to fix burned bridges – the altercation plummeted her reputation into the gutter. Rumors spread quickly across the corridors of the student’s forward, kind nature was nothing more than a facade. Leaving her with the nickname: “Raging Red”.

If one were to befriend the girl, looking past her airheaded and blunt nature; offensive to many. Suzuanne’s heart is in the right place, even if she doesn’t the grasp the concept. As an example, maybe in foresight it is not a good idea to bring a wild snake in-doors, reasoning being of the cold weather outside. Added with a short temper, willing to follow impulse thoughts. Rumors spread about Suzuanne are a hyperbole of her character, yet rooted in truth to an extent.

Despite her flaws, and reluctance to welcome Suzuanne, the Pompfire dormitory accepted her not because others were fearful of having an infamous new addition, but due to Suzuanne's ability to find beauty in everything; whether it be a rodent, serpent, or a forgotten trinket. ---- This is my Twisted Wonderland Oc (Yuu) Suzuanne!  Suzuanne is loosely inspired by the Backson from Winnie the pooh (2011).

[goodbyeapathy8]

And one more thing...

I truly meant to let sleeping dogs lie after my post yesterday about leaving Kindergarten Mafia, the now infamous, racist Discord server because it had everything I wanted to say at the time.

BUT.

Here I am, sliding back in, with more things.

And I warn you ahead of time that this post will probably make you feel uncomfortable. That's fine.

Because I remembered the new thing I was going to do : if someone has made me feel uncomfortable, that takes away their right to comfort as well. Respect goes both ways and so does comfort.

I believe both posts are equally valuable. And I want you to sit with your discomfort if this anger seems "off" or you feel that it's petty. So I hope you stay until the end of this long rant because there's a greater point I want to make about POC anger and discomfort from witnessing that.

It's meant to be petty and I mean it with every fiber of my being.

Yesterday, I was made aware of the server owner, in their new server, specifically wrote that they're "trying to get the joy back from fandom".

And that singular phrase not only triggered disgust but various other thoughts I had held back, out of misplaced respect, in my last post. The gloves are coming off and the claws are coming out.

So this is for the people who were complicit in downplaying, gaslighting, and otherwise making it a miserable fandom experience for us (marginalized folks + POC) : go fuck yourselves. You do not deserve fandom joy when it has been sucked out, by people like you.

I'm calling out AO3 authors like Ahdriking. Ahdriking was a popular author I used to respect in the fandom. But after being inactive for most of my stay in the server, Ahdriking suddenly emerged from the shadows to take the side of the perpetrators. They came in at the 11th hour, not having interacted with or actually know any of us that were speaking out, just to defend the people who hurt us.

You do not get to quietly fade into the background of anonymity, enjoying accolades from unknowing readers, when behind closed doors, you've acted like this.

I do have to thank you, Ahdri, for making me finally understand how well-written authors can be terrible outside of their writing, like JK Rowling.

Another AO3 author like Frog_of_Fandom, who joined the new server and is gleefully poking fun at those of us who left.

To be clear, this is not for those who were nonconfrontational. This is specifically for those who were complicit - whether it was directly within server messages or staying silent and then moving to the new "safe" space. (Credit to Snake and Mouse for this distinction.)

The worst part of it is, I myself wasn't treated nearly as badly as some of my Black and indigenous counterparts.

There's a reason for that.

I frequently mentioned my identity as a Korean-American. Server members were very aware of that and my profile picture is a real life one, not a fandom reference.

I, as an Asian, got received with relative politeness while Black and brown members were booted out.

This is a familiar racist tactic.

You don't need to go any further than a TikTok comment section to see evidence of this. Black and brown creators have some of the worst comments I've seen on that app. (I posted a TikTok recently on the topic if you'd like to hear the specifics.) The SAME message can be said by a white creator vs Black, brown, indigenous etc with very different results.

Backlash against Black anger is well documented by various scholars.

As a rather pale faced Asian - the polite reception to my anger is part of my privilege. It struck me how different the server owner and problematic mods treated my messages and that of Black or brown server members.

