Contemplating Catastrophe

{They/He|Taurus|25} Gender???|Pansexual Oh to be an 18th century fop

[spirit-of-the-void]

The Coveted Coward: Roathe x Drifter x Drifter Fic

Roathe x Drifter x Drifter(M/M/F): Consenting Polyamory

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Chapter 1: Introductions

Roathe knew not what to make of the Drifter.

To say that he was intrigued by a newcomer in La Cathedral was an understatement by far, and downright obvious to anyone with an inhabited skull. The former Commander of the Orokin army was at his wits end with the two zealots he was forced to cohabit with, and it was that maddening, frustrating monotony that led him into creating a Helminth of his own as a means of escape. It was not an ideal situation to navigate in the first place, not with Roathe missing a good chunk of his memories at Entrati's hand, and his body permanently altered by Uriel's smoldering essence. He was an amalgamate mess of protoframe mutation, Warframe abilities, and the sheer agony of interacting with two people that still thought the Gods actually influenced the world at large. Was the irony lost on him? Not in the slightest, especially given what exactly brought the Orokin Empire to its end—the Devil of Tau was simply doing his best not to absolutely lose his mind, and figure out how to escape his glorified babysitters in the process.

Ending up in Entrati's lab had not helped. Loid was even more stubborn than Marie and Lyon. If Roathe so much as sneezed the wrong way, all three of them assumed it would come with some grand, world-ending scheme at the Devil's hands. As if they were worthy of so much work and effort, as if the Devil of Tau did not have several problems of his own that demanded immediate attention. His memory loss being the first of them.

That was where the Drifter came in. After several weeks of a frustrating, maddening stalemate between himself, Entrati's loyal lap dog, a nun who equally could constitute as the previous title, and a Priest who was more insane than a bag full of Kavats, a solution entered the walls of the Inner Sanctum. Honestly, it sounded like the punchline of a very foolish joke—a Butler, a Nun, and a Crazed Priest walk into a relay, yes? At least, that's how Roathe came to frame it in his head, as if he wasn't also part of that utterly vexing conundrum. He was the Devil of Tau, after all, the necessary evil to all their incredibly sanctimonious babbling, a focal point to which they remained stationary, insisting upon following whatever vision Entrati had impressed upon them. A notion that stuck to Roathe's tongue like sour milk, stoking the flames of his indignation when memory failed and he had no means of retrieving it.

That bastard had taken part of him. And Roathe wanted it back.

Therein does the Drifter take center stage, an oddity on top of several other oddities. Roathe met him on a rather unassuming day within La Cathedral, post bickering with Marie and somewhere in between planning more conflict, if only to alleviate his boredom for a few moments. The Devil had grown so accustomed to seeing Loid or the Cavia walk in that it was somewhat jarring to witness a new face slip through the glowing, swirling portal. A strange, rare treat for the trio in their stuffy little Church basement. The nuns and priests of the past did not dare come down for anything, terrified of what two of their members had become and what they harbored at Entrati's behest. Not that Roathe cared—he preferred the luxuries that Loid and the Sanctum offered far better than the misery that they had endured. The Devil refused to ever live without electricity again, and would sooner chew his own tail off than endure another second of no useable plumbing.

The Drifter had entered rather quietly, all things considered. Roathe probably wouldn't have noticed if not for the sheer white pallor of the man in question, a jarring contrast to the backdrop of stained stoned walls. A stranger had entered their midst with all the energy of a quiet haunting—Pale skin, shimmering gold irises, his movements flowing like a delicate breeze and every footfall silent. There was something ominous and beautiful about the Drifter, a low hum of energy that sent shivers up Roathe's spine, a familiar sensation, yet one entirely different from what he had experienced before. It was jarringly close to what it felt like to be in the presence of a Tenno, but somehow shrouded in a flavor entirely unlike the cursed Void children—that was another element Roathe realized. This man was an adult, not cursed to be a perpetual teenager.

Shoulder length, wavy white hair was pushed back from the Drifter's face by a metal headpiece, and even his garb was pale in color. Whites, grays, light blues. The Devil damn near assumed he was seeing a ghost for a moment there in the Cathedral, but those were clothes befitting Loid's time—not that of the zealots. His physicality was unmistakable there in the dim orange light of the portal, illuminating features that were beautifully androgynous. Masculine in his form, lean and tall, but more feminine in the long lashes that touched the Drifter's pale cheeks, and the gentle slopes of high cheekbones. Even Roathe could appreciate such loveliness despite his upbringing and rather unfortunate circumstances. Hell, the Drifter would have made quite the concubine himself in the Devil's time, looking like that. Lithe, beautiful, elegant and refined. But there was no missing the glowing ring in the middle of his pupils, the clear indication that something of the Void had touched him in very similar ways to the Tenno.

He had introduced himself to Roathe first, of all people. Lyon was not the social type, and Marie was not paying attention, mid prayer with her eyes closed. But the Drifter had not focused on them when entering La Cathedral, his gaze sweeping briefly over the protoframes before landing on Roathe, seated with a book in his hand and a machete smile. The Devil could have scoffed—of course the Drifter would look at the blue skinned Orokin first, considering the long history of atrocities his people had committed. No doubt Loid had warned him of that before entering, painting terrible, sordid tales of the Devil of Tau locked within the church with two devout morons. Then again, there had been rumors that this "Drifter" had aided in bringing down Ballas, the former Orokin Executor, which mean the man must have had some ideas as to what was waiting for him there in the dark.

Roathe waited for wariness, disgust, or perhaps animosity in the Drifter's expression, but he was rather unreadable there, in that first meeting. His face blank, eyes aglow like two golden coals in the low light.

When he had approached, footfalls silent, Roathe had been rather taken aback. He wasn't quite sure what to expect from a stranger, nor one of such a bizarre nature. But he was neither a fool nor ignorant to social contract and the seeking of power—if Loid had allowed The Drifter within La Cathedral, there was a dynamic present that Roathe was not aware of, and as such he would take any and all opportunities to get ahead of it. One leg up on the incline, before Marie and Lyon could get their claws in the bastard.

"Finally! Someone who is not one of these two sanctimonious ingrates!" The Devil remarked, lips curving in a cat and cream smile as he extended one hand in greeting to the Drifter. "Vice Regent Grand Carnus Roathe—Pleasure."

The stranger paused for a moment, perhaps not expecting such an enthusiastic greeting from a man dubbed as "The Devil of Tau". But if there was any discomfort or uncertainty, it did not show on his face. Poised, regal, composed as his hand shook Roathe's with a feather-light touch, the warmth of that pallid skin just barely discernable through Uriel's provided heat. One could really get a feel for a man by how he introduced himself, as the Devil knew well. Most Orokin liked to bow, some shook hands if only for the opportunity to squeeze hard enough to put a message across--Nitokh in particular did so love to crunch bones within her palm, to watch whomever was her victim crumble and shriek at the agony rippling through their ligaments. To shake hands, but be so incredibly delicate about it was curious indeed, and a far cry from what Roathe anticipated. 

"The pleasure is mine," The Drifter's voice was masculine, warm, soft in a way that poured like warmed honey. "My name is Soul—Also known as the Drifter, as I am sure Loid has mentioned. They picked the name, not me."

Barely. Loid had been extremely vague in providing details of their eventual visitor, aside from his moniker and mere implication that the Drifter's aid was pivotal in their efforts to subdue the indifference.

Not that Roathe felt particularly inclined to indulge that conversation at the moment. Instead, he clicked his tongue, sparing a brief glance at his two companions in their corners as he responded, "Soul then. A word of advice? Take all they said with a grain of salt. If they are to be believed, their moldering, obsolete 'gods' are to thank for their miraculous arrival here, and not, in fact…me."

Ungrateful zealots. Have they no comprehension of what it takes to make a helminth?

The way Roathe sneered that last word made Soul's lips twitch, if ever slightly. As if the hint of a smile threatened at the edges, a subtle warming of those golden pupils of his, "I will keep this in mind. There will be much for us to discuss in the future, Roathe."

He moved on then, gliding across the Cathedral to attempt introductions to Lyon, who the devil knew full well would not give him the time of day. The priest was deeply troubled, anti-social, and mistrusting of newcomers after his experiences with Entrati, a fact that Roathe could begrudgingly agree with. He too had some not so kind and loving feelings towards the Scientist, and was rather fancying the idea of skinning the bastard alive had if he ever showed his face again in the Sanctum. But it appeared that not even the love of his butler boyfriend was enough to make Entrati reappear—he had a nasty habit of abandoning things he made or once loved somewhere in the dust behind him. How utterly befitting a former Orokin, one who made the first discovery of the Void when he still worked for the Empire. It was quite the bitter realization indeed, that they all still paid for that wretched mistake, in the past and present.

