No title available
official daine visual archive
No title available
YOU ARE THE REASON
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
cherry valley forever
todays bird
oozey mess
EXPECTATIONS
Mike Driver
Game of Thrones Daily
roma★
Color Me Curious
ellievsbear
RMH
Game Changer & Make Some Noise
macklin celebrini has autism
ojovivo
The Stonewall Inn
NASA
seen from Chile
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Russia
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Jordan
seen from Canada
seen from Ukraine
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from Austria
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from New Zealand
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
@khaosrealms
𝗣𝗨𝗥𝗘 𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗢𝗞 ! !
requests: OPEN
current fandoms: mortal kombat (mk1 focused), jujutsu kaisen, dead by daylight, insomniac’s spiderman series, modern warfare iii.
currently writing: nsfw + sfw fanfics, headcanons, imagines, and prompts! leans towards longer form responses with a bit of flowery language thrown in there. gender neutral reader unless specified otherwise.
drafts: 3 / inbox: 7
𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓. please keep that in mind.
LEE.
sorry for the radio silence recently on writing! been busy with work and concentrating on writing has been an absolute mission. hopefully i plan to release some more thing soon! love y’all ♥️🫶🏽
I finally managed to finish this drawing😫
YUE LAO’S BLESSINGS (part five!) / saying i love you— as if urged by the gods themselves.
a/n: i just realized it’s been an month since i’ve released another blessings post and as such, another must be published! thank you so much as always for the wonderful support!! ♥️
SMOKE:
“I love you” from Tomas is every bit as sweet as it is earnest. It is standing back, waiting for you, while others have continued past. An arm wrapped around your waist as you sleep. A piece of hair he tucks behind your ear. “I love you” is wrestling on the floor of the Lin Kuei training room; sweat-covered and half-naked but laughing and throwing one another around. Hands pinned by sides, moments spent catching your breath, smiling as you struggle to gain composure. “Stay here with me.” Tomas whispers after a kiss. His pinky interlocked with yours; the warmth of his breath on your cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
LI MEI:
“I love you” is difficult from Li Mei, at first. There’s insecurity— shame. Resisting your touch. Jaw locked as you cross gazes. Watching your fingers wander over her gauntlets and holding her breath as you brush over skin. “I love you” is sitting together, speaking for hours over a drink, not taking a sip but feeling intoxicated in another’s presence. Her hand on your thigh. Yours on her hip. Under her protection, her touch, her warm and inviting kiss. Away from every other person in that room but her and watchful, wanting eye. "Will you have me?" Li Mei asks, centimeters away from your lips. Tucked in an alley where the only space left is filled with your bodies; curled around one another.
RAIN:
“I love you” for Rain is something he’s seldom to ever put into words. Ambition drives the man, and in some ways, it drives his affection for you too. Hours he spends studying the things you adore so he may impress you with his knowledge of it. Your favorite foods, sights, tastes. The way you preen as he lifts your chin with his finger, the way you blush when he remarks your name in a certain tone. “I love you” is keeping you by his side, tempting you to push your own desires. Believing you capable of greater, believe you both capable of so much more. “I will make this world worthy of you.” Zeffeero swears, cupping your cheeks, warming them with his hands. Promising, with every bit of power and ambition in his being, to make this world bend for you.
NITARA:
“I love you” are fool’s words for Nitara. Words that are duty-bound to her Vaeternian people. You are her prey— and one can never love their prey, at the very least, not with words. “I love you” exists in every semblance of Nitara’s touch; no matter how much she might say otherwise. The way she wraps her wings around you as she feeds. The way she kisses your wounds and paints her lips with your blood— loving the hue more than anything, gazing at it in reflections, thinking of you, tasting of you. It’s in her refusal to allow you to be touched by any other being. Claiming you as her’s, loving you as her own. “You’re mine.” Nitara speaks, her words sounding more like pleading than demanding. Her claws pressed sweetly against your skin, her heart pressed against yours.
GENERAL SHAO:
“I love you” from Shao is decided long before you realize you are his. It’s a claim; a grasp you are wrapped around in. It is charming, intense. Conversations where he waits for you to speak so he may bare his gaze down on you. Waiting for you to crack, smiling when you stutter. “I love you” is watching you struggle against his grasp when he wraps his arms around you. Chuckling as you beat weakly at his arms. Watching you gaze up at him, smaller, weaker, perfect there in the center of his palm. Knowing he could make you so much more. Knowing you’d continue to fight against him no matter how pathetic you might be. “Is that all?” Shao goads, watching you struggle to get up after a brawl. Eyes red with desire, hungry with expectation. So determined to watch you demolish everything in your path to get back to him.
LEE.
i won’t lie to y’all, that most recent episode of invincible has me thinking some heinous thoughts about omni-man.
TW BLOOD/ NON SEXUAL NUDITY
how do i tell people Nitara is one of my fave characters without being emberassed
LEE.
i’m def working on a part two of that baraka post! i didn’t expect such a big outreach, i’m so glad to know there are baraka lovers out there ♥️ !
MERCHANT’S TRADE. / BARAKA X OUTWORLD! READER
a/n: this is a request that is dedicated to @odditycircus-2002 ! compliments to my work mean so much to me— so the least i can is do something for y’all in exchange 💕 thank you so much again as always for supporting my work ! 🧡
- It's suicide. That's what your associates told you when you'd made the choice to begin trade with the diseased folk of the Tarkatan colony. A fool's idea, tantamount to throwing away every bit of life you might have left in you. Yet, you'd refused to be told what to do with your own choices. Perhaps it was seeing the diseased be wrangled around Sun Do, maybe it was knowing there was business opportunity there untouched--- either way, taking all your goods with you and traveling by cover of the night, you made your way towards the Tarkatan colony with your head held high. Your goods held even higher.
- You'd prepared yourself for all kinds of terrible things. Whispers from those who had spoke of bloodshed and gore and the horrid smell of death and miasma. Draped yourself in big fabrics that touch would not invade. Covered your lips and nose with a scarf to keep the bacterium away. You'd expected brutality, crudely, but what greeted you instead was--- a community. A community lead by a well-spoken man, infected with Tarkat. If the weather hadn't already made you sweat, your own egregious precaution was enough to make a bead fall down your forehead.
"You put yourself in harm's way, traveling this far, merchant." In-between his rasping words, you can sense a degree of professionalism. A man, who much like yourself, had walked the world of trade. He keeps his distance from you as you stand on the precipice of the colony's entrance; arms locked over his chest. Protective, it seems. Making his body the barrier between the community he seems leader of and yourself. It's admirable, and even though you don't vocalize it, you hope your neutral posture is enough to show that you respect it. "I'm well aware." There's a flicker of confusion in the man's eyes. Hesitation lapsing over it. Then, with a pause of silence, curiosity. Flicking over at you and the large sacks of goods that sit behind you. "Aware that Tarkat has no sentence but death?" You don't know what to call the expression he makes when you take off the scarf covering your face. You think-- it's hope. But for now, you accept it as relief. "Aware that there is always trade to be found wherever hungry mouths wait." His laugh is deep and ghastly; so rough you can almost feel it in your chest. And even though his features are marred with scars and extra incisors, you can tell he's smiling. You'd never breathed such a large sigh of relief.
- His name was Baraka, as you'd come to learn well and fast. The people there practically calling his name once every minute. To discuss, to ask for assistance, to mediate. Everywhere you'd go in the colony, it seemed he was needed; and in a slightly less measure, it seems you were needed to. The hungry mouths. Citizens who needed shelter from the elements and clothing to keep themselves warm at night. Medicine, not for Tarkat, but for all the other afflictions that danced alongside of it. The fact that there had been so many people even still alive in the colony was proof enough to you. The people here needed external aid--- and the man who'd welcomed you at the gate was holding them altogether better than anyone you'd imagined could. A man who, after seeing the goods you'd be willing to trade, and some you'd been willing to give free of cost, requested you stick around. Who were you to say no to a good business offer?
- It was nice having a consistent business partner. Outworld was a savage mistress for traders, and though you hadn't expected to continue returning to the Tarkatan colony, you did. For months, you went back and forth from your home to the colony. Spending longer each time, even given a small corner in the commune to reside on your own when you were there to trade large quantities. Then, sometimes at night, you'd get the rare opportunity to spend time with your business partner. Share a drink or, often times, more than two--- talking for hours on end on all sorts of topics. Always across from a fire; as if the flames themselves would prevent the Tarkat from diving out to you. Baraka reminiscing on his life before his disease, his time as a merchant, now as a leader-- all while you listened, and you could see the relief in his eyes to being heard. As if it's been years since he's confided in another soul. Sat beside another living being when you'd planted yourself beside him to share another drink. Not fearing his Tarkat or his teeth or his crimson red eyes, turned ruby under bonfire light.
- Baraka wouldn't risk touch. He hasn't been touched since the disease took to him. Maybe it's the liquor that makes it seem possible. Maybe it's the reason why he doesn't pull away when you nudge him with your shoulder, cackling from a raspy, dark joke he had made. That small safety the shirt over your skin gifts. The momentary warmth that he can feel against his skin as you tap your thigh against his, pointing out the wide moon smiling down at you both. Not on ounce of fear or disgust in your features. Making the wine you’d begun to pour into his cup even sweeter. The hand you leave on his shoulder as you wish him a good night even warmer on his skin. Whatever small moment had passed that night, enriched with mulled wine and liquor, stayed in Baraka’s mind— even as the next day passed, and the day after that. Remaining on that moment; and the way you’d looked at him. Something he hadn’t felt in years— not since Tarkat had taken to him. Something he feared. The thought of someone like You.
Meeting Havik in the midst of a mosh-pit is like meeting a human pin cushion. He’s the sponge for crowd killers— always leaving with a bloody nose and dislocated shoulders. He’s at every show you’ve been to, every set you make a detour to, and he’s always in the mosh pit. Almost enticing you to enter as you stand at the edge. Dropping to the ground by your feet and being dragged up laughing, bleeding, coughing. He’s there, standing across from you as bodies meet bodies and when you step forward, drawn into the music, bashing your skull against the air— Havik is there, waiting for you to begin swinging. Slamming his shoulders into your’s, clutching onto the back of your shirt as you head bang, throwing you into the air and back onto your feet as you fall. Covered in his blood and your sweat. Bellowing with laughter as the drums crash to an end. Your ears ringing as your senses return. “I want to see you again.” He says, clutching onto your forearms, so much taller, barely breathing but so certain. “I want you beat me till I bleed.”
wanted to doodle a Nitara lol
LEE.
followers (and non-followers) how we feeling about a [reader x jjk character] surviving the shibuya incident sorta deal where every new post is the reader and their journey with said character, getting through and surviving through the shibuya arc.
LEE.
i wish i had the visual artistic talent to draw because i definitely would be doing a mk1 self insert so i can kiss all these fruity mk men and women.
A CAPTAIN’S OFFER. / john price x reader —- after a hard day’s work, sometimes the only choice you have is to follow your coworkers to a local cigar bar.
a/n: this was something i had stewing in my old docs page that i never finished or released so, with the release of modern warfare 3– please enjoy! i thought you all might deserve some captain loving 🧡 perhaps some sade will accent the experience of this for you all.
“You might just be the first and only person to ever reject a cigar in a cigar lounge, you know that?”
You could play the fool and pretend this wasn’t your ploy, but you’d known the second he’d made the first approach that you had been made.
He’d caught your eye two months back when you first visited the lounge with a pair of coworkers. Cigarettes weren’t your choice of oral remedy but it was for your acquaintances and so— you’d budged. It was a nice-looking place, low light and the alcohol was fine but not cheap. It seemed like it’d be a one-and-done type deal. The kind where you’d talk about the night in off-hand reflections with your acquaintances about how work had been going. “It was really nice”, you’d say, and they would say “That’s great!” in proper response. Rinse and repeat ad nauseam.
You felt ill-fit here. Talking between the smoke and droplets of alcohol that would occasionally spray in your direction from their lips. Retreat seemed inevitable. All the air tasted of under your tongue was burnt ash and chemicals.
Maybe you’d drifted to him almost out of reflex. To something actually alive and breathing sitting there at the bar.
He’d been wearing a beanie then. Black t-shirt and rustic pants. Partially, you’d say he seemed almost— plain. Purposefully. No watch, no rings. Quiet voice, rich and smooth, that type that seemed to dip into the background. An accent, out of state, out of country. Transparent. But it was the scent of him that hooked you. Aromatic, like a dozen spices all pushing out from his lungs, springing out from the cigar smoke that left his lips. Warm earth and rich cacao. You weren’t the type to stare but you could admit that there were occasions. A necessity, perhaps. He’d been with a companion, a woman of fair hair, and you couldn’t help but feel that it made you hesitant.
He was gone by the time you’d left the bathroom to wash your hands.
The convincing took a bundle of confidence and a cupful of energy you hardly had left after your shifts but your coworkers were allowing. Three times you had gone, once without sight and twice with glimpses, and everytime he’d share the company of the same woman. Older than him, but you knew better than to assume, so you hesitated once more. Peeks. Moments. Taking an empty cup to the bartender to make their job easy for the sake of taking one last look. And he’d give. The slightest bit. Enough to let you know, but not enough to allow. You’d asked, once, when he’d left in silence, who he was out with out of curiosity and slight inebriation, and the only answer you’d received was a chuckle and five words.
“Funny. He’d said you’d ask.” Motherfucker.
The bar was empty when you’d arrived, stagnant, bustling elsewhere, but the hustle of the lounge never traveled even close to the bartender. It felt planned, but you knew it was a mentality— you wanted it to be empty. So you ignored the few passersby, the occasional patrons who’d come by requesting a drink, the scent of expensive cologne and cheap product. You’d thumbed through the pages of the drink menu for the good half hour. Sampled a wine, finished a cocktail, sipped through an two thirds of an old fashioned. It almost felt discouraging. Almost, if you weren’t so certain today would be different.
You’d been nursing the last sips of your drink when a hand wandered in from the corner of your eye. And when you lifted a hand to motion against accepting the offering, the face that held it was smiling. Almost betting your response. The scent of his tobacco held between his fingers almost as rich and warm as the smell of it soaked into the fabric of his sleeve.
“You might just be the first and only person to ever reject a cigar in a cigar lounge, you know that?” You’d come to expect the type of anger that came with rejection. The men who’d frequent the cigar bar and scoff at being told no. But not him, no. He’d seemed almost pleased. “Never had a taste for them, that’s all.”
He took response as a sign of approval. Sliding into the seat beside you without the need for hesitation, filling the open gap in there with ease. He’d foregone the hat this time and it’d done wonders at softening his features— but failed to make him any less as catching as he’d been from the moment you’d seen him across that bar two months prior. You’d never realized how blue his eyes were, but here, up close, they were dilated enough to skim the touch of dusk. They smiled with him as he spoke; slight wrinkles that tugged at the ends of his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. Late thirties, maybe forties. Sitting beside him, you can only pretend the rush of blood to your cheeks was from your drinks alone.
“Perhaps—” There’s a heft to him as he adjusts in his chair and sets his untouched cigar on the bar counter between you both. Musculature that shows momentarily in the hint of skin you get from his wrist as his sleeve lifts. Gazing down for a moment at him and his offering. “No one’s ever taken the time to help you acquire it.” A taste. “If you’re willing.” There’s no curtailing the smile that sticks to his words. It’s no question; it’s a request, one he knows you’d be willing to accept. One that he’s hoping you will.
“Do the honors.” You abandon your last sips of scotch in favor of partaking in his poison. Pushing the glass towards the end of the counter; canting your seat in his direction. He follows in your movements. With his eyes, with his hips. Inclining himself towards your presence as he trimmed the end off the cigar. Catching it in the palm of his hand and setting it down out of sight.
“Here.” He’s so very precise, you’ve noticed. A measured slowness as he raises the cigar up to your nose; allowing you to breathe in the scent of the tobacco. “Smell.” Hypnotizing. With his words and his voice. When you inhale, the dry scent of maple and black pepper greets you. Teasing an aroma of dark cacao in the back of your throat. You do not miss the look of satisfaction that settles in his eyes as he leans back to light the cigar. Illuminating his features with warm, golden light. When the first puffs of his smoke clears and all that’s left is his form, legs wide and arm rested, it almost seems to be his own words left unspoken. Come, he says. Don’t hesitate now. So you resist— and lean forward, just enough to force him to lean as well. Turning the smoldering cigar towards your lips.
“Don’t inhale.” He rumbles, the vibrations of his voice following to the tips of his fingertips as you breathe in. The taste of molasses and dark chocolate laying itself over the expanse of your tongue. “Out.” You obey without hesitation, and the smell of almond stays in your nose as you exhale; blowing rolling smoke out onto the top of his strong hand. You resist the urge to cough, but it teases at your throat and in noticing, the man can’t help but chuckle. All but a stranger nowadays to that pain.
“Taste enough to catch your interest?” He can try and feign innocence. Maybe all he could mean would be of the cigars and the bar the two of you sat within, but you can still taste the sweetness on your saliva as you breathe in once more. The sensation of him; there at the back of your throat. You catch the corner of his lip tug when you lean back as well. See the blue in his eyes turn navy when the side of your shoe rests against his calf.
“I might have to savor it with something else to keep it down...” A good bourbon, maybe a fine scotch. Or maybe, a name— your long pause leaving him the room to fill it. “John.” So simple. It almost seems as elusive as the rest of him. “John.” And so simple, you know it’ll roll off your tongue just fine for hours. “What do you think?” After two months, it’d be a miracle if he’d get you to stop. But, guessing from the look in his eye, he looks hopeful you won’t. “A bottle should be enough, I’d say.”
this had to happen ft. erron
LEE.
playing through mk11 rn and every character on screen is making me…… 🥴