And it makes me incredibly angry, not relieved.

Because on top of the sympathetic anger I felt for my POC counterparts, I wondered if they had fetishized me this whole time.

Note that the fandom for the server is KinnPorsche, a Thai BL, for those who don't know - a queer Thai drama.

That somehow, my anger was palatable because I, as a queer Asian, was adjacent to their beloved drama characters.

But before I write a novel-length fic again as a post, I'll stop here, despite having so much more to say.

This is truly the last I want to reference those energy vampires.

For me, I will try to leave behind the feelings of disgust I have with my first foray into a fandom and take with me the true friendships with folks that care about joy for everyone and not just a few.

Many many lessons have been learned and re-enforced from past experiences. I'm not happy that any of us had to experience this but sometimes, shit happens.

Wipe it up and flush it down the toilet, where it belongs.

[hauntedparaclassics]

Was the ‘Ghost Adventures Live’ Halloween Special Worth the Hype?

Published 6 years ago on November 13, 2018 - By Tony Runco

Another spooky Halloween season has come and gone, and with it, yet another live paranormal investigation from the beloved Ghost Adventures crew. Led by their fearless (is fearless the right word?) leader Zak Bagans, this year’s investigation took place in the highly active and supernatural ‘Haunted Museum’, which is owned by Bagans himself, and was put together from his personal collection of rare and ghostly oddities.

The crown jewel of the artifacts and climax of the Halloween special is a small, wooden, wine box known as the Dybbuk Box. It is believed to be one of the most haunted objects in the world, and contains a malicious Dybbuk spirit that has the ability to haunt and even possess those who come into contact with it. The box was also the inspiration for the 2012 film The Possession, starring Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Numerous owners of the box have reported strange and horrifying phenomena that accompany it, including terrible nightmares, intense depression and serious health issues. According to the previous owner, Kevin Mannis, the contents within the box consist of two 1920s pennies, a lock of blonde hair, a lock of dark brown hair, a small statue engraved with the Hebrew word “Shalom”, a gold wine goblet, one dried rose bud, and a single candle holder with four octopus-shaped legs.

For weeks leading up to the live investigation, Bagans consulted the opinions of professionals within the field, family members and his devoted fans, as to whether or not he should remove the glass case surrounding the cursed box and open the possessed cabinet. While the consensus was fairly split, many viewers tuned in Halloween night to see what consequences would befall Bagans and his team of experts.

Arriving in a black, 1968 Camaro that was previously owned by the infamous Waco cult leader David Koresh, Zak Bagans made quite an entrance to his ‘Haunted Museum’ in the heart of downtown Las Vegas. When asked if he would be opening the Dybbuk box that evening, Bagans stated that he had still not made his final decision on the matter. He also noted that in the days leading up to the haunting event, he had began to feel ill and fatigued, and believed it to be a direct result of his claims to open the box.

For weeks leading up to the live investigation, Bagans consulted the opinions of professionals within the field, family members and his devoted fans, as to whether or not he should remove the glass case surrounding the cursed box and open the possessed cabinet. While the consensus was fairly split, many viewers tuned in Halloween night to see what consequences would befall Bagans and his team of experts.

Arriving in a black, 1968 Camaro that was previously owned by the infamous Waco cult leader David Koresh, Zak Bagans made quite an entrance to his ‘Haunted Museum’ in the heart of downtown Las Vegas. When asked if he would be opening the Dybbuk box that evening, Bagans stated that he had still not made his final decision on the matter. He also noted that in the days leading up to the haunting event, he had began to feel ill and fatigued, and believed it to be a direct result of his claims to open the box.

Throughout the course of the four hour special, the Ghost Adventures squad and various experts investigated many of the prized possessions and spirited rooms within the museum. Some of the paranormal focus centered on the famous “Lilly Doll”, Bela Lugosi’s mirror, a rather strange confrontation that took place in the basement between “Lady Snake” and a self proclaimed “good witch”, and of course, the dreaded Dybbuk box.