Roathe did his best to remain nonchalant, watching Soul chatter quietly with Marie in the minutes that followed while pretending to read his book. More introductions, the nun's obvious enthusiasm for a new friend, her kindness overflowing like a wellspring of sickly sweet nonsense. She agreed on behalf of all of them to use the KIM messenger provided by the Drifter, so they could keep in touch through what was a very strange time indeed within the Cathedral. All the while, Roathe was going over possibilities in his head, wondering just how he could wrangle this situation to his benefit, or at the very least into a possibility of getting his memories back.

The Drifter was far less intimidating than the Tenno, and could just as easily access the Dark Refractory for exploring memories and tearing into that cloud of fog in Roathe's brain. The Devil dare not ask the small, terrifying teenager to do it for him—honestly, he avoided the Tenno like a plague when he was in the Sanctum, and the two had definitely not been formally introduced. All Roathe had seen of them was brief glances from afar, and the occasional glimpse of a figure clothed in black getting into their landing vessel for departure. Loid knew better than to push that little conversation, considering just who had taken down the Orokin Empire. The devil still shuddered when thinking of the Night of the Naga Drums. Case in point, why Roathe was not so enthusiastic in meeting the void tainted child.

Moreover, he was desperately curious to learn just what the Drifter was.

Something related to the Tenno, if essence alone could be relied on. Maybe something worse, considering that Soul was a fully grown man, with some of the strangest mannerisms Roathe had ever seen. He stood stiffer than a board, barely cracking a smile even in the face of the nun's cheerful, welcoming demeanor--and Roathe was fairly positive that he saw the Drifter move maybe once in that whole conversation, a twitch of his fingers that was subtly masked by Soul clasping both hands behind his back. 

"You are welcome to visit us as much as you like…!" Marie was chirping to Soul when the Devil tuned back in to the conversation, her voice cheerful and bright. "Do not let the dreary mood in here disturb you, I promise we are usually not so unsocial."

Soul shook his head, white lashes lowering a bit, "Nonsense. You all have been very friendly considering you do not know me—I will do my best to keep visiting in the meantime."

Marie seemed delighted by this, equally eager to socialize with some of the outside world. Even Roathe could admit it was rather sad how many people she called friend had run to the hills with her protoframe transformation, leaving the nun with little to no companionship. Minus Lyon, who was practically her brother. And that was downright depressing, if the devil thought too long about it. He was not exactly the most desirable companionship, with a mountain of mental trauma and a rather unhealthy relationship with the Void. Again, Roathe was reluctant in admitting that he knew the Priest suffered a great deal in the past, and would continue in the present, which made for two rather tragic and annoying room mates to share the Cathedral with. Not that Roathe was a bag of roses himself—laughably, he was probably worse than both of them combined. He was simply better at hiding it.

Soul eventually said his goodbyes to Marie, sparing a brief glance at Lyon's presence stationed at the middlemost alter. Muttering, one exposed eye staring at something far away, definitely not all there. It was quite the glimpse into the Drifter's character to see this did not cause discomfort or unease in him, simply nodding once in the Priest's direction, then Roathe's before heading for the portal once more. The devil was certain he caught hints of something sweet wafting from his person, undertones of soft musk. A perfume? Or maybe cologne?

He vanished in the next instant, wisps of his white hair the last visible image of the Drifter before he was swallowed by the portal. Roathe tapped his claws idly on one thigh, thinking back to their brief conversation, the way he interacted with Marie, himself, and Lyon. A closed book if he ever saw one, swathed in mystery and unanswered questions. There was so much the Devil was itching to discuss with the Drifter, but alas—he knew pronounced eagerness was akin to showing underbelly to a beast, and would render him sliced from neck to navel. The Devil wondered what made a man like Soul tick, what he desired, what power he held at his fingertips. Roathe could use strong allies in the situation he found himself, and anything even remotely close to the Tenno would be remarkably advantageous to his eventual escape from the Zealots. And in finding Entrati.

"He was very kind, non?" Roathe was surprised when Marie floated his way, seeming in far better spirits after speaking with the man in question. "A very polite gentleman indeed."

Roathe waved a dismissive, clawed hand in the air, "Bah—Only you could decide a man kind by a five minute interaction with him."

"Oh yes. All it took was a minute talking to you to realize what a nasty little man you were."

Roathe scoffed, his tail flicking in her direction as if in threat, but with no real heat behind it. Marie danced out of the way, floating like a specter haunting the church and narrowing her eyes upon the Devil's lazy, unbothered sitting posture.

Lyon spoke up, drawing surprised attention from them both at hearing his voice. Usually, the Priest did not like to be bothered when swathed in one of his episodes, whether that be at the altar, or in his room. But some clarity had returned to his vision, one iris flickering over to where the two of them had been at the start of yet another bickering session.

"Both of you would do well to stay wary," Lyon muttered, pressing the heel of one hand into his covered eye. "Any manner of person could come here and take advantage of our ignorance, as we very well know. Loid's trust in him does not sway me in the slightest."

Marie pouted a bit, seeming disappointed by her companion's mistrust of Entrati, as well as Loid, who was still very much in love with him. She was wholly convinced the scientist had some grand plan that they all had a role in, that the protoframe curse upon their bodies was a blessing in disguise. Although Roathe could see why her loyalties ran so deep, by the gods he wished she would cease being so exceedingly obnoxious about it. Certainly the formally wheelchair bound nun had a lot of positive things to say about the man who gave her a roundabout way of walking, if floating even counted. But others were not so lucky, and the Devil did not care for the way she regarded the Cavia in regards to their trauma at Entrati's hand. She was very naive indeed. All black and white, never shades of gray.

Or in Roathe's case—shades of crimson.

"I think this will be good for all of us," Marie declared despite Lyon's cautionary words, floating over to him so she could pat one of his hands trembling against the stone altar. "You should retire for the evening, take some of the serum Loid has for your pain."

Lyon sighed, an admission of defeat, "Perhaps you are right. My head is killing me, and I dare not endure any more of Roathe's prattle, lest the headache grow into a tumor."

Now that really got an eye roll out of the Devil of Tau, who had been in the process of using his tail to pick out another book from his rather woeful shelf of Orokin reading materials. Lyon claimed to be so miserable, yet still had room in that detestable skull of his to make jabs at Roathe in between his insanity fueled mumbling. How typical.

"Yes yes, make your remarks at my expense," Roathe waved a dismissive hand at Lyon, snapping a new book back into his clawed fingers with a growl of. "I might actually get to focus if you take your lunatic nonsense to another room."

Lyon snorted at his words, but said little else in response. Not with Marie ushering him away from the altar, patting insistently on his back until the Priest was dragging his feet towards one of the back tunnels within. He vanished into the dark moments later, leaving only a heavy sigh in the room, and the last, echoing whispers of insults that were still ping ponging off the walls. Roathe did so lament his chance at more arguments with the zealots, but for once there was something more interesting for him to chew on. A bright, shiny new toy, with all the world's mysteries to unlock and opportunities to be found. The Devil was eager to begin conversing with Soul the moment time allowed, to try and dredge for more information on how he connected to the Tenno, to the Lotus, all of it—from what Loid had mentioned, the Drifter had aided in some way with defeating Ballas, a fact that held plenty of space within the Devil's cranium. He knew how Executors were firsthand, and had much to say where that mess of a man was concerned.

In the passing minutes of his silent musing, a chime sounded at the KIM terminal at his desk, and Roathe felt the pleasant burn of anticipation making a home in his gut.

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"Are you certain you are comfortable with offering your aid?"

Soul sighed at the second time Loid asked that question, or perhaps it was the third? He was trying his best to get things ironed out before heading on a mission in Fortuna, wanting to stop and talk with Entrati's partner before he would be stuck on Venus for a few days at least. That was his first mistake—he should have simply left when he had the chance, instead of inquiring further about the trio that lived inside the Cathedral connected to the Inner Sanctum. Loid didn't seem particularly thrilled in the first place about the added stress to his plate, what with his responsibility of keeping the Indifference from taking over the labs or interfering with whatever Entrati was stringing together. But the butler always seemed to trust his lover's choices, even when they didn't seem to make a lot of sense in the long run. And turning an Orokin Admiral into the protoframe version of Uriel was something close to poetic irony according to Loid, and downright madness if history was entirely accurate.

