#this post has been in my drafts for a bit but its my old friends birthday today and i cant tell you what hes doing for work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bijouxcarys · 2 months

Text

Fine Wine (Robert Plant x fem!OC)

Masterlist

Description: Our fiery OC from Cherry Lips receives a call from the man she's seen the world with, after months of distancing himself. She may just be the medicine he needs in his time of uncertainty…

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags: @celestial-dragoness @firethatgrewsolow @callmethehunter @strsmn @m-faithfull @chromations @angrychicksposts @friccinfricks @inanebula

He was greeted with an icy draft as he pushed open his door. A stark contrast to where he’d been two hours prior. A fleeting bask in the heat of his past. But that’s all it was. Fleeting. In the past.

Robert knew it had to happen. Ahmet would have enjoyed seeing the lads back together, even if it was just for one last show. It was necessary to remind himself of that fact, otherwise the work gone into the past month would be for nothing. Though, his brain—that guy up there—tried to convince the rest of him that it was truly fruitless. And he knew what he’d have to deal with for the next year or so…

Robert, is there any chance of a Zeppelin tour again?

Mr Plant, how did it feel to be up there again?

Do you think Jason lived up to his father’s name?

Are you and Jimmy planning on working together again?

What’s your relationship like with John Paul Jones?

Why wasn’t Stairway To Heaven released as a single?

How do you think your voice has changed?

Robert, why don’t you want to talk about Led Zeppelin?

Bob, can you sign this for me? Bob?! Who the fuck do you think you are, mate? You’re only gunna sell it on eBay.

Scratching at his head, Robert reluctantly turned the light on, revealing his current home exactly how he left it. Hah, why wouldn’t it be? There’s nobody here to disturb it…

There was so much of the world he still needed to discover, to figure out. More music out there to be made. So much bigger than the walls of this London flat sat high up in a building full of more flats, with even more people, with even more stories–Oh, shit, are you Robert Plant? I need to call my best friend and tell her you live right near me!

Thankfully, that common situation was less common in the area he chose to live. It made him feel dirty, buying such a luxurious flat in such a well-established complex. Some called it a penthouse, but no, that was two floors up. Alas, he did have a pleasant view of… the city. Okay, maybe not that, but at least he could go for a walk to the nearest coffee shop… Okay, maybe he couldn’t have that human experience, either.

To think that 34 years ago, he would be in the deep end, engaging in whatever post-show debauchery the band could muster up, and now he was here… A 59-year-old man unable to escape the 25-year-old boy that hadn’t experienced the true meaning of heartbreak yet. He was free, seeing everything in bold, whilst now he lived in a precarious state push and pull.

Desperately wishing for the world to see him as Robert Plant the musician, as opposed to Percy of Led Zeppelin.

Oh. There it is… There lies the conflict—his conflict. If he was hell-bent on enjoying music in all forms, being who he was at heart, why on Earth was he sitting on the edge of his bed, curtains drawn, dwelling on the fact that he wasn’t, in fact, Percy anymore?

Nobody told him the truth. Nobody told him when he was wrong, how he could improve himself. With the odd exception, there wasn’t a single person he came across in his ventures of life, who didn’t automatically compare him to, what he considered, that peacock prick of the 70s.

However, be that as it may, the audacity of Percy still ran rampant through Robert’s veins. If there was one thing age taught him, it was to grab life by the horns, come hell or come victory.

In his self-pity, still slightly buzzed from the bit of alcohol he’d already ingested that night, he took the leap in finding that familiar contact name in his phone, holding it to his ear as the dial tone held his breath with its frequencies.

Her phone rang just as she was about to take her first sip of wine, idly wandering in the kitchen of her sleekly designed flat. Half expecting it to be another call from the supervisor, she answered with an exasperated “Hello?,” bypassing the sensical act of glancing at the caller ID.

“Cherry…” he rasped, the name tasting bittersweet on his tongue.

Stiffening her posture, her previously tired eyes had blown open at the voice on the other end, as clear and crisp as it was in person. “Robert?”

“Cherry,” he repeated the silly nickname he’d given her a decade prior.

“Uh…” Delicately setting her wine glass back on the counter, she leaned against it, quizzically dropping her eyes to the floor. “This is unexpected…” She heard a gruff sigh, followed by some movement, coming from his end.

“I’m sorry…” he apologised, running a hand over his face as he stared out of his bedroom window. His phone felt heavy in his hand, bearing the weight of his audacity. Audacity he knew he should have kept at bay. “I guess age makes ya more of an arsehole…” he mumbled.

“Age? What are you talking about? Are you alright?”

“I’m as alright as an old man can be…”

“Your crypticism isn’t helping you seem less like an arsehole, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” Rolling her eyes, she moved to grab her wine again, making her way over to the sofa.

A lengthy pause followed. There’s a reason they describe silence as deafening. It irritated her to no end; she was able to take two whole sips of her wine during the time he left her in this ominous limbo.

“Why are you calling me?” she finally asked through a sigh, perching herself on the arm of her sofa, swirling the fragile liquid in her glass.

“Just… wanted to talk.” His words were unconvincing. Like a stroppy teenager insisting they want the beef stew bubbling on the stove, all whilst eyeing the takeaway menu on the fridge. She could read him, even through the phone. Plenty of practice by now.

“Well, so far it’s just been me talking…” She waited for an answer, even checking her phone to see that they were still connected. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up?”

“Nothing’s up…”

“Okay, and I’m currently in Russia,” she responded dryly.

“Are you?”

“Seriously, Robert?” she huffed, scrunching her eyebrows up at his atypical ignorance. “Look, if you’re not going to tell me why you really called me, I’ll just hang up, I’ve got zero patience for this right now.”

Yes, that’s it… Tell me I’m wrong. Give it to me straight. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he dropped his head in relief.

“Please tell me what’s wrong…” Her voice softened, almost mimicking a beg.

He chewed his lip, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. Was he really this pathetic that he needed a woman to come over and make this already stressful evening a little less gruelling? Well, yes, he was. To him, at least.

“Do you, uh… think you’d be able to come over?” His voice faltered.

Pausing mid-sip, she double checked that she was hearing things right. That her ears weren’t playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be that outlandish to suggest auditory hallucinations at this point; it was bizarre enough that he was calling her in the first place. “You want me to come over? As in… to you? Right now?”

“Please…”

The silence that followed was thick with anticipation, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic outside Robert’s window. He held his breath, waiting anxiously for her reply, acutely aware that he was asking a lot.

Finally, she broke the silence with a soft exhale, her voice tinged in a subtle mixture of disbelief and curiosity. “I guess I could… Why do you want me to come?”

Robert’s mind raced, searching for the right words to explain the tumult of emotions swirling within him. “I… I just need somebody,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who won’t sugar coat things… Someone who knows me.”

She felt her heart stumble at his vulnerability, how fragile his voice sounded on the other end of the phone. Despite the fact that their interactions had become sparse over the last year, she couldn’t ignore the connection that still lingered between them, forged in the crucible of the years they’d spent in each other’s company.

Without another word, she made a decision, fuelled by compassion: rarely felt, but cherished when present. “Alright,” she said softly, her resolve firm. “I’ll come over. But you have to promise me something…”

A spark of hope ignited within Robert’s chest as he listened intently, hanging on her every word.

“...You have to tell me what’s bothering you. And don’t try and downplay it, either. Deal?”

A wave of relief washed over Robert as he nodded, a sense of gratitude playing eagerly at his heart. “Deal,” he agreed.

That leads them to the present, sat across from one another in his living room. Neither of them knew how the night would end, but all Robert knew was that he appreciated her willingness to come over at all.

“I thought you might have been out,” she speculated, accepting a glass of wine as a gallant replacement of the one she had to pour down the sink at home. Robert immediately shook his head, resting into the sofa with a hand rubbing around his bristly beard, unknowingly complimenting his fine wine allure. “Didn’t fancy another rodeo, huh?” she wittingly asked.

“I should imagine Jonesy’s all cosied up with Mo by now. Don’t know if I can say the same about Jimmy, though,” he huffed through a rueful laugh.

Biting her lip, she smirked to herself at his implication that Jimmy hadn’t lost his wild streak. “Well, I think it would be rather bizarre if Jimmy was with John’s wife right now, don’t you?” Injecting a bit of light into the atmosphere with her jesting tone, her smile grew with Robert’s in response.

Robert’s gaze lingered on her, from the light dimples on her cheeks, to the lips he would kill for. Though, now, they remained painted with a more natural tone as opposed to the deep cherry tint he associated with her. So beautiful.

She had to admit, upon noticing his wandering eyes, a familiar flicker kindled in her stomach, taking her back to the moment he first surveyed her from afar, all those years ago. “So…” she breathed, angling forward with her elbow resting into the cushiony surface of the chair arm, adjacent to the matching sofa Robert had relaxed on. Nestling her chin into her hand, she studied him. “What’s going on?”

Smile falling slightly, Robert cleared his throat and took a sip from his wine. It was discernible how desperately he was clambering to find the words, thoughts racing a millions miles a minute.

“Robert, I can’t help you if you don’t tell m–”

“Do you think I’ve lost my looks?”

Now, she wasn’t expecting that one.

Anyone who took one transient careen at him instantly concluded that Robert Plant knew of his appeal. So aware of his allure, it bordered on arrogance. He always played the game, no questions asked.

She let out an unintentional scoff, amused by his inquiry. Surely, he wasn’t serious. However, upon leering into his eyes a moment longer, she quickly realised he was being anything but frivolous.

Through a fated smirk, she asked him, “Is that really what you’re so upset about right now?”

He winced, huffing as he shifted on the sofa. “Not really. Well–yes, but no…”

“My God, men are so indecisive.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he shot back with a boyish grin.

“Stop,” she pointed her finger at him. “Stop being so charming and funny, it doesn’t work on me.”

“Are you sure about that, darlin’?”

“You’re diverting.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who called after not bothering for months on end, am I?” And…there it is.

He knew this was going to come up at some point, and he was inclined to agree with the vexation it bestowed upon her. As he kept his eyes firmly locked on hers, he saw as clear as day the betrayal that encompassed her. Perhaps a strong word for their situation, but the hurt in her eyes spoke of nothing less.

“Cherry… I’m sor—“

“That seems to be the only word you know lately, Robert,” she interrupted him coolly. “Y’know, I came over because you sounded upset, and believe it or not, I still care about you.” She rose from the seat, making steady back and forth paces across his flat. “God knows why I care about you, but I do.”

Robert parted his lips to speak, but she kept going.

“Do you know how happy I was when I got your text the other month?” she asked, turning to look at him. “Even if it was just to say happy birthday.” She shrugged. “Maybe some tiny little part of me wished that you’d have kept in touch, but then I came to my senses and realised that you’re Robert fucking Plant!” She chuckled airily, running her hand through her hair.

His gaze fell to the floor, pondering her words like a bout of bad news. With a swallow, he slowly responded. “And why is Robert Plant so different?” Her scoff brought his eyes back to hers.

Then, almost as if it pained her to utter the words, a stern gleam in those big brown eyes, she answered with the truth. The whole truth. Nothing but the truth.

“…Because nobody comes close… to being like you.”

Compliments. More compliments. He shook his head with an exasperated resolve.

“No, don’t shake your head, when you know it’s the truth.” Taking a deep breath, she stepped a little closer to him, staring him down like a predator cornering its prey. “So I’m gonna ask you again…” she uttered, “What’s wrong?”

“I told you—“

“You asked me if I thought you’d lost your looks, you told me nothi—“

“I’m old!” He finally snapped, voice uncharacteristically raising. Distressed. Vulnerable. He shot up from the sofa, peering down at her with hesitant eyes. “All those people who came to see me tonight,” he pointed in the direction of the window, “They wanted to see that bare-chested young lad strutting around the stage and wailing like a newborn fuckin’ lamb!”

Robert breathed out heavily. It was his turn to start pacing, everything that had built up all evening practically spilling out of him like nickels from a glass bottle.

“Ya know, I’ve tried for the past 25 years to not be that anymore, to get as far away as I possibly could from all the bollocks, but tonight was a real fuckin’ grim reminder that all anyone ever cares about is my name!”

She’d never seen him this irate. He had his moments, irritable and unsatisfied with certain situations and people around him, but never failed to remain calm and respectful at all costs. The man she watched bounce back and forth in the dim light of his very un-Robert-esq home was the personification of a life lived to the fullest, only to reach a point in which there seemed very little left.

“Robert, I—“

“I realise I’m a massive fuckin’ hypocrite, by the way—being upset about people always expecting the young, virile Robert Plant, but also wishing I could have been that tonight.” Spinning on his heel to make another lap of the room, he was halted when she stepped in front of him, hands coming up to hold onto his arms. “Does any of that make sense, Cherry? Or am I going bonkers?” he asked with a hushed tone.

Sighing, she looked over his attire. Silky shirt with some sensible black slacks, encasing a body that displayed his advancing age. The lines on his face spoke of an earthy wisdom and a lifetime of laughter. Hair, previously a vivacious blonde, now faultlessly whisked with an ashy tint. His stomach was no longer landscaped, and one could no longer catch the intensity of his muscular build.

No, he wasn’t what the world instantly pictured when faced with his name. But he was still, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“Robert…” she breathed, bringing a hand up to gently trace the pads of her fingers over his beard, along his jaw, before stopping to place her hand flat against the side of his face. “My sweet, darling Robert… You have no idea, do you?” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she took in the edges of his features, how the blue in his eyes still shone brighter than any star in the sky.

The warmth of her hand against his skin made him weak. His eyes hooded, and he found himself instinctively resting into her touch. “About what?” he replied, matching her tone. His hand wrapped around her wrist, keeping her near.

Endearing was the word that sprung to mind. He was so endearing at that moment. So naively heedless. She couldn’t help but smile, as if a whole new light was gleaming down on him. Layers she had never been able to peel away were now crumbling at the lightest touch.

“How perfect you are…”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Maybe not by the official definition,” she agreed. “But my definition… it’s all you, Robert.”

Any anger she may have felt for his distancing himself, any iota of annoyance at his unintentional ignorance, was insignificant when compared to the kind of love she felt for this man. “I don’t care how old you are. I mean, you’re not even that old,” she chuckled. “I don’t care that you’re not… Percy, or however you want to describe yourself back then.”

Robert’s eyes shut as he gently rested his forehead against hers, hands lowering to grip onto her waist like he’d never get to again.

“I never knew you as that person, and I don’t want to. Because the man that’s been in my life for the past 10 years has given me more to live for than any arrogant little peacock could,” she grinned at her own wording, knowing she was using his own opinion of himself as ammunition. He picked up on it, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat.

“And let’s not forget,” she smirked, snaking her arms over his shoulders. “A lot of girls have a preference for older men, Robert, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re the ideal. Plus, we don’t call you Daddy for no reason…” she giggled.

Even through his subdued demeanour, a tint of light pink coloured his cheeks; he hid it by dropping his head to her shoulder, tilting to take in her scent. “I don’t care about a lot of girls right now…” His words were muffled, but the way his lips gently tickled the side of her neck spoke for him.

“Robert?”

He lifted his head to look down at her. “Hm?”

“You’re beautiful,” she told him firmly. “Okay? I don’t ever want to hear you saying otherwise, because it’s bollocks. Pure bollocks. Alright?”

Okay, well maybe one person tells me the truth…

With a smile, he bit his lip and nodded, willing to take any word that fell from her perfect lips as gospel.

“Good.”

“Can I kiss you now, or am I still in troub–”

She cut him off with a heady kiss, hand holding the back of his head and fingers gripping at his corkscrew locks. A sigh of relief fell from him as he mirrored the passion, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to cradle her, encompassing her in his hold. His own fingers made a venture, delicately threading through her thick hair.

Eventually, he found himself backing her in the direction of his bedroom, willing footsteps following his lead. She didn’t even have to give herself to him. All she needed to do to keep his mind at bay, stop the intrusive thoughts from swirling in the recesses of his rapid mind, was be there.

But his Cherry was always insatiable, no matter the situation she found herself in. Like his own, her libido intensified in her 30s, and he deemed himself lucky to be on the receiving end of such licentious longing.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” she hummed as Robert trailed his kisses along her cheek, eventually stopping at her neck. “When I got home from work, I wasn’t expecting anything like this to be happening tonight.” His bristly facial hair was tough against her skin, but provided a stimulating tingle nonetheless.

Chuckling, he nipped at her neck and guided her further backwards until she had no choice but to let her weight fall onto the bed, his following suit. His face hovered closely over hers, taking in her features. Admiring. Silently worshipping. She was everything.

“What?” she whispered up at him, stroking her thumb over his cheek.

Shaking his head, a small smile appeared on his lips. “Nothing… Just happy you’re here. With me.”

She huffed out a small laugh, placing a barely-there kiss to the tip of his nose, before nudging him to lay down so she could settle on top of him, legs trapping him under her. Using her hand flat on the bed beside his head, she propped herself up as she lingered over him. His hands were urgent as they gripped onto her hips, needily pressing his fingers against her curves. God, he wanted her so bad… It was next to impossible to be in the same room as her and not experience the familiar twitch below. That bloody blazer… She made every article of clothing look perfect, and she looked perfect wearing them.

Clocking his distracted gaze with a smirk, she smoothly brushed stray curls from his face. “What do you want, Robert?” she whispered, watching the way his eyes dilated and flickered through a mirage of emotions. “Tell me…” she encouraged, her lower lip slipping between her teeth in anticipation of his answer—an answer she was certain she could predict.

He sighed heavily, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t want you to think it’s all I called you over for, darlin’...”

