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Olga
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Ukraine
Generally, I am a writer. But I happened to take part in so-called Fandom Combat, and thus it all has begun. I have started to draw fanart and so on. You are welcome to have fun along with me.
Interests
Harawada-no Shouki
(The Whore-Queen of Entrails)

Miura's "Berserk" Fan Fiction, written for the Battle of Fandoms-2013. POV Slan. Connected closely to this art of my co-player:
marinapriv.deviantart.com/art/…

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Like a wave beating against a cliff chest, like an echo of a distant battle, like a sound of ferocious mating is your heart’s pulse, the throbbing of the fleshy glob in the cellar of ribs, a restless rhythm I heard even in a deepest dream, through the thickness of earth and rotting roots, putrid leaves and the mud of moors, down and below, where I dwell with all my entity, since the world begun.

I loved you from the first sight, my sweet child. The day the Fifth had joined us I saw you hugging his larva, an awkward cocoon of the human body. You held him as something precious to you, and stepped on the altar along with him, you poor stubborn insect, who denied his treachery to the very end, refusing to believe you prince had already betrayed you. That was the moment I have said you will make a perfect sacrifice. And hadn’t I been right? At the verge of death, tormented, clawed to the ground by Apostles, you were full of rage and fury, and I loved you; I would have devoured you on spot, had it not been for the Skull Knight.

The second time we’ve met was in our own realm, where you were brought by the will of our lesser one, whom you defeated and slashed to a bloody pulp. Oh, he wanted to live. But you wanted to live way more ardently. You rage was stronger than your flesh, and you would sacrifice your body for having your revenge on Phemto, and it was your hatred and pain that I savoured like a noble vine. Since that day your heart’s beat gave me no respite.

Since that day I watched you. In my endless night I dreamed of your sword, of your iron hand, of your ferocious fire piercing my womb, of a hungry beast between your legs. How seldom you released him, my boy. As if your body is made only for causing and receiving wounds.
I waited patiently for your visit to spread my legs for you, to squeeze your sides with my hips and take you into my loin. I weaved a web of occasions, nurtured it with the same care that Phemto gave to forging the chain of his embodiment. Unlike him, I never needed a human body, even perfect. Here underneath, in a wet and whiffy womb of the Qliphot I have my body composed of what you have granted me: bowels of trolls that were slain by your hand.
Isn’t in nice? Look at this tiny film. How whimsical is its colouring, gleaming with all the shades of decomposing. Do you want me to take it off? Do you want to embrace the cold nakedness of putrescence, thrusting yourself into the plexus of dead intestines? Don’t worry, my precious, I am ready to take you into every part of this body. Slash it with your blade where you want it and shove your member into the open wound. Move there, maim and tear like you have already maimed and torn apart all of them trolls and many, many others. Take me in the puddle of their blood, on the heap if their bodies.

Your disgust, your hatred and rage – oh, how beautiful you are, my beloved! How sweet is your smell of fresh sweat and blood, how pleasant it is to tear off your awkward armour and press myself to you, breast to breast. How much of warmth in it, how sweet it is to rub my cheek upon it, to penetrate a slit skin with my tongue, to torment your nipple tenderly with my teeth…

How I love your killer’s look, how fascinating is your wish to burn me, to dismember, to tear me apart. What bloody heat gushes from your brand, how sweetly your pain echoes between my hips, for I know that my presence itself is a torment to you, my embrace is like red-hot pincers and my body a torture rake. Thus I kiss you so fervently, licking a bloody sweat from your strained brow, trying not to miss a drop.
Have you ever seen a face of a man, your own face, when delight or pain unlocks your mouth? Have you seen yourself in a moment of highest suffering or utmost joy?
Look into my eyes. Find your reflection there.
My body is created by my will. My heart doesn’t beat – but through the tenuous skin, through the film of trolls’ entrails I feel your heart’s beating.
Let it burst with pleasure and pain. Let me undress you. Unleash your beast.
I hold your iron hand with my hips. I know what is coming. I cannot resist – the flame and the steel burn into my womb, slicing my belly and throwing me apart from you, my dearest.
Thank you, my boy. Thank you. No one ever had pierced me so.

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