It was Soul who asked about the three upon emerging. To be entirely honest, something about all of Entrati's choices for the new protoframes made him want to find the man and throw him off a ledge. Soul was already sour from hearing about the struggles of the Hex and their lack of autonomy in the whole situation, and as such his opinions on the man in question were not the most favorable. Taking a priest already tormented by Void nonsense and combining him with Harrow? Picking Wisp, a Warframe with no feet and the ability to float, for Marie? Uriel for the Devil of Tau, who had, from what Soul had read from Loid's history books, been created from Roathe's very own soldiers? It didn't sit well in the Drifter, and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about everything he had gleaned about the Cavia as well. There was too much purposeful cruelty at play, and the Drifter had little to no desire to keep perpetuating that sort of treatment on people, the Indifference be damned. 

Asking about Roathe first had been where he might have slipped up, showing genuine curiosity in the man they so casually referred to as "devil". It most certainly touched a nerve, one the Drifter had not realized was there. Then again, it wasn't like Loid had much room to be wary of Orokins given his own past, and his current relationship—but whatever was going on with Roathe seemed to be the elephant in the room everyone was always angry with. 

"He is insisting upon the exploration of his memories," Loid sighed, adjusting his glasses for what had to be a fifth time and sitting heavily in a nearby chair. "It's been a thorn in my side—he is the most stubborn creature I think I've ever met, and that says something if you take my Albrecht into account."

Soul's lips twitched into a smile, "So I have been told. Again, I don't mind being the one to handle it, since Roathe cannot go in himself."

Loid released a long suffering sigh, seeming to lose himself in thought for a moment as silence began to fill the empty space between. Broke only when Bird 3 began chirping and cajoling upstairs, beak tapping against one of the walls.

He folded his arms, frowning as his eyes rose to meet Soul's once again, "This isn't even touching on the second one you mentioned—have you talked to Natah about it? Can she make heads or tails of your…er…companion?"

Ah. Soul was expecting some conversation about that. Only he had hoped to keep it to himself for the time being, avoid any unnecessary analyzing of the situation that might never be answered. By him, or otherwise.

The Drifter went quiet at the inquiry, rocking back on his heels a bit and trying not to meet Loid's gaze head on. There were many things about his existence as the Drifter that were both confusing, long-suffered, and downright anomalous if he thought too hard on the matter. Sharing a timeline with another version of himself, a version that had been saved from the Zariman, was not something to be taken lightly. Not that Soul minded the kid—it was sort of like having a grumpy younger brother, one that was cursed with unimaginable Void powers and the trauma of being a child soldier. That was already dipping his toes deeper into the icy waters of Eternalism than Soul would particularly like, and it went without saying that he didn't much care for the fates he and his alternate self had been saddled with. They had suffered, broke, put themselves back together, and now balanced a Star Chart that was somehow still held together after what happened with Ballas and Narmer.

Spirit…was in a category all her own.

And until they truly figured out what that category was, Soul would remain fiercely protective of her, and do whatever was necessary to assure her safety.

He owed that to his companion, after all that had transpired in those passing centuries within the Void. It was a complex, jumbled mess of oddities that still did not make quite a lot of sense, but Soul trusted her more than he did any other creature in the Universe. A second Drifter, if she could even be called that—Soul had been hearing her voice whisper in his ear for as long as he could remember within Duviri. Reassurances, warnings, ethereal remarks from a person he could not see, who had no physical form. When Dominus Thrax had began to turn against him, it was her words that had guided him to safety, mitigating several of the deaths that would have otherwise added to the miserable tally Soul already had. Spirit had tried so hard to help him, and he spent most of that time assuming he was losing his mind, and that she was a hallucination.

She had never been a figment of his imagination. The Drifter had found her, there in the undercroft.

"If you don't want to talk about it, please don't mind me," Loid swiftly interjected when Soul quieted, raising his hands as if to stop the conversation in its tracks. "I don't want to cause you any distress. She is welcome here just as much as you are, I was simply inquiring about her—"

"From what we have gleaned, her Tenno is not here," Soul replied, cutting off Loid's question with a swift wave of his hand. He had been through this train of conversation with Natah already, and had no desire to revisit it. "We don't know where that version of her is. But she doesn't seem to have a place in this timeline, where the kid's fate decided everything."

Loid seemed contented by that answer, albeit still troubled by the implications. He nodded once, letting out a long, slow breath as his eyes drifted to the two gigantic figures still stuck in their positions at the back of the Sanctum, forever held in a lover's embrace. There was sorrow there in his eyes that made guilt bloom a bit within Soul, a flicker that he tried his best to hold on to in the favor of retrospection. He knew things were not cut and dry, not black and white when it came to their existence. Loid really seemed to care about the Tenno children, despite his implied involvement through connections with Entrati alone, and all the efforts spent to keep the Void at bay. Spirit's presence was already anomalous in nature, but to then not have the same anchor Soul had in his own child self was both strange and perplexing. It spook gravely to the fate of her Tenno, the version of her that was supposed to be saved from the Zariman rather than left behind.

But Spirit had been left behind, hadn't she?

And yet she could control Warframes without a Tenno. Spend centuries trapped in Duviri with Soul. Not quite a Void Child, yet not exactly a time-controlling Drifter either.

"…She seemed very nice," Loid eventually remarked after a rather awkward silence, his eyes flickering shut as he heaved a great sigh. "When she came to help with the Hex. She is also doing a fantastic job with them, while you are handling the Indifference here without issue."

Soul hummed softly, his golden eyes gleaming at the praise to his companion, "Yes. Once that issue is sorted in 1999, she will happily come help with Roathe's memories in the Refractory as well."

Loid seemed relieved by that, at the very least. There had to be some amount of comfort that came with knowing three people that could use Warframes, willing to ease the burden of all the responsibilities piled on the Butler's plate. 

"Understood."

That seemed to finally end their discussion. Soul bowed briefly to Loid before setting off again, heading for the landing platform so he could board his craft. Technically, he and the kid were sharing the Orbiter for the time being, while the Drifter was handling things at the Sanctum. Half his time spent in a room provided by Loid planet side, the rest on a couch in space when missions required he go off in a Warframe for either supplies, items, or bloodshed. It was a fine enough arrangement for the time being, as even Soul had no idea where he should really be settling outside of Duviri—there really was no place to call "home" with how little time he had spent cut off from the real world, this coupled with the state of the Zariman and the trauma that lingered there. Soul had no desire to stay in that ship, despite the spirits onboard insisting it was still his home.

Not to mention Spirit. Soul could never imagine making her step into the Zariman ever again.

She was on his mind as he strapped into the departing vessel, his head drifting a bit as they left the planet in favor of the stars. There was a loneliness in his gut, lamenting on the time they had spent apart during all the nonsense with Protoframes. Both busy, both working, both in entirely different time periods. He worried endlessly about how she was faring, but owed it to the kid to keep himself focused on what needed to be done for the time being. Eyes forward, head screwed on.

Soul pulled out his KIM messenger, taking a brief moment to find her contact in his messages. He never inquired as to how their communications managed through time and space differences, and really didn't care. Eternalism was already at play, and he was not interested in the semantics of a weird, 1999 flip phone that could connect to the future. That was Entrati's problem, not his.

He typed out a swift message to her:

Just a heads up. There are three new Protoframes at the Sanctum—I'm handling it for the time being, but it's complicated—One's a priest, one's a nun, and the other is a former Orokin Commander they call "The Devil of Tau". You can imagine how that's been going.

He sent the message off with a heavy sigh. Half expecting to not hear back for a while. Watching the stars blur past out of a port window, idly thinking back to the newcomers he had met within the Cathedral. They were certainly an interesting bunch, and Soul assumed they would need the same treatment as the Hex if Entrati's previous planning was even remotely similar. Not that he minded befriending them—quite the opposite. He was eager to get to know two more people out of time, like the Hex had been, and to explore just how an Orokin had been dragged into this mess. Entrati had to have picked them for a reason, and Soul wanted to know why that was the case. Besides, it was nice to build relationships and community after so many lifetimes trapped in Duviri, although the Drifter could admit it was a bit jarring to keep meeting so many new people.

His phone pinged as he was daydreaming, drawing him back to the present.

Spirit replied:

I see Entrati has been busy! I'm going to need more details on them, especially the Orokin. I have to admit I am burning with curiosity, it's very hard not to rush over and meet them right away. The Hex send their love in the meantime, and expect you to visit soon. As do I. I'm missing you terribly here in 1999—but we're so close to getting them all out of this alive, and they've all been incredibly good to me.