She responded with a sweet smile and an airy laugh, shaking her head. “Hmm, no…” she mumbled, glancing down at his lips. “You told me why you called me over…” Lowering her face to his, their lips narrowly skimmed over one another.

“Now, I need you to tell me why you want me to stay…” Her voice had dropped to a sultry whisper, accompanied with a bold shift of her hips.

Jaw clenching, his grip on her tightened, goading her to keep up with her movements, to which she complied. “You really want to know, luv?” he gruffly asked.

“Dying to know…” she replied through a breathy sigh and a subtle smirk.

It seemed a mere millisecond had passed before one of his hands came up to hold onto the back of her head, pulling her down so he could speak directly into her ear.

“I want to feel you again,” he began, inching his other hand steadily from her hip in the direction of her backside. Guiding the paced movements she was still conducting. “Want to feel you forever,” he continued, words muffled against her.

By now, the strength keeping her propped up had waned and she found herself collapsing against him, once again completely wrapped up in his embrace, adhering to his ministrations, playing into his hands.

“I miss the way you wrap around me, baby,” he kept talking, barely realising each syllable sparked flutters between her legs. “And how sweet you taste…” Maybe he’d forgotten how much she enjoyed his voice in these intimate moments, but as she continued the rolling motion of her hips, the friction against her heightening arousal dragged a choked moan from her throat.

“Oh, ya like the sound of that, do you?” he provoked, his hand now holding onto her rear, but no longer guiding her; she was doing that all on her own. Taking her face in both of his hands, he brought her back up to face him. The familiar flush on her face, hooded eyes, the way her lips had parted and gentle gasps had fallen… “You like me talkin’ like that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she breathed with a wanton nod. “Please…”

“Please, what, darlin’?”

“I-I need you…”

“You need me to do what?” His fingers began a steady journey over her chest, down to her stomach, where he inched his hand under the thin material of her blouse. Skin to skin. Fuck…

She whined, gripping onto his shirt, a furrow in her brow. “You know what I want, Robert…”

“Hmm, not sure I do–”

“I will leave if you keep playing with me.” As much as she wanted her threat to sound genuine, stern, her body was completely ablaze, and there was no way it sounded any stronger than a desperate plea.

Robert smirked at her, sneakily managing to slip his hand further down, until it was snuggly hidden within her trousers, her arousal prominent against the soft lace of her underwear. She gasped as he applied pressure, grounding her hips involuntarily.

“Somethin’ tells me yer not going anywhere, luv.”

Smug prick… Always so fucking charming…

Her eyes fluttered shut as he released the pressure against her underwear, but instantly reapplied it.

“I can already feel how badly you need me, sweetheart,” he casually commented, loving the way he could break her down. Just with a mere touch. “You just have to tell me… then I can give you everything you need and more…”

“My God, just fuck me already…” she murmured, craving more than a simple touch over a layer of clothing. Robert responded with a throaty chuckle, beaming at her as he removed his hand from her trousers and swiftly pulled himself up into a seated position, her legs immediately wrapping around him to stop herself from falling back.

With a challenging glint in his eye, he leaned forward, arms encircled securely around her as she dangled from his lap off the side of the bed. Her hands were holding onto his shoulders, giving him a warning glare.

“Now, now, don’t give me that look…” he chided, lowering his gaze down to her attire. “You look gorgeous in this blazer, but I think it needs to come off now.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She obediently shrugged the heavy fabric from her shoulders, trusting that Robert wouldn’t drop her in the process. It fell to the floor, landing in a crumple—she’d surely chastise herself when the time came to put it back on, but at that moment, she couldn’t have cared any less.

A sharp squeal exited her mouth as Robert suddenly stood up, swung around and dropped her on the bed. He gave her a cheeky smirk, before lifting her legs to perch on his shoulders. Turning his head, he delicately worked the buckle on her heel loose.

“I like these shoes,” he nonchalantly complimented as he pulled it off her foot, dropping it down the side of the bed, before he repeated the action on the other. He pressed a kiss to her ankle and lowered his hands to unbutton her trousers, tugging at them when she lifted her hips.

There she was, laid over his bed, in nothing but a white, gossamer blouse and the contrasting underwear in a characteristic black lace.

“Y’know…” Sighing, he crawled over her, allowing her to slowly pop open the buttons of his shirt when he got close enough. “I’ve always wondered—with you in particular—how I managed to get so lucky.” He ran his hands up and down her bare thighs, savouring the smooth skin under his fingertips.

She didn’t necessarily answer him, only sent him a playful eye roll before pushing the intricate silk from his shoulders, where it was then tossed to the side to join her trousers on the floor.

Robert displayed no sign of hesitancy in his shirtless glory; he looked like a transcendental entity—a god of his own likeness. So deserving of everything good, yet the creator of the very same thing.

Her wandering eyes flooded with lust. She cursed the inability to squeeze her thighs together at the sight, at the situation. But before she could mourn the friction, he was down there in its place, as though he saw right through her longing. The soft fabric of her blouse became too constricting as her heart hammered away at the image of Robert knelt down on the floor with his upper body slotted between her legs, so she unbuttoned the garment, the air around them hitting her skin in a stark revelation.

“I told you I missed how you tasted,” he mumbled against her thigh as he peppered small kisses along the flesh, inching closer to her aching core, but bypassing it to replicate the motions on the other leg. His beard added a bout of sensation, hips rolling upwards in her thinned patience.

When he pressed his mouth against her clothed centre, she exhaled deeply, the simple touch sending sparks all throughout her body. Robert hummed against her as he caught her scent, mouth aching to taste what laid beneath the flimsy material. Soon enough, his own stoicism scattered—he had to have her against his tongue, now.

With a hungry resolve, he pulled the lace down her legs and pushed her open, the sight stirring his fervour below. He glanced up at his Cherry, deftly tracing his thumb over her already teary folds. She had her head settled against the soft sheets, managing her breathing in preparation for the delicious sensations that were to come. My perfect girl… Robert leered proudly, looking back down at the view.

He gently spread her open, her bijou pearl enticing and ready for the taking. Pink, glistening…

“So pretty…” he murmured to himself, taking an experimental lick just below the sensitive nub, eliciting a small flinch from the goddess laid in front of him. He licked his lips, relishing his appetiser. Next, he flattened his tongue against her entrance, collecting her arousal, and dragging upwards until he gave her the contact she so desperately needed.

By the time he attached his lips to her clit, she was already pining, throbbing. A small cry fell from her lips as he performed a suction motion, tongue swirling around her in lazy circles. She was trapped in his hold as he wrapped his arms around her legs, keeping her open and completely at his mercy.

Robert proved, with the sublime movements he bestowed upon her, that old men do, in fact, do it better.

With a grunt, he pulled his head back long enough to lewdly spit, mixing their fluids together in a union of lust. Her pants were a pleasant breeze to his ears, and her writhing form was his reward.

“That feel good, darlin’?” She nodded her head, one of her legs pulling him closer to her. “Look at me.” With a whimper, she lifted her head with the strength she could muster to meet his stormy eyes—eyes punctuated by grooves of sagacity. “Yer still my good girl,” he praised with a knowing smile, the wisps on his lower face shimmering with her juices. “Aren’t you?” She nodded again, practically unable to speak through her yearning. “Words, luv.”

“Yes… I’m still your good girl,” she shakily succeeded, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, you are…” he whispered, pressing a brief kiss to her core. “Still Daddy’s good girl…”

She furrowed her eyebrows at the name she hadn’t heard in so long. The name she hadn’t even uttered to anyone else since the last time she found herself in this position with Robert.

An untamable animal under a gentle predator with an even stronger desire to tame.

“I’m gonna make this pretty little cunt cum now, darlin’,” he hummed, “You just lay back and enjoy every second…” He eased her back down with a hand on her stomach, before lowering his head and resuming with his erotic assault.

An elongated moan expelled from her body as Robert seemed to return with a vengeance, tongue rapid against her pulsating, swollen clit, edging her—driving her—towards a much craved release.

Once he slipped a finger inside, stroking upwards in tandem with his tongue, she was done for. Her moans turned to cries, her whimpers turned to whines, and his name flew from her lips at a rocketing pace.

Hips gyrating, back arching, she was in ecstasy.

Gripping tightly onto the bed sheet beside her head, her legs tightened over his shoulders, drawing him closer than ever.

Another finger.

More suction.

Closer.

And closer…

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum—don’t stop,” she gasped.

He didn’t.

What followed was nothing short of an otherworldly climax, tensing all over, gripping his fingers and pulsating into his mouth. Her hand shot to his hair, grabbing at the ash-blonde curls as he growled in validation, drinking in her release with the vigour of a water-starved cheetah.

She rode her orgasm out, body shaking and twitching as his comedown kisses hit sensitively against her. Eventually, he ceased his motions, snaking up her body, marking her on his journey. Each searing kiss to her flushed skin accompanied an indentation of his teeth. When he got to her chest, he dragged his lips between her breasts, up her neck, and finally punctuated with a heated kiss to her lips.

Her remaining clothes were quickly shed, as was his, as they fell deeper into their salacious reunion. Inching up the bed in the scorch of their connection. Both eager, desperate, urgent. It didn’t even feel real when he eventually eased his cock between her legs, filling her up with a steady thrust of his hips.

Robert never seemed to pull back from her; only stayed as close as possible, absorbing her every reaction, even the most miniscule, the most subtle… He noticed everything.

The pace he set. The small tightening of her limbs wrapped around him. The rhythm of her breathing. And, of course, the ripples and twitches and flutters from her welcoming cunt. She took all of him so well—she always did.

How he’d gone so long without her was a mystery. A foolish decision on his part, for he never felt more alive than when in her presence.

Hooking his arm underneath one leg, her body titled, cock kissing the hilt of her walls with every passion-filled jive. Her moans were melodic at least, with no limitations in their effect on Robert’s reverie. Fingernails raked over his back. Noses brushed against one another. Eyes fought to stay adhered. It was the copulation of a lifetime; even the first night they spent together sat miles from this.

“Cherry…” he groaned, evidently darkened chest hair grazing along her bare skin.

“No…” she managed to choke out, shaking her head. “D… Don’t call me that…”

Even more than her words, her eyes begged him to drop the silly nickname; it scarcely matched the moment, and gave their kinship too superficial a meaning.

With a smile of admiration, he pressed his lips to hers, free hand raking through her hair as his thrusts gained a jolting flair, building them up. Closer, and closer…

“Grace,” he finally whispered against her lips. “Grace, Grace, Grace…” he breathed, dropping his head to her neck.

Her name was exemplary on his lips. He practically chanted it the more he drove into her, knowing he was bringing them both closer by the second.

A lifetime could have passed, and neither one of them would have noticed. Completely, utterly, wrapped up in their mutual admiration for each other. Nothing else mattered. Their jobs, and all the emotions that came with them, were peripheral. Faded into the background. All that remained were the two of them.

Robert and Grace.

“R-Robert…” she panted, lips brushing against his shoulder. “God… fuck, I’m close…”

“Yeah?” he mumbled against her neck, his nipping quickly turning into biting, sucking, claiming.

“Mhm,” she nodded with a whimper, lifting her hips to meet his eager thrusts.

“That’s it, baby…” he approved, ensuring to match their rhythms. His breathing waned in its regularity, a heat rolled over his entire body. Just need to feel her… “Cum for me, Grace, please… can’t hold it any longer—fuck, you feel so good.”

It took mere minutes after Robert moved to press his forehead against hers, staring her down, for her to finally succumb to his behemoth gifts. She held onto the side of his face, nails digging into his shoulder painfully as she clung to him.

Ears buzzing. Eyes blurring. Head thumping with the beat of her heart. The way she gripped around him, paired with the breathtaking expression of her face as she reached her zenith, was almost too much for him to handle.

“Fucking hell…” he groaned, taking in her responsive form as validation of his abilities. During her descent, he spilled into her, restrain seeming like a fargone possibility. He gyrated, growled, and ensured to empty himself completely inside of her.

Their bodies were tacky, hot, flustered, trembling, as they laid there, entangled in each other’s limbs. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on the overhead lights in his room that were yet to be switched on since his return home. Having him in her arms, in his bed, was a long-awaited scenario she never thought would come to fruition.

But it had.

Eventually, he rolled over, bringing her into his protective hold. Somewhere, lingering in the back of his mind, he feared she wouldn’t be here come sunrise. That she’d realise she was making a mistake, take one look at him upon waking up, and disappear as quickly as possible. The grip he had on her was his way of keeping her there, with him, for as long as he could.

Though, it just wasn’t enough to ease his mind…

“Grace…” he called out slowly, his voice practically shot.

“Yeah?” She looked up at him, head resting on his chest.

“Can you stay?”

What a question to ask… She raised an eyebrow, looking into his eyes. The uncertainty baffled her. How he thought she might leave was an enigma to her.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” she assured him with a whisper.

He responded with a sigh of relief, and a kiss to her hair, before shifting the two of them further up the bed so they could comfortably bury themselves under his sheets.

There was no second guessing herself as she wrapped her arms around him, his back pressing against her chest. She held him close, smiling to herself when he found her hand, lacing their fingers together in such an affectionate position.

They laid there, lit by only the city lights that spilled through the edges of his curtains, for a few more minutes. Listening to the beating of each other’s hearts, and the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing.

“Will you stay for breakfast?”

Grace opened her eyes, giggling softly. “Yes, Robert. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Oh, darling… that would be forever.

30 notes · View notes

mareenavee · 7 months

Text

Fic Authors Self Rec!

Tagged by the indominable @kookaburra1701! Rules:

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love!

I love this. OKAY LET'S GO. Tell me about how proud you are of your work, friends. You've come so far <3

Tagging: @paraparadigm, @polypolymorph, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @dirty-bosmer, @thequeenofthewinter, @gilgamish, @archangelsunited, @throughtrialbyfire, @expended-sleeper, @ladytanithia and YOU yes if you see this, talk kindly about your writing journey and TAG ME BACK <3

Below the cut because I do be ramblin' (: They're not really in any particular order, I just love them all for different reasons.

1) If We Knew Anything At All

This one was a hell ship prompted by a list that Topsy shared with a bunch of us and I had a brainwyrm, then ended up crying while I wrote the end of it. Quite possibly one of my favorite ever pieces. This one is both the inevitable end to my fic universe and something completely outside time. How did I manage this? Via Sheogorath's voicing. I don't think it gets more unreliable than that.

2) Metempsychosis

A very dear friend and fantastic teammate I met through Skywind sent me this prompt and it gave me such an excellent challenge not only to flex on weird god voice stuff again, but also to bust out some spoken word poetry tricks. I did end up recording myself reading this one too and it felt like old times. I loved all the layers of references I shoved into 1,000 words. It is also my first Morrowfic. And also one that reminded me what I am capable of even more strongly than some of my other projects did. 🥰

3) Serpens Caput

This one is newer, yes BUT OH MY GODS what a flex it was. ANOTHER Morrowfic but it's set in Ceth's fic universe featuring not only major character death but the mindset of a villain in his final moments. And we get to see Danger!Josh through his eyes. It was WEIRD. WEIRD WEIRD but so much fun. I don't think I've yelled so much about a fic whilst writing before. Ceth threw me this prompt, but I don't think was expecting this to end up...being this way (: Borrowed the description of Teldryn and Nerevar from her universe and just RAN WITH IT.

4) Little Dragon

This was written as part of my cute, happy LDB!Athis polycule AU where nothing is quite as horrifically messy as my main fic universe. It is a different kind of catharsis to write, often fun and humorous and a flex in that direction, since I didn't know what i was capable of—I always write pining and heartbreak lol. This came about as part of a fic writer's duel with AU (judged by Poly) which was honestly one of the coolest fandom experiences I've ever been in. It has become its own thing now with multiple other stories and I've been in yet another fandom duel since then. So it's all cute fuzzy feelings and happy memories and I love it to bits.

and last but certainly not least:

5) The World on Our Shoulders

My longfic which throws characters into extremely tough situations, handles horribly difficult themes and topics, shows people being messy and still finds ways to show it all with grace. It's what got me out of my multi-year writing slump and truly, truly brought me back to myself. So yes maybe some of the characters have some of my irl nonsense. Some scenes are far too relatable and it's a little scary sometimes how horrible that is, but it's a different kind of Catharsis. I love also the support its gotten so far for its specific type of storytelling structure as well as all the weird details that sprawl into other stories (Like my honorable mention written for Para, Recurse) and sequels and spin offs. It's been a great joy to be writing this and it's continued to inspire me. From draft one, which I wrote in challenge mode, posting every day this last February to now, where I am mid-ground-up-edit, I love this project to bits and will do all I can to see it through to the end. I see how much I can accomplish in this project. I see what can be done with common tropes and themes and even Fic in general. It's unalienated labor that I do for the sheer hell of it because I can and it's mine and I don't have to follow The Rules. There's something beautiful about that. It's one reason I get up at the crack of dawn every day -- to write for the sake of writing. Out of spite sometimes for all the ways the world tries to crush this kind of self expression out of us. This is my gem of a project. And I am proud of it and how far I've come since I started it. (:

So now it's your turn, if you got this far. Why do you write? How have your favorite fics you've written changed your perspective on the craft so far?

#AskMareena #Fic Authors Self Rec #The World on Our Shoulders #Dragonborn and Far-Star Marked #skyrim #skyrim fic #Nyenna #LDB/Athis #LDB/Teldryn #LDB/Teldryn Sero #Nerevarine Teldryn Sero #Nerevarine Teldryn #Nerevarine #elder scrolls #tes #tesblr #fanficblr

29 notes · View notes

420thewritersroom · 2 months

Text

Deadly Sakura (Part 2)

*trips onto this blog with this* hey ya'll how you doing :D

It's been a minute and I finally feel confident enough to bring this out! This has been sitting in my drafts for a LONG ASS while, like goddamn. I'm been slowly working on this and I feel like this is complete enough where I'm comfortable sharing the next half of this story. It will take another while before the next chapter is shown because one, I've been getting real acquainted with an old game from my childhoood and got the inspiration to write about it, and two, I just really need to take my time.