After quite a bit of tension-building and countless “Did you hear that?” remarks that could easily turn the 4 hour special into a Halloween drinking game, Zak and his team decided to remove the glass case that displays the box. But as the show came to its epic conclusion, Bagans made the executive decision NOT to open it, stating that with the amount of bad energy and immense paranormal activity that was witnessed throughout the evening, he did not want to put himself or his team in any more potential danger.

Countless fans tweeted their relief over Zak’s decision not to open the Dybbuk box, but many viewers felt that the host and his crew may have hyped up the scare factor just a little too much. Considering that the box has already been opened and photographed in the past, was there really such a dark presence surrounding the Ghost Adventures team that their lives were actually in danger?

There is no denying that Zak Bagans has collected some one-of-a-kind items for his spooky exhibit, but everyone reacts to the supernatural differently. Next time you’re visiting Sin City, be sure to stop by the ‘Haunted Museum’ and let us know your own experience with the infamous Dybbuk box.

Source: iHorror

[felassanis]

- 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.

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

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!!

[gothsuguru]

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

[fightingmonsterswithwords]

little snippet from the untitled lucifer fic (see? it exists)

The path disappears at times beneath overgrown grass as you tread between the hedgerows, nervous but unhurried, filling your lungs with the moist air, twisting this way and that until you reach the clearing where all paths converge. You release a small awed gasp—it’s still there. Part of you feared it would be gone. The epicenter of the maze is in the form of a hexagon, mirroring the six stone pedestals carved intricately with flower garlands and reptiles disposed on each corner of a big fountain, and in the center of it all, a sculpture. The water in the shallow, circular basin is still, almost black under the overcast skies. It shows your limpid upside reflection as you come to a stop by the closest pedestal. They appeared taller in the past; now you can cross your arms on top and lean comfortably on the cold stone, gazing up in a mixture of sorrow and fondness.

Stalling for a few more minutes, saying hi to an old friend.

The bronze sculpture became as colorless as its surroundings after long decades exposed to the elements, though there must have been a time in which it shone aflame when hit by sunlight. To your understanding, it’s as old as the house. It depicts the most infamous fallen angel, mighty wings outspread, screaming up to the heavens, a snake coiled around his limbs and the base of the statue as though keeping him grounded, prisoner.

You don’t know why, it was like your feet always led you here when you sought refuge from the endless scolding and stifling lessons. You would huddle behind one of those pedestals and cry at the feet of the statue, feeling a strange kinship.

Engraved on the stone beneath, dark letters read…

“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven,” a disembodied feminine voice provides, making you flinch in surprise, shortly followed by its owner, striding down another of the paths leading to the clearing. “Long time no see, cousin.”

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

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

[crystal-in-nagasaki]

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.

[kathyprior4200]

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.

[booksanimeandtea]

Imma be hated for this but I stopped caring months ago so

T43ehyung is a snake. and a lying bitch. there is a plan as to why he keeps mentioning Jk, jk here, jk there...he does NOT mention anyone else, and certainly not jimin. think about it, once we got taejin (lots of fs during concerts), vhope (really they did spend lots of time together, eating out, giving e/o gifts) and of course we were sold the vmin are soulmates shit, maybe they were, I doubt they still are, wooga squad are his real friends. they have never mentioned e/o outside of work. we also got some joon x v during dynamite era, again fanservice during dynamite performance but that was that. then suddenly (or not so suddenly, certainly soop and hybe had a huge part in tk becoming close again) but again more strongly since 2021 we started getting a looot of tk content and t4e being all over jk...if you think I forgot about soop2 well you are gravely mistaken, I didn't. that cringe kitchen scene? forcing jk to cook for him and then hugging him? to then showing us him cooking some breakfast for jimin? like bitch??? that infamous vminkook live where he actually asked the staff to bring him jk (he ASKED THE STAFF I repeat) and then jm appears and afterwards jk too, and you all have to watch v watching jk all the fucking time, no wonder tkks said jm was the thirdwheel...and then harry styles concert where ofc as soon as he saw hobi was filming them, he had to hug jk and sway while singing, in no other pictures I've seen they were THAT close...then we also got a lot of tk fanservice during the different US concerts, US exactly, not korea, US! why? who knows, and jk was happily complying too mind you...to then all the anon has listed (I also have to add how he ruined new years eve in 2020 by posting a tk selca, act like he was the second owner of Bam, implied a tk subunit for Christmas that everyone was sure of it, Chuseok live 2022 where he did everything he could to be all over jk, like he kept on leaning on him and jk kept leaning away LOL)

