"Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable," ~ Cesar A. Cruz.
A blog dedicated to Mortal Kombat (Ermance lovers especially), along with other fandoms that I'll post about once I've generated content for them.
Ao3: RiverCat4u
That's right, I'm posting two fanon tier lists today (I try to be canon with these, pls).
Yes, I was a little more specific with the fourth tier. The third tier really is self-explanatory, just look at them. Will probably make a follow-up post about their sleep schedules further down the line, detailing why I believe Mileena's snoring was 90% her empire downfall, why Ermac is the reason people feel watched at night, and how painful the morning bird tier characters are.
(a.k.a. How to accidentally get engaged while trying to play cupid.)
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Notes:
I can write stuff other than angst... this is a new series I'm working on right now~ I hope you enjoy!!
This's crack. Don't take it seriously. Please. Or try to make sense of it. Because it won't.
POV: Ermac (Long-suffering, suspicious, and seconds from ascending out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.)
The Outworld marketplace is, unfortunately, still standing.
Ermac hovers beside a stall selling what looks suspiciously like bootleg Liu Kang action figures, eyes narrowed beneath his hood. He's on guard duty. The crowd bustled. Mortal concerns. Mortal noise. Mortal smells. He longs for silence. And then, as if summoned by the very thought, comes Ashrah.
Striding toward him like she hadn’t once tried to purify him into ghost glitter.
“Greetings,” she says sweetly.
Ermac doesn’t say “Oh, great,” but the psychic energy implies it. “...You are far from the Netherrealm.”
She smiles, hands clasped politely. “I was hoping to speak with you. Alone.”
Ermac stares. Then, grudgingly: “Proceed.”
She hesitates just enough to make him suspicious, then exhales. “It’s about Reptile.”
That gets his attention.
“We… spend time together,” she continues, voice softer now. “He is kind to me. Protective. He makes me laugh, even if I don’t always understand his jokes.”
Ermac makes a noise of spiritual disdain. Reptile’s “jokes” usually involves insects.
“I believe… I have developed feelings,” she says. “And I think he returns them. But I don’t know how to tell him. It’s… new. To me.”
A pause.
Ermac blinks. Slowly.
“You want our help.”
Ashrah nods earnestly. “You understand people better than you admit. And… I know you would want Syzoth to be happy.”
…Damn her and her logic.
Ermac grunts. “Fine. We will arrange something.”
Ashrah lights up like she hadn’t orchestrated the spiritual downfall of at least three minor deities. “Thank you.”
Ermac watches her walk off, robes flowing, and frowns. Something about this doesn’t sit right.
Later That Day – Some Outworld Fountain
Ashrah is sitting on the fountain edge, smoothing her skirts.
Reptile appears moments later, awkwardly clutching what might’ve been a bouquet of swamp weeds.
They both open their mouths.
“Syzoth—”
“Ashrah—”
Silence.
From his hiding spot behind a fruit stall, Ermac resists the urge to facepalm with all five collective souls.
This is… painful.
Then—
“I told you I didn’t say the moons of Zaterra look like squashed melons!” Reptile hisses.
“They DO!” Ashrah snaps, throwing her arms up. “Your entire homeland looks like a compost heap!”
Ermac, internally: We regret everything.
How did the situation escalate in a matter of seconds? Only Reptile can achieve this feat.
He was about to intervene when a familiar twang cut through the khaos.
Erron, suddenly appearing beside Reptile. “What he means to say is, he thinks you’re absolutely right, sugar.”
“...We were unaware you were part of this mission.”
Erron, tipping his hat, “We? Damn Ermac, didn’t know you had a royal court up in there.”
They glare. The air around them practically crackled with competitive masculine nonsense.
Reptile whispers to Ashrah, “oh no. They’ve made it a contest.”
Ashrah, sipping from a fruit smoothie she did not have before. “Let them.”
Montage – "Operation Lovebite: Training Day(s)" - Royal Garden Courtyard
The sun is too bright. The flowers are suspiciously cheerful. Somewhere, a bird sings a mating song far too loudly.
Ermac hates it here.
“I want to learn how to flirt properly. You’re so composed, I thought... perhaps you could show me?” Says Ashrah with the most poker face she can muster up.
Ermac, with the calm of a man dying inside, “...We do not flirt.”
“Then what do you call what you do with your eyes when you speak to people?”
Ermac blinks.
“Seeing.”
Nevertheless, he steps forward, spine straight, radiating supernatural discomfort.
He clears his throat.
“Compliments should be… specific. Tailored. For example: Your… posture is commendable.”
Ashrah, to her credit, looks delighted.
From behind a bush, Erron facepalms so hard he nearly knocked his hat off. He's absolutely not spying.
Mock Date
Ashrah and Reptile sit across from one another at a table that has seen at least three bar fights and one beheading.
Erron, whispering to Reptile, “you gotta maintain eye contact, partner. Real intense-like. Like you’re tryin’ to melt her soul.”
“...I can melt souls.”
“No. Bad. No soul melting on the first date.”
Ashrah, meanwhile, glances over at Ermac.
She whispers, “do I touch his hand now, or do I wait for him to mention something tragic?”
“Tradition suggests waiting until the second tragic anecdote.” Ermac says flatly.
Reptile, completely misunderstanding the cue, launches into a story about losing his favorite rock as a child.
Ashrah takes his hand immediately.
Ermac nods, satisfied. Erron mutters something about “damn lizard charm.”
The Tango
It happens like a fever dream.
A side room in the palace. Candles lit. Music playing from some poor bard Reiko had roped into live accompaniment.
Ermac turns to Ashrah and Reptile, “the tango is about tension. Mutual trust. Controlled intimacy.”
Erron snorts.
“Sounds like foreplay with extra steps.”
“It is not.”
Ashrah and Reptile take their positions, limbs awkward, swaying like confused scarecrows.
Erron crosses his arms, muttering, “They ain’t got the heat for this.”
“Demonstration, then.” Ermac challenges.
He reaches out. Grabs Erron by the waist.
Time freezes.
Erron, now redder than hellfire, “what the—”
“Follow.” Ermac instructs calmly.
And gods help him, Erron does.
Ermac moves with silent precision. Turn, step, press close, pivot. His hand settles firmly on the small of Erron’s back. Erron trips over a chair. Swears. Grips tighter.
They don’t speak.
Ashrah and Reptile watch, wide eyed. The bard plays more aggressively.
Ashrah comments quietly, “they’re good.”
“They’re very good.” Reptile sips from his juice.
The song ends. Erron yanks himself free.
“This was supposed to be your training, not a damn romantic novella.”
He storms out, cape flaring, face bright red.
Ermac follows like a ghost shaped magnet.
“We do not see the problem.” Ermac deadpans.
The Training Room. A Day Later.
Ashrah and Reptile are sparring. And by "sparring," we mean Reptile is gently tossing her like a sack of potatoes and Ashrah is giggling like she didn't just get suplexed into a wall.
Ermac watches, arms crossed, aura quietly flickering with suspicion.
“They are... oddly compatible.” Ermac mutters to himself.
Erron leans in, hands on hips. “What gave it away, the giggling or the eye fondling?”
Ermac’s eyes furrowed.
“She just stabbed him and he said thank you.”
“Maybe he's into that.”
“...Unlikely.”
Something about their chemistry is off. Not in a bad way. In a well-rehearsed way. Like they’re used to each other’s rhythms. Like they’ve done this dance before.
Too smoothly.
Too easily.
Ermac narrows his gaze.
“They do not need this help.”
Erron scoffs.
“You finally catching on, huh? All that cryptic bullshit of yours couldn’t sniff out two people already in love?”
“We are beginning to suspect deception.”
At that exact moment, Ashrah and Reptile crash into a stack of training dummies, landing in a heap, Ashrah somehow perfectly angled on Reptile’s lap, giggling as he brushes dust off her hair.
“Oh, how clumsy of me.” Ashrah beams.
“You fall for me so easily.” Reptile grins.
Too smooth. Too goddamn smooth.
Ermac side eyes Erron. Erron’s already watching him.
“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
“We are never thinking what you are thinking.”
“Fair. But humor me.”
“...They may be manipulating us.”
Erron looks like he’s just discovered gravity.
“No shit.”
They stand there for a beat, mutual realization dawning like a storm cloud.
“We have been made fools.”
“Speak for yourself, I’ve always been a fool.” Erron grumbles.
“You danced with us.”
Erron deadpans.
“You grabbed my ass.”
Ermac doesn’t deny it.
“It was strategic.”
Cue both of them slowly turning toward Ashrah and Reptile, who are now comparing something in a scrapbook they definitely didn’t have five minutes ago and trying very hard to look surprised they’re being watched.
Ashrah snaps it shut fast. Reptile coughs.
Too late.
Suspicion confirmed.
A Shady Outworld Tavern – Nightfall.
Ermac and Erron sit at a dimly lit table like two dads waiting for their teenage kids to come home past curfew. Erron’s got his feet kicked up, hat low, chewing on something that may or may not be a toothpick. Ermac is glowing ominously.
Vibes: intervention but make it passive-aggressive.
Reptile and Ashrah enter, holding hands like that’s a normal thing now. Reptile immediately tries to pull away when he spots them but Ashrah tightens her grip with a sweet smile like: Too late, bitch.
“Well, well. If it ain’t the happy couple.” Erron says dryly, tipping his hat back.
Ashrah tries to feign surprise. “Couple? Us? Oh no, we were just—”
“You are holding hands.” Ermac says flatly.
Reptile, sweating lizard bullets. “It’s, uh. Cultural. Zaterran custom. Very platonic. All the rage.”
“You kissed her hand this morning and called her ‘beloved.’”
“Friendly platonic beloved.”
“We are going to kill you.” Ermac threatens.
Ashrah raises both her hands like she’s surrendering, but she’s smiling like someone who’s already set all the landmines and knows exactly where everyone’s about to step.
“No need for threats. We were just... testing you.” Ashrah says almost too cheerfully.
“Testing?! You tricked us into helping you confess to someone you were already dating!”
Ashrah reaches behind her, plops down a thick scrapbook and a rolled-up chart titled “Operation Lovebite: Emotional Denial Forecast (Phase III)”
Erron stared blankly.
“...What the hell is Phase III?”
Ashrah and Reptile exchange a smug look.
“You two get together.” Ashrah pointed at them.
“...We are together.” Ermac simply said.
Reptile raises an eyebrow.
“Like together-together? Or still-flirting-awkwardly-while-pretending-you-haven’t-been-lusting-since-Kotal’s-coronation?”
Erron facepalms.
“...Fuck.”
Ashrah snaps her fingers.
“Exactly!”
Reptile opens the scrapbook again and turns to a full two-page spread titled:
“THE SORCERER AND THE GUNSLINGER – A CASE STUDY IN PINING”
It’s got candid photos. Sketches. Charts. A little hand-written note from Ashrah: “He watches him like a storm cloud; romantic, moody, doomed.”
Erron physically slams his hat down and covers his face with both hands.
“You documented us?!”
Reptile smirks.
“Page 17 is just you looking longingly at his soul mass.”
Ermac picks up the book. Flips it open. Silently stares at a page titled: “Not-Boyfriends: A Timeline of Missed Opportunities.”
Ermac stares with betrayal in his eyes.
“You sketched us in the hot springs...”
Ashrah shrugs.
“For science.”
The tension builds. Erron’s flushed, mad, flustered. Ermac is weirdly quiet.
Ashrah and Reptile are just vibing. They already won.
And finally—
“You still didn’t answer my question. Why go through all this?” Erron says gritting his teeth.
Reptile, softly and honest for once, “because we love each other... and we could see you loved each other too. You just needed a push.”
A beat. A long one.
Ashrah nudges Reptile and whispers:
“Ten koins says they kiss before dessert.”
Reptile whispers back.
“You’re on.”
INT. TRAINING HALL – EVENING
The sun is dying outside in a dramatic blaze because even the sky ships Ermac and Erron, apparently.
Ashrah and Reptile are “cleaning up” in the background. Translation: pretending to stack chairs while watching like hawks.
Ermac picks up a long-abandoned tango record. Spins it once.
“Would you like to try again? Without an audience.” Ermac starts, as casually as a thunderstorm.
Erron snorts, arms crossed, refusing to look directly at him.
“What, you got withdrawal symptoms already?”
Ermac steps closer.
“It was not unpleasant.”
“...You nearly twirled me into a damn pillar.”
“You held onto us.” Ermac says softly, too softly.
A beat. Erron goes quiet.
Then he mutters.
“You didn’t let go.”
Ermac moves a little closer. One step. Another.
“Did you want us to?”
Erron says gruff and low. “No.”
Silence again. Heavy. Thick. Charged like a thunderhead.
Ermac reaches forward, gloved fingers brushing the hem of Erron's coat. Not pulling, just there.
“We have danced around many things.”
Erron laughs bitterly.
“You talkin’ about the tango or our feelings?”
“Yes.”
Erron looks at him, really looks at him. And something in him just... snaps. In the good way. The desperate way.
“Fuck it.”
He grabs the front of Ermac’s robe and kisses him like it owes him money. It’s rough and clumsy and teeth clicking and damn near searing.
Ermac doesn’t hesitate. One hand to the back of Erron’s neck, the other gripping his armor plate. He kisses back like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this exact khaos.
FROM THE DOORWAY:
Ashrah and Reptile, clutching hands, eyes misty. Drinks in the other hand.
“They’re kissing.” Reptile sheds a fake lizardy tear.
“Operation Lovebite... complete.” Ashrah nods with satisfaction.
“Phase four: Double date interrogation?”
“Oh absolutely.”
Reptile hands Ashrah the koins happily.
INT. ROYAL DINING HALL – NIGHT
Candles. Fancy dishes. Ashrah brought out the nice robes. Reptile combed his scales. There’s wine. And judgement.
Erron and Ermac sit on one side of the table, still visibly recovering from their “heat of the moment” kiss. Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it.
Ashrah and Reptile, however, are thriving.
Ashrah starts with a sweet smile. “So. How long have you two been repressing your feelings?”
Erron nearly chokes on his drink. Ermac stares at the ceiling like it holds the answers to life.
Erron snaps defensively. “We weren’t repressin’ nothin’.” he glares at her.
“We strongly disagree.” Ermac mumbles.
Reptile grinned sharply. “You almost fought over who would lead a tango.”
“And flirted during a flirting lesson. That wasn’t even assigned.”
Erron starts to open his mouth, but Ashrah reaches under the table and drops something on the surface.
The damned scrapbook.
Decorated in shiny red stickers, glitter, and a godawful title written in thick black ink: "Operation Lovebite: The Not-Boyfriend Cowboy & The Ghost With Issues."
Ashrah proudly says, “we’ve been documenting your slow descent into coupledom.”
“That's exactly what I was say—”
Reptile starts flipping the pages. “This one’s from the time you tripped and caught Ermac by the waist. The caption says: ‘Classic gay yearning.’”
Erron looks horrified.
“You been stalking us?”
“Curating a narrative.” Ashrah deflects.
Ermac says dryly. “You knew this entire time.”
“We’ve been dating for eleven months.” Reptile admits.
Ashrah looks at Ermac pointedly. “I interrogated you for romantic advice. You.”
Erron shouts at Reptile. “You little bastard! You played me!”
“With love.”
Ashrah, the sweet angelic demon she is, says, “and mild psychological manipulation.”
“Which worked.” Reptile beamed.
Ashrah clinks her glass. Reptile stands up.
“To true love!”
“And meddling!” Reptile adds.
They burst into a coordinated victory dance. It’s half martial arts, half enthusiastic lizard flailing, all too rehearsed to be casual.
Ashrah twirls dramatically. Reptile moonwalks. There’s a spin. A dip. A sparkle bomb from somewhere explodes behind them.
Erron watches with horror. “...We were pawns.”
“We are never living this down.”
“Next time they need help, we're faking our own deaths.”
“But we are together.” Ermac says softly.
Erron grumbles, flustered, “yeah. That part ain’t so bad.”
They lean into each other slightly, resigned and secretly a little happy.
EPILOGUE: “BLACKMAIL, BUT MAKE IT SCRAPBOOKED” - INT. ROYAL PALACE LIBRARY – DAY
Mileena is rummaging through a stack of scrolls, minding her own (khaotic) business when something… glitters in the corner.
She turns. Squints.
Lying suspiciously exposed on a reading table is the scrapbook.
Still obnoxiously titled. Still bedazzled within an inch of its life.
Mileena reads aloud.
“'Emotionally constipated construct and his not-boyfriend mercenary.' …Oh this reeks of opportunity.”
She opens it.
Her eyes widen. She flips pages. Faster. Then slower. Then slower still.
There are photos. Notes. Captioned drawings. A cutout of Erron’s hat. A page titled “Top 5 Times Ermac Looked Like He Wanted to Haunt Him Romantically.”
She starts laughing. Like full body, gasping for air, feral empress wannabe cackling.
INT. REPTILE’S ROOM – LATER
Ashrah and Reptile are relaxing, sipping tea, basking in the aftermath of a successful operation.
BOOM.
The doors slam open.
Mileena storms in, holding the scrapbook like it’s the final piece of a conspiracy.
“I demand ten more copies of this. Immediately.”
Ashrah with an innocent smile, “we can make you one with extra glitter.”
Reptile elbows her, “don’t forget the bonus chapter. Erron cried.”
Mileena's eyes sparkle.
“And I want it illustrated.”
INT. ERRON'S ROOM – SAME TIME
Erron opens his drawer.
Inside: a photocopy of the scrapbook’s most damning page. Ermac in full romantic crisis mode, blushing like a schoolboy.
“...We’re being haunted by our own past.” Erron stares.
Ermac materialises behind him.
“We are never letting them write anything again.”
Erron now pinned against his own drawer.
“Unless they’re writing smut.”
Ermac doesn’t respond verbally.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Ashrah and Reptile at a printing press. Stacks of “Operation Lovebite” Vol. 1, 2, and a Special Edition covered in embarrassing doodles.
“Do you think we should start matchmaking professionally?”
Reptile thinks for a few moments.
“Let’s wait until the construct and mercenary forgive us.”
“So... never?”
They high five.
Operation Lovebite: Gag Reel
"Bloopers so silly they'll make Shao Kahn do a spit take." My friend had said. •-•
Welcome to the "Operation Lovebite" Gag Reel now streaming exclusively in the minds of the emotionally unhinged.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
[BLOOPER #1 – The Tango That Killed a Thousand Souls]
Scene: The infamous tango lesson.
Ermac:
“Follow our lead.”
Erron (deadpan):
“Don’t boss me, I got rhythm.”
Cue Ermac dipping him with full drama. Erron yelps.
Ashrah (offscreen):
“You were not supposed to scream like a dying squirrel!”
Reptile (howling):
“HE KICKED ME IN THE TAIL!”
Camera pans down: Syzoth’s tail is tangled in a chair leg.
Cut to Erron and Ermac trying to regain composure. Failing. Miserably.
[BLOOPER #2 – The Argument Scene (Take 7)]
Ashrah: “Pineapple does not belong on pizza, Syzoth.”
Reptile (with righteous fury): “IT’S FRUIT. IT’S A TOPPING. I DON’T MAKE THE RULES.”
Erron leans out of his hiding spot:
“Y’all gonna kiss or debate fruit salads until we rot?”
Ermac, flat as ever:
“We prefer rotting. Less embarrassing.”
Cue corpse laughter. Literal ghost wheezing.
[BLOOPER #3 – The Marketplace Meet Cute (Gone Wrong)]
It's summer time, the cocktails are out, in-laws' BBQ has commenced (in this case, the whole cast is invited to a BBQ). There were some characters that I wanted to put into more than one category.
(the next morning, Ermac doesn't express any emotion except complete resentment for his actions. A truly hungover, grumpy clump of souls).
Thank you for this masterpiece!!!! You captured it so perfectly. He really is a "Looks like they could kill you, but is actually a cinnamon roll", depending on the day lol.
Rules? NO magic (unless there's plot armour) which means NO teleportation, NO asking the elder gods for help, NO tag backs (looking at you 4th tier), and NO realm wars caused by the sore losers.
These tier lists are the only times where all the realms come together amicably, until they're not lol.
The krew head for the tavern after a long, exhausting day, as even their emperor tags along from how tough their missions had been. However, after what they all thought to be harmless persuasion in getting Ermac to drink at least one glass, the construct ended up drunk. Sleepy drunk? Laughing drunk? No, a chaotic drunk.
They survived the night, but at what cost? And will Ermac learn of what he said and did that night?
(I posted this onto my AO3 account, which you are free to check out! User: RiverCat4u).
Thousands of undead souls trapped into a single, powerful vessel, intoxicated by one of the most pungent liquors in all of Outworld. Why? Ermac couldn't remember the next day to tell you. But Erron could, just about.
In fact, the mercenary in question was surprised that it took five rounds of mystery shots, a small snack break, then pints of the good stuff, until the master of souls derailed from his eerily, stoic, composed self. The first symptom? Ermac would *not* let go off of Erron's arm.
The krew, all except Ferra and Torr who were sent to bed early, were playing Outworld's version of Uno. For Erron's safety and sanity, they removed the lethal punishments of having the 4+ card drawn onto one poor soul- which, in Earthrealm, would be a string of curses, but in Outworld, it apparently meant losing a finger and watching the opponent eat it. Erron knew they were just teasing with him, they must have been...
Regardless, Erron struggled to place down a colourful card because Ermac clung onto his arm, with a steel grip around Erron's bicep as if the world was going to end. When Erron looked at him, Ermac didn't realise how clingy he was to Erron's side. But the symptom evolved into Ermac swinging a leg over Erron's lap, then buried his face into the crook of Erron's neck, while claiming in a slurred manner that he wasn't doing anything.
The next symptom? Immediate chaos. The construct laughed heartily at Reptile's losses in the game, which etched an awestruck, lovey dovey smile from Erron and his puppy eyes. Then, the happiness derailed into anger, when Reptile avenged himself by ordering Ermac to pick up two cards, to which the construct threatened to dissect Reptile like a toad. Somehow, the anger turned into sadness, and Ermac slumped against Erron's side with a tired, depressed, long-yard stare. It was a vicious cycle. When Ermac laughed, they all did. When Ermac raised his fists to fight someone, whether that be with deadly magic or deceptively strong knuckles, Kotal and Erron sandwiched the construct's sights from the victim. When Ermac started to tear up, they ordered more snacks and showered him with reassurance. Did the emperor put an end to it? No, these were the most genuine reactions lured out of the construct since Ermac bowed down to him years ago. Was Erron tempted to end Ermac's suffering? Of course, only that every time he urged his partner to slow down and sober up, the construct persuaded the cowboy to relax.
Erron thought those were all the symptoms Ermac was capable of experiencing, but he was mistaken. Utter honesty was the next one. With every confession or honest answer, Erron sank more in his chair for varying reasons that didn't make him regret the experience one bit.
Kotal asked, with a teasing smirk and awareness over his authority amongst them all, 'What do you think of me, Ermac?'
'You are an emperor in the day, but a kitten in the night.'
Jaws dropped. Erron wheezed in panic and hid behind his hat, Reptile dramatically turned to Kotal whose gawking and reddening face confirmed Ermac's honest answer.
Reptile snickered as he asked, 'Did you respect D'Vorah?'
Edenian curses flew out of the construct's lips, smacking Reptile silly for such a foul-mouthed question. Erron snorted, Kotal awkwardly chuckled as he realised how much his council hated D'Vorah since day one; reflecting his poor decisions in choosing her as First Minister.
Erron smugly asked, 'D'ya have eyes for anyone else?'
To which, with a gloved hand yanking down the mercenary by the shirt, the construct's eyes beamed with lust and romance. 'Only you. Shall we prove ourselves to you?'
Snacks. It was time for snacks, and time for Reptile to sit in between the hot and bothered construct and Erron's conflicted nature. How much should Erron feed into Ermac's requests and offers? He crossed over his legs and moved on, albeit with the construct's dazed eyes only looking at him.
The food barely sobered him. All the pent up frustration over decades of chaotic events, ranging from the constant shift in Outworld's empire to Shinnok's shenanigans and then Earthrealm's intimidation via Raiden's new red eyes-- which the whole krew mocked far away from Raiden's ears--, were all spewed out of the construct's lips.
'Outworld is going to perish.'
'The [Edenian curse] D'Vorah!'
'We should have killed Shinnok ourselves.'
'Kill all of the Earthrealmers.'
'But what about their families?'
'Kill all of their families!'
'No!'
'Restore Edenia.'
'No, Outworld.'
'Edenia.'
'Outworld.'
'Kill all.'
Wide eyes stared back at him. Not just from the krew, but all of the tavern-goers gawked at the master of souls because of the repeated word 'Kill', and believing that they may be next on the list, many vacated the premises. None of the enforcers tried to excuse the behaviour of their insane friend, they only slid away Ermac's drink and called it a night. Erron wasted no time in holding together the construct's glowing hands, Reptile wondered if he ought to blindfold the construct in case D'Vorah appeared in the street and carnage ensued. But Kotal raised a hand and expressed a relaxed smile.
'Ermac. As your emperor, I order you to not kill until dawn.'
To which, and thankfully the tavern was empty, the construct glared up at him with fire in his eyes. Only, it was anger mixed with arousal, confusion, sadness, and all the wild emotions put on display that night.
'Force us on our knees, emperor.'
'No, by our head.'
'[Edenian curse] your orders!'
'Holy shit,' Erron gasped as he slapped a hand over Ermac's mouth, then stared up with a sincerely apologetic, yet awkward chuckle. The emperor was speechless, he wasn't sure how to feel or what to feel and wondered if he should stay behind to black out. 'Y'know he's drunk outta his mind, he didn't mean any of that.'
'But he did,' Reptile slyly snickered from beside him. 'Outworld's liquor brings the truth out of--'
The outspoken Reptile was tackled to the floor by, none other than, the drunk construct with newfound godly strength; it required both Kotal and Erron to pluck Ermac off of the Zaterran. The master of souls was too far gone to reason with, so Erron threw an empty potato sack over the construct's head and Kotal carried him over his shoulder with an unwavering grip. But, on the way back to the palace, the last symptom convinced all of them that the construct had lost his sanity.
'We crave bread.'
'We need bread.'
'Crave.'
'No, we crave Erron.'
'No, bread first.'
'After we kill.'
'Then bread.'
'No, then Erron.'
The rest became Edenian gibberish, which Kotal understood the most, Reptile partially, and Erron vaguely. There were parts of it that made Kotal sadly frown in understanding, but then most of the parts had the Osh-Tekk goggled-eyed and eager to put the construct to bed; by whatever means necessary.
All was quiet by morning. Erron would never confess how he managed to put Ermac to sleep, but because it worked, nobody asked questions. However, the mercenary woke up to the grumpiest Ermac he had ever seen. The master of souls was giving himself a look over in the mirror, ensuring he appeared professional and ready as the Kahn's Guard, yet it was all through a permanent scowl and a realm-shattering migraine.
'Well, don't ya look like sunshine and rainbows today.'
The thousands of souls, in all their suffering from their vessel's hungover state, shot a glare so fierce that Erron hugged his bedsheets.
'You should not have let us spiral out of control.'
Erron sputtered. 'Trust me, sugar. I tried my darn hardest.'
Ermac bit his tongue, a telling sign that the construct was most certainly not drunk anymore. Otherwise, Erron would be on the receiving end of Ermac's brutal honesty, as per what was exemplified last night.
'At the very least, you owe us the truth of what transpired.'
Erron cleared his throat. 'You didn't do anythin' but snoozed on the table, doll.'
Ermac scoffed and slipped out the Edenian swear for 'Bullshit'. 'Then we will ask Syzoth and the emperor.'
And he did, but in the throne room; if a tavern witnessed his horrors, then the guards would inevitably hear about it either way. Though, Erron stood behind the pissed off construct and pleaded with cautious eyes to both Kotal and Reptile, who, for Ermac's sober sanity, lied also.
Kotal, with a small smirk, claimed: 'You ate plenty of the tavern's food.'
Reptile, with a flushed face, claimed: 'You... You... You went swimming?'
Erron squinted at him. Ermac didn't believe any of them. He'll learn the truth from the gossiping guards eventually, or the wary citizens near the tavern. For now, he needed to cure his migraine and resume his duties as his stoic, haunting self, while the rest of the krew remembered the chaotic night all throughout the day.
It's summer time, the cocktails are out, in-laws' BBQ has commenced (in this case, the whole cast is invited to a BBQ). There were some characters that I wanted to put into more than one category.
On the surface, they are Outworld's greatest defenders. They tried to show as much towards the Earthrealmers, but beyond the stoic faces and rare graces, the Kotal Krew consisted of stumbling, mentally stressed out warriors.
Kotal Kahn, the emperor, refuses to show weakness. But beyond his denial, the Osh-Tekk is exhausted most of the time. This is because he constantly pushes himself, ensuring to keep up physically or even surpass personal bests when it comes to his strength or capabilities. He is paranoid in many ways; in knowing he could be assassinated at any time, in how the paranoia worsened after D'Vorah's betrayal, and most significantly, if he acts like Shao Kahn occasionally which prompts an immediate silent meltdown behind closed doors. More so with the knowledge that not all of Outworld approved him as emperor and still refuse to. At the end of the day, he must balance his choices: to honour his own wishes first, or his people's wishes first? Ultimately, the tiredness would be helped a little bit if he managed to sleep, but instead resorts to keeping one eye open with a dagger held onto for dear life.
Reptile/Syzoth, Kotal's closest friend, lives no better. Of course he has Kotal and sometimes embraces the chaos that is the rest of the enforcers, but his own people and land? The survivor's guilt stirs him awake, the resentment towards the rest of Outworld for not saving Zaterra, as he misses his own kind every single day and night. It worsens his depression, which in turn worsens his performance due to his sluggish demeanour, leaving him in a cycle of self-hate; his reptilian form, unlike most of Outworld, worsens his dysmorphia even more. So long as he doesn't have to look in a mirror or perceive other people's staring, he could only hope that one day, he would feel worthy on the council.
Ermac, the master of souls, the fine construct that intimidated the masses upon creation, but learned that he was created rather imperfectly. Shang Tsung must've failed to consider how deeply Ermac's state of depersonalisation would get with all of those souls. One second, he's content, and the next, he's resentful, all because of his conflicting souls; on a good day, his moods and personalities were consistent and familiar, but on a bad day, the construct refused to outwardly express the chaos that was from within. With his dissociative state almost constant, he zones out a lot. One may assume it's his souls determining the next course of action, but Ermac would claim it's a moment of relief from posing as a calm, poised being. Never mind the confusing events -- ask him what happened during Shao's rein and he couldn't tell you due to memory loss. He assumes it's because of his freedom from Shao, but sometimes his body picks up on sensations and traumatic memories that he can't shake off; he knew something must've happened if he feels incredibly uncomfortable, and not just because he's often avert to physical touch by anyone.
Erron Black, the questionable mercenary on the team, often carried himself as a cold-hearted Earthrealm in a land of even colder hearts. He was just blending in, right? With the tension, the chaos, the bitterness, the adrenaline. However, if any genuine emotion ever crawled up to the surface, he would shove it down with humour; making the relevant or irrelevant joke, quipping at another enforcer, constant mockery put on display. If humour didn't drown it, then alcohol did, and he refuses to ever let Kotal in his room in fear of how dramatic his bottle stash is; mostly because dozens of them are empty and hidden under the bed. Shooting is a release, though on most nights, the shooting is the reason for his nightmares as he remembers all the worst moments in his mercenary career. He hadn't meant to kill so many innocent people, he knew it was all mostly his job, but that failed to lessen the guilt. However, the shooting is the reason he was hired, and without his guns, he would feel utterly worthless on the council.
The chaotic pair Ferra & Torr, often so loud and erratic that one wouldn't suspect any emotional turmoil with the duo. But that's only because 24/7, if they could control it, Ferra and Torr never left each other's sides. One time, Kotal insisted that Torr help with physical labour in the courtyard and that Ferra could stay back, but she screamed in protest and clung onto Torr with brandished claws. Even in the rare times where Ferra had fallen asleep, Torr failed to function and waited for his rider to wake up. The brutish pair were perceived as that: brutes that could physically wipe out many enemies. But their intelligence and emotional development? Completely stunted. Being raised in violence rippled into explosive personalities and aggression, something slowly helped by Ermac who insists that Ferra is educated using the palace's library and offered to help them. Eventually, Ferra will be highly intelligent and less aggressive, and would hopefully influence Torr in the same way. Hopefully… Eventually…
D'Vorah is a traitor to others and to herself, endlessly promising the betterment of her hive when she instead ends up in more danger, and this heightens her felt lack of control and paranoia. One may say she deserves how often she looks over her shoulder, how she fails to trust anyone, though she would admit that Kotal was almost a trustworthy companion for her. Until a better offer came around for her hive, then Kotal was as good as dirt. Her cold heart keeps her hive safe, that's what she claims anyway, and believes emotions are a weakness not necessary for her hive's survival. But sometimes, burrowed inside dark caves far from civilisation, she craves some sort of social interaction that isn't just with her bugs.
But the enemies will never learn of their struggles, they all strove individually to ensure that. From an outsider's eye, they are mighty warriors with unique traits that make up their powerful combat. Hardened up, stoic shells, only offering their warmth to Outworld's people. Though, it wouldn't take much to break apart and crumble their stubborn faces.
(Let me know what your headcanons are regarding this crazy bunch :) ).
Tell me if you'd change this tier list, I'm really curious to hear other takes on it.
Also, "That's okay, this is fun!" It was not fun, they were meant to lead an army through the woods to conquer the next battle, but mistook the mission halfway through as a wander in nature. Smh.
(a.k.a My Cowboy-Konstruct Delusion Spiral: A Love Story)
A lovingly khaotic deep dive into the soul-melting ship of Ermac x Erron Black, complete with impassioned essays, unsolicited analysis, and an irresponsible amount of feelings. This is propaganda. This is delusion. This is love.
To myself, the other two or three Ermance shippers out there, and whoever has the time to spare.
Written by me, Khaotic, and a friend… (sadly they don't use Tumblr.)
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Here's a summary of the whole thing for those who don't want to dive deep into the article, although I recommend giving it a chance (｡•́︿•̀｡)
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
TL;DR: Ermance is two broken, deadly men who have seen the worst of the world and choose each other anyway, quietly, stubbornly, without ever pretending they're anything other than wreckage.
Ermance is not a ship, it’s a spiritual experience. They didn’t ask to be hot and tragic, but here we are.
THEY ARE:
A haunted soul pile (Ermac) and an emotionally constipated cowboy (Erron Black).
Two ancient, bloodstained, exhausted men who understand each other without needing to explain shit.
Brutally loyal. No fake smiles, no bullshit, just raw, earned connection.
DYNAMIC IN A NUTSHELL:
Lonely monsters recognizing each other.
Awkward tenderness buried under sarcasm and stoicism. Mutual respect between two weapons turned men.
Slow-burn trust with savage loyalty at the end of it. The "I will kill for you without question" energy.
HOW THEY ACT AROUND EACH OTHER:
Erron: talks shit, flirts terribly, patches up wounds while calling Ermac names.
Ermac: saves Erron’s life like it’s a casual Tuesday, says weirdly formal compliments that sound like marriage proposals.
Physical touch = rare, intense, and fucking meaningful when it happens.
Humor = dark, bone-dry, sometimes so bleak it's funny again.
WHAT MAKES THEM WORK:
No fake morality. They’re survivors, not heroes.
Respect for strength and vulnerability.
They let each other be exactly who they are, ugly parts included.
"I know you’re a monster. I love you anyway."
FINAL VIBE:
Love found them when they were too tired to run. And maybe that’s the only reason it stuck.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
The Full “Analysis” And Rant Down This Cut
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
What If a Cowboy Kissed a Ghost and Meant It?
You ever look at a cowboy and a soul konstruct and think, yeah; this is what Shakespeare meant by 'star-crossed lovers'?
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Why I Care / Why You Should Too
This ship has lived in my head rent-free for over a decade, and now it’s paying rent in angst, soul magic, and cowboy grit. At first, I tried to get rid of them, but they stuck to me like a shadow.. and so I decided to do something about it.
Ermac x Erron Black (Ermance) is that rare, spicy, haunted, khaotic kind of pairing that makes you lie awake at night whispering ‘what if?’
So here’s a post dedicated to them; for the curious, skeptical, and doomed romantics like me.
What Is Ermance?
You ever ship a haunted soul hive and a sharp-shooting disaster cowboy? You do now.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Ermac: Ancient, haunted, inherently tragic.
A literal collective of souls; a thousand voices arguing and mourning inside him, with moments of eerie clarity and deep sadness.
Reserved and heavy; struggles with emotional expression because he’s barely even one person.
Deeply curious about humanity and tenderness, but treats it like some foreign animal he doesn’t know how to pet.
Wields MASSIVE power but does so almost absent-mindedly, like it's just an extension of his being, not something he lords over people.
Behind the cold, regal mask? A starving man who doesn’t know how to ask for food.
Erron Black: Crass, rough around the edges, but not stupid.
Old in his own way. Not ancient, but lived-in, weathered by centuries thanks to his Outworld-enhanced lifespan.
Self-sufficient to a fault, handles loneliness like a broken leg he learned to walk on.
Uses humour, sarcasm, and bravado to keep people from getting too close (because what if they realize he’s not as unbothered as he pretends?)
Loyal in a vicious, protective way. The kind of loyalty that has teeth.
Carries deep guilt and self-loathing over things he’s done, but he buries it under jobs and whisky.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
One is born of a thousand ancient voices.
The other is a gunslinger with Problems TM.
Together? You get gunpowder and soul magic, vengeance and velvet. They are what time forgot, walking relics of the past, souls and sand, bonded by grief and grit.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Welcome to the Wild West of Mortal Kombat shipping.
If you like angst, power dynamics, and unexpected tenderness—buckle up!
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
This Ship Exists Because...
Because trauma doesn’t need a translator. It needs a goddamn drinking partner.
Because two war-weary bastards finding tenderness in the middle of hell is more powerful than any fairy tale.
Because Ermac is the weight of every soul he’s ever carried, and Erron is the one man who never tries to lighten it, just walks beside it.
Core Dynamics:
Mutual Recognition of Loneliness:
They see it in each other immediately.
No need for words. It’s that bone-deep awareness, like recognizing a fellow ghost.
Ermac, made of a thousand grieving souls, sees the isolation stitched into Erron's very existence.
Erron, all bravado and scars, recognizes the way Ermac stands like someone who's forgotten how to ask for comfort.
Wordless Understanding:
They don’t always talk it out. Half the time, it’s in shared silences, small nods, standing close without touching.
Actions over words. One will just quietly do something for the other (patch a wound, clear a path, offer a hand) without needing thanks or explanation.
Contrast of Presentation:
Ermac: solemn, formal, almost eerily still.
Erron: twitchy, sardonic, swaggering.
Their body language constantly clashes but complements — one pulls back, the other pushes forward, balancing each other naturally.
The Tenderness is AWKWARD:
When it gets soft between them?
It’s so messy. Ermac is stiff, struggling to articulate feelings, offering things in that overly formal way ("We... value your company, Erron Black.")
Erron is painfully bad at receiving tenderness, cracking jokes, deflecting, trying not to panic when shit gets real.
(But you can see it all over them: the desperate need for someone to stay.)
Slow Trust, Hard-Earned:
Neither trusts easily.
Every inch of closeness is earned through blood, patience, and little gestures.
If you betray one of them, the other would destroy you without blinking. Ride-or-die level loyalty.
Power Dynamic? Actually Weirdly Balanced:
You’d think Ermac, being godlike, would dominate, but NOPE.
Erron refuses to be cowed, and Ermac respects the hell out of it.
They meet as equals, because neither sees the other's strengths as threatening; it's just another part of them to be understood.
Shared Morality = Very Gray:
Neither of them is what you'd call "good."
They’re both survivors, both willing to do very ugly things to protect what matters.
They get it—no judgment. Just a silent "Yeah, I'd do it too."
Some Bonus Points (because why not?):
Ancient mystical being vs. dirty Western gunslinger
Regal poise vs. yeehaw menace
“We’ve tried to kill each other” tension
The unbearable tenderness neither can describe
“I will burn the realm for you” vs. “I’ll die for you if it’s inconvenient for everyone else”
How I Characterise Their Interaction:
One’s a cursed soul hive. The other’s a bounty hunter with baggage. Together? They’re perfection.