I realized that I made a mistake jumping onto this and making this into a series because I don't have a concrete blueprint of where I want to take this story. I hyped myself up, being pretty new to this fandom and making fanwork for an establish fandom got me a bit anxious. I found myself feeling guilty for not being able to pump out more chapters and I want to get out of that mindset. That's why I've been working on another, personal, project that I can't wait to show you guys sometime soon. I've been telling myself that it's ok if you loose interest for a while, the inspiration will come back to you as long as you keep the drafts.

But enough about me, here's the part 2 of Deadly Sakura! I'll post this on AO3 tomorrow because I'm lazy.

~Try as Liu Kang might, some circumstances are inevitable. Kung Lao has perished under the hands of Earthrealms enemies, leaving everyone to mourn the loss of his untimely departure. And some took his death harder than most. Raiden nearly became the very thing Liu Kang feared he would become, and out of wounded grief, opted to remove his memories and leave Earthrealm partially unprotected as he disbanded his warriors. Yet, something darker is rearing its head, and soon, Earthrealm and the realms beyond will need the help of Liu Kang's champions and some unexpected heroes. Especially when an old friend (and foe) comes back to say hello~

Characters: Kenshi, Johnny Cage, Jax, Raiden, Kung Lao, Fuji

Word Count: 9,652

Ships: Kenshi/Johnny Cage & Raiden/Kung Lao

Kenshi bursts through the fire exit door, leading him and Johnny to the back alleyway and away from public notice. Kenshi quickly dials Jax's number, muttering to himself for his partner to pick up the phone (and doing his best to ignore Johnny's constant questioning).

Finally, the familiar voice of Briggs on the other line gives Kenshi a sliver of hope that they might be able to escape this soon.

"Kenshi! Where the hell are you? I told you we'd meet 5 minutes ago; what's holding you up?"

"Jackson, we got company and need to get to China. How long for you to get to my location?" Kenshi hurriedly says as he pulls Johnny with him down the alleyway.

"Company? What kind of 'company'?"

"The kind that looks pale and dead."

"And breaks into other peoples' private property!" Johnny unceremoniously chimes in, getting a hissing scold from Kenshi in response.

"Hold up, do you have someone with you, Kenshi?"

"I don't have time to explain! Just meet me at the garage near the Starbucks on 114th Street!" Kenshi then disconnects the call, not wanting Johnny or Jax to further interact; even though it's going to become inevitable soon.

"Whoa there, You still gotta tell me what this is all about too!" Johnny insisted as he caught up with Kenshi. "Who was that guy, and what's going on?"

"Once we randevu with my associate, then we'll talk."

"And this 'associate' fellow is?"

"I'm more concerned about getting out of here than answering questions right now, Johnny."

Kenshi feels Johnny grab his wrist and force the swordsman to face him. "Johnathan now's not-"

"Then make time, Kenshi! At least give me the SparkNotes version of what's going on!" Johnny growls as he tightens his grip around Kenshi's wrist.

Kenshi feels his spine tingle, hearing Johnny growl his name. While he does make a mental note of that (for later), he readjusts his thinking back to the matter at hand. Kenshi never really came forward with his line of work with Johnny; he wasn't sure if he could trust the Hollywood actor to keep his mouth shut and not brag about dating an FBI agent.

The swordsman sighs, finally relenting to Johnny's request, "A month ago, when I was in Japan, I was tracking down a notorious gang known as the Jeido taigā bando, Jade Tiger Band in English. I was helping my associate track them down because he suspected that they were associated with…A far more dangerous crime organization."

"Let me guess, you pissed off the wrong guy, and now they're sending their goons to come after you, right?" Johnny huffs, acting as though he's heard this story before.

"Not really. To keep the story short, what I found when I discovered their base of operations was individuals who I can only classify as…Undead…And they're planning on expanding their ranks by digging up more bodies or adding to the body count for them to raise."

Johnny gives Kenshi a look, letting go of his wrist and crossing his arms. "Ok, so we're dealing with some Night of the Living Dead invasion-type shit? Does Bruce Kang know about this?"

"Not yet. Contacting Liu Kang gets difficult every day that passes, even with Geras serving as his line operator. I was going to report my findings to my associate-"

"It's ok, you can call him Jackson." Johnny was already getting slightly annoyed by the avoidance of names here.

If Kenshi still had eyes, he'd roll them to the back of his skull, "I need to get to him and report what I discovered. Afterwards, I'm going to Liu Kang personally."

"Why not go to Liu right now? A possible zombie invasion sounds like something that should be brought to his attention as soon as possible."

"I still have my obligations to my work, Johnny." Kenshi sighs.

"Work that you still haven't explained to me, Kenshi."

"Later. Let's just meet Jackson before that body catches up with us."

"A little late for that," Johnny looks down the alleyway in the direction of the fire exit they escaped from.

Standing at the far end of the alleyway, the undead creature they fought earlier and sent 200 ft back to the lobby glares their red eyes at the pair.

"Fuck me," Kenshi says, exasperated.

Almost on cue, the undead creature rushes at the duo, Johnny and Kenshi getting into a fighting stance. Once the creature was halfway to their position, Johnny was the first to meet them and threw a punch at them. Kenshi draws out Sento and helps Johnny, partaking in the back and forth between them and the monster.

The creature manages to grab at Johnny, clutching his throat in a death grip, before throwing him at Kenshi. Had they been the rivals they were before, Kenshi would've let Johnny fall. And perhaps he should've let Johnny fall, for his attempt to catch Johnny stumbles him in return. The undead creature lunges for Kenshi, their sharp claws countered thanks to Sento's protection. Kenshi quickly gets Johnny back on his feet and grabs the floating hilt of his sword, reengaging with the monster as he puts distance between them and Johnny, giving the actor a moment to recover.

The sounds of steel and hardened claws clashing together fill the air as Kenshi fights off the undead creature. Kenshi misses the monster feinting him, screaming when he feels its claws dig deep into his skin as it slashes him across his midsection. Johnny comes up behind the undead creature, round house kicking them in the head and sending them to the ground.

"Kenshi!" Johnny attempts to help the wounded Kenshi, only to feel an arm wrap around their neck, stopping him in his tracks.

Johnny grunts as he tries to prevent the undead creature from choking him out-or worse-snapping his neck. The creature's breath can be felt on the side of his face as they darkly chuckle, "You can join your crippled friend with our family if you're that desperate to join him."

Johnny can feel his consciousness slipping, the bastard's grip on him too powerful for him to overcome. Before going under, Johnny's ears ring as he hears the creature holler in pain. In his peripherals, Johnny can see the mystical blade of Sento breaching through the monster's head, right where their left eyeball resided. Johnny uses this time to escape, coughing as he recovers.

Kenshi removes Sento from the creature's head, leaving a slitted hole where the katana once resided. Gathering his strength and swift movements, Kenshi goes for the head again, scalping the creature before jabbing Sento into its brain, the steel running through the organ and the rest of its body before settling within the undead monstrosity's ribcage. Finally, their current nightmare ends as the creature goes limp once again. Removing Sento, Kenshi lets the body flop to the ground, stepping his foot on their neck and ready to behead the monster if it so much as moved another inch.

…It doesn't move.

Kenshi hisses as his still bleeding wound catches up with him, the adrenaline coming down. He leans against the stonewalls that make up the alleyway, breathing heavily as he continues to lose blood.

"Kenshi. Whoa, easy there, I got ya!" Johnny steps to Kenshi's side, holding him up and allowing Kenshi to put his weight on him. Johnny makes a hissing whistle sound as he helps Kenshi trudge through the alleyway, "They cut ya up pretty good. You think you'll make it to that Starbucks?"

"I'll be," Kenshi huffs between words, "I'll be fine."

"Yeah, you sound 'fine,'" Johnny half-heartedly jests as they get closer to reaching the main streets. Which only worries Johnny further. With an injured Kenshi, his stardom, and it's still light outside, there will be eyes on them, whether they like it or not. "Ok, Kenshi, Imma need you to pick up your feet once we get out there. The sooner we get to your associate, the better."

Getting into the crowd, the pair make their way through the moving bodies, trying to give as little reason for anyone to take notice of them. Every wayward glance gave Johnny a spike of anxiety as he prayed and hoped that no one would immediately recognize him, even with his rise to popularity as a director. Before they both knew it, they reached their destination. Johnny glanced around, looking for anyone who might be expecting someone.

"Come on, where are they? Hey, Kenshi, what does this Jackson guy look like?"

"Don't need to look far, Mr. Cage."

Johnny twists his head, only to be faced by a tall, perhaps a couple cm off Johnny), dark-skinned individual. "You must be Jackson, right?"

"Right. What happened to him?" Jackson nodded over to Kenshi as he guided them to his vehicle. "Place him in the back; I got a first aid kit he can use."

"We had some company slow us down," Johnny opens the back car door, helping Kenshi into the car before helping himself to riding shotgun.

Kenshi didn't need to ask where Jackson kept his first aid kit, always in a hidden compartment inside the middle seat. He takes out all the necessary items to thread himself back together, though the work was slightly sloppy thanks to the moving vehicle.

"So, when were you going to tell me you were close to a Hollywood star?"

"What? So that you can pester me for an autograph?" Kenshi hisses as he runs the needle and thread through his skin.

"Aw, Kenshi. To deprive a fan of mine a chance to have a personal trinket with my name on it from yours truly is the most heinous thing of you to do," Johnny voiced.

"And I'm certain there's a special place in Hell for me for that." Kenshi jests back with Johnny before adjusting his mind to the reason he needed to speak with Jackson to begin with. "I found the Jade Tiger Band. They were all dead when I discovered where they were headquartered."

"Dead? All of them?" Jackson's eyebrows raise as he occasionally glances at Kenshi's reflection in the rearview mirror.

"All that remained of them was bodies. But…There are more concerning things about this situation. I saw the cargo with the Black Dragon's symbol printed on them, so they were in legion with the organization. How deep, I don't know. But while there, when I discovered the bodies, the building was almost repurposed in a…cult-like fashion. I saw, firsthand, bodies being given life, under the control of some puppet master."

If it wasn't for the fact that Jackson not only worked for the FBI but also the OIA, Kenshi's certain that everything that he just said would have him laughed out of the vehicle or into a mental institute. There's a moment of silence as Jackson takes a moment to process what Kenshi relayed.

"This job just gets stranger and stranger. Do you think the Black Dragon is behind these…Bodies coming back from the dead?"

"I don't think so, Jax. The attire these individuals wore was not Black Dragon material. Then again, the Black Dragons are not known for being uniformed. But the many times we tailed them, sorcery was never on their resume." Kenshi groans his final sentence as he starts wrapping himself up in cloth and medical alcohol.

"Do you think that sorcerer fella might be involved?" Jax questions.

"Shang Tsung?" Johnny chimes in.

"You know him?" Jax gives Johnny a quick look.

"Oh, not only do I know him, but Kenshi and I beat that bastard into prison and saved the world from a universe collapse. How else do you think I got the inspiration for MORTAL KOMBAT: CHAMPIONS OF TIME?"

Thanks to the fact that they stopped at a long red light, Jackson couldn't help but look at Johnny & Kenshi in disbelief. This isn't the first time Jax has had this revelation given to him, how else would the Outworld Investigation Agency exist if not for him?

"You know, if it weren't for Kenshi breaking the news to me before about your involvement in this whole…Circus fuckery, I wouldn't have believed that YOU, Mr. Cage, experienced this crazy shit first hand."

"Please, you can call me Johnny. No need for formalities."

"Back to the matter at hand," Kenshi interjects. "I believe that Shang Tsung might be behind this entire operation. I don't think he's working closely with the Black Dragon, but I wouldn't be surprised if they somehow got into contact with one another."

"And what makes you think that Shang Tsung might be involved?" Johnny takes his turn to look in the backseat where Kenshi sat.

"The magic used to bring these creatures back looked similar to how Shang utilizes his own sorcery. That, and it was green. And aside from Quan Chi, I don't know anyone else whose magic gives off a green color." Kenshi explains.

"Wait, who's Quan-"

"I'll tell you about him later, Jax." Kenshi interrupts. "Right now, there's a possible chance that Shang Tsung is causing dead people to come back from the grave, and the Black Dragon is possibly involved."

"Well, we can't work on chances and possibilities. If they're truly operating together, we're going to need concrete proof. People coming back from the dead might not be enough to get the higher-ups to look deeper into this, especially since they're still wrapping their heads around what is and is not possible with these supernatural occurrences." said Jax.

At this point, they arrived at a discreet enough motel, Jax pulling the vehicle into an available parking space under a shaded tree.

"I know, But maybe this will be enough to prove my suspicions. The Jeido Taigā may have been compromised and most of their members dead, but I was able to pinpoint where their next point of operation may be. Got it off a dying Taigā and convinced them I was one of them. They're right in our front yard, hoping to make a transaction somewhere in San Jose."

"Well, what a coincidence, because our inside gal reported to us not too long ago about a trade happening in San Jose, right in an abandoned warehouse," Jax smirks as he trains his eyes back at Kenshi through the rearview mirror.

"Great! Then all we gotta do is bust the bad guys, kick Shang Tsungs ass, and the day is saved!" Johnny rubs his hands in anticipation.

“Um, I’m sorry, ‘we’?” Jax gives Johnny a look.

“Johnny, can we talk for a minute?” Kenshi gives Johnny’s shoulder a firm squeeze before exiting the car, hissing in pain as his freshly patched-up wounds send signals of pain to him.

“Oh, boy, here we go,” Johnny mumbles, exiting the car with Kenshi.

Jax follows suit, closing the driver's door. “I already got us a room, when you need to sit it out for a minute,” Jax gestures to Kenshi and where his wound was, “We’re in room 118.”

Kenshi nods as he walks closer to the tree that provided them shade from the beaming sun above. He crosses his arms, looking directly in the direction where Johnny is.

“Ok, what did I do?”

“Nothing, Johnny.”

“Ok, but you’re giving me your ‘serious Kenshi’ face. You look like this, right now,” in which Johnny gives Kenshi an overly exaggerated pouty look.

Unfortunately, for Johnny, Kenshi wasn’t in the mood to entertain the actor. “You’re not coming with us.”

“What? Why not? Didn’t you just say that Shang Tsung could be behind this weird Undead invasion thing? That silver-tongued bastard is my business too, Kenshi.”

“I said no, Johnny.”

“Is this because I renounced my standing as one of Earthrealm's protectors?”

“No, Johnny, I-”

“Because if it is, I now renounce my renouncement as one of Earthrealm's protectors. I can help Kenshi, anything involving Shang Tsung is bad news, and I’d be damned if-”

“This isn’t about that, it’s something completely different.” Kenshi can already feel his annoyance with Cage brewing.

“How different is this? Didn’t Liu Kang set you up with this job?”

“No, he didn’t. Why do you think I need to get to China?”

“Wait, then what’s this all about if Liu Kang doesn’t know about this?” Johnny looks at Kenshi confused.

At this point, Kenshi just had enough. He prays to whoever would listen that Johnny wouldn’t make such a fuss about this and pulls his boyfriend closer. Then and there, Kenshi finally came forward about his association with the FBI and OIA (Outer World Investigation Agency) to Johnny. He still left some details out, only giving the essentials of what his job entailed. Johnny looks at Kenshi amazed before a huge smile crosses his face.

“Well, I’ll be damned! I didn’t know I had 007 as a boyfriend as well.”

“Johnathan, this is serious!”

“Kenshi, don’t worry! I’m not going to tell, I’m not that irresponsible. Even I have secrets I prefer others didn’t know too. Plus, I’m an actor, my secrets are all I have now.” Johnny gives Kenshi a reassuring peck on the cheek to prove his loyalty.

“I mean it, Cage.” Kenshi huffs, though the bubbling tension does soothe inside him.

“Cross my heart, hope to die, you can stick Sento in my eye if I so much as even BREATHE about you being FBI.” Johnny places one final reassuring kiss, this time on Kenshi’s temple, before squeezing the swordsman closer to him.

As stern as Kenshi tries to make himself look, he can’t help but twitch a smile here and there. Johnny always knew how to break his tough guy visage.

“So, now that the beans have been spilled, that means I can help, ri-”

Immediately, Kenshi frowns again, “No.”

“Wha-come on!” Johnny complains, his tone a bit too loud.

“Even if I wanted to bring you along, your face will get us into trouble. You’re an actor for crying out loud, and a recognizable one too. And I can’t just thrust you into my job. By all standards, you’re a civilian and not authorized to meddle in FBI business, doesn’t matter if you fought creatures from Outworld or in Orderrealm. I can’t just bring you along, Johnathan.”

Johnny opens and closes his mouth as if to protest further, but he can only groan. “Ok, fine, but if Shang Tsung is really behind this, hell, a possible zombie apocalypse should be enough to warrant Liu Kang’s attention.”

“I know, Cage. That’s why I’m-”

“No, no, no. That’s why I’M going to China.”

It was now Kenshi’s turn to be speechless. “Johnny…No, no, I don’t want you involved.”

