Strikers Saloon

Come inn, rest, take a load off and get yaself somethin' to drink. Warm beds and hot meals are here for those who need someplace safe to call home, as long as you can pay that is.

[strikers-saloon]

Striker / Helluva Boss 

Indie / Open / Semi-Selective but non-mutuals welcome to interact

Multi verse / ship / Muse & oc Friendly / 18+ only

Personal / non rp blogs please don’t interact!

Sideblogs: https://sanitationshark.tumblr.com/

- The Saloon - Rules - About - Kingpin AU - Shade AU -

[strikers-saloon]

Indefinite hiatus

Hello,

Due to recent real-life events, I've decided I need to take a step back from certain things that I've once held near and dear to my heart.

My activity on Tumblr has been nearly impossible, and before that, spotty at best. I still remember when I was active every day, interacting with so many wonderful people, and doing amazing writing.

Yet life moves on, and I realize I've been holding onto things I miss from this site and people who've left a long time ago.

I've met incredible people and enjoyed writing, collaborating with writers, commissioning artists, and exploring my version of Striker. This effort to keep him relevant has been rewarding, though I realize I've drifted from my original reasons for doing this.

I have my desires for writing, yet they are sadly lost. The people I once wrote epic tales with have gone, the moments that had me writing madly with replies every day have faded away, and though there are still talented people around here, I fear my shape no longer fits well with the people around me.

You've all given me something I will never forget in my life, moments shared that won't come again, and I want you all to know that I've loved every shared moment.

So for now, all drafts are shelved, I can't plot, I can't find the energy to write a drabble. I’m so sorry for those I’ve had my Striker become a part of their story. Maybe I may return, but until then, please know I am sorry for leaving them as they are.

I hope you all take care of yourselves. I may return soon or later.

I will still be reachable on my Discord. If you want it, you can comment on this post, and I will send you my Discord via Tumblr Messenger.

Until then, take care. I care for each and every one of you, even if we have never spoken together; know you've made my life that much brighter for having you be a part of it.

"See you later, partner."

[strikers-saloon]

"Store-bought works fine, but something about breaking someone and then become your good-boy/girl™ is always much more fulfilling."

[strikers-saloon]

// While I try to figure out where to tackle the drafts, I'm going to have terrible cravings, for what I don't know yet, it's just a couple of sinday's worth of terrible man times.

[strikers-saloon]

// Despite everything, I'm still me, and I'm back. You must all love me for some odd reason for sticking with me random disappearances, so I appreciate I'm doing something that's keeping you from unfollowing me butt.

[strikers-saloon]

// Small update. Been having a stressful weekend due to my beloved someone, but things are going better, and perhaps this issue can be spun to make things better. I will try to respond to things in the coming days. I'm doing slightly better.

[strikers-saloon]

// Major mood tanking, I'm not sure what I'll be able to do. Basically getting "Don't you trust me" when I'm coming with worried thoughts. So I'm not sure what I'm going to do now.

[strikers-saloon]

// Major mood tanking, I'm not sure what I'll be able to do. Basically getting "Don't you trust me" when I'm coming with worried thoughts. So I'm not sure what I'm going to do now.

[strikers-saloon]

"Eight five... We talking about height?"

[strikers-saloon]

// Need to remind myself to put my kingpin out there more. Monster man wants playthings.

[alastors-radioshow]

The stag could feel the desire rise within him, the craving for more tingling right underneath his skin. He knew that no other would ever bring forth that sensation. It was Striker and Striker only. He had chosen his mate a good while ago, and he would not be letting him go.

The warmth between them, the sensation of their bodies pressed together, skin against skin. Those hot lips along his cheek, jawline, neck, those strong hands caressing his skin, taking in all of his curves, imperfections. He knew that Striker never saw his scars as imperfect. To the Imp, they were perfectly him.

With a softer gasp, he allowed himself to be pushed down, his back against black silk as crimson orbs shone up at him in the dimly lit room. His breath was hot and heavy, warmer than usual to the touch. The dormant flames in him were rising, a burning in the pit of his stomach confirming what he wanted.

Him.

Long, clawed fingers would trail over the Imp's body, finally settling around his face, cupping it gently.

"Lè sa a, pran m '." He started, the smile on his face warmer than it had been in a while.

"Fè m vin pou ou. Mwen fè pati ou~"

[strikers-saloon]

In the past, he would have never believed himself lucky enough to find someone to share his life with, a killer, made to hunt and be hunted, using every weakness possible to take him down. And now, the only weakness within the cowboy was his crimson partner, the heart made physical.

The only thing that was hurried with Striker was the need to have Alastor near him, not for the hunt of pleasure, but the dance the pair so effortlessly managed to do together. Their movements were like swans on a lake or eagles spinning towards the earth; it was trust, and a way to show each other how they cared for their beloved. Each time they parted ways, it felt more important to him to let his sinner know exactly how much they meant to him.

Even though his Wrathian genes let him withstand incredible heat, he still felt weak when he sensed Al's warmth, drawn in as he held them.

Fangs brush their skin with each kiss on the neck. He slowly undresses Alastor, a tail hooking on the pants and tugging them down with a helping hand, exposing the Radio Demon beneath him. Ever since seeing more of the man, the connection between them felt undeniable. Both were scarred by the world, by their own actions, and both longed for something together that they'd thought lost.

His own pants would get moved as he shifted, letting Al feel the familiar sensation of Striker's blessings—those meant only for them, throbbing for the dear sinner who held his heart so gingerly in their hands.

"And I, to you." Another kiss, slow and steady as he'd grind against them, more foreplay, he wasn't eager to let this moment end just yet, they had the rest of the night together for this.

[tangledfate]

Sallie knew nothing of his internal struggle, though she knew of the rivalry–or was it bad blood at this point?–between he and her sister’s companions, Sallie held no animosity. Business was business; it wasn't like being a gun for hire was an uncommon job for an imp–could argue that he was simply successful with the hand that had been dealt him. Just like her sister and her friends were. Just because their contracts and ultimately interests had been diametrically opposed wasn’t all that surprising.

“Farm’s doin’ well, Storm an’ Ember dropped their first foals this year. Two handsome boys–which o’course means I don’ get t’ keep em fer long–named em Twister an’ Blaze. Twister looks just like his mama Storm, navy grey with blue flame. An’ Twister’s a good mix, got Ember’s red an’ brown coat an’ his daddy’s flame, yellow an’ red with a tinge o’ green. They’re mine fer now cuz Daddy ain’t decided if’n he wants em as breedin’ stock ‘r if’n he’s gonna geld em ‘fore we sell em.”

It was about then that she realized she was rambling, a blush crossing her features before she changed the subject. He’d asked if she wanted a drink, it was only polite to order one since she’d forced him to listen to her ramble, right?

”I’d love a drink, how much fer–...I dunno, honey whiskey?” Already hunting through her skirt pockets for her wallet, it didn’t occur to her that she had something to hold over him.

“An’ how’s Bomb doin’?”

[strikers-saloon]

Striker's mind had been focused on worry and stress over the potential to lose what he had, not on the fact that Sallie may have had no worry or care about it. As for a cowboy who had run away after a botched attempt, it was a constant fear that lingered around his mind whenever he saw any of them around in Wrath. Thankfully, they never ventured into Pride... Besides Sallie, it seemed.

Her rambling let him focus, watching her body language and speech to gauge her intentions. While most people with ulterior motives steered the conversation toward their true goal, she seemed genuine in simply chatting and catching up.

"Honey Wiskey, no worries. It's on the house since it's been a while." His tempered southern tones revealed his careful choice of words. "Bombproof's doing well; he's got a nice little stable out back. Usually, he's in Wrath with a friend to stretch his legs."

The drink was poured, set before Sallie on a coaster. A question followed: "So, what's got you comin' to Pride ring?"

[magicandman]

Witchcraft, Wisdom, Death...

[pentious]

Pentious knew they were torturing Striker, and that was merely a bonus. The growing warmth of him, the ridge of his glans popping past where mouth becomes throat, heavenly.

They'll continue for as long as he can take it, tail having slithered onto the bed to slip into his hand, since their own were busy. Nails in his flank, the other working his free cock in a piston motion. Slow and steady on the inside, and what they know he wants on the outside.

Sighing, Pen expects to take every drop into themself, tongue already working to lap under his shaft. They pull back to his head, tongue twirling, and steadily take him back in. After that, it's all rhythm, keeping even time for the bliss to come. "Hm," opening their eyes, Pen looks at him to watch for the delicious faces he'll make, smiling as much as one can for having their mouth so busy.

[strikers-saloon]

The mixture of love and urges inside him was driving him insane. He wanted to return the love; he hated how he couldn't. He wanted to move and shift, to position himself, yet as he felt the claws in his side, he couldn't help but give a groan. In the end, it was what he desired: to be Pen's plaything when they wanted, and they'd know he'd return the favor. Once it was all done and he had his energy back, he'd return tenfold to the snake that slithered so lovingly into his life.

Pen's tail—he'd reach over just to have something to hold. He knew their body well, and it would be a long way from the tip to the rest, where he'd return pleasure. Instead, he'd squeeze and hold onto it, whimpering as he unraveled, getting closer, the heat inside mixing with confusion and lust.

"F-fuck... I-I'm close..." His voice shuddered. His eyes locked with Pen's. Their expression was carefree while they took every inch of him, stroking him like it was as simple as saying "I love you" in the morning or before bed. Like those words, the touch gave the imp a warmth that spread through him, hungry to keep them there.

[alteregozowie]

Opportunity knocks, as the old saying goes, and this was no exception either. A foothold in the information buisness, without the use of all that infernal modern technology of Voxtek, the old fashioned way, was highly appealing to one that made a living of spreading the information by mouth. So he shook on it, a simple one, working out the details when they weren't in such the public setting.

"You may be right, my charming fellow," and he had to chuckle at that, the deal had been too enticing to pass up. "It'll be a tentative shake, I do hope you know. As I would like to know more about what you have to offer, as well as what you are looking for in reciprocation. Then, we can seal the deal with a bit more binding, no?"

Alastor gave the draconian a rather wide grin, that glint of mischief in his reddish eyes. "I don't just let anyone into my place of buisness," he mused, realizing that because of the Hotel, these types of deals need to be done away from it. As dangerous as that could be. "Why don't you show me around your establishment then? I'm too curious for my own good sometimes." That smile again. "Try anything though, and you'll see that radio isn't all I'm known for."

[strikers-saloon]

Kingpin's expression froze for a second—just a bit too long to be natural. He listened to Alastor's warning and took this moment to formulate the right response. The pause showed he was not entirely surprised, even if he had been caught off guard.

"We both know that if I tried anything, I wouldn't be dumb enough to do it against you." His face softened, and he shook his head. "I've just been given the opportunity of a lifetime to partner with THE Radio Demon. I'd be an idiot to ruin that, especially since we share the same enemies."

Kingpin's hatred for the pompous TV made him focus on word of mouth and paper for secrets and respect. He'd be a fool to risk making Alastor an enemy, especially since Alastor would likely want nothing more than to break Vox or make Vox look foolish, something Kingpin desired to do so he could destroy their empire slowly.

"As for the establishment? You'd have to be specific if you'd like to see my paper mills, the printing presses that make my newspaper, or my office. I could set up a tour of them all if you had a day for it. Got a mill in Sloth-ring, then up to Pride for the printing press, and then zip to my office for a meal and deal. How does that sound?"

[alastors-radioshow]

The stag was more than pleased when their lips collided, a softer sound escaping him. It took no persuasion to have him part his lips, allowing his tongue to meet that of the other. He tasted like expensive bourbon and smoke, with mayhaps a hint of the metallic aftertaste of blood. But mostly, it was a mix of his favored drink, and the sensation of a smoldering fire within him, leaving the hint of smoke.

A softer moan was exhaled as their tongues entwined and danced, sending a rush of warmth through the Overlord's body. He trembled slightly as the kiss was broken, taking in a deeper breath to settle himself some.

And then..

He paused, crimson orbs looking at the other in confusion. He knew those words. He knew, but he had never thought he'd hear them from Striker.

He exhaled a softer chuckle, brushing his lips against his carefully, his voice a gentle whisper as he spoke.

"Mwen renmen ou tou~"

[strikers-saloon]

The reaction was what he wanted, nothing like a gasp or a response that praised him, just the simple realisation that he'd been taking his time to learn something that Alastor knew, to show them that he cared about them enough to share something that few others had together.

Striker never half-assed his duties; he had studied the language and wished for full conversations, but now was not that time. His lips would be occupied to kiss Al's, sampling their flavour over and over until he'd start to trail down their cheek, breathing in the warm scent of them, the bed warm from their body, the gentle smell that he could taste on the air whenever he was near were overpowering him here. Like that of a long-lost memory that brought back the longing and wants of a past life, here he swam in it and felt content to stay there until his dying breath.

Two bodies gently pressed together as the scene from the beautiful novella turned to steamy pages. Hands reached around, trailing over Alastor's body—gliding across scars and muscles. They found his hips and held him, claiming him like a prize. HIS prize.

"Mwen vle fè lanmou avèk ou."

Striker's body hungered for them. Even as his urges pressed Al against the bed, his need was heavier than simple lust. The imp longed for a pairing; not just the obvious desires, but the kind of words lovers would share, spoken to the soul of the moment, not the body.

"Kite m genyen ou"

[inferno-redux]

Sonny's tail returned the affectionate squeezes, showing he was into the touch. He noticed how Striker kept returning the topic to him. Kept making the choices Sonny's. Almost as if he was uncomfortable with choosing the ingredients. Well, he wasn't about to twist his arm about it. With his nose to Striker's, he smiled.

"I'll write down the ingredients list," he laughed softly. "You can run the errand before you drop over the night. And then we start cooking when you get here. We can make dinner and listen to some music together while we eat." he let the idea sink in for Striker while he massaged his shoulders. "Then I'll pound you into the bed." His tail gave Striker's an extra hard squeeze. "Deal?"

[strikers-saloon]

Despite Striker's behavior as the biggest and scariest imp around, he had a different relationship with people he respected, especially when they were alone and could be as intimate as this. His confidence rising as he'd go back to holding onto Sonny, claws giving little scritches here and there before they landed on their thighs. Planning and objectives got him grounded enough to better enjoy and return the attention given.

"Sounds like a plan, boss." He huffed, deciding to show some affection back by pressing his nose against theirs, then trailing it down to their neck, giving a soft nip. "... I think I might bite and clamp down to keep you close, not that I know how I'll react, but it's the first thing that comes to mind." His tail squeezed back, relenting before squeezing harder, taking the meeker position in this dance.

"Just send the time when I need to be there with the ingredients. I think we might make a memorable meal together."