Promise you won't push yourself too hard. Also, the girls want pics of the trio because they didn't believe me when I said Kuva made the Orokins' skin turn blue--he is blue, right? Also also, Arthur says you owe him a round of drinks.

Be safe, my love. <3

Soul smiled, feeling his stress seep away considerably at the cadence of her voice through text. She seemed to be doing alright with the Hex, and he took a great deal of comfort in that. It was enough for him to regain some focus on his current task, sending a quick heart in response to her message before snapping the phone shut, letting the autopilot take him towards Venus where the Orbiter would be stationed just outside of its atmosphere. The kid would be there already, preparing for his own mission planet side—he was better at handling the tasks that required focused bloodshed, and Soul could deal with building connections with those living in Fortuna. Both were comfortable with that arrangement, as much as the Drifter hated what sort of life had led to the kid being more comfortable on the battlefield than making friends with a bunch of strangers.

They would have to work on it in the coming days.

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Author's Notes:

I will be so for real, so honest with all of you straight up--this is some of the most self indulgent shit I have ever written. Am I aware the name "spirit" is also my username? Yes, but this isn't a self insert, pinkie promise. Me and my partner like making OCs and smashing them together like Barbie dolls, and that just so happened to be what I named my Drifter. If you point it out, I'm just gonna acknowledge and move on. Cringe is dead, I am free, yada yada yada.

This will definitely deviate from some of the canon, I am aware of that. But we wanted to explore what it would be like to have two Drifters in the same universe, and what implications that would have. The secondary drifter is, for all intents and purposes, crafted to fit the narrative to the best of my abilities. She is an anomaly, and I wanted to saddle her with some trauma that plays around with narratives provided by Warframe. Again, this is meant to be self indulgent, I wrote it for my damn wife--who bullied me into posting it. Is it still going to be long, elaborate, and horny as all fuck? Yes. Enjoy it, friends. Because the brain worms have got me in their teeth and they're shaking me.

Enjoy what you see? Consider buying me a coffee! <3

Thank you all for reading, as aways <3

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[spirit-of-the-void]

Mmm… My a perchance order some Roathe (Warframe) indulging/spoiling their favorite Drifter’s breeding kink? You know, as a treat

Hmmm...I wonder who sent this in? By the gods, we may never know. But I will indulge you, extra mysterious anon ;) Because I love you, and you asked for my faaaavorite thing with one of my faaavorite hot boys <3

(Roathe x FemReader: Breeding Kink)

Warnings: Breeding kink, mentions of breeding, breeding with no baby. Risky location--just for fun)

Roathe knew you better than anyone else in La Cathedral.

That went without saying. As the Drifter, you often put the needs of others above yourself. Patient, kind, witty, and often times deeply troubled with traumas you dare not let seep out onto the ones you took into your care. Apathy was quite the hilarious terminology for what Roathe had learned to be pure, unmitigated masking. But alas, it was not his place to question you, nor try to push for any sort of discussion that was not initiated by your lips. He himself was like a timid kaithe that needed to be guided to water through careful, strategic consideration, and as such he did his best to give you that same consideration. Your past was wrought with terror and pain. And whatever brought you comfort was the first and foremost focus of the Devil's mind, intentions, and interactions within the walls of the Inner Sanctum.

He adored you with all the intensity of a lit flame, constantly fed with kerosene. When you desired a soft place to lay your head, he would give it without question. When you desired a place to spill your woes heavy and saturated with all the trauma of Duviri, Roathe took them without question--you had done the same for him, after all. Looking at a pathetic, broken shrill of a man and seeing something worth loving, even after hearing of all the terrible things he had done in the name of the Orokin Empire, and his own self preservation. Your adoration was his reason for change, and in that he strived to know you in and out, back and front. Your desires, your enjoyment, your pleasure. Even the things you dare not utter aloud, things that when whispered in your ears brought the beautiful flush of scarlet across your cheeks.

That was always his favorite. To indulge whatever heady little wants that made you squirm, to play upon raunchy little fantasies that reduced his strong, confident Drifter into a mewling puddle within his hands. After your first confessions of love, it didn't take him long to learn of the proclivities bubbling somewhere near the surface, not when your desire was such an earnest, open thing. A heart worn on your sleeve, and tell tale signs of enjoyment leading the eager Devil to a wellspring of new things to explore, and a place to lay his devotion with proud hands. Not the same as when he had with the Lady of Pain--something pure, tangible, warming to the very marrow of his bones.

It was on one such occasion that he found himself within La Cathedral, seated in the quiet, dull orange glow with you perched on his lap. It was more often than not your doing that brought your duo to such thresholds, locked in a sizzling embrace within the confines of that often inhabited area. Marie and Lyon were, gratefully, absent during that time. Which left you open to tease and play, to stoke the Devil's flames until he was a roaring infernal, hands gripping your hips hard and lips at your neck. Kissing, teeth grazing, low growls rumbling from his chest as part of his attentions remained on the portal at his back. Not that he would be ashamed of getting caught--honestly, that was all part of the fun.

You shuddered beautifully at his touch, that all too carefully worn mask bleeding away into something far more carnal underneath. Thighs tight around his waist, fingers carding through the dark brown locks of his hair, shivering breaths fanning against the protoframe mutations at the Devil's neck. You did not wear your full Drifter clothing that day, dressed far more casually for relaxing in the Sanctum, spending time with Tagfer and the others. Until your attentions brought you back to your lover within the Cathedral, as they always did. A moth drawn to a burning flame, aching for his attentions as equally as Roathe ached for yours.

The Orokin was feeling particularly mischievous that day. He had a dastardly, misbehaving streak that ran deep, one that you utterly adored. He longed to tease you, to make you squirm and whimper under his hands. And more than that, the Devil knew exactly what it would take to get you there.

Roathe's teeth had found the juncture of your neck and shoulder, biting down softly as he leaned you forward against the edge of the desk. Your skin tasting sweet, smelling of something both floral and decadent like candy. His clawed hand glided down your front in a dance of warmth and pressure, tracing the fabric of your tunic with purposeful slowness. You shuddered, utterly unfocused on anything but him in that moment, your glowing eyes glazing over with arousal and plush lips parting in a dreamy little sigh. So wanting, his Drifter. So honest in your reactions. It made him all the hungrier, greedier in his need, cock aching in his slit below and pulsing with a desire to free itself. But not quite yet--the Devil was still having his fun.

His tongue was hot upon your skin, the Orokin's more humanoid hand tugging your tunic edge impatiently down for more access as his other kept exploring below. Stopping only when it found the familiar mound of your pelvis awaiting his arrival, fingers splayed over soft flesh with a satisfied hum low in Roathe's throat. There he pressed down, just above the treasure awaiting below, not quite touching yet. Appling pressure to your pelvic mound, allowing the slow, cloying heat of Uriel's protoframe parts to warm you from the outside in. A deep, pulsing heat, not enough to burn, but strong enough that your insides would quiver and feel his presence like a ghost from within.

You always melted when he did that. Roathe still recalled that first time he had tried, almost without thinking. Oh, the way you had morphed into a whining, pleading supplicant in his hands, trembling and desperate for the devil's cock. Even thinking about it gave him the most delicious shiver down his spine, heart racing in his chest and a growl manifesting at the back of the Devil's throat in rapt anticipation. Your reaction then was just as wanting, just as lovely. Hips pressing back with an instinctive, rutting motion, fingers stuttering in their massaging of his scalp so you could cling closer, breathing hard and shaking like a delicate leaf in the wind. He could feel your muscles quivering there, beneath the unyielding press of his palm, the spreading warmth like trickling, melted honey to your insides.

"F-fuck...!" Your soft, breathless little whimper was like music to his ears. All silken and delicate, like thin glass on the verge of shatter.

Roathe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling like the purr of a mighty feline. His dark blue lips trailed up your neck, resting on the racing pulse underneath your jaw, "My, already so greedy, my lovely little thing. I've barely touched you, and how you tremble in my arms!"

He doubted there was little room in your head to think at that moment. Something about him indulging those secret little desires always had a way of shutting your brain off, like flipping a switch. But you flushed pink at his words, mouth opening in what appeared to be an attempt to speak, only for another heady moan to slip out instead. Roathe did so enjoy watching your lashes lower to your cheeks, the way pleasure and want contorted your face into something so carnal, so erotic that it made his head spin.

He grew bold in the blooming heat of his own arousal. The devil wanted you a mess in his hands, location entirely be damned. His own impatience left little room to move to his bedchambers, and something about the other two catching you in such a disheveled state flared both his possessiveness and his glee. Roathe wanted the others to know that only he was capable of making you unravel in such a way, that you belonged to him and no other.

His clawed fingers dipped lower, careful not to scratch the tender flesh of your awaiting pussy. Brushing his knuckles over your panties, tearing a hole in the tight fabric concealing your lower half. You shuddered at the cool air touching your wet heat, thighs tightening around him and your hips pressing down into the devil's awaiting palm. So warm, warm enough that even Roathe could feel it, that and your slick coating him like melted, viscous honey. He smeared it across his palm, pressing it to the awaiting bud of your clit with just enough pressure to wring a soft gasp from your lips.

"Careful now," He hummed, chuckling next to one of your ears and delicately nipping at the shell. "We wouldn't want those two zealots accidentally hearing you moaning like that, now would we? My shameless, needy little thing."

The way you softly inhaled, teeth biting into your lower lip while grinding into his hand was only proving Roathe's point. He chuckled, happily obliging your need for pressure, letting you rut into his touch for a few moments if only to see the gentle bloom of pleasure in your expression. Eyes fluttering shut, face pressed to his shoulder and both hands falling to his chest so they could find purchase against the edges of his armor.

"F-feels good--" You whispered, tone shaking with want and that peak you so desperately sought against his flesh. "Gods, Roathe--"

Not quite yet. He wanted you far more unraveled than this.

The Devil leaned forward again, your back pressed to the edge of his desk and his body flush with your own. Preventing you from grinding further, but keeping his heat seeping into your slit like a growing inferno, wringing the most delicious, desperate whines from your chest. Panting, shuddering, twitching at that stimuli coming to an end, but the pressure like a torturous blessing all the same.

Roathe chuckled deep in his throat, his free hand tracing up your spine over the tunic fabric. Feeling you shiver as he spoke, low and honeyed, "Perhaps I should let them see you being bred upon my desk? See you taking my seed deep within your beautiful insides, begging for it to take, to carry my spawn?"

You flushed deeply crimson at his idle suggestions, just as the Devil knew you would. Your lips opened and closed a few times, trying to find the common tongue for some sort of ample response, but failing miserable with how any remaining thoughts became mush. Roathe knew how it affected you so, how it made your head spin and arousal melt any last reservations into liquid. He could feel your slick dripping through his fingers, pattering onto the floor beneath his desk in crystalline little droplets. There was no doubt in his mind that any remaining reservations at the idea of getting caught would be lost somewhere within the white noise, and that little bead of shame that conjured at your own inner desires would be snuffed out beneath a torrent of need.

"R-Roathe--" You managed in a half-gasped, desperate little hitch of your breath. Hips trembling, fingers tight on the edge of his neckplate. "Please--"

"Please what, my pet?" The devil rumbled, feeling quite gleeful indeed at the way you unraveled in his arms, so beautifully unlike the face you usually wore when walking about the Cathedral.

He continued, free hand gripping your hair just enough to get his words across, not enough to cause pain, "'Please fuck me', is that what you wanted to say? Or is 'please breed me' closer? Need I remind you that you started this, Drifter--shall I finish it as I see fit, spilling inside until I am certain that I've bred you? Do try to be concise."

Now he was just being mean, trying to force you to gain enough coherence to respond. Not that you could really manage, practically panting with desperation against the devil's shoulder, a gentle throbbing meeting his palm where your folds flushed with even deeper arousal. All you could do was meet his questions with a soft, desperate whine, pressing even closer still, as if that were even possible. The only thing separating your skin from his being that damnable tunic, thin enough that he could feel the hard buds of your nipples grazing his chest plate.

Luckily for you, his own impatience didn't exactly warrant a response. Not when you were still trying to rut against him, plush lips at his neck, tongue tracing a hot line from the devil's collarbone to his own racing pulse. His cock was almost painfully aching in its sheath now, and Roathe couldn't wait another bloody minute to take his fill of you, all focus now snatched away from the portal in favor of pleasure. He didn't care in the slightest now whether the two zealots entered and saw you both there at his desk--the devil had you right as he wanted, so mind-numbingly aroused that each moan sounded like a prayer, and his touch the altar to which you showed reverence.

When Roathe rose to his feet, tail wrapping around your waist to hold you fast, something akin to a relieved sob left your parted lips. There was no resistance in how you allowed the devil to sweep any remaining books from his desk, pressing you down against the wooden surface with a hunger that surpassed reason. His lips found yours in the next instant, swallowing whatever wanton little sounds that spilled forth from his touch. Molding, taking, claiming you in a way only Roathe could. When his tongue finally slipped into the waiting, wet heat of your lips, the devil finally allowed his cock to slip free of its sheath, drenched with a slick of his own and positively throbbing with need.

It was a beautiful contrast to your skin, even Roathe could admit that. Thicker at the tip, with ridges down either side, the head somewhat flatter with a curve to its shaft. Flushed somewhat flesh pink at the tip, but transitioning to blue down to where it grew thinner at the base. Making for quite the spread upon entry, and an easier glide once his cock head slipped inside.

Your thighs parted even further the moment you felt Roathe slip his cock against your wet heat, spreading wider with a heady little moan of want. The devil was more than eager to oblige, hands hiking up your tunic so he could gaze upon the curve of your hips, the soft mound of your stomach as you arched into him with pronounced eagerness. Welcoming, begging for him to come inside. All soft flesh and perfect, unhidden desire, spilling out for the Devil alone there in the quiet of La Cathedral.

"So eager," Roathe hissed, one hand splayed to press you flat against the surface of his desk, the other using more humanoid fingers to test your entrance. Yielding, drenched, practically sucking him in. "Breathe for me, my love. Slow and deep--you know how to take me."

You were quite the obedient lover indeed. Especially when Roathe was indulging you in such a secret desire. A soft, dreamy sigh escaped you, a purposeful breath following slow and deep as the trembling in your hips did its best to subside. Eagerness subdued at Roathe's beckoning, that inner ring of muscle growing just a bit more lax around his fingers. He hummed in soft satisfaction, dark lashes lowering over his light blue pupils like burning coals in the dark room.

That's what he was waiting for, your body becoming putty in his hands, calm and lax. The way you stared up at him, eyes half lidded and face a mask of unabashed desire was utterly maddening, the most exquisite torture Roathe had ever experienced. He craved it like nothing else, the way it ignited adoration and want within his core, a blazing heat that sought to consume him in a single flash of white hot flame. It made it all the harder to grit his teeth and go slow, ever careful in making sure you experience no pain or discomfort in the process. One too many terrible experiences with Nitokh had left their mark, and he never wanted you to go through the discomforts the devil had once been accustomed to.

There was little to worry about on that end. When the head of his cock found your entrance, both were already drenched with slick. His, and your own. A single press of Roathe's hips had the thicker, more bulbous end of his member spreading you with little resistance, a shuddering whine breaking past your defenses and fingers digging into his shoulders. Once it popped past that first ring of muscle, there was nothing left to stop the devil from sliding in to the base of his cock, the head flush with your cervix and your inner walls shifting, moving, sucking against him with the most delicious pressure he could imagine. Roathe groaned, bowing over you with both hands pressing hard to the desk on either side, keeping him braced as his tail thrashed about behind him like a crazed beast.

"S-so warm..." You breathed, soft and so incredibly wanting. Your hands pulled him closer until he was flush against your hips, bearing down harder on that soft mound of your pelvis. "Gods, I can feel you so deep--"

The way it spilled out from your lips, trembling with reverence had Roathe's mouth watering. He knew precisely what you wanted, and was more than eager to oblige with echoed need of his own. You were yielding and hot around his shaft, all pressure and perfectly squeezing muscles that sought to take him deeper. And he was a live wire, aching to watch you unravel under his hands, begging and whimpering to feel his ejaculations paint your insides.

The Devil growled, a low rumble in his throat when your inner walls purposefully squeezed, a wet suction that had his eyes rolling back in his head. He immediately rutted his hips hard against yours, pulling a gasp out of your throat with one firm press of his cockhead to your wanting cervix. It was like a dam broke then, Roathe bearing over you roughly upon the desk, hips pulling back just enough to slip his cock a few inches outwards, then thrusting in with a hard, quick pace that scattered any remaining thoughts lingering in his head.

Your arms found his neck, holding the devil closer as he pressed into you over and over, again and again. The dark blue of his shaft coated in slick, swallowed into your welcoming heat in shallow, deep thrusts as the weight of his pelvis applied delicious pressure to your clit. You became a mess beneath him, all gasping, heady cries, thighs tight around Roathe's waist and his name like a prayer on your tongue. Begging, pleading, praising. A jumbled mess of pleasure like a babbling torrent from those beautiful lips, words that he swallowed whole with greedy, hard kisses mere moments later. He could feel your fingers in his hair, your insides throbbing with rising release, each moan a flavor on his tongue, honeyed and sweet. The devil could have lost himself in you, like falling endlessly into the sea.

"Gods gods gods--" You whimpered against his lips, panting with each deep, desperate grind of Roathe's cock inside your sheath. "Please come inside, please, please--"

Roathe shuddered at your words, his breaths coming just as quick. Claws digging into the hardwood, his voice a gritty rasp of pleasure and strain, "Beg me for it, lover...! I want to hear you plead for me to pound my offspring into your wanting sheath...!"

Roathe could feel the throbbing, aching rise of your orgasm clenching all around him, quickly rising in tandem to his thrusts. Your body arched into his in that next instant, lips parted in a cry of pleasure that sang like music to the devil's ears, a spark lighting him further ablaze. He hissed out a sharp breath, teeth slipping down to your neck so he could suck hard upon your sweat-slick skin, leaving mark after beautiful mark as if claiming you for all the world to see. You trembled hard, hips locking under his and desperately seeking more purchase, as if it were even possible. A sloppy mess of half-sobbed moans, praises, and whines streaming from your lips as your pleasure hit that sought after peak. Your inner walls were throbbing deliciously around him, fully clenched and utterly drenched by the time your rapture began to wane, dull, and slope downwards from the rush of stimuli.

But Roathe was not done, and neither were you.

Your pleasure only heightened his own, a deep groan leaving the Devil as he rutted into you as deep as your slit would allow, head bowed and dark blue lips bared from his teeth. He could feel your fingers foxtrotting along his cheekbones, his jaw, his shoulders. Touching, tracing, stroking as your panting breaths continued in tandem with his. A rising crescendo of heat and desperation, aching through his lower half like crackling fire and electricity. So tangible it was a taste on his tongue, lingering from when he had devoured you earlier.

And then your pleading began, breathless and desperate, uttered through trembling lips and a featherlight whimper, "Please fill me up, gods please--Want to feel you inside, breeding me, Roathe--"

He needed little other encouragement than that.

The Devil came with a low, guttural moan, breaths hitching and his tail thrashing about in the air behind him. Hard, pulsing pleasure that throbbed through his cock in deep, decadent waves of bliss. His hips were hard against yours, desperate to push himself to your innermost parts, where his seed would gush hot and thick against your cervix. Hotter than the average human's, as you had so lovingly described in the past. Not enough to burn, certainly not enough to hurt. But enough to make your body shudder with delight, eyes flickering shut and the most wanton, shameless moan to slip from your parted lips. You arched into him, taking each and every pulsing, throbbing burst of his ejaculation inside, heels digging into the Devil's back to take him even deeper. As if that were even a possibility, with how his hips were locked against yours.

Roathe could have spent hours there, locked in your embrace. Feeling your muscles shift and suck at his cock, your fingers at home in his dark brown hair, tracing the golden adornments of his headpiece. Hearts beating in tandem, each breath felt from within, where his seed finally finished pouring into you, viscous and warm. Even then, the Devil did not stop shallowly rutting, grinding, and rubbing into you until he was certain a second orgasm was bleeding in from the first, your breaths a high whine and your hips trembling underneath his. You came once more to the feeling of his cock shifting the liquid inside of you, pressing deeper as his pelvis made quick, hard pressure upon your aching clit.

Roathe hummed in low satisfaction, lips pulling back from his teeth in a jackal-like smile as you shuddered and moaned with the slowing, coiling waves of your rapture. Flushed pink and sweating, panting softly beneath him as your heels remained right where they were, keeping the Devil locked against you with no intention of letting go. So greedy, his little pet. So eager to keep the heat of his orgasm inside for as long as possible, revelling in the feeling of it.

He did not begrudge your intentions, perfectly content right where he was in the dulling throb of your sheath. There was such pleasure in seeing what a mess you became, hair fussed on the surface of his desk and tunic hiked high enough that the generous mounds of your breasts were visible to his admiring gaze. So pretty, so perfect. Roathe could still scarcely believe that you were his, and he yours, not when he was such a despicable devil and you were practically an angel tucked underneath him. It was both surreal and awe inspiring, a blessing that the Devil hardly felt deserving of.

But he was even greedier than you, and unable to hide his shameless, smug satisfaction at your pleasure. His tail flicked back and forth in unhidden joy as the Devil leaned down to kiss you, smothering the groan that emerged from feeling his body weight applying more pressure to your sheath.

"You just might kill me someday," You whispered, voice thick and quiet with that haze of satisfaction. Fingers playing in his hair, gently rubbing little patterns Roathe could not discern. "I don't think I can walk anymore."

The devil snickered, delicately nipping at the side of your jaw with a low hiss of, "You started it, pet. I swear I might one day accidentally burn this Cathedral to the ground because of your actions, mark my words."

You really couldn't deny that, not when you had been purposefully teasing the Devil for damn near an hour before that dam had finally broken. There was nothing you loved more than riling him up until he took you like some ravenous beast, desperate and hungry for a taste of what you had dangled before him like a carrot on a string. Even his mention of it made you giggle, caught red handed in your nonsense without so much as a word of defense.

Roathe clicked his tongue, tail snaking around one of your legs as to tug you a little closer, his cock still deep in your slit. You groaned, trying to shake off the brain fog that followed, but failing miserably with the devil still testing his canines against your jugular.

"I daresay I should make you keep my seed inside for an hour or two," Roathe mused, one clawed finger dragging down the side of your neck and leaving a tiny, red line in its wake. "Just so it really takes, and I get to watch you stumble about trying to hold a conversation with Marie or Lyon."

You shuddered at that, a strangled, desperate little sound emerging from your throat as you whimpered, "That might just kill me, actually."

And yet that gleam in your eyes was nothing short of shameless. You reveled in the idea even as your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, sheath clenching around his cock and your heart beginning to race in that beautiful chest. So greedy, his pet.

Roathe let out a bark of a laugh, managing to pull himself upright with you still in his arms. His cock remained right where it was, keeping the mess from spilling out as you clung to him with your legs and arms around his body. Not that it was needed--the Devil could carry you easily, his hands perfectly cupping your backside as he left the desk in scattered disarray, the books and papers still strewn about the floor. He didn't spare so much as a passing glance at the chaos, kissing a loving trail along your exposed shoulder, enjoying the warmth shared in the places your bodies remained flush and connected. It painted quite the scene for Marie and Lyon to return to, but he scarcely cared--they could use their imagination all they wanted, think whatever terrible things they liked. It wouldn't be far off, and Roathe was unashamed.

"I think I rather fancy a cuddle after all that," He murmured, light blue irises aglow in the dark as his face nuzzled against yours. "Shall we retire to bed early, my lovely little thing?"

By the gods, he could have happily spent the rest of the night inside you, simply locked together on the bed.

"How decadent," You smiled, immediately catching onto his plans with clear enthusiasm. Your glowing irises sparkled with delight, and you leaned back just enough to kiss him again, giggling at how his tail fumbled to open his bedchamber door. "I like the way you think, darling."

Roathe chuckled, finally managing to get his door open with some effort, feeling quite domestic indeed as he took those first steps inside with you in his arms.

But he certainly did not miss the sound of the portal opening in La Cathedral just before his bedchamber shut, the echoing footsteps of Lyon entering just moments after they had departed the scene. Roathe paid him no mind as he locked the door to his room with a hollow click, and carried you giggling to the bed, realizing just how close the two of you had been to getting caught by the Priest of all people. He was even more positive he heard the zealot in question remarking upon the state of his station, but then again that wasn't really on Roathe's list of priorities anymore.