“Kenshi, I’m gonna level with you now. This is me leveling with you. I can handle myself. We went through hell and back, fighting impossible creatures and beating up scary bad guys. You KNOW I can fight. You KNOW I can handle this. If you’re truly some secret agent, then you need to be with your people. The longer Liu Kang is out of the loop, the less prepared our other allies will be. Not only that, but your insight will prove useful to these peeps who know next to nothing about that cunty sorcerer. Let me go in your place, I’ll let Liu Kang know.”

Kenshi wants to argue, but a part of himself can’t really dispute Johnny’s claims. Kenshi can’t be in two places at once, and if Johnny is going to be this persistent in helping, he might as well let him run as a messenger boy…The message, however, Kenshi is unsure if he wants to share it.

Kenshi gives Johnny the silent treatment, not responding to Johnny trying to get a word out of the swordsman. Kenshi rummages through his head about how he can break the news to Johnny, and how much he’s willing to give up to the actor. Before long, Kenshi ultimately decides that the truth is a better alternative. Because, eventually, they’re all going to know.

“Ok…Go to China, find the Academy, and tell Liu Kang what you know.”

Johnny nods, heavily resisting the urge to fist-pump the air in victory like a child. “I will. I can book a flight as soon as today and get a ticket to Shanghai-”

“You’ll need a ticket to Guangzhou,” Kenshi corrected.

“Right, Guangzhou. I’ll get the ticket, fly out of here, and I’ll get Liu Kang to get off his ass and help us out. Who knows, this might be another bastard from another timeline trying to conquer ours for all we care.”

“…I don’t think that’s the case,” Kenshi mumbled, but Johnny still heard what he said.

“Why do you say that?”

“…Because I saw Kung Lao…Our Kung Lao.”

If Johnny wasn’t serious then, the revelation about Kung Lao silences Johnny. He keeps searching Kenshi’s face as if to see if the blind swordsman was joking or pulling some cruel prank. And it frightens him that he finds none in Kenshi.

“What do you mean you saw Kung Lao? Like, you saw his body just walking about?”

“Yes.”

“Yes!?! That’s all you have to say about that?” Johnny couldn’t hold in his frustration and fear.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to say about that! Kung Lao’s body is walking around somewhere out there. That’s why I wanted to reach Liu Kang after reporting back to Jax.”

“I mean,” Johnny pinches the bridge of his nose as he paces in place, “Did you at least check his grave? You know, to see if it was tampered with?”

“I can’t. And you know why I can’t”

When Liu Kang returned Raiden back to Fengjian, while he didn’t explicitly say that they were forbidden from seeing their amnesiac friend, it was an unspoken rule amongst those who knew what happened that they shouldn’t meet with Raiden anymore. Liu Kang clearly wanted Raiden disassociated from everything that they were, and continued association could rip open old wounds best left to the natural healing forces of time.

Johnny nods in mutual understanding before letting out a shaky sigh. "Ok, then this is big time urgent. I'll get to Liu as fast as possible."

"I'll drive you to the nearest airport once you have your ticket," Kenshi says. "...And don't bother Raiden, Johnny."

"I know...I know," Johnny mutters, rubbing the back of his head. "I guess this is the part where we..."

"Yeah...I actually need someplace to lay down anyways," Kenshi purposefully leans against Johnny, forcing the actor to support his weight as they walk toward their motel room.

In the secrecy of their motel room, Kenshi further briefed Jax on what he learned tracking down the Jade Tiger Band while Johnny booked his flight. Of course, because he was trying to leave TODAY, the moment Johnny got a ticket, they had to rush to get him to the airport. Navigating the building was a nightmare; it was filled to the brim with an overly anxious crowd trying to get their flight and woefully understaffed. In a small way, it made Kenshi somewhat appreciative that Johnny decided to take his place to inform Liu Kang rather than going himself.

As they both wait at the gate, Kenshi digs in his pocket and hands Johnny a keychain in the shape of a Japanese symbol, "Here. Got this for you while I was away." In all honesty, Kenshi had gotten the item a year ago, but he had completely forgotten that he still had it in his pants. Better now than never, he supposes.

Johnny gasps as he takes the trinket, fiddling with it around his fingers, "Sick!" Johnny examines the keychain further, the gears turning in his head for a moment. "運...That means Luck, right?"

Kenshi couldn't help but smile, "You've been paying attention, I see."

"Aw, don't be too proud of me yet, babe. I've been lacking on my Japanese, thanks to the meetings I've been going to about my next upcoming movie. Which is going to be put on a definite hold if this is as bad as you make it out to be." Johnny leans closer to the swordsman, resting his head on his shoulder.

"How about this, try saying a full sentence in Japanese for me," Kenshi shifts his head to lightly rest on Johnny's while giving an inkling of a teasing message to him.

The actor is quiet for a moment before responding to Kenshi's subtle dare. "At least I'll have a good idea of what you are saying while you're fucking my brains out against the headboard."

Kenshi chokes on nothing as he looked at Johnny embarrassed. "Johnathan!"

"Pretty good, huh?" Johnny snickers.

"W-well, at least you can make out perfect sentences, I suppose."

"Like I said, don't go congratulating me just yet. Second I have another vay-cay in Japan, I'll still be acting like a fish out of water. Best I can do is read the language now."

"That's still an improvement. I'm proud of you nonetheless," Kenshi gives Johnny a kiss on the head.

The moment is ruined when Johnny takes a peek at his watch and curses under his breath. "My flight is going to take off in a moment." Johnny stands to his feet, leaning down to take any luggage, only to remember that he barely packed anything with him; just the clothes off his back. It's not like they could go back to the apartment after what happened with that Undead guy.

"I'll, um, text or call ya once I'm in China." Johnny gives Kenshi a reassuring glance.

Kenshi stands with Johnny and gives him a firm grip on his shoulder, "Be careful out there."

Johnny would've quipped about how others should be careful around HIM, but with the startling news about Kung Lao's return and the whole Undead business, Johnny holds his tongue. Instead, he softly takes Kenshi's gripping hand and squeezes it. "I will."

The pair part ways, Kenshi watching Johnny board his plane and taking off before heading out of the airport. Now to see if Shang Tsung and the Black Dragon are truly shaking hands & making friends.

~A Week Later~

He's going insane.

Ever since he left Kung Lao's house, Raiden could not shake the unnerving feeling that he was being watched. Everywhere he went, Raiden felt that there were eyes on him, even in the safety of his own home. Raiden had become more restless; he could barely keep his eyes open as he sat at the family dinner table. He doesn't even hear his mother calling for him until she finally touches his shoulder.

Raiden nearly jumped out of his skin as he snapped his head toward his mother, "Y-yes?"

His mother doesn't say anything, the concern on her face clearly apparent of what she wants to say. Raiden tries to resist the urge to rub his eyes, instead opting to just blinking his tiredness away. "Um, was-was there something you needed, mom?"

"...You need rest, dear..."

Any other day, Raiden would downplay those concerns. No, he's not tired. No, he's just fine. No, he's feeling alright. But Raiden doesn't argue this point with his mother. A pang of building guilt fills Raiden as he simply nods, removing himself from the table and walking back to his room. Raiden shuts the door behind him as he just sits on his bed, face in his palms as he wallows in his self-pity.

Ever since he left Kung Lao's house, Raiden has been getting worse. He wasn't getting sleep, he felt as though someone was watching him, he'd been hearing voices, his dreams had been waking him up in the middle of the night, frightened and sweating, and he was losing further grip on his powers. It's almost as if he's been cursed after entering Kung Lao's house. And while Raiden doesn't want to entertain that idea, he can't shake the feeling that he is. Every shadow Raiden was weary of. A soft breeze sends shivers down his spine as his mind believes someone was talking to him. The thunder wielder dreaded the comfort of his own bed, for he would have to anticipate a horribly realistic nightmare or stay awake, watching every dark corner and staring out his window; waiting for something or someone to come for him, until his body finally forces him to sleep.

Raiden slides his hands off his tired face as he glances at his bedroom window. It was early in the morning, too early for anyone to still be asleep, lest they intend to sleep in. Raiden knows he should rest his fatigued body; going to work or doing anything while in this state will be a detriment to everyone and himself. But his pride in contributing to his community nagged at him at his very core. He shouldn't be wasting his time in bed, regardless of how tired he was. In a huff, Raiden readjusted himself, getting ready to leave the house. But he stops when he reaches for his bedroom door. His parents and sister won't let him vacate the house in the condition he's in.

Raiden never had to sneak out of the house in his life, ever. That was always a Kung Lao thing. He remembers his best friend often knocking on his window to be let in like a misplaced puppy. Raiden almost wants to smile as he remembers how every time Lao would come around unannounced, it would always give Raiden a heart attack. Raiden backs away from his bedroom door, inching toward his window and opening it up so that he may exit through there. Raiden's careful to avoid the various other openings of his house that could expose him before making his way over to the Farm so that he may put in some work for the day. Of course, after he picks up an energy drink from the closest convenience store.

But even with a boost in vigor, it would not stop the ongoing protest Raiden's body would give him about his waning spirit. All throughout the day, Raiden was getting slower and slower, and he was constantly shaken awake by his co-workers. Raiden was able to make it through the morning and mid-afternoon of working, and the second he had that moment of brevity, he found the nearest tree to rest his head and knocked himself out.

By the time Raiden had woken up, it was already late in the evening. Raiden curses under his breath, pulling out his phone as he realizes that the alarm he set for himself failed to wake him up. It was already inching dangerously close to 6 at night, and his family most likely knew that he was out of the house by now. Raiden quickly gathered himself, hoping to make it home before they attempted to knock on his door to call him down for dinner.

The nightlife of Fengjian is usually quiet, save for the few who decide to have a night out drinking to celebrate small pleasures, but there are few places to drink lest you are doing so at one's residency or at the teahouse. Yet despite this, tonight was exceptionally quiet aside from the buzzing and chirping sounds of nocturnal insects. Raiden power walked through the empty streets, only to slow down considerably. Raiden slowly turns his head, trying to seemingly appear as though he’s just taking in his surroundings or deciding his next step. He cranes his head just enough to get the peripheral sighting of the roofs, and he feels his spine shiver; someone was watching him from above. He couldn’t see WHO or WHAT, but he saw a shadowed figure.

Raiden continues his walk, but he makes the conscious choice to go in the opposite direction of his house. He’s careful to not give away that he’s aware he’s being followed, attuning his ears sharply to the subtle movements of his stalker. Raiden searched his mind rapidly as he sought for a quick getaway. Because his stalker is watching him from above, anywhere he went, they would see. Raiden hesitated at the idea of having to lash out at the one trailing him, not wanting to place permanent harm or, better yet, accidentally killing them. But then again, as insane as stalking someone may be, no one would be crazy enough to tail behind someone via rooftops.

Fengjian wasn’t busy once night fell, everyone was in their homes enjoying the final moments of the day. Raiden couldn’t blend into a crowd or seek someone out in hopes of asking for their protection. Ultimately, Raiden decides that utilizing his powers would be the better alternative. Raiden stops in his tracks, playing off the illusion that he’s determining where he should go. Raiden notices a puddle spill that reflected the night sky above and the gibbous moon that shone in the heavens. Closely examining it with his eyes, he was able to get a slightly good look at where his stalker was positioned.

In one swift movement, Raiden spins on his heels and unleashes a rope of lightning toward his stalker. The individual seemed to have anticipated that Raiden would attempt an attack, but they were not fast enough to dodge his attack, quickly getting stunned by the lightning that wrapped itself around their waist. Mustering all the strength Raiden had, he pulled the person off the roof, crashing onto the ground while being electrocuted. Raiden releases his hold on this person and books it in the other direction, not taking a second more to interrogate or even get the face of the stalker. He dashes through tight alleyways, jumping over fences, and taking routes that would get him back on track to reaching home, before slamming himself against the side of a building. Raiden takes a moment to breathe, hoping that he had outran his stalker. Raiden almost wanted to slide off the wall and sit on the dirt below, but his blood ran cold when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps rapidly approaching him.

Without even thinking, Raiden hoofs it. Ducking into alleyways, hopping from fence to fence, taking shortcuts and passageways that he was highly familiar with, anything to get away from whoever was chasing him. However, Fengjian is no city or large town, and there weren't many opportunities for Raiden to shake this person off him. He considered flying away but flying required that he use his lightning to elevate him, which could cause unneeded damage and attention. Just like before, Raiden finds himself in a situation where he will have to throw fists.

Raiden purposefully "traps" himself, placing himself in a "tight space" but just enough opportunity for Raiden to fly or teleport away should he need to. He turns on his heels, facing whoever's chasing him as electricity encompasses him. "Come any closer, and I will use lethal force!" Raiden threatens, his eyes and hair glowing white.

The person following him was shrouded in shadows, the distance and darkness of the night concealing their appearance from Raiden. They stop in their tracks at the other end of the open passageway, blocking Raiden's "only" escape. All Raiden could ascertain about his stalker was that they had…Glowing red eyes…That's not natural. Even more unsettling are the dimly lit cracks in this individual's visible skin; their arms lined with red scars. The person stares at Raiden before walking closer to the thunder wielder. Raiden empowers himself with the energies of the amulet infused to his person, static filling the air as he creates an aura of electricity.

"I said, stay back!" Raiden growls, his hair and eyes now glowing brighter than before.

"You really don't remember me, Raiden?"

…That voice…

Raiden's face softens a little, his defensive stance faltering. He examines the person approaching him, still unable to fully discern who it was that was talking to him. But that voice, it sounds eerily familiar. Raiden watched as the individual stepped closer to him. And as they approached, Raiden was able to pick off distinct features about them. The heart-shaped face, the hat, the dimples as they smile…The piercings…

The static bouncing around Raiden provides a little extra light, along with the shining moon above. And when this person stops their gait in front of Raiden (a safe distance from his electrifying aura), it's almost as if the world had stopped around them. Raiden loses the stance he had before, standing straight, and his expression changes into a state of unbelievable shock. The static slowly disperses as Raiden loses the need to fight.

"…Lao…"

That's all Raiden could utter.

Kung Lao's smile wides upon Raiden's soft comment, his skin crawling as he hears his boyfriend's lips speak his name. "Hello, Raiden. Missed me?"

His smug grin, his cocky mannerisms, his voice…Raiden almost wants to believe that he's still dreaming. "…You…They-I…They told me you were-"

"Dead?" Kung Lao interrupts Raiden, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"…Yes…" Once again, all Raiden could say were simple words and maybe scattered sentences if his brain could cooperate with him.

Kung Lao laughs, but it's strained, as though he has a terribly sore throat. "Well, do I look dead to you?"

"…They told me…" Raiden mutters to himself.

Kung Lao dares to step closer, and Raiden backs away from his returned friend, pinning himself against the wall behind him. Kung Lao notices this, his face growing sinister while still keeping that smile plastered on his face.

"Come now, Raiden. No hug? A welcome home kiss?"

Raiden remains stuck with his back against the wall, like a deer in headlights. This shouldn't be possible. They said Kung Lao was dead! He visited his gravestone! His fucking gravestone!! His house was abandoned! Everyone in Fengjian KNOWS that Kung Lao was deceased! Every fiber of his being was screaming how something wasn't right with this scenario. That he should be running or fighting this imposter. His mind flips through every excuse in the book on how this isn't Kung Lao. That someone was impersonating Kung Lao just to antagonize him. Or that he was truly hallucinating, somehow seeing ghosts. As Raiden's brain continued to fry, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for water, Kung Lao was now face to face with his friend.

Lao frowns as though disappointed that Raiden hasn't done some expected action. "…Do you not remember me, Ray?" A hint of fear is sprinkled in his surprisingly saddened tone. Kung Lao lifts his hand slowly, reaching for Raiden's face until he was cupping his cheek.

Kung Lao was dead. He visited his grave-his abandoned house. His family told him how Kung Lao died-they have no reason to lie to him. Yet, when Lao touched him, when Raiden got to feel his…Cold hand…Gracing his face, Raiden melted under his touch. All his confusion and shock burned away. As though he finally found the missing piece to this jigsaw puzzle of a predicament. Raiden's eyes flutter shut, leaning into Kung Lao's hand. It felt right, even though Raiden couldn't fully place why that was the case.

"So you do remember," Kung Lao's smile slowly returns, his thumb rubbing Raiden's cheek.

Raiden opens his eyes, looking into Kung Lao's…They're red…His eyes were never red. His skin was deadly pale compared to the sun-beaten tan that he once had. The many angry cracks on his person warranted Raiden's attention as he brushed his fingers over the red lacerations and scars. His mind wonders of their origin. They were…Supposedly…Martial arts teachers. What could've possibly happened that would have caused these wounds? It was now Kung Lao's turn to lean into Raiden's touch, making subtle hums with each curious touch Raiden graced him. This probably would've been enough to recenter Raiden, but what grabs his attention is Kung Lao's neck. A glaring (and glowing) scar indicating that he was slashed in that area. His family has told him the cause of Lao's death; a clean cut to his neck due to an accident with some equipment that malfunctioned. Yet, when Raiden touches the old wound, when he stares at Lao's neck, Raiden cannot help but feel there is a hidden truth hiding behind the scar.

"…Raiden…"

The thunder wielder shoots his eyes up, looking at Kung Lao. Did he say something? From the looks of it, Kung Lao was still enraptured by Raiden's touch, continuously leaning into him like a touch-starved cat. The voice surely didn't sound like Lao either. Another mystery for another day, it seems.

Kung Lao draws a hum from his damaged throat as he flutters his eyes open, "I've missed this. We've been separated for so long, I've forgotten how good it feels to be near you again. To feel you again."

The pair meet eye to eye again, lost in each other as foreign feelings resurface again. Raiden has always viewed their relationship as just platonic. That's how its always been. They grew up together, fought together, teased and jested for as long as he could remember. Raiden likes to believe that Kung Lao may have felt the same, that there was nothing more to their friendship than that.

Yet, when he looks at Kung Lao, his heart skips a beat. He can feel his skin tingle, the innate desire to be closer to Kung Lao than they were right now. He wanted to hug him until their bodies melded into one, to run his hands through his half-buzzed hair until it was in complete disrepair. Raiden wanted to intertwine his hands into Lao's, clutching him tight so that they may never be separated again; his eyes would never leave Lao's being if he could help it. And a part of Raiden wanted to explain these feelings away as just being ecstatic seeing Lao again, someone he has long believed was dead. Yet, Raiden knew deep down there was something more to this than shared amity.

And Lao would be the first to confirm this fact to Raiden. Kung Lao's eyes kept glancing at Raiden's lips, still soft and plump despite the horrors they both experienced. He slowly closed the (albeit already small) gap that separated them, planting a tender kiss on Raiden. Under any other circumstances, Raiden would've made a startled noise. This is the first time in Raiden's known memory that Kung Lao kissed him with such care and passion. Yet, whether or not this was their first kiss was irrelevant to Raiden. This felt familiar, standard, as if he should've already known to accept such an exchange from Kung Lao. Raiden finds himself giving into the motions, his hands snaking over Kung Lao's shoulders as he uses him to keep himself up and to further lock them in this moment.

Raiden isn't sure what spurred Kung Lao on, but a muffled growl was heard from the other man, and Raiden finally emits that startled noise when he feels Lao's hands move from his waist to his ass. The pair separate, Kung Lao being the one out of breath despite the kiss not being that deep or filthy (for lack of better words). However, Kung Lao wasn't as red in the cheeks as Raiden was. He whimpers as Kung Lao's grip tightens, and he presses his body closer to the thunder wielder.

"L-Lao-mph!"

Raiden didn't get a chance to say anything else, for Kung Lao was back on his lips again, eagerly assaulting his lips, trying to breach into Raiden's mouth. Raiden tries to keep up with Lao, reciprocating as much as he could with his limited experience. Yet, when Kung Lao started sucking and biting his lower lips, that's where Raiden left himself vulnerable.

"L-Lao!" Raiden gasped, clinging onto Kung Lao as his friend grew increasingly ravenous.

The moment Raiden opened his mouth, Kung Lao deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue into Raiden's mouth; familiar territory for the Shaolin Monk, new grounds for the thunder wielder. Raiden moans into the kiss, his body feeling weighted down and his vision going blurry from the new sensation. The feeling of Kung Lao exploring his mouth, battling his submissive tongue with his own, his hands now possessively grabbing at his ass. Raiden gave into Kung Lao's ministrations, his body slowly growing limp as he allowed his friend to do whatever he pleased. He was being consumed, almost fitting considering that his friend did come back from the dead. He was the first body that Kung Lao found upon his resurface, and he was going to devour Raiden, body and soul. And Raiden would let him if Kung Lao demanded it.

Raiden was increasingly losing air, having become breathless from Kung Lao's need to keep his lips on Raidens'. Slowly, Raiden was falling out of Kung Lao's spell on him, his desire to breathe becoming more of a voice of reason. Raiden starts pulling on Lao's clothes, which were surprisingly more like armor than typical clothing. He actually had to grasp at Kung Lao's hair and rip him off, a trail of saliva bridged between them. Raiden was now the one breathless, cheeks still red as cherries, eyes needing a moment to refocus. Hell, he actually had to rewire his brain so that he could focus on the matter at hand. Kung Lao makes another growl upon being separated from Raiden, though this one was more…Angry than lustful. Kung Lao tries to go in for another kiss, his hands now gripping at Raiden's clothes, as if wanting to remove them, or tear them off for that matter.

"Lao, Lao, wait, stop!" Raiden prevents Kung Lao from placing another suffocating kiss on him, making his tone clear that he wanted no more (for now, that is). Raiden would have to make his point even more clear as he firmly separates himself from Kung Lao, stopping Lao from even tearing off his clothes.

"How are you alive? You're supposed to be dead. They told me you died," Raiden quickly puts his concerns out there for Kung Lao to process.

This actually seems to have centered Kung Lao. His eyes, dark with anger, lust, and intent, dissolve into realization, and his features soften just a little. "…Right…What did 'they' tell you, hm? How did my death go down in history?"

Quite bold of him to phrase it like that. Then again, Raiden always knew that Kung Lao had an ego about him. Raiden ponders how he should break the news to him, unsure how much he can tell Kung Lao, before finally deciding that the truth would be better than concealing any information.

"You…You died because some equipment back in the U.S. malfunctioned…It got you in…" Raiden does his best to not look at Kung Lao's neck, keeping his eyes straight at Lao's eyes. "…The cause of death was a deep laceration to the neck…You died before you could make it to the hospital…That's…That's what my folks told me."

Kung Lao looked at Raiden in a subtle display of shock. If there was a chair, Raiden was sure Kung Lao would need it. Kung Lao's eyes slowly darted this way and that as if he were in deep thought, processing what he had learned.

Then he started…Smiling…Then he started laughing.

"So that hellish witch was right after all," Kung Lao quietly seethed, his hands balling into tight fists.

Raiden wasn't able to hear him, but he could imagine that this was…Much for Lao. "…Lao, I…This is probably a lot to take in, but there was a tombstone and funeral for you. Everyone in Fengjian thought you were dead. I thought you were-"

"Of course, you believed me dead! You were there to see it!" Kung Lao snaps at Raiden, his eyes glowing an angry red. "I died in your arms! The last thing I felt was you shaking my body while I was bleeding out on the dirt! AND YOU DID NOTHING! NOTHING BUT CRY LIKE THE WEAK COCKSUCKER YOU ARE!"

The last phrase caught Raiden off guard. Understandably, Kung Lao is confused and upset; this is a lot for him to take in. But that final line…That was…Unnecessary. Raiden pushes it to the side, building his sympathy as he responds calmly.

"I…I don't remember exactly what happened, Lao. It…It probably happened so fast. But, you're here now, and we can…We can help each other. My parents and Fuji would be happy to see you again. You can come with me back-"

"SHUT UP!"

Suddenly, Kung Lao's fist slams against the walled surface behind Raiden, dangerously close to Raiden's skull, as the wall behind Raiden makes a fist-sized crater from the force of Lao's punch. At this point, this truly scared Raiden, silencing the thunder wielder as he felt a pocket of uneasiness build within.

"I don't want your sympathy OR your useless offerings! Not when you left me to die because you were too weak-willed to save me! AFTER ALL I SACRIFICED FOR YOU! AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, I REMAINED IN YOUR SHADOW, 'CHAMPION OF EARTHREALM'! I PLAYED MY PART, I SUPPORTED YOU, AND WHAT DID I GET IN RETURN? A BIG, FUCK-OFF HORNED BASTARD SLASHING MY NECK, AND YOU DOING NOTHING TO SAVE ME IN RETURN! YOU DIDN'T EVEN KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE!! NO, YOU WANTED TO KEEP TO YOUR FOOLISH MORALS AND PLAY THE GOODY-TWO-SHOED ROLE! OR, BETTER YET, YOU WERE PROBABLY GLAD YOU WERE FINALLY RID OF ME! I GUESS SECOND BEST WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU, HUH?"

Each sentence was further pronounced as Kung Lao kept making violent movements, hitting the walled surfaces around them. Never hitting Raiden, but the intent was there. And each swing forced a flinch from the thunder wielder as he expected Kung Lao to lash out at him. Under any other circumstance, IF Kung Lao were to attempt to hit him, Raiden would be able to block a punch or kick. But…But this felt different. This wasn't the usual friendly sparring the pair once indulged in; these throws, should Kung Lao decide to, could seriously injure Raiden…Kill him even…

"Oh, yes, I bet you were soo happy that I was finally out of the picture, Mr. Champion," Kung Lao jeered venomously. "I bet you felt relief knowing you didn't have to play pretend just to keep me happy. No longer had to play the annoyingly humble Raiden part once I was gone now that you had Liu Kang's undivided attention. And I can tell, don't try lying to me. That kiss was half-assed, even by your standards. You kissed me as if you didn't even know me!"

"L-Lao-"

"Or maybe you already moved on, didn't you? Who's the 'lucky guy,' hm? Is it Johnny? Kenshi? Heaven forbid Kitana! But I bet you like those types, huh? You like being a submissive bitch to someone who's way out of your league? I bet you sucked that Fire God off to get the title of Champion! He would've picked you regardless if you won or lost! I always saw the way he looked at you. He wanted you, no one else. Maybe that's why he paid such close attention to you than anyone else. He was playing favorites!"

"Lao-"

"No, you shut the fuck up! You think you can wise-man your ass out of this, but no, not this time, not ever. You never deserved it, ANY OF IT! I was ALWAYS better than you, ALWAYS! I'M THE ONE WHO KNOCKED THE TEETH OUT OF YOUR SKULL, I DID! EVERYONE HAS ALWAYS TOLD ME THAT I WAS THE BETTER FIGHTER. THAT I'M FASTER THAN YOU, STRONGER THAN YOU, EVEN NOW! BUT NOOO! ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS FLASH A SMILE AND SNIFF EVERYONE'S ASS AND, SUDDENLY, EVERYONE IS ALL OVER YOU!"

The more Kung Lao angrily rambled to Raiden, the more the thunder wielder felt his chest tighten. He's speechless, has Lao always felt this way? Raiden has always known that Kung Lao was a better fighter than him (he was considered Madam Bo's favorite student for a reason). Since they were children, Kung Lao fought harder and was faster due to, what Raiden assumed, was his rough upbringing. Raiden has always looked up to Lao, exemplified him even. But he didn't know…He didn't know Kung Lao felt like…This.

The more Kung Lao poked at Raiden's expense, the more Raiden felt himself tearing apart at the seams. Raiden doesn't consider himself someone who would allow anyone to walk all over him, even if he has the demeanor of someone who would. Even with his humility and kindness, Raiden has and will clap back should anyone talk shit to him. The difference between him and Kung Lao (at least back then), Raiden knew how to kill people with kindness. But to hear such hatred from Kung Lao, hearing him degrade him for events that he doesn't even remember or believe have happened to them. The confusion, the agony, the anger, it was consuming Raiden all at once.

"I'm…Sorry…"

It was all Raiden could muster, his voice quivering as he tried to maintain his composure while also breaking under Lao's sudden anger. There were many things Raiden wished he could say in response to Kung Lao's accusations. He wanted to reassure Kung Lao that he was seeing things that weren't there, that he had never thought of Kung Lao as lesser than or ever desired to be rid of him. But there was a part of himself that wished to chastise him. If Kung Lao would hear him out, he'd know that he lost a good chunk of his memories, and it wasn't fair of Lao to start spitting out occurrences that supposedly happened between them that vexed him. If Kung Lao was of his right mind, instead of immediately blowing up in Raiden's face, he would know that Raiden has NEVER felt this way about their relationship. They were childhood friends! Why didn't he tell him this before? Why wait until after he had DIED and then came back to life? How long did Lao let this fester in this state?

"I'm…Sorry…" Raiden says again, quietly whimpering with his head facing the ground. Trying his best to further obscure the tears running down his face.

There's a moment of silence before Raiden feels Kung Lao's hand touch his cheek. Raiden flinches but allows Kung Lao to caress him, wanting to believe that there's still some measure of trust between them that hasn't been lost. He doesn't say it, Lao doesn't have to, but Raiden meets Kung Lao's eyes. It was almost as though Lao's outburst was a terrible hallucination, a figment of his seemingly broken mind. Kung Lao appeared remorseful, wiping away the tears Raiden shed with care, his lips tight with guilt as if he realized what he had done.

"No. I should be sorry for you, Raiden. He took so much from you, and it pains me that she-" Kung Lao stops himself, as though needing to correct himself on the spot, "It pains me that there's so much…Lost time between us."

So…He does know? Raiden did try to explain his condition to Kung Lao earlier, but the way he said what he did makes it seem as though he already knew. But Raiden's brain was practically fried from the emotional rollercoaster he was on since he met Kung Lao. And it doesn't help that Kung Lao occasionally kissed his round cheeks, causing the thunder wielder to blush and melt into Lao once again. He never knew that his best friend would have such an effect on him…And he kinda likes it, honestly.

"It's-it's getting late, Lao. My folks are probably wondering where I'm at." Raiden says in a hushed tone. "You should come with me. They would be so happy to see you again. Everyone missed you."

Kung Lao smiles, "I'd love to. But not now. I have other business to attend to."

"You just came back from the dead," Raiden chuckles. "What other 'business' must you attend to?"

Kung Lao doesn't answer him directly, instead, he giggles himself and thumbs at Raiden's cheek. "I'll come by another time. Don't tell them yet, keep it a secret. It'll be a surprise." Kung Lao winks.

Raiden nodded, and for a moment, he wanted to lean into Kung Lao, wishing for a final kiss. But, to Raiden's surprise, Kung Lao just disappeared. Right in front of him in a quick flash of light and small, wilted cherry blossom petals floated around him before descending to the ground.

"RAIDEN!"

Fuck. It was Fuji.

Raiden follows her voice, revealing himself to his younger sister. "Fuji, hi, um." Raiden honestly didn't think too far ahead when it came to actually coming forward to his sister.

"Raiden! Where the hell were you! You were supposed to be in bed, at home!" Fuji rushes towards her brother, pulling at his ear as if she were his mother.

"Agh, ow, ow, Fuji, stop!" Raiden strains in pain as he pulls her off him. "I'm sorry that I worried you-"

"Fucking hell, Raiden, you gave us all a heart attack! We thought the worst!"

Fuji continues to scold Raiden, and he quietly lets his sister air out her worries. Raiden reassuringly pats her head, smiling apologetically, "I'm sorry I snuck out of the house. I just-I didn't feel…I missed too many days of work; I didn't want to skip another day."

Fuji sighs, "I get that, but you have to take care of yourself first. You haven't been getting sleep, your night terrors have been increasing, you've been acting paranoid. We're getting worried and…We thought you went and…Did something stupid."

"It won't happen again, promise."

This seemed to finally settle Fuji as she motions for Raiden to follow her back home. "You can win me over easy, brother. Mom & Dad will be talking your ear out all night, so I hope leaving the house was worth it."

In a small way…Yeah, it was worth it.

#Wilted Cherry Blossoms Dark Thunderstorms Burning Hopes #Oops Kung Lao's Dead Again AU #Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat 1 #MK1 #MK1 Raiden #MK1 Kung Lao #MK1 Kenshi #MK1 Johnny Cage #MK1 Jax #MK1 Fujin #Fuji

8 notes · View notes

sepiamestus · 4 months

Note

HOW ABOUT some raydon hcs perhaps :] -world's most normal normalest guy

OUGH hiii skye this has been sitting in my drafts for *checks timestamp* EIGHT DAYS bc executives stopped functioning the day i got it so i saved it to come back to latee and then i. Forgor. But anyways ummm ummmm

I imagine the development of there relationship was Slow at first. Immovable object (Ray, who has harbored catholic levels of guilt since he was six years old and doesnt think he deserves affection from the people he hurt) vs unstoppable force (Don, who is obsessed with him)

Furthered by the fact that neither of these fuckers know how to talk ab their feelings. They spend months post escape being totally convinced the other hates them. Its like mutual pining but theyre both being hunted for sport so they dont really have time to talk it out

Don had years to stew over his crush on ray so hes (read: a little) more functional ab it. Ray, on the other hand, never really had time for crushes, and is hit with these very distressing newfound feelings like a ton of bricks and is an absolute disaster about it

The start of their relationship is pretty tentative, seeing as neither of them know wtf theyre doing, which leads to ice cream dates that consist of them staring at each other in silence for twenty consecutive minutes because theyre both waiting for the other to speak first

They both make up for their incompetence in verbal communication in different ways. Don is very tactile and shows affection via small bits of physical contact. Ray is more of an acts of service kind if guy, and likes to give Don random little gifts out of the blue

Once they get over the initial awkwardness tho, they are the clingiest motherfuckers alive. If they are not holding hands 24/7 they will cry and scream and wail

They are soooooo t4t omg. This is true

Don is very secure in his identity, whilst Ray is very new to the idea of messing with his gender (that one post thats like "im probably non binary but i have a job so idc ab that rn" except said job is trying to save your friends from being killed and eaten)

Don says stuff like "this is Ray, she's my boyfriend" as frequently as possible. Ray thinks this is hilarious

Gilda is their main supporter mostly because "oh my god ray you have to go out with him just so he'll shut the fuck up about you"

They ermmmm unmmm ummmm. Are cute 🥺

#HFGHFGHUJV SORRY FOR THE WAIT BESTIE! i luv them <3 #Took me so long to be coherent about this lol. I simply have many feelings!!#ruby speaks #Tpn

8 notes · View notes

contaminatedlamb · 11 months

Text

Paint ペイント -[tmnt2012] Leonardo x Fem!Reader

summary: To your limited knowledge, something is going on in the midst of New York City. From the Bronx, all the way down to Brooklyn, creatures are emerging from the woodworks to ease their claws into the lives of every inhabitant. From a sous chef who dreams of refining her artistic skills, an androgynous woman with a dark past and a violent soul, to a once lively mutant teenager who's grief has morphed him into a shell of his former self. Together, with the help of their friends, family members, and wary allies— the truth will be revealed. No matter what the cost. Who knew that it would all start with a bit of paint?

notes: posting my first ever fanfiction on tumblr! I hope you enjoy, this is a passion project of mine that I have been working on since 2019. Show some love if you can, and let me know what you think of it! This book is also cross posted on Ao3 and Wattpad. Currently being rewritten as we speak.

warnings: gore and blood.

