Myths and Gargoyles by Jamie Hawke (interesting books to read in english txt) 📕

blinked, and when my eyes opened my worst fears were being thrown at me. This bitch must have gotten inside my head, because none of it could have really been happening, and yet it all felt so real. When you’re in that moment, even if you know it can’t be real, your heart won’t accept the fact. Instead, it pulls apart, is shredded as images hit. For me, it was first my mom and dad, suddenly swerving as I was tossed into the street in front of them. Their car spinning out of control, going over a ledge, crushing, glass piercing. Blood, flesh, eyes… chaos. Screaming! My mom clawing her way out, half-alive, shouting at me, screaming that I was a mistake, that they never should have had me.

Then a truck as it ran over her. Not just any truck, either, but one from a movie I’d seen at my uncle Mike’s as a child, one that had terrified me with nightmares for years to come—horned and covered in rusty sheet metal. Shit, standing there and watching your mom’s brains explode all over the street? Not good.

Worse, the door of that truck opens and out jumps the girl you dated for a little, but found out had been under a curse before that. Yeah, there was Steph, horns and wings starting to burst out of her as she laughed, coming over to me with a needle full of something pink and glowing, sticking it right in my eyes.

Then it all faded, taking me back to Moronoe, who was standing in front of me and eyeing me with an amused sneer amid a pillar of flames.

“Your choice, boy,” Moronoe said as she emerged partway from the flames, although the fire stayed on her. It burned without affecting her flesh, so that in a matter of seconds her clothes were gone, the flames still whipping about her. With a snap, the flames were gone. “You can have that world, the pain and suffering… or this one.”

She leaned back, legs spread, her fingers moving along her thighs, guiding my eyes to her exposed pussy.

“I can be whatever you want me to be,” she said, and for a minute she was an eighteen-year-old version of some movie star, this girl whose name I could never remember but was either in Mean Girls or Mean Chick, or something like that. Damn, she was hot, and watching her touch herself like that would have been damn tempting before all of this gargoyle stuff began. Her smooth pussy lips were moist, and I could see a mole on her inner thigh that called out like a lighthouse, guiding me home. But no, I wasn’t going for it.

Her eyes narrowed and she rolled over, showing me the rear view, hand slapping her ass.

“A bit larger, maybe?” she asked, and then she was this character from one of my favorite books, a larger black superhero. And damn, it was hard not to imagine my hips slamming against that ass. But no, there wasn’t anything that would get me to cave. She transformed several more times, to other ideals of hot young women and celebrities, even into an older woman and then a gargoyle.

“Or maybe this is more to your liking?” she asked, seeing that none of the other ideas were working.

Suddenly, her fingers weren’t massaging the lips of her pussy, but a hard cock. My cock, only, it wasn’t mine. Lying there on the ground was me. It was an odd thought and sight—the idea of watching myself as someone else.

“What the fuck?” was all I could muster.

Other me sat up, voice still Moronoe’s. “You’re so full of yourself, I figured maybe a nice blowjob from yourself might be the final carrot.”

“Um, no.” I shook my head, then laughed. “Are you so fucking dense?”

“What?” Other me looked kind of stupid when confused. I’d have to remember that, to ensure I didn’t ever wear that expression.

“You don’t get it. I’m not going to sleep with you or give in to your seductive ways, and it’s not because there’s not enough seduction or because I have secret fantasies of giving myself a blowjob or getting one from myself—which I don’t. Either of those. It’s called loyalty, and it’s called fuck you. A big, fat, fuck you.”

“Ah, I see.” And instantly she was herself again, rising above me, robes forming around her and trailing out into the distance, flapping and flailing around until they took over everything. “Then, we are done here. Hell, it is.”

Guess what came next? Megha with a bit of an Event Horizon look to her face, of course. And then Ebrill had Freddy Krueger fingers, or maybe it was Edward Scissorhands, I couldn’t tell.

Dammit, why did I have to watch so many horror movies growing up? I had a feeling more of those stories were about to play a part in this so-called spell—and yes, I’m aware that Mr. Scissorhands was not really a horror guy. Sure enough, when Steph’s face started filling with spikes aka Hell Raiser, I actually laughed.

“This is your best play?” I hooted between the laughs. “You think I can’t see my own subconscious when it’s trying to torture me? Fucking noob, I’m all about the mental fighting, so… let’s see what you got.”

She wanted to go toe-to-toe, or brain-to-brain with a transmutation expert? Maybe I hadn’t quite reached that level, but now it was time to find out exactly how advanced I was.

Pushing back against her so-called ‘Hell,’ I couldn’t help but have a bit of fun. Way I figured it, the more whacky I allowed myself to be, the less it would take out of me. So, first things first, I took her to a planet from a game called Pandora. We arrived to find ourselves next to a psycho grilling skag meat. Ah, good ol’ Borderlands. A hell of a game, and guaranteed to throw this lady off hers. Moronoe eyed me with an arched eyebrow, then looked into the distance