He had you in his bed, warm and wanting. And at that moment, nothing mattered more than that.

~~~

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HERE HA CHA CHA

Love you guys! <3 My asks are still open, and I will write any of the hex or devil's triad!

[spirit-of-the-void]

Hi, I can't believe I'm talking to someone famous in the Mononoke fandom, especially since I really love The Saturated Iris, but it's nice to meet you!

If requests are still open, and you want an interesting challenge to write: A Medicine Seller x female!Reader fic that involves going to/sneaking into a fancy and formal event with Kon and/or Ri (you can pick any or both for chaos) as part of a mission related to a mononoke BUT there's a strict dress code for everyone attending the modern-day party/event, so the reader has to help him out on that aspect on top of the mission.

Basically this kind of prompt (and check out the notes and reblogs for better references and explanations alongside it: https://baeddoll.tumblr.com/post/773810518014164992/all-stories-need-a-part-where-the-protagonists) and Medicine Seller formalwear. 🥲🤤🫠😳😳😳

Oh stoppp you're gonna make me blush! I am hardly famous in this fandom, there are so many talented writers, artists, and creators that contribute so much more! Lol But regardless, thank you for such kind words! And pookie I would be delighted to write some cute more modern day party dress code stuff!

(Modern Day Kon x Reader: Sneaking into a Formal Event)

Getting Kon out of his kimono, for work purposes at least, was not a task done with enthusiasm. He did not care much for modern day formal wear, nor did he particularly like stepping out of his Medicine Seller uniform unless it was for more private, personal reasons. As it was, when leads on a Mononoke carried you and your strange companion to a rather upscale, grand party in one of the wealthier city districts, it was with lacking enthusiasm that Kon agreed to shed his uniform for something that blended in more to the crowd. The theme, from what you could glean, was supposed to be modern fashion inspired by the baroque, all dramatic silhouettes and beautiful adornments. Getting your own dress together, especially with the rise of fantasy balls and themed parties, was easy. Kon was...less so. He was frowning as you dabbed makeup onto his face, matching his pale skin tone but attempting to cover up all the bright, flashy markings. It was easier for some points, like his eyelids--the makeup required for the event did allow for bold lips and stark coloring, so you were setting about simply covering the yellow, letting his blues and reds remain the same. The eyebrows were a whole other story, and you were meticulous in applying layers of cover up, painting on more traditional, modern day brows to blend him in more. Did it look strange on him? Absolutely. But you knew anything less would make him stick out even worse than he already did as a man so beautiful that heads turned on the street even for just a day out getting food. "Stop fussing," You chided when one of his hands rose again, fidgeting with the high collar of his shirt. It fell immediately, but you didn't miss the slightly sour look to grace Kon's lips. "Honestly. You would think I'm torturing you." He sighed, softly resigned, "Perhaps I am far more unaccustomed to being out of uniform than I previously assumed."

That was an understatement. You had opted to keep him in dark blues, his suit a rather pleasant, almost night sky color with gold trimming. His high collar, white shirt was kept in place by a rather beautiful corset, meant to mimic the pattern of traditional porcelain. That coupled with gold adornments, frilled sleeves, and draped fabric made him look rather royal and romantic, beautiful in both femininity and masculinity. Yet totally and utterly uncomfortable, an emotion you were not used to seeing on his usually coy face.

You shook your head, pulling the setting spray out of your bag and shaking it a few times to mix it, "Just for tonight. The quicker we find out who's killing the girls, the quicker you will be out of these clothes. Promise."

Kon sighed, but obediently closed his eyes and mouth so you could spray him down with a couple coats. Once that was complete, the Medicine Seller was fully disguised, looking quite dashing with his hair pulled back and all that pretty, golden jewelry to compliment the red notes in his face. You stood back to admire your handiwork, feeling quite pleased with all the research and work that had gone in to his elegant transformation. Not that he wasn't resplendent before--but seeing him in a new look was bound to be lovely, delicate and divine. The bastard could pull off absolutely anything and look good.

You smoothed your hands down the front of your gown--dark blue to match him, with frilled edges and a rather low bust. The corset pushed your breasts up way higher than you were used to, and displayed far more than your usual attire did. Not your favorite thing, but then again Kon wasn't the only one who had to suffer for this mission.

You looked back up at him, catching those pale yellow irises flickering up at the same time. Definitely, if briefly, catching a glance at your bust.

A smile crooked your lips, voice playful and teasing, "Is there something on your mind, Sir Medicine Seller?"

He chuckled, completely unabashed. Almost on instinct, he rose his arm as if to cover his mouth with one sleeve, the clawed tips of Kon's fingers the only thing there to slightly hide the coy curve of his smile.

"Just merely appreciating the fruits of our labor," The Medicine Seller hummed, hooking one arm around yours and beginning to tug you out of the hotel room you shared. Quite the gentleman, truly. "Despite my lamentations to the dress code, I must confess that you are quite the stunning display tonight."

You huffed at his softly uttered praise, ignoring how it turned your insides to melted honey. The two of you were already out the door, heading to the location in question with fake invitation in tow, the moonlight bathing your elegant forms in a dull, white glow. The air was cool and slightly breezy, sending your dress swaying back and forth like waves on a sea. A beautiful evening for a party, certainly, but you were trying not to get caught up in the whimsy of it all--there was a a job to do, a mystery to solve, and a mononoke to slay.

But you did not deny yourself the chance to tuck yourself closer to the Medicine Seller, his warmth seeping into one side and his arm still carefully escorting you forward. Shorter without his geta sandals, but still several inches taller than you in your heels. It felt somewhat like being escorted by a prince in all those fancy clothes, a thought that made you laugh aloud, catching his bemused attention.

"What amuses you, priestess?" He clicked his tongue, golden pupils flickering upwards as the venue began to come into view. Guards, other people in fancy attire, and all the opulence of the world lying in wait.

You shook your head, threading your fingers with his as the hem of your dress swayed against the fabric of his slacks. Dark blue against dark blue, like the night sky.

"Let's enjoy playing pretend royalty tonight," You suggested, grinning under the glow of neon lights that passed overhead. "Mission or not, I think it's going to be very fun watch you get in character."

Kon chuckled again, the dark blue corners of his lips twitching in barely suppressed amusement, "Perhaps. And afterwards, I will beg of you to strip me of these uncomfortable clothes and pray to the gods we never have to do this again."

You laughed, standing on your tiptoes so your lips could graze one of his ears, the scent of sweet, soft flowers drifting to your nostrils. He always smelled like a field of delicate plants, of something edible and decadent. It made your mouth water, honey warm at your center and lamenting how much time it would take to finish that godforsaken mission, when the two of you could be at home in the Juuyoku instead.

"You will never have to beg me to undress you," You kissed his cheek, careful not to smear any of the makeup you had so carefully placed. "And your efforts will be well worth it, silly boy."

Such clear promise, barely veiled. You felt his hand flex in yours, squeezing ever so slightly.

"Of course, my priestess."

With that, Kon grinned, his clawed fingers holding tight against your hip as he tugged you quicker to the party check in, all hopes held high that the work you put in and the props made would work in your favor. And if not...well, there was always more time to attempt new approaches in the future, and you would never begrudge the chance to go home with the Medicine Seller instead.

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[spirit-of-the-void]

The Crimson Scourge and his Pinned Butterfly

Some art I made from our recent Spell Jammer campaign. My girl Estelle might be in over her head with that one.

[nocluebutcolorful]

Hello.... it's me again....crickets crickets

More medicine seller of Dui art for @spirit-of-the-void !! ^_^

Bloody Dui yaaaayy yaaaayyy !!! Surely you get a bit hurt after playing ball right ? Fetch, bird ! Chapter 39 is truly one of my most favorite ones.

Silliness aside, i wanted to say i'm glad you liked the first one like genuinely..was so extremely joyous..thank you so much..and second i hope you won't mind me drawing more of them and posting it and mentioning you. (Can you tell i've never done this before ? Haha. Help.)

[spirit-of-the-void]

Both would be wonderous! Love me some fluff with a lil naughty mixed in 👌🏻 Thank you Spirit of the Void 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Anon, I love you. And I will lovingly craft this meal for you. Kisses your lil head.

The Hollow Place

Outsider x Reader

(NSFW)

You were given a gift.

Most would argue it a curse. The Abbey of the Everyman would definitely label it as a filthy, disgusting act of witch craft that warranted your immediate branding and slaughter, body left in one of the far corners of the flooded district as rat food. But the opinions of superstitious old men and the cries of back alley lunatics didn't really stir your mind to change. You had been blessed by something deep, down in the Void, something with a kind voice and eyes as black as obsidian. Your deity, your God. Your blessing came by unfortunate circumstance. A kidnapping, a ritual, a life in the streets surviving on scraps of nothing and your body aching with pain. One of the upper society members had snatched you into a carriage, and unfamiliar men had dragged your body kicking and screaming into the basement of an upper class home near the guarded streets of the Boyle Mansion. You didn't think it was the Boyles themselves, but it hardly mattered. Not when it became a whirlwind of cloaked figures and blood chants, knives glistening in glowing blue lanterns and your screams left unheard to the sleeping city outside.

You did not die that night. And the ones who hurt you got the attention they sought.

But your body was the only one that stumbled out of that house, caked in blood and whispers of the Void clinging to your ears. In that dark place, he had approached you. Where the wind endlessly howled through the craggily rock faces, where effigies of memories past remained cast in stone for all eternity. The Void, it's maw wide open as it swallowed you within, where the awaiting embrace of the Outsider welcomed you to a life beyond humanity, beyond what fate had deemed your lot. He told you to do what you with his power. To hurt, to help, to give, to take. Whatever you sought would never displease him, and he would always be watching to see where your feet led you. So many paths branching from one place to the next, an endless web of everything that had never been at your disposal before. After a life spent in struggle, you were careful--there were lines you did not want to cross, and people you never wanted to emanate. If a deity thought you important enough to bare their mark, you would make it count by any means necessary.

And you did.

This was one such night. You were in high society now, your gift making it easy for you to step up the ladder that was once out of reach. Often invited to sing and dance at fancy balls and local events, your presence had become rather familiar to the high society families that once sneered down at you on street corners. They didn't remember your face, and never would.

Your gift was a precious thing, one you often used for good. To help people like you, those still struggling. Beguiling rich folks into handing over money and creating shelters for the poor was easy work, and you happily did so on more than one occasion. But there was something special about cursing a rich bastard into losing his health, watching him waste away into nothing in a painful state of decay. You sipped Gristol Cider, watching from an upper balcony of one of the Pendelton family estates as a wealthy man below began vomiting profusely among a crowd of confused and concerned onlookers. He had been your next chosen victim at this party in particular, the focus of your song as curses whispered underneath sweet notes of piano keys and thrumming lyres. A bastard who liked to snatch girls off the street for his own sick desires. It was already beginning, and you knew it would only get worse as the months passed by, slow and creeping as he fell apart.

Not that it was your problem, staying in a guest room of yet another meaninglessly extravagant estate, treated like royalty by wealthy men hoping you'd be the one to say "yes" to their offers of marriage. He was insignificant now that the curse lived in his bones, as were they. It was all white noise in the grand scheme of things.

You finished your drink without much fuss, turning away from the scene below just as someone was ushering out the sickly man, claiming he must have drank too much. The balcony doors shut behind you with a soft click, muffling the idle chatter into nothing and shutting out the world beyond through thin panes of frosted glass. You sighed softly, slipping over to a fanciful canopy bed seated against the far wall, flopping back against the plush blankets and staring up at the hanging tapestries above.

Longing burned in your gut, familiar and warm, cloying and cold. The whispering Void was ever close, plucking at those strings of desire as you rolled onto one side, picking at a loose, silken thread and gnawing at your lower lip. The party downstairs would end soon, and you were impatient in a dark, secluded bedroom, burning with the haunting presence of the Void. He usually visited when you were alone like this. There were no shrines nearby to speed up the process, and you were careful not to reveal your proclivities in risky places. But a rune was burning underneath one of those silken pillows, wrapped in cloth as it crackled and hissed while you slept. That should have been enough to keep the room open for his visits, coupled with your devotion.

Your eyes drifted shut in the seconds that ticked by unnoticed, one hand grasping the comforter beneath you and squeezing it tightly. You could no longer hear the sounds of laughter and merriment from below, everything but the quiet stirring of your own breath fading like water submerging you in its current. You wanted to be patient, but it was easier said than done. It had been so long since his last visit, and your restlessness betrayed you from the unconsciousness you sought. A thin bare connection to the Void, strengthened once your physical body fell away and your fingertips could lovingly caress the veil between.

You didn't notice the cold arriving, nor the way your breaths turned to crystalline clouds in the air, unnatural for the summer day sizzling across Dunwall. At some point, you might have actually fallen asleep despite the churning in your lower half, and only realized when the dull, distant howl began to fill your ears, and winds stirred your clothing like rolling, toiling ocean waves.

Fingers caressed your temple, both icy cold and burning with heat. You could never tell if he was freezing you or scorching your flesh. It was a welcome sensation as relief hummed through your addled mind, and your eyes opened to that dark emptiness like a friend returning home after many months away.

He was there, waiting for you. Leaning against one of the pillars of your canopy bed, now seated in a half-ruined version of that room in the Void. His face was one you knew well, all sculpted edges and tired lines, a coy smile playing at the edges of his lips. His black hair played almost boyishly in the swirling winds of the void, a sharp contrast against pale white skin. It was contested only by the darkness that was his eyes, irises and all. Obsidian black, reflecting the dull, blue lanterns glowing nearby and your visage laying still on the bed. In his domain, the marking left upon your skin burning with gentle, humming energy now that the Outsider was so close to your reach.

He was terrifying and beautiful, a comfort and a shiver up your spine.

You began to sit up, but the Outsider did not let you. In less time than it took to blink, he was laying next to you on the bed, his presence crackling like a lit flame. You felt the iron cage of his arms snake around your midsection, back flush with his chest as your heart leapt like a crazed, hungry animal. His touch was all you had needed, had craved, had longed for. You shivered, but your lips curved into a relieved smile, eyes drifting shut again as the familiar presence of the Void sank into the very marrow of your bones.

You could feel the Outsider's lips at your ear, but no breaths raised his chest. No heartbeat thrummed against your back, and his fingers were both hot and cold when one drifted up to trace a line from your clavicle to throat.

"So impatient," He whispered, voice echoing from all around you. Inside your head, in the air, from far away. "You call for me until your throat grows raw, until all of my other followers are drowned under the weight of it."

You sighed softly, leaning your head back and savoring the gentle weight of his chin upon your skull. He smelled like sea salt and something sweet, like echoes of the churning ocean without all the stink of Dunwall.

"Should I stop?" You asked, voice quiet under all the sounds that filled the Void. So loud, yet so quiet.

He clicked his tongue at that, something close to a laugh, but never quite there. More like a rumbling hum, a gentle sound that vibrated your lungs and stirred warmth in your lower half. You felt lips brush your hair, his hands sliding upwards until both were cupping your throat, sliding up your pulse and lingering there where it became your jaw. You trembled, unable to help yourself, unable to be anything but the impatient, needy thing the Outsider saw.

"No. I welcome your impatience," He murmured, one nail tracing across your lower lip as you resisted the urge to squirm in his grasp. "It echoes my own, watching you flit about the high societies your once loathed, playing their games, singing their songs as coin is trickled into the hands of orphans and the impoverished." it was impossible not to feel that budding, heady sensation that came with his praise, with his own admitted need. You finally managed to turn in his grasp, rolling to face him and meeting those obsidian eyes with your heart beating hard in your chest. The Outsider pulled you closer again, those chilly lips brushing your forehead, then your hairline as you lifted your fingers to his cheeks. Cupping them with reverence, like holding the thinnest porcelain glass that may crack or break if you press too hard.

He didn't feel real. Yet he was, flesh and bone, energy and vast intimidation pressed entirely to your form in the middle of the Void's gullet.

"Will you use the gifts I gave you in offering to me?" The Outsider bemused when a whimper broke past your lips. Only then did he finally kiss you, tilting your face upwards so the small noises you uttered could be muffled by his touch. "You sing, my little mouse. Whenever I am near, you crumble in my hands with so much as a touch."

You shivered, arms wrapping around him with renewed fervor and impatience. Each word he uttered was a hum against your lips, travelling down your throat.

"I missed you," Your voice was breathy, strained, desperate. "I miss you so when I am away. Each new return feels like months instead of days."

Something about your admittance warmed him, if only a noticeable fraction. It was hard to see anything but the Void's chill in his pitch black eyes, but they softened ever so delicately, black lashes lowering until they just barely hovered over his pallid cheeks.

"The Void will swallow you whole if you let it," The Outsider whispered, leaning in close enough that you could feel each ghosting flicker of his eyelids upon your cheek. His hand snaked into your hair, grasping just tight enough to wring a gasp as he continued. "The longer you visit, the more you stay, it takes pieces of you. Bit by bit, minute by minute, hour by hour."

He vanished for but a moment, your arms left with only open air. Only to reappear above you, hands braced on the bed on either side of your head. He made for a magnificent image then, his face pale against the Void's backdrop, hair endlessly drifting back and forth like fabric floating in the ocean. There was a hunger in the Outsider's eyes that thrilled you, frightened you, consumed you. A clear longing that was older than you could ever comprehend, swathed in centuries of loneliness and a gap that could not be bridged between himself and others. That gap was there in the Void with you, even as he knelt above, eyes meeting yours with all the dept of a black hole. You could have fallen inside, drowned, and drowned again if the Outsider would let it.

"Then let us make the time count," You replied, lifting a hand again to cup his cheek, thumb smoothing over the hard line of his cheekbone. "Before I am to be sent back again, and long for you until our next meeting."

The Outsider's lips twitched at the corners