(Accidentally added a poll and can’t remove it from my draft so here we are lol)

Chapter One - Nothing to see here, folks! Everything is Fine.

You woke up that morning dreading to take out the trash.

It was Friday, that dreaded day of the week. While many celebrated it as the last day before the relief of a weekend, it happened to be only miserable for you. It was the busiest day in Murakami's Japanese restaurant, with all the drunk college men stumbling into the little hole in the wall to harass the three employees, and its blind owner/head chef. They made a mess, per usual, figuring out how to break down the token driven vending machine, demolish the bathrooms, leave their tables in chaotic disarray; all while somehow leaving drunker than before... If that was even possible. You were convinced that it had to do with those 'water bottles' they carried, which you were sure were just filled to the brim with vodka. There were times, when you were busy moping up a spilt drink, dizzy from their boisterous noise and the fumes, that you hoped they choked on their 'water'.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only reason that you dreaded going to work. Every Friday was also the day where the garbage had reached unfathomable levels of toxicity and needed to be tossed into the dumpster for the workers to take it away the next morning. How was it that the small portion of the human race that came to the restaurant seemed to make the biggest, most disgusting mess possible? New York. Disgusting down to its very own garbage.

Black trash bags would pile up by the pounds against the back door, so much so that it may have become a safety concern and an entire health violation if you thought about it for too long. You were certain that some sort of mutant would sprout from the bags and squeak a pleasant hello~ towards your horrified face. And yet, that wouldn't even be the strangest thing you had seen happen during your almost two years living in Manhattan. You wished you were joking when you told the story about how you had once seen a grown man with a glorious beard dressed as a nun take on a costumed Elmo, who looked as if he discovered cocaine with those tech bros that cluttered the streets of the city. Only in Times Square at eleven at night did something like that happen— and it hadn't even been Halloween! The absurdity of it all meant that you couldn't help but begrudgingly be amused by the chaotic energy of New York City.

Now though, as you stood slouched over, your lower back pressed against the beige wall lined with awards and old pictures of simpler times, you glared with a burning ferocity at the trash bags. The trash bags which always seemed to come up with new scents and would send you to the bathroom to heave up the few crackers you had eaten for dinner. Those black plastic trash voids which oozed and dripped with weird discolored sludge that made the bags stick to the ground when you dragged them through the back door, leaving behind horrible slime trails in their path. Only once before in your life had you accomplished a feat of strength, and that was when you had jumped up from your chair to do one 'pull up' in P.E. at seven years old. You had been extremely proud of that loophole, and it was one of your most cherished memories, depressingly enough. That made this attempt of physical strength all the more difficult, in the end.

At this moment, glaring at the trash as if it had insulted your entire family, you were finally snapped out of the inner roasting that you had directed to the garbage— by being unceremoniously slapped in the face with a pair of neon latex gloves. You sighed loudly, closing your eyes to collect yourself before you, to put it in modern terms, cut a hoe. You bent over and snatched up the pair of yellow gloves with more rage than expected. Straightening, you met the grin of your friend, none other than Sukiyaki Ashika; the source of your constant suffering.

The young adult of Japanese and Pakistani descent leaned in the doorway which led to the kitchen, dark arms crossed over her flat chest, that same cheeky grin that she used against those teenage delivery boys plastered across her Asian based features. It was a weapon, paired with her psychedelic slanted red brown eyes, the sort you saw on vampire men in those terrible low budget movies. These weren't any different. They were real, and they were lovely. It felt at times that she would hypnotize you with her stare, so powerful were they. There were times where you couldn't hold her gaze, having to lose the staring contest by dropping your gaze to the ground.

"Make sure you put on them gloves, by the way." The teenager reminded you, tossing her Wolf cut bangs to the side, the back of her straight black hair cropped short. The bangs were wispy, perfect, flowing in the wind as if she were in a shampoo commercial. It was comical, and you wanted to stab it.

"Yeah— I remember what happened when you didn't wear them that one time." You snorted with a lopsided smile as you slid them both on, the latex snapping loudly against your skin as you raised your eyebrows. "How's your hands by the way?" You questioned, a grin growing across your face.

Yaki made a noise of annoyance as she looked over at the hallway between the kitchen and the main restaurant area, sniffing in distaste. "Its not my fault that the stuff in there stained my hands yellow." She grumbled, looking down at her hands with their splotches of light neon yellow blemished along her pecan brown palms.

"It's literally toxic." You noted, as you wrapped your hands around the tied knots of the black garbage bags, inhaling deeply as you attempted to lift them up. All that was obtained from that movement was a sore back and almost dislocating your wrists. You let out a groan through your clenched teeth, your shoulders shakily sagging.

Sukiyaki guffawed loudly, a grin growing on her lips as she curled a finger around a strand of her coarse hair to play with it. "Awe, babaaa." Cooed the woman, tilting her head to press against the doorway.

"Don't 'awe baba' me." You huffed back like the annoyed teenager you were, glaring at the bags filled with garbage that resembled you, kicking at the receptacle. "You're enjoying this." You huffed, dropping the bags, placing your gloved hands on your hips as you shot the bags another dirty look.

Yaki gave a half shrug coupled with her signature smile as she continued to watch in amusement at the train wreck starting before her. "Put 'cha back into it!" She called as you began to slowly roll each large trash bag across the linoleum floor and through the backdoor. You managed to shoot her a scowl over your shoulder as you began your process of piling all the bags outside the door. Finishing up, you pulled back one of the bags holding the backdoor open, allowing the heavy wooden door to fall shut against its doorway.

You listened for a moment as Yaki faintly sang All Star to herself through the closed door, as you began the long process of figuring out how exactly you were going to drag each humongous bag into the six feet tall dumpster bin. Your arms already shook with the effort, your tendons stretched out against your skin, as you tried your best not to fall over. You would've loved Sukiyaki to help you, or take over even, but you knew it was your turn. If you ended up asking, you knew what would follow. The teasing, the pokes in your sides, ruffling up your hair before she would finally submit and get the job done. Effortlessly tossing in the bags as if she were playing basketball, not a bead of sweat to be found, her hair perfect as always. It was annoying how perfect she was, and this time, you decided that you would put the garbage in its place without submitting yourself to the mortifying experience of asking Suki to help. At least you could try to hold onto a silver of dignity left in your body.

After loud fits of swearing, prayers to God, squealing as the bulging bag teetered back from the edge of the metal container and almost crushed you (if you hadn't ran off before it crashed to the floor) and, embarrassingly enough, a bit of frustrated tears being shed, you managed to shove a bag into the dumpster. Placing each on the edge and shoving them all inside with a loud grunt, you found yourself finding a rhythm. It did little to cheer you up as you felt the muscles in your arms beginning to complain. You were definitely going to blackmail Yaki into buying you some ice cream after your shift was finished— after all, it was the most your roommate could do to soften your pain.

"This is supposed to be your job." You grumbled to no one in particular, feeling the bead of sweat tickle the side of your temple as it slid. You dragged the last trash bag towards the dumpster bin, loudly (and explicitly) directing your frustration towards an imaginary Yaki. Fuming, cursing, you planned in your head, allowing your mouth to run wild. You could mess up her perfectly styled hair (though she would attack your hair then too, and it looked bad enough as it did after a long hot day of work), you could hide her earbuds in her locker (but then she would talk your ear off in the subway home), or, you could smack her with your broom. The broom smacking seemed the easiest, the most surprising, and frankly, the funnie—

Something squeaked back in response.

Your head swiveled around, your fingers gripping the trash bag as it teetered on the edge of the dumpster (dangerously so, as you dug your heels into the ground), your eyes wide, shoulders aching and nostrils flaring. The rats in New York City were as large as an alley cat, and you were not prepared to catch the bubonic plague from one of those buggers. You were pretty sure you had been vaccinated against rabies as a child, but a quick trip to the hospital to confirm that was not something you looked forward to. Either way, the thought of a rat sinking its dagger like teeth into your ankle did not sound fun.

Your eyes scanned the dark narrow alleyway, listening closely to hundreds of flashing cars zooming by on nearby streets, their horns blaring in the distance. Your pupils dilated and adjusted to the shadows cast by the towering buildings surrounding the alleyway, making sense of the shapes along the walls. Garbage bins, loose trash, scattered needles, rotting garbage bags from the business in the next building, cardboard boxes. Nothing. Nothing suspicious at all. Your knuckles turned a shade paler as you held onto the trash bag for dear life, turning towards the giant receptacle, finally releasing as it hit against the bottom of the bin with a loud thud.

Another squeak echoed in the alley as you brought your hands abruptly to your chest, ("protecting your innocent little heart now, baba?" You heard sukiyaki's voice tease you in your mind), your eyes falling towards a pile of trash bags against the opposite wall. Your heart thudded angrily against your chest. It felt as if it wanted to crawl up your throat and escape, running. You wanted to run, but your feet were glued to the asphalt. You cautiously reached for the rickety broom that was propped against the wall, right next to the garbage bin. Isidore must've been here recently, brushing the loose vegetables out into the street to be run over or stolen by the rats. Your fingers curled around the cool blue plastic, your sweaty palms squelching against the material. You were ready to slap any demon rat that came anywhere near you.

You gripped the plastic broom tightly with both hands, watching closely as one of the trash bags began to vibrate. Yes, vibrate; as if it were a ringing phone laid against a glass tabletop. You gulped, shuddering violently, as you began to take delicate steps toward towards the bag.

I'd rather it be a mutant than a freaking rat,— you hoped in your mind. At least mutants didn't try to bite... Right?

A gasp ripped from your mouth as a circular white face popped out with a rat-like squeak from a chewed up hole through the material of the plastic trash bag. There was the sound that you had been hearing all along. It belonged to a 2-D face with two white skinny stick arms stabbing into the bag as it wiggled out its beanpole of a body from the hole inside the trash bag. A drawn stick figure, about the size of your hand. It looked like it had been cut out of paper by a child, the edges showing pencil marks where the shape had been carefully drawn. It leapt out of the bag to perch itself onto the black bulging trash bag, sticking its face forward. Staring. Staring at you.

You didn't realize your mouth was hanging open until a fly smacked against your upper lip and ricocheted away. You spluttered, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth as you took a step backwards. Big mistake. The abrupt noise and sudden movement startled the stick figure. It arched its back, on all four nubby sticks (like a cat, you thought numbly in amusement), hissing at you even though it had no visible mouth. The noise that it emitted was enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight.

You stared at it. This was... unreal. A stick figure, (or a cut out figure?) coming to life, hissing at you like an angry pigeon. Did pigeons even hiss? You couldn't recall, you were just frozen. In utter shock.

...Were you high? Okay, yeah, sure, it was probably those delivery boys, their fault at is, smoking weed freely whenever they dropped off their shipments of vegetables, frozen fish and meat, including the occasional ice cream. At least you hoped; it would certainly make more sense than the stickie in front of you. Obviously, you had inhaled some second-hand-devils-lettuce smoke and now you were high as a kite, imagining a two year old's drawing cut out of a stick figure aggressively arching its back in and out at you as if it were performing some sort of mating dance.

The stick figure hissed once more and you finally noticed a hole appearing on his face, (because of course you assumed it was a male), and tiny paper like sharpened teeth baring at you.

Yeah, no.

You swiftly swung the head of the broom, bristles and all, at the sentient stick figure, slapping the surprisingly light thing in the torso and sending it flying. A loud squeal escaped its empty mouth as it sailed across the alley wall (you stared, mesmerized, wondering how paper could hold such weight), and tumbled onto the sidewalk. It scrambled to its feet, sickly yellow light from the street lamps throwing shadows against its flat white skin. It stared. And stared. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it hissed once more at you and scurried off. The sound of its flat feet scratching lightly against the ground quickly faded away.

You stood there, sucking and exhaling rapid breaths. You stared at the place where, just moments before, a living drawing had stood.

After a few minutes, you had successfully convinced yourself that none of it had been real, or had even occurred. It was the toxic fumes from the garbage bags, mingling with remnants of the evil weed as your mother called it. It had come together to corrupt your brain and had made you hallucinate for a few minutes— that was all. It was something psychological that you were sure could be explained through a quick google search. You really had to make sure you wore a gas mask next time you took out the trash. That was a joke, but it barely amused you. Maybe it would make Sukiyaki laugh, if she didn't start cackling at your story of weed, poisonous fumes, and stick figures coming out to attack you.

You spent a few spare moments gingerly poking the hole riddled trash bag with the end of your broom, (letting out a gasp when something inside it fell over, causing you to jump), before shaking off that nagging feeling scratching the back of your mind. Everything was a-okay, perfect, absolutely fine... everything was fine.

You cleared your throat, turning swiftly on the soles of your stained beat up, formerly white sneakers, twirling the broom lazily in your free hand. Around and around, you twirled, as if you were trying to mimic the actions of a Jedi. Your heart had calmed down from the mini heart attack it just had, as you wiped your free shaking sweaty palm on your stained light blue jeans. You walked back towards the backdoor, a trembling hum resonating in your throat, dragging your shoes against the dirty concrete floor of the alleyway. Everything was just fine.

You felt the ground tremble before you heard it. The sound of feet hitting the ground behind you, slapping against the ground clumsily, a small grunt following it. Softly, albeit messily, but gently enough that you wouldn't had even noticed. If it hadn't been for the hand that grabbed your shoulder.

A shrill shriek escaped your lips as you swung around the broom (really, this had become second nature after what you had just gone through) spinning around to beat the person who had grabbed you. Grabbed you! This was New York City after all, it was late, and hadn't there been reports of mutants, gangs, and weird looking alien robots in this area as well? You were not the type of person to willingly go if you were kidnapped or, god forbid, harassed. If it came to it, the good Lord had given you two dirty hands for wielding whatever was available. Which happened to be a cheap, held-together-by-prayers-and-duct-tape-broom. Put together, you were the shining representative of all pathetic, weak, easily scared girls worldwide.

Unfortunately, before your weapon of choice could loudly thwack against the face of your adversary, the broom was gripped tightly in a shaking bandaged three fingered hand.

You were face to face with a creature.

You were both breathing heavily in sync. This thing, this animal, was injured and heaving in rhythm with you. How rude!

In the dim yellow light emitted from the streets that dragged into the alleyway, he was red— no, he was green, covered in red. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hide the fact that you were beginning to hyperventilate at the pure shock of this mes— wait; was that a panic attack you felt coming on? You hadn't had one in weeks!

He was taller than you, that much you could tell as you stared into his eyes. You were caught in his piercing gaze, your eyes only being able to flicker around before being dragged back into this stare. He appeared to be brawny in his physique, though you on the contrary seemed as breakable as a twig. A huge gash ran across his green face as you, for the first time, noticed a blue mask around his neck that was soaked with... blood. Torn up bandages swayed limply from his elbows, shoulders and hands, with a few knee pads barely holding on. His left shoulder leaked blood through a large open gash that didn't seem to relent with its flow. His right eye was reddened and beginning to swell shut, the other a piercing blue that seemed wrong belonging to a thing like him. Your eyes trailed to his back, oh hello there shell, where large multi colored gashes peeked at her, contrasting against the brown. The streaks seemed as if they were made out of… paint.

Your attention was pulled away as remembered the broom you were gripping with both of your hands, his three fingered hand holding the other side, his own grip in between your hands. You let go, stumbling backwards, your arms outstretched into a t-pose as you stared wide eyed in silence. Whattt was happening? What was this? Why was this? Why? Why?!

A noise that sounded like a pigeon choking on a piece of hot dog meat escaped your parted lips as you pointed at his face. The thing. The turtle. The mutant. With eyes you had only seen before in cliché anime gif's that you would usually spam to your former nanny to confuse her.

He stood there, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable, mimicking the exact expressions that you were experiencing too. He clutched the broom in one hand, his arm falling limply to the side. His grip on the pole was tight, so tight that his knuckles turned white. His hand began to shake. His grip loosened. The broom clattered to the ground. The shaking in his hands didn't stop there. It only spread, up his arms, down to his knees; his entire body seemed to be having a shaking fit. You realized, late as it was, that it was probably the buckets of blood covering him, (hey-o! blood loss!).

You took a small step forward.

"Um..." You cleared your throat, embarrassingly loud as it echoed throughout the alley, trying to draw his attention. He was staring straight ahead, his gaze empty and in some far off place other then the present. "My, my guy." You said, unsure of yourself as you scrunched up your nose at the stupid words spilling out of your mouth. You held out one hand tentatively, eyebrows knitted in concern as you licked your very dry, very salty lips. "Are you... good?"

The mutant hesitantly shrugged, his one working eye squinting and shining in the sickly yellow light. "No." His hoarse voice squeezed out, barely a whisper as it echoed along the dense towering concrete walls of the alleyway. With that one word, he collapsed in on himself, like a soda can being crushed between two hands.

You stared at the pile of blue, green, brown, beige, yellow, purple, and red before you and inhaled deeply. You gazed upon your familiar surroundings, calm as ever, and clasped your gloved hands together. "God..." You declared quite loudly, as if you were confessing to the Lord himself. "I'm high." And with those cheerful words, still trying to convince yourself that this was all a hallucination you turned on the heels of your white sneakers, opened the door, and walked inside. Humming a loud tune, the door shut closed behind you, ringing throughout the alley, out into the empty street.

A squeak rang out from a familiar hole riddled trash bag.

Everything was fine.

41 notes · View notes

thethirdromana · 2 years

Text

Bram Stoker's letter to Walt Whitman

I've seen a few people posting extracts and links to this remarkable letter in the Dracula Daily tag, but never the full thing - and often the links are to an abridged version as well. I thought we should have it in full.

(Apologies if someone else has done this already. I did search for it, but it's never easy to find things on tumblr.)

I have added photos to make it a bit less of a wall of text, but nothing else.

___________

Dublin, 14 February, 1876

My dear Mr. Whitman.

I hope you will not consider this letter from an utter stranger a liberty. Indeed, I hardly feel a stranger to you, nor is this the first letter that I have written to you. My friend Edward Dowden has told me often that you like new acquaintances or I should rather say friends. And as an old friend I send you an enclosure which may interest you. Four years ago I wrote the enclosed draft of a letter which I intended to copy out and send to you—it has lain in my desk since then—when I heard that you were addressed as Mr. Whitman. It speaks for itself and needs no comment. It is as truly what I wanted to say as that light is light.

Bram Stoker

The four years which have elapsed have made me love your work fourfold, and I can truly say that I have ever spoken as your friend. You know what hostile criticism your work sometimes evokes here, and I wage a perpetual war with many friends on your behalf. But I am glad to say that I have been the means of making your work known to many who were scoffers at first. The years which have passed have not been uneventful to me, and I have felt and thought and suffered much in them, and I can truly say that from you I have had much pleasure and much consolation—and I do believe that your open earnest speech has not been thrown away on me or that my life and thought fail to be marked with its impress. I write this openly because I feel that with you one must be open. We have just had tonight a hot debate on your genius at the Fortnightly Club in which I had the privilege of putting forward my views—I think with success.

Nassau St in Dublin in the 1870s

Do not think me cheeky for writing this. I only hope we may sometime meet and I shall be able perhaps to say what I cannot write. Dowden promised to get me a copy of your new edition and I hope that for any other work which you may have you will let me always be an early subscriber. I am sorry that you’re not strong. Many of us are hoping to see you in Ireland. We had arranged to have a meeting for you. I do not know if you like getting letters. If you do I shall only be too happy to send you news of how thought goes among the men I know. With truest wishes for your health and happiness believe me,

Your friend

Bram Stoker

___________

Draft letter, Dublin, 18 February, 1872.

If you are the man I take you to be you will like to get this letter. If you are not I don’t care whether you like it or not and only ask you to put it into the fire without reading any farther. But I believe you will like it. I don’t think there is a man living, even you who are above the prejudices of the class of small-minded men, who wouldn’t like to get a letter from a younger man, a stranger, across the world—a man living in an atmosphere prejudiced to the truths you sing and your manner of singing them. The idea that arises in my mind is whether there is a man living who would have the pluck to burn a letter in which he felt the smallest atom of interest without reading it. I believe you would and that you believe you would yourself. You can burn this now and test yourself, and all I will ask for my trouble of writing this letter, which for all I can tell you may light your pipe with or apply to some more ignoble purpose—is that you will in some manner let me know that my words have tested your impatience. Put it in the fire if you like—but if you do you will miss the pleasure of this next sentence, which ought to be that you have conquered an unworthy impulse.

Walt Whitman aged 35

A man who is uncertain of his own strength might try to encourage himself by a piece of bravo, but a man who can write, as you have written, the most candid words that ever fell from the lips of mortal man—a man to whose candor Rousseau’s Confessions is reticence—can have no fear for his own strength. If you have gone this far you may read the letter and I feel in writing now that I am talking to you. If I were before your face I would like to shake hands with you, for I feel that I would like you. I would like to call you Comrade and to talk to you as men who are not poets do not often talk. I think that at first a man would be ashamed, for a man cannot in a moment break the habit of comparative reticence that has become a second nature to him; but I know I would not long be ashamed to be natural before you. You are a true man, and I would like to be one myself, and so I would be towards you as a brother and as a pupil to his master. In this age no man becomes worthy of the name without an effort. You have shaken off the shackles and your wings are free. I have the shackles on my shoulders still—but I have no wings. If you are going to read this letter any further I should tell you that I am not prepared to “give up all else” so far as words go. The only thing I am prepared to give up is prejudice, and before I knew you I had begun to throw overboard my cargo, but it is not all gone yet.

I do not know how you will take this letter. I have not addressed you in any form as I hear that you dislike to a certain degree the conventional forms in letters. I am writing to you because you are different from other men. If you were the same as the mass I would not write at all. As it is I must either call you Walt Whitman or not call you at all—and I have chosen the latter course. I don’t know whether it is usual for you to get letters from utter strangers who have not even the claim of literary brotherhood to write you. If it is you must be frightfully tormented with letters and I am sorry to have written this. I have, however, the claim of liking you—for your words are your own soul and even if you do not read my letter it is no less a pleasure to me to write it. Shelley wrote to William Godwin and they became friends. I am not Shelley and you are not Godwin and so I will only hope that sometime I may meet you face to face and perhaps shake hands with you. If I ever do it will be one of the greatest pleasures of my life.

Bram Stoker in 1906

If you care to know who it is that writes this, my name is Abraham Stoker (Junior). My friends call me Bram. I live at 43 Harcourt St., Dublin. I am a clerk in the service of the Crown on a small salary. I am twenty-four years old. Have been champion at our athletic sports (Trinity College, Dublin) and have won about a dozen cups. I have also been President of the College Philosophical Society and an art and theatrical critic of a daily paper. I am six feet two inches high and twelve stone weight naked and used to be forty-one or forty-two inches round the chest. I am ugly but strong and determined and have a large bump over my eyebrows. I have a heavy jaw and a big mouth and thick lips—sensitive nostrils—a snubnose and straight hair. I am equal in temper and cool in disposition and have a large amount of self control and am naturally secretive to the world. I take a delight in letting people I don’t like—people of mean or cruel or sneaking or cowardly disposition—see the worst side of me. I have a large number of acquaintances and some five or six friends—all of which latter body care much for me.

Trinity College Dublin in the 1880s

Now I have told you all I know about myself. I know you from your works and your photograph, and if I know anything about you I think you would like to know of the personal appearance of your correspondents. You are I know a keen physiognomist. I am a believer of the science myself and am in an humble way a practicer of it. I was not disappointed when I saw your photograph—your late one especially. The way I came to like you was this. A notice of your poems appeared some two years ago or more in the Temple Bar magazine. I glanced at it and took its dictum as final, and laughed at you among my friends. I say it to my own shame but not to my regret for it has taught me a lesson to last my life out—without ever having seen your poems. More than a year after I heard two men in College talking of you. One of them had your book (Rossetti’s edition) and was reading aloud some passages at which both laughed. They chose only those passages which are most foreign to British ears and made fun of them. Something struck me that I had judged you hastily. I took home the volume and read it far into the night. Since then I have to thank you for many happy hours, for I have read your poems with my door locked late at night, and I have read them on the seashore where I could look all round me and see no more sign of human life than the ships out at sea: and here I often found myself waking up from a reverie with the book lying open before me.

I love all poetry, and high generous thoughts make the tears rush to my eyes, but sometimes a word or a phrase of yours takes me away from the world around me and places me in an ideal land surrounded by realities more than any poem I ever read. Last year I was sitting on the beach on a summer’s day reading your preface to the Leaves of Grass as printed in Rossetti’s edition (for Rossetti is all I have got till I get the complete set of your works which I have ordered from America). One thought struck me and I pondered over it for several hours—”the weather-beaten vessels entering new ports,” you who wrote the words know them better than I do: and to you who sing of your own land of progress the words have a meaning that I can only imagine. But be assured of this, Walt Whitman—that a man of less than half your own age, reared a conservative in a conservative country, and who has always heard your name cried down by the great mass of people who mention it, here felt his heart leap towards you across the Atlantic and his soul swelling at the words or rather the thoughts.

Walt Whitman in 1877

It is vain for me to try to quote any instances of what thoughts of yours I like best—for I like them all and you must feel that you are reading the true words of one who feels with you. You see, I have called you by your name. I have been more candid with you—have said more about myself to you than I have ever said to any one before. You will not be angry with me if you have read so far. You will not laugh at me for writing this to you. It was with no small effort that I began to write and I feel reluctant to stop, but I must not tire you any more. If you ever would care to have more you can imagine, for you have a great heart, how much pleasure it would be to me to write more to you. How sweet a thing it is for a strong healthy man with a woman’s eyes and a child’s wishes to feel that he can speak so to a man who can be if he wishes father, and brother and wife to his soul.

I don’t think you will laugh, Walt Whitman, nor despise me, but at all events I thank you for all the love and sympathy you have given me in common with my kind.

Bram Stoker

Walt Whitman in 1891

___________

6 March, 1876.

My dear young man,

Your letters have been most welcome to me—welcome to me as Person and as Author—I don’t know which most—You did well to write me so unconventionally, so fresh, so manly, and so affectionately, too. I too hope (though it is not probable) that we shall one day meet each other. Meantime I send you my friendship and thanks.

Edward Dowden’s letter containing among others your subscription for a copy of my new edition has just been received. I shall send the books very soon by express in a package to his address. I have just written E. D.

My physique is entirely shattered—doubtless permanently, from paralysis and other ailments. But I am up and dressed, and get out every day a little. Live here quite lonesome, but hearty, and good spirits.

Write to me again.

Walt Whitman

Leaves of Grass, 1872 edition

___________

Walt Whitman and Bram Stoker met three times - in 1884, 1886 and 1887. Whitman passed away in 1892.

#dracula daily #walt whitman #bram stoker #long post

89 notes · View notes

digitalsatyr23 · 1 year

Text

A late Writeblr Introduction

Beautiful art of Selena by the wonderful @extremely-nervess

Hello! I’ve been wanting to break out of my shell and interact more with the writeblr community, so here I am! Feel free to interact with me, whether in the form of asks, tag games, writing/WIP/OC questions, or similar stuff. Also if you would like me to take a look at your work, feel free to ask! I am a very slow reader, but I do enjoy reading quite a bit.

About my writing

I am primarily a dark fantasy writer who has been writing stories and running D&D/Pathfinder games out of my setting Arachnia for well over a decade by this point. (Although more work is on the gaming side, I’ve been trying to expand my library of literary works little by little.) I also dabble in horror, sci-fi, and mixtures of those genres. My works tend to be very character-focused with (relatively) simple plot lines. Very A -> B type stuff, though I have been experimenting a bit more as of late. Morality varies by the character. Some of my characters are heroes, others are... Not so much. Some are just regular people trying to figure themselves out. If that sounds interesting, quite a few of my stories are posted here. I also have a fanfiction I’ve been meaning to get back to.

About myself

I’m a 32 year old guy who has a great love of stories, art, and self-expression. I’ve recently shaken off a writer’s funk that kept me from really doing... Anything. If I’m being totally honest, I’m not in the best of places mentally. I deal with schizophrenia and depression on the regular, and I do what I can to deal with the day-to-day. Stories are... My passion. My life. I use them as a form of escapism, yes, but they help me cope. That’s just how it is. I also quite enjoy video games, cartoons, anime, music, and just about everything else I can find different kinds of stories and characters in. I sometimes talk about those things, so you might see non-writing posts on my blog.

WIPs

Saria, Hero of the Forest: An Ocarina of Time fanfiction set in an alternate timeline where Saria of the Kokiri has to take up the mantle of hero. In the beginning, the story follows the events of the game almost to a T (including existing dialogue), however events begin to shift and change as the story progresses... I also use this story to explore fan theories and expand on characters I really like that didn’t get much screentime, as it were. There are currently six chapters available, with the 7th that’s been waiting... Waiting for me to get my act together!!

Bebop Bayou Tales: Stories about a self-proclaimed protector of the swamp, Rina Woodshed! She’s a gator girl that goes on adventures with her friend Lafayette, a grey fox boy. The bayou and its surrounding lands seem to attract all sorts of wayward monsters and spirits, and Rina does everything she can to keep her home safe from harm. There’s already one story in this series that’s finished, but many others are going to be added to the series!

The Book of Songs: A long term project I’ve been working on every so often for quite some time now... It’s the story an immortal assassin trying to escape their past and live a normal life as well as a young girl who is saved from being burned at the stake. Together, these two try to find a place they can call home. The first book in the series is already finished (though I have yet to find a publisher for it), and the second book has been pending in the 2nd draft stage.

Collab Story (title unknown): Another long term project that involves me and three other friends creating a collaborative story involving our characters (including Rina, since her setting is a part of the collab setting as a whole). It begins with a young mage performing a dark ritual, despite the many many warnings of the school faculty. The next thing she knows, she’s dead... But it seems an enchantment she put on a family heirloom gave her a second chance at life, so she awakens as a lich, though her memory seems to be damaged. Soon after waking, she finds the family heirloom missing, and in her quest to get it back, she learns of a terrible plot and dark forces trying to gather a set of four ancient artifacts... One of which is her family heirloom. This particular story has a whopping 29 chapters to its name, though since it’s a very friend-to-friend work, I don’t think I’ll be allowed to show it until it’s finally finished.

What Keeps Me Going: A short story (or possibly novelette) I’m currently working on as a commission for a friend that takes place in my setting, Arachnia. It’s about a young adventurer named Reah Fenae who stumbles upon a village that has been beset by vicious boarmen called porga. After rescuing a child from imminent danger, Reah puts her life on the line to save the villagers from a fate worse than death.

Wonderful art of Rina by the very talented @delightful-69

#writeblr #writing community #writeblr intro #writers on tumblr

19 notes · View notes

rimouskis · 8 months

Text

okay here are ALL the other music rec asks, all in one post!

@paintingtheice asked: song recs! the whole Commie Cowboy album by Pink Williams is great, but I Don't Know About You is one of my favourites! along that line, Draft Dodger Rag by Phil Ochs always makes me giggle :D

ahh I've seen this musician on tiktok!! I haven't heard the full album though, thanks for reminding me. I enjoy the old-school-country, political edge to it. bringing that political edge in, here's some music from 2016: "aquarius apocalyptic" by stop light observations

Anonymous asked: living room floor by sammy rae and the friends for the song game!!

nice, light instrumentation, unique voice. I like it! in return, I give you: "atomized" by andrew bird

Anonymous asked: this is about to be a mouthful but i’ve really been loving “rage against the dying of the light” by the world is a beautiful place and i am not afraid to die

loving the song name and band title, haha. and I like the groove of the song, too! it makes me nostalgic for this band, who my sister and I first found back when I was in high school: "bang bang" by hippo campus

@entzleboffin asked: Music rec: frown by mxmtoon. This song is such a bop

This is sweet! it actually reminds me of some of the kpop I used to listen to? saccharine, sweet, boppy. it's a feel good song, so I'm going to give you MY feel good song in return: "good news" by MUNA

Anonymous asked: For the music ask - Jailbreak by Thin Lizzy?

omg more 70s rock. delightful! here's some modern rock... "dim the lights" by mitchell martin.

@jayyynine asked: Song: tighten up - the black keys

I love the black keys! I hope you like this song in return: "strange" by stuck on planet earth

Anonymous asked: For the song ask - Never Say Never by Romeo Void. :D

this is so cool! I've never heard of this song or band. can I give you some laura jane grace in return?

Anonymous asked: Lol I’ve actually wanted to ask about that for a bit. I really loved 32 Days by Numblife from one of your edits and i wanted to ask if you got any recommendations

ooo thanks! that was from the teaser vid I made for my fic TKK. I hope you've gotten the chance to listen to both the playlists for TKK and its sequel. they both have more... thematically similar songs? but I love 32 days, it has such a unique sound. if you want similarly dark... this is less rockish, but still an intense song, I'd go with "parasites" by san fermin

...actually I'm going to give you two recs. here's the second one:

Anonymous asked: The Lathums - The Redemption of Sonic Beauty <3

this song was pretty!! in return, here is: "are you wanting it all" by youth club

#warning: this post is long lol #thank you everyone! I tried to tag ppl who asked but tumblr was being wonky

9 notes · View notes

ladytauria · 5 months

Note

hey liv sorry in advance i am nosy

🍓🐇🧃🪐🍬🦷🦋🦴🪲

dont be sorry! i enjoy nosy uwu

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

hmm

i was 12. my favorite tv show at the time was this old disney cartoon, "super robot monkey team hyper force go" (abbreviated as SRMTHFG or SRMTHG. i prefer the first but plenty of people use the second.) it was canceled after its 4th season and, uh. the ending was SO bad. like, major major cliffhanger.

anyway, i was looking up... i don't even remember at the time. and i discovered deviantart, and i discovered this person's OCs. read a lot about them, including some fanfic, and then eventually discovered fanfiction.net

i didn't realize what it was at first; i thought it was just a writing in general site? and i was like oh! i can share the book i'm working on! (i have been trying to write a novel since i was 10). and then as i was looking into where i would post it, i realized what it actually was. (no, the title didn't give it away. idk why.)

so then i was like oh!!! this is really cool actually!!! and i wrote my first fanfic xD

that was in 2011? so i was 12, almost 13.

and i've been reading & writing fic ever since~

🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?

okay so this is a tough question

bc like

i love love love love love second person.

like.

*adore* it.

second person, present tense is my absolute fave, but past tense is good too. (i have written an entire sapphic little mermaid retelling [12k words i think] in second person. uh, it needs revisions but it's a full draft. i opened it it the other day and im still so proud of it uwu)

howEVER. outside of writing second person w/o ever explicitly naming the pov character i have not actually written a reader-insert? so for that reason alone i will have to say 'prefer writing oc's'

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

uhh

i'm a chronic oversharer (mostly in the tags) so that's kind of tough!

ah! since my grandmother's memory issues started, i've been doing about half of the cooking (it's been a bit of a battle, as she keeps trying to do everything xD) and i've cooked a lot of new things this year!! i've gotten very good at cooking pork chops. which 🤔 now that i bring that up, i might make friday! or tonight, but they're still in the freezer, so...

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

my grandmother's memory situation has improved a lot!! it's still not great, but like. strides ahead of where we were 7-8 months ago!

my anxiety has been much kinder to me this year <3 i've made some very lovely friends this year~

mmm, oH, my energy levels have been fantastic this year. i didn't realize just how bad they had gotten until i started these new meds, and now i'm just. <333 much better.

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

idk if i have any unpopular opinions...? i mean. i'm sure i must, but... nothing immediately comes to mind ^^;

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

hmmm

recently been trying to get in the habit of summarizing what i want to do before i start writing. it makes the process much easier, if ik a bit about what i want to do before going in?

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

i am much better at being patient than i ever gave myself credit for in the past <3

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?

i can't think of one piece in particular, as the places i find inspiration are. all over the board?

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

picked a wip from my open tabs at random! funnily enough this is also the one i ended up doing for the emoji ask xD

it's also almost triple what this asked for but once i started writing i couldn't stop <3

He swallows, staring up at Tim. Jason has had plenty of practice reading people through a domino, but. He has no reference for the look Tim is giving him now. Only that it— That the feeling it gives him is… is new and strange. He has no name for it, the way his stomach feels fluttery and tight, his scalp and fingers tingling. His mouth opens—but all that escapes is a stuttery puff of air. That’s okay. He doesn’t know what he was going to say anyway. Tim hooks a gloved finger under his chin; tipping his face up. He leans in, slowly—so slow that Jason— There’s nothing keeping him there. He could run. Turn away. But he feels caught, feet anchored in place. Tim’s mouth touches his, and all thought leaves him. Jason has never been kissed before.

[ writers truth or dare ask game ]

#ask gaming #felinemotif #asks and answers #tauriawritesfanfic #the color of hope (canary yellow)

4 notes · View notes

brambletakato · 1 month

Note

if you’re worried the wordcount’s gonna scare away readers, it probably won’t. i’d absolutely read a 2k post if it’s about my guy jean desmond descole sycamore. honestly i’d read a 20k post about him if i could. pinky swear

... ok so i was actually working on this a few months back.. I wrote a very long draft, then I saved it and came back to it, cringed myself out and just. never posted it,,, but after a few months since I figured that its just because I went too deep into it right off the bat instead of giving a ""small"" summary so here we go ATTEMPT 2!!!!

(also if you're an oomf, you're a part of the campaign and you know what orange spoilers mean then do NOT read further pretty please bats my eyelashes at you) AND PROFESSOR LAYTON SPOILERS

So when I talk about campaign Des, I'm referring to a version of Descole that I've roleplayed for almost 5 years now (which is INSANE to me . has it been that long??? whar??? since when??? it's still 2019 is it not????)

The campaign hook is that it's essentially a mass isekai/amnesia plot; Your blorbo from some fandom gets sent into this world patchworked from other universes and whatnot, and they have to figure out their past whilst also finding out how to get back home. Super cheesy stuff on paper ngl, if you read it on some tv series' synopsis you'd probably skip

But its stupid fun to be a bit silly and have Jean Descole from the professor layton series interact with The Mario from the paper mario series and its a guilty pleasure :]

So as for a summary as to what happened over the 5 years (and then I can clarify on any points if anybody is curious (cricket noises));

To clarify who Descole is in this campaign, he only remembers bits of his life in regards to the canon/campaign rp. He remembers having a wife and daughter, but he doesn't remember that they're dead. He remembers his parents getting kidnapped and having to give away his brother, but he doesn't remember what happened to him after that. He remembers bits of his crimes as Descole, but never why other than for either the Azran or Targent. He's right in hindsight, but it's not he's expecting in the present time. He doesn't remember Raymond at all :( poor guy

He also accidentally adopted a young Trucy Wright (like... around 7-8 years old?) because her father is nowhere to be found and his group is actually nuts with close to no responsible adults. ... Actually why don't I talk about them for a sec;

He ended up in a party of like... 9-10 people and yes that is just as insane as it sounds. Some characters would join or leave the party but it has consistently been 7 characters attending excluding Descole. and yes they're all played by different people except mario who's played by the host, so thats like. 8 players at the table at one time

Anyway so this party is pretty much the source of most of his trauma in the campaign funnily enough. One of them blackmails him about his past and then tries to turn the rest of the group against him (meanwhile he dont know SHIT !!! given the amnesia situation), Descole gets defensive and accidentally fans the flames which ends up in the greatest betrayal for him;

When that person shot him in front of the entire group, both friends and foes alike, and they all turned their heads away from him as he bled onto the snow.

I'd love to get further into the party's hijinks(?), how the party came to be, and ultimately where they are now but that's the bare minimum you need to know (and I'd love to answer anything about them!)

Anyway, it's still unknown to this day how this one thing happened, but it's heavily implied to be because of psychological stress mixing with a third secret ingredient; Sometime during all of this, Descole kept finding himself in a room in his sleep-- And often his sleep was plagued by unspeakable nightmares, so this uneventful yet cozy room would've been a comfortable break for him...

... If not for the fact that Desmond lived there, too.

So Desmond is played by the fucking amazing host too and he's apparently a manifestation of his subconscious, and Descole REALLYYYY didn't like that (very much weirded him out, especially since Desmond was extremely blunt and near emotionless; he'd try and give advice but Descole was super nuh-uh about it)

His unease around his subconscious was enough to where he tried to sleep deprive himself to prolong seeing that guy + having nightmares, which that went well (he almost legitimately died lol)

As they have more chances to genuinely talk, their relationship changes. For better or for worse?... Can get further into that if anybody asks lol

Oh one more thing, because the canon roleplay took super long to have sessions, some players opted to have non-canon roleplays to fill in the gaps of time... Which ended up becoming their own side-campaigns that the host would sometimes join in as well. In fact the host has like... A few non-canon campaigns that he's running, and to be honest there's a few non-canon campaigns I end up thinking about a lot

You might've seen the terms "SS", "Chamber RP" or "Persona RP" in my tags and those are some of the non-canon campaigns. Right now we're focused on the canon rp and Chamber RP, which Chamber serves as a tutorial/introduction for a huge overhaul of the ttrpg system we use. We're still in Act I of canon, but Act II is VERY soon which will be using the new system.

SS; Player hosted, everybody fights an evil version of themselves that doesn't have amnesia while trying to take down an international cooperation. This is super fun because Descole in this one finally remembers WHY he did all of those terrible criminal things in the past...

Chamber RP; Host's campaign, amnesia is reversed; You remember your canon counterpart but not the campaign memories... But this doesn't last long as memories of the after starts to seep in. In a similar vibe of the Zero Escape series, you have to find a way out of a sci-fi laboratory while carrying the metaphorical torch of your forgotten hundred other attempts.

Persona RP; Host's campaign; In stark contrast it's super slice of life-y most times lol. Des gets a job as a teacher in this one??? It's set almost 3 years in the future of the canon campaign and as the name implies is SUPER Persona based. There's a strange other plane of existence that supposedly has the answers as to why they have amnesia... And the serial murders that's been going around town.

Anyway I'm definitely leaving out big details for the sake of brevity but I'd be happy to answer anything and thank you if you've read this far!! finally feels good to get this all out ngl

#campaign des #bram.txt.exe #sorry for the super late answer anon :(#let me be cringe for a second /SILLY #also this is long. like seriously long. and a huge infodump which i apologize for

3 notes · View notes

solance-fics · 1 year

Text

The Chain and The dame

chapter 1: Meeting the new hero in an unconventual way

Summary:

This is a chain x oc story cuz I keep talking about said oc to friends and they convinced me to write an actual fic

Notes:

welcome to this fic about my oc and her adventure with the chain for other small storys or rough drafts of her and their interactions check out the chain and dames shanagins this will also be posted on my AO3. Also big thanks to @luimagines for helping me out with character reactions!

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

Sky sighed as the group finally found a good spot to set up camp for the night. They have been walking for about half a day, they all woke up, got ready and then headed out around sunrise much to the dismay of the hero of the wind. Sky smiled a bit. He's been traveling with this group of heroes for a few months now and everyday was full of surprise to say the least. One day Sailor and Champion are messing with Korok leaves, the next they’re all fighting groups of monsters. Sky looks over at the rest of the group, smithy was frustrated because Champion broke another sword , the old man was leaning against a tree observing the rest of the heroes. He may look relaxed but he's constantly on guard from what sky knows, the eldest hero gave sky a small nod of acknowledgement. The rest of the group was cooking, setting up camp or just got back from checking the perimeter of the area they’ll be making camp in for the night.

Sky needed to give his feet a break so he sat on a nearby log, today so far hasn't been very interesting and honestly that concerned him. They had no idea where they were and that means they have no idea what dangers lurk in this forest. Taking Fi off of his back he decides to clean her a bit , she needs it after the past few days of fighting monsters. The group was quiet for once , all nine of them doing their own thing. It was like this for about half an hour before something happened. The silence was broken when the Veteran pointed out that a portal just appeared a few feet away from the main part of the campsite. Not knowing if it was the shadow or the mailman the party of nine got ready for anything. Yet what came out of it was something they would have never expected.

What came out of or rather what was thrown through the portal was a hylian. They looks to be around Champion's height, and had a similar build maybe a bit slimmer. From what Sky could tell they had short dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes. They were in a cream shirt, with brown pants and boots of a darker shade. Around their waist was a belt that held something that looked a lot like the slate Champion has. On their back was a shield that there weren't using and a sheath to the broad sword they were using. despite getting thrown they very quickly regained their composure, but they weren't the only thing that came out. What came out after them was a giant beast, more specifically a silver lynel.The nine got their weapons ready to help out but before they could the mystery hylian quickly rushed at it easily dodging its attacks. They slashed at its knees and brought it down. As quickly as they could they hopped onto its back and began plugging their sword into the spot with its neck and back met. Unfortunately they weren't ankle to kill it like that, the lynel quickly got up and almost knocked the person off of its back. They held onto their swords hilt in order to stay on, the beast was thrashing around and that's where it messed up. The hylian used the momentum of it thrashing to their advantage, using all of their strength they pulled their sword out of its neck getting its bloody on them and quickly jabbed their sword into its underbelly. The hylian got out from under the beats and fell to the ground before slowly getting up; they were exhausted , and in pain.

The old man narrowed his eyes and had his sword pointed at them and slowly walked towards them. He couldn’t tell their gender right away but they appeared to be more feminine in appearance. The look on his face told them a clear message, and that message was a warning one that said if they tried anything it would be their last mistake. The others were in various states of shock they couldn't believe what just went down in such a short time span. The youngest of the group was standing wide eyed and in awe , he quickly regained his composure. Sailor and the rest of the group had no idea if they were an enemy or an ally yet. Hes hoping they’re an ally, the group could use another swordsmen like them.The shortest of the group walks over to the fallen lynel and inspects it making sure it’s dead these days they couldn't be too sure if something was truly dead or not. Smithys mind was exploding with questions. Taking a deep break he calms himself and notices something about the beast's blood. It was black, showing it was corrupted. He looked over his shoulder to look at the person who killed the lynel.Champion was grinning like a child during the winter festival. This person got launched through a portal by a lynel and didn’t stop till it was dead! And a silver one at that! This person is the same breed of crazy as him! He gave them a quick look over and his grin turned to a look of shock. They had something on their body he recognized and now his mind was full of “how did they get that”s,“who exactly are they?”s and “are we connected”s.

Both Captain and Traveler ran up to this person to check for injuries. The Captain’s questions were bordering the lines of actually being concerned and integrating them. “Where are you from and why did you come through that portal fighting that?” Before he could get a response the Traveler shoved him out of the way “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING TAKING ON A LYNEL BY YOURSELF! YOU COULD HAVE DIED!” Traveler was quickly checking them for any injuries. He did in fact find some, mostly close calls with the beats blade and a few broken arrows.Traveler healed what he could before the captain made him stop and look at their appearance closer. This wasn't a swordsman, it was a swordswoman. The veteran was just staring , he’s been put into a state of pure shock. He easily could tell that she’s a woman, and a strong one at that. He has to admit that has to be one of the coolest things he’s ever seen but that doesn't mean he’ll trust her. For all they could know she's an enemy and was sent here to kill them. Yet there's something about her that seems familiar.

Twilight stood there with a look of shock that quickly faded to suspicion ,due to how his secret affects him he knows she’s a she. He slowly starts walking over to her, a million questions are running through his head, ones similar to the others. Yet he had to give her some props and she took down that beast on her own. It was something three times her size, and she was fighting it even before she got thrown. Those monsters aren't easy to take down, he's seen Champion get nearly killed by them, he himself has almost gotten killed by them. He never took his eyes off of her, while she didn't seem like a threat but looks can be extremely deceiving.

Sky walks over to where the small crowd has formed “give them some space.” His voice was firm yet calm. “Look how overwhelmed they are. I apologize for the bombardment of questions.But i'm sure you can understand why we’re being cautious. It's not everyday we see someone emerge from a portal fighting a beast that big. I’m link- well rather all of us are but you can call me sky. Do you when the portal opened near you or why?’” The girl just stares with disbelief, shock and awe in her eyes. Quickly putting her sword away she begins to sign “ I don't know. Also a portal? Is that what I got thrown through?” She's extremely confused but she's hiding it with wariness. “Where am i? And how are you all here??”Sky looks at her confused “you know who we are?“ The girl gives a curt nod “ you’re all heroes of the past. The ones who I walk the same path as.” Veteran squints at her and asks the next question. " We barely knew who the others were. How do you know who we are?" Champion nods in agreement before looking over the damage to lynel from the sidelines.

It's clear that they don't have the same technique. But maybe he should ask her how she did it. It would be useful back home, and maybe he can teach her his if they come across another one and she's an ally. The old man puts his sword down but the look stays. "Chosen by the goddesses and burdened with the same glorious purpose? Do you bear the mark?" The girl nods before removing her right fingerless glove, she holds her hand up for the group of nine to see. Right there on the back of her hand was the mark of the hero. The triforce of courage. Once they all got a good look at it she put her glove back on “there's your proof, i'm no enemy just another unfortunate person with the biggest job in history.” The veteran scoffed “we don't truly know that just yet. Last time I checked, the hero wasn't a woman. You could be lying to us. You also didn't answer my question.” The veteran walked up to the girl, given she was the same height as the Champion he glared up at her and she glared back. She looks at Sky, her glare is gone when looking at him but she's still being stoic “may i see her? The sword? It's the only way I can think of to fully prove that I'm one of you guys. After all only the hero can hold her or in this case heroes” Sky is a bit wary at first but he obliges , taking the master sword out of her sheath he hands it to her. Carefully taking the sword in her right hand . She looks at it with a softer look and in response the sword glows a bit as if it's saying hello to an old friend.

The nine heroes just stare a bit, that hammered the nail into place, the sword proved she's not lying. The girl hands the sword back to sky, and right after she does Traveler speaks up “now that's done and over with can i finish healing her up? She still has some bruising and small open wounds. We can finish interrogating her as I'm patching her up.” Traveler gently grabs her wrist and leads her to a log before making her sit and he gets to work. The others follow to get their questions answered. "I’ll answer the question the one in red asked me. I know who you all are because I had to learn about you and what heroic deeds you did for hyrule and its people. The castle archives in my hyrule has decent records of everyone of you and the important people of your adventures. As the current hero, his majesty made me study every text and journal about you guys or written by you. Next question I'll answer are the ones I was asked by the one in the blue scarf.Im from hyrule and I got tossed like a rag doll through the portal. Now for the healer's questions I wanted to take the lynel down because I wanted to blow off some steam and it was getting too close to where a village was located. Also I usually take them down by myself, but for some reason this one was as strong as a golden lynel for some reason.”

“You fight them to blow off steam?!?” Sailor was flabbergasted “you might be a really good fighter to do that, but that makes sense like the rest of us you took down Ganon” the sailor walks closer to her “was yours a pig like veterans and travelers? Or was he a gorudo like the rest of ours?” The girl's shoulders drop “I don't know yet. He's yet to show up but time is ticking before he does. So I have to get home fast.” No one wanted to bring up the ganon thing so Champion asked the next question“ why do you have a sheikah slate?” The girl smirked a bit “because i'm the chosen knight and was raised by the sheikah chieftess ,also I kind of need it to get into shrines and help the rest of the champions out when needed.Oh and to hold my gear” Champion gave a look of fair enough but that just confirms she's connected to him.

“Okay my turn. Who are you and who taught you how to fight?” The old man finally spoke up and walked closer to her and squats to be face to face with her. She knows he's trying to intimate her and unlucky for the old man it doesn't work. “I was trained by the best knights of the royal guard ,making me a knight. I was also raised by the sheikah chieftess who trained me since I was five. I've had other teachers as well but only for short amounts of time and they were the chief of the ritto , the chieftess of the gorudo and the king of the zora.” the older hero squinted at her, she was telling the truth but she left out something. He could sense it and for once he was hoping he was wrong “you didn't tell us who you are.” she smirks “sure i did, im his majesty's chosen knight.” he scowled “i mean your name.” she grins mischievously “since you all share a name and go by nicknames i'll go by one as well, it's only fair. You can call me Dame, for it's the term for a woman who was knighted.”

Sky could tell having her come along would make things very interesting. That was enough questions for now the others can wait. This girl Dame is something else and maybe what the group of nine needed. He hopes at least.

#linked universe #linked universe x oc #lu four #lu legend #lu wind #lu wild #lu time #lu warriors #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu twilight #lu x oc

31 notes · View notes