there are lots of reasons and not only (possibly) him wanting to hide till he can that he's dating Jennie, a rival for Army, from a rival band and company...nope, what he wants to hide is that he's straight as a ruler, and not on the rainbow side, tbh he never hinted that he's gay or queer, rather he has made homophobic remarks on different occasions and towards jm, but he is so good in fanservicing fans that fans believe he's gay, even more than people who are so much queercoded! he's like HS in this sense...they were in a group, women shipped him in a delusional way with another band member while he was/is dating women and built a career over this...V needs tkks, needs jk, needs fake ot7 armys, he doesn't care about the mess he creates, he doesn't give 2 fucks about the hate others receives because of him, hate that we know they know, he think about himself, he's scared of fans losing interest in him, you see he's not that talented, he's not a good dancer, he is an ambassador yes but what his impact for celine? have you seen big news outlets or even little talk about him? no, exactly.

he needs all of this. he won't let it go soon, he'll keeps doing this and I hope to be wrong, but it can get worse too...and it already is...the worst part of this is...why jk has not noticed this..or if he did, why he doesn't say shit! that's what hurts the most...

tbh they are boring together when on live or on screen, people only scream about their faces (debatable, I think handsomeness resides in soemthing more than pretty, bitch-resting faces tbh) they are the most overrated ship ever. like even taegi are more entertaining to watch...

The End.

it’s interesting seeing taekookers talk about how “taehyung is exposing his relationship with jungkook” yet if you look at it all written it, it’s actually extremely weird, all of this comes from him within the last year, and i’m sure there is things forgotten, if this was jimin doing this to jungkook he would be torn to pieces, the fanservice narratives would be spread every single second, especially with how one sided it is

april 2022:

- talks about a “trip” he took with jungkook but then shuts up as soon as jungkook arrives

- as soon as jimin sat on floor during vhopekookmin live, grabbed jk and pulled him close to him

may 2022:

- festa video, grabbed his leg and grabbed him to pull his close to him

june 2022:

- did live saying would get tattoo with jungkook

- uploaded a fake tattoo minutes after jungkook posted his real one

- posted photo of jungkook on his story during a music show recording

october:

- busan live, as soon as jimin touched him, he grabbed him and put his arm round him

november:

- live saying he was going to game with jungkook

- next day at airport said he was going to be coming with jungkook(?)

january:

- 4 minute live and mentioned jungkook

- another live, said he was gaming with jungkook

february:

- made jungkook do a instagram live with him

- did a live randomly name dropping jungkook

march:

- live stream randomly mentioning jungkook

- comments on jungkooks post randomly minutes after the jikook interaction about ramyun

april:

- car live mentions doing karaoke with jungkook

- starts a live randomly in jungkooks house seconds before leaving

- live where he mentions jungkook randomly, says he told him a song, mentions him about 10 times

- another live randomly mentions jungkook after the premiere

may:

- posts random tk selfie 3 weeks after the premiere

The most interesting part is the increase with how often it has happened since all the Taennie leak, meanwhile they continue to wear the clothes from the leaks, and post even more photos showing things from the photos which we haven’t seen before, meanwhile he at the same time is feeding Taekookers even more.

This is all just going to end up negatively on him, because one day he is going to have to reveal he is a heterosexual man.

[tatakaebomb]

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...'

[terrence-silver]

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.

[mlmxreader]

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