Snapped Thread [Post Malone × Lord Farquaad]

5 - Milf Hunter

Lord Farquaad's lifeless body lay infront of Post Malone's feet. How would he explain this to his boss? Hopefully, no questions would be asked when Post calls for a body disposal. First though, Post Malone needed to deal with the worried neighbours knocking on his door.

Carefully approaching the door with featherlight footsteps, Post slowly wrapped his hand around the cold metal of the door knob. In one swift motion he quickly pulled back the door and aimed his pistol right to where the person was standing.

"Oh, hey Tartaglia. Did boss send you to deal with this little predicament I'm in?" Post Malone asked nervously. The nerve alone to aim a gun at the man before him was almost unheard of. He couldn't help but let out a humourless laugh as the taller man pushed past him.

"No, shut the fuck up. I'm kicking you out. You haven't paid rent in 6 months, we can no longer afford to have you live here dickhead," Tartaglia hissed, "You have 5 minutes to get out or else there will be a second murder tonight."

This couldn't be happening, where would he live now. Also how did Tartaglia know about Lord Farquaad's death? Hastily looking behind himself for any evidence, Post soon realised he had already dragged Lord Farquaad's corpse into the living area to make the job easier for the removalist. Kind of ironic considering he was dead.

Tartaglia had already left the room, probably to inspect the state of the murder. As he went to grab his belongings, he heard a meaty slap from the kitchen. What could that be? With as much speed as he could muster, he made his way to the source of the sound.

When Post Malone entered the kitchen, his life flashed before his eyes. A raw steak hit him against his cheek, causing him to loose balance. Tartaglia was now straddling him, hitting him continually with the steak.

"This is what you get for murdering my father, Gordon Ramsay!" was all Post Malone heard as he slowly lost the grips of consciousness. An overwhelming darkness filled his mind as all the important moments of his life played back in his mind.

Many millenia ago, a rare species of werewolves were brought into existence. Of the three, one was cursed with shitting bricks and given the name John Cena. Another was given the ability to shapeshift at the price of his own balls. His name was Michael Jordan. The final werewolf was cursed with being a super hot mafia member, who founded the world's greatest rock band, 'Joe's Mama.' His name was Post Malone.

From there on, they parted ways. They lived through the hardships of life, surviving through centuries of plague, war, famine and much more. Post Malone grew greatly in success and wealth, only loosing his true motives under a full moon. His life was perfect with no consequence for his curse.

One cloudy night when no moon was in sight, Post Malone was tasked with the unthinkable. His boss - whose name rhymed with Habbie Gannah - told him to end the last known god of the world.

This task was beyond his own skill as how would one kill the god of lust.

Not wanting to let down his boss, he accepted the mission with great hesitance. Setting off to end the man's life that night. As he made his way to the castle in which the illustrious god kept himself, he met a strange man on his way. The man was about 3 feet tall with hair greaser than oil. He knew it was love at first sight.

From there on their romance bloomed, spending all their time together. Even declaring their love for each other on a night of a cresent moon. Everything was perfect, a love left for no one to break apart.

Except for themselves.

As time progressed, the other soon wanted to see him constantly. He wanted to go on stargazing dates and celebrate the new moon every month. Post Malone couldn't accept most of these such activities in fear of letting his true form loose.

One day arriving home from a tough day at work, the other man wanted to see his beloved companion. As he opened the door the scent of fish wafted into his nose holes. Only when he fully opened the door did he see the cause of the scent. A man with red hair was tangled with his Post Malone. Fish reeking off the foreign man.

From that day forward the pair's relationship began to crumble. Everytime he saw Post Malone wrapped up with the man he said was the landlord he proceeded to grow more and more distraught.

They fought constantly over said landlord. In all honesty the smaller man was just angry he wasn't allowed to join. The fish man was very attractive to a man with a warped sense of beauty.

One night everything cracked, their relationship ended and so did the smaller dude's life. Reminded of his mission, Post Malone wanted to end his original intention by going after the god of lust.

His plans were ended when the god of lust ended him first. As the steak landed one final blow, the brute force trauma brought Post Malone's life to an end too.

In the end big titty Tartaglia became the victor. He didn't even have a dad with the name Gordon Ramsay, he just wanted a murder excuse.