Slightly Grudging Care:
"I didn’t patch you up because I like you, dumbass."
"We assisted because your death would have been... inconvenient."
(They totally did it because they like each other.)
Sarcastic Flirting (mostly Erron):
Erron’s method of flirting is merciless teasing.
Ermac doesn’t get half the jokes but finds Erron’s amusement... charming, even if he doesn’t show it.
Rare Bursts of Vulnerability (usually from Ermac first, ironically):
Every now and then, Ermac will just say something devastatingly honest out of nowhere because he doesn’t have the instinct to lie about emotions.
And it wrecks Erron every damn time.
Physical Contact is a Big Deal:
When they do touch (a hand to a shoulder, catching the other when they stumble, a brush of fingers)?
It’s electric.
Every small touch feels like it carries meaning, and no-one else is capable of matching that.
Their Humor is Dark and Dry:
Neither of them laughs much.
But when they do, it’s usually over something morbid, inappropriate, or so bleak it loops back around to funny.
Only Erron could make thousands of the undead laugh, and only Ermac could make a stone-hearted cowboy wheeze his heart out.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
If You Don’t Ship Ermance, Here’s Why You’re Wrong
Please don’t come at me—they're just jokes……… Mostly.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
"They have no chemistry!"
WRONG.
Their entire chemistry is "I'm too emotionally crippled to admit I need you but I would still murder a god if you asked nicely."
THAT IS PEAK ROMANCE.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
"But they’re so different!"
YEAH, AND???
It's called contrast. It's called dynamic tension.
A stiff haunted konstruct and a grimy, sarcastic cowboy?
That's not a clash, baby, that's a raging hot wildfire.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
"They wouldn't get along."
First of all:
Getting along is for amateurs.
Second of all:
They understand each other's darkness instinctively.
They don't need cheesy compatibility; they need someone who won't flinch when the masks drop.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
"But they’re broken!"
EXACTLY.
Two broken people making each other feel human again is hotter than 90% of vanilla romance stories.
Pain recognizes pain. Healing happens in the wreckage.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
"It’s not canon."
Canon ships are made to be broken open.
We’re here for the hidden threads, the glances across battlefields, the patched up bullet wounds, the unsaid things that mean everything.
If you want canon, go pester Ed Boon.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
Final Argument:
Ermance is two souls learning to be gentle where life never was.
If that doesn’t make your heart ache,
maybe it’s never been broken the right way.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Ermance Shrine or Whatever We're Calling it
This's a rare pair, so of course it doesn't have much content, which I'm planning to change.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
ERMANCE STARTER KIT
(a.k.a. Ways to Infect Other People With My Brainrot)
1. Accidental Domesticity
They both suck at normal life but end up living together anyway.
Ermac quietly fixes Erron's broken shit without being asked.
Erron teaches Ermac how to swear properly. ("No, no, it's 'fuckin’ shitshow,’ not 'fecal catastrophe.’)
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
2. "You're Hurt, Let Me Help You" But It's Embarrassing As Hell
Erron bleeds and tries to brush it off.
Ermac, dead serious: "You are precious to us. You must endure."
Erron internally: [screaming cowboy noises]
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
3. Unintentional Pet Names
Ermac says things like "beloved ally" without realizing he sounds like a Victorian poet.
Erron starts calling him "sugar" just to see if Ermac's souls collectively short-circuit.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
4. Bed Sharing for Stupid Reasons
"There's only one safe room left."
"It's cold in Outworld nights."
"You’re gonna get assassinated and I ain’t diggin' a grave tonight."
(Cue both of them lying stiff as corpses, touching pinkies under the covers.)
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
5. Mutual Near-Ferality
Neither of them knows how to do soft shit properly.
Everything is rough, messy, intense — until one of them breaks a little (emotionally), and the other folds immediately like wet laundry.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
6. "You Live, You Idiot."
Someone almost dies.
The other has a quiet, rage-fueled breakdown about it later.
No grand declarations, just a death-grip hug, muttered threats to the universe, and one of them staying awake all night just to watch the other breathe.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
7. Forbidden Softness
They act like absolute bastards to the world — merciless, efficient, dangerous.
But behind closed doors?
Patch kisses.
Quiet hair touching.
Erron humming old songs while Ermac pretends he’s not interested.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
8. Soul Mending
Ermac doesn’t just heal Erron’s wounds.
The souls inside Ermac learn to cherish Erron too — recognizing him as family.
Some call him "our guardian," "our anchor," or even "ours" with eerie sweetness.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
9. Post-Battle Care:
"Yer gonna have to stop carryin' me like a princess, partner."
"You are light. It is no burden." (Erron dies inside.)
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
10. A. First Confession:
Ermac blurts out something horrifyingly intimate without meaning to.
(Example: "We would dismantle the heavens if it meant seeing you smile.")
Erron just drops his hat and leaves the room to go scream into a cactus.
✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦
10. B. Last Confession:
“Smile for us,” and Erron does before the rubble takes over them.
Moments of chaos and battle ago…
“I love ya.”
“We, as many, love you also.”
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
I have a few dozens more, but this is already a very long article... And I might've forgotten some of the more important points for the first half of the article while writing it...
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Fanfic Recommendation:
Ricochet by horrorsilk on Ao3
(the fic that got me into this whole mess, so beautifully written and in character)
The Master of Souls and the Gunslinger by AnimeFTW on Fanfiction.net
The Intricate Markings Of Outworld by RiverCat4u on Ao3
Of Being Wanted by tatahoney on Ao3
I’ve also written some of my own stuff on Ao3 and here, feel free to check out ^^ (If it isn't obvious yet, I'm obsessed with this ship. I write and draw them a lot.)
Final Note:
Call it what you want. Ermance is just two tired men carving love out of khaos. And maybe that’s what makes it beautiful.
If that’s not the realest shit ever, I don’t know what is.
theartofmadeline
dededos
origamiaround
kaledo-art
pixelskylines
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear