#aboutraydenmeta

[bastardsunlight]

Some sinday fare for you:

Which of your muses has the highest sex drive? Feel free to answer with multiple characters!

//Rayden.

[bastardsunlight]

Rayden… got anything that ‘sparks’ the mood for you?

"A long liter ride around the island usually does the trick, or sparring on the beach." He purses his lips thoughtfully. "A walk in the gardens, maybe... What can I say, I'm easy to please."

He isn't.

[bastardsunlight]

I'm so bad, I should be outlawed.

Wreckno [Medusa - GRiZ ft Wreckno]

[bastardsunlight]

hey mister Rayden, whats this going on about you and Aku?

"Long story short, my brother sold me to a shapeshifting sorcerer for the chance at power........... again." He laughs through his nose, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "A thousand timelines and he never learns."

Palms skyward, the god of thunder shrugs. Every time Shao Kahn banishes him to thisrealm or thatrealm, he ends up with more power than he knows what to do with and, with luck, a fairly generous, attentive lover. Rayden considers himself the real winner here, as usual.

[bastardsunlight]

Daaaammmn Rayden I’m right here if you need another champion. *swag face*

"Your mouth says 'champion', but the rest of you is saying 'lay'. So which is it, hot stuff? You gotta commit." One dark brow rises, arms folding themselves into the sleeves of his white robe, a mischievous smile on his face, lightning dancing in his eyes.

[bastardsunlight]

Rayden, I ship you with a good margarita. Preferably In margaritarealm.

"Could I ever be so lucky?" There is dry humor in the deity's voice as his eyebrows lift and his shoulders mimic the action, eyes rolling with fondness, though there is an exhaustion in their cobalt depths that tell of a long, long life spent fighting upstream.

anonymously or not, tell me with whom you ship my muse

[bastardsunlight]

Go down + wink

Shang Tsung @ Rayden

Go down on my muse + wink at my muse

If Rayden had assumed the boudoir would be their destination, he is sorely mistaken. The doors of the throne room are tossed wide as Shang Tsung carries him without effort over the threshold. The guards close the massive portal behind them and they are left alone in warmly illuminated quiet. The wind has gone still and the braziers and sconces barely flicker in the seizure of motion.

The god of thunder notes the cushions that are suddenly on the sorcerer’s solid jade throne and he looks back to his new husband with one dark brow raised. Shang Tsung’s smile is serpentine and wolfish all at once, as if he cannot wait to devour his prey. In point of fact, he cannot and he winks mischievously at his slight burden as he bears Rayden toward that throne.

“A consideration for your… divine posterior,” he says, depositing the deity onto the softness of his throne. Rayden lets out a laugh and an “oh my” as his rear-end comes into contact with the cushions. He begins to wonder if it is not they, rather than he, who possesses divinity. They must have cost a fortune, but he has learned that this is no problem to the master of this strange nexus of an island. Opulence, Rayden has found, is the name of the game.

Shang Tsung wastes no time falling to his knees before the enthroned deity, a position in which Rayden is unsure he often finds himself—if ever. He opens his mouth to jest of veneration and how it really isn’t necessary to genuflect when the sorcerer’s talented hands find his knees, then slide up his thighs to part them, dark eyes meeting his deep blue ones. The hunger in them is fathomless.

Rayden opens his mouth once more, this time for a reason even he cannot fathom—a warning, perhaps? He does not know much of Earthrealm yet, but he is familiar with the average configuration of an Earthrealmer’s body and that he does not share it. Shang Tsung leans back a moment and studies Rayden’s face.

“Yes?”

“Just… not sure I’m your ah… flavor.” These words are spoken with his usual good humor, rather than fear. Why he would think anything about him would make Shang Tsung even remotely standoffish is beyond him, but since arriving in Earthrealm, even in this pocket dimension of it, of ALL realms, certain facts about its people have filtered to him as if from a great distance.

“Do not insult me, pet,” purrs Shang Tsung, reaching gently up to tug at the waistband of Rayden’s pants. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the Outworlder has become convinced this is just another one of Shang Tsung’s schemes to get him into fancier clothing. Tighter clothing—uncomfortable clothing, his thoughts childishly lament.

Rayden shrugs as if to say “your call” and arches his hips to allow the durable material to slide down over them and then his thighs. The sorcerer tosses them aside as if they offend him. They probably do. Once more, his hands find powerful, toned thighs, but this time he braces them up with great strength and runs his tongue over his lips, delighting as he observes Rayden grasping the arms of the chair, mouth slightly agape, a flush crossing his cheeks.

“And now,” declares the sorcerer in a voice laced with ravenous desire, “a taste of things to come.”

Please let me be things, Rayden’s inner monologue pleads. The heat of throbbing arousal has settled at the apex of parted thighs and he knows he is slick, swollen, and absolutely ready for whatever the soul sorcerer cares to offerhim. When Shang Tsung’s mouth actually plunges greedily between his legs, a whimpered gasp leaps from Rayden’s lips and the storm overhead finally breaks, pelting the palace with rain, lightning dancing over the clouds.

Loud and deafening silence

[bastardsunlight]

Rayden is shang tsung a man of faith?

"In what way?" The god's brow rises as he considers the implications of this question. "Shang Tsung's mind is that of a man who must be in physical proximity and sometimes possession of something to accept its existence and its potency in relation to his own...

"Putting it simply, the sorcerer tends to be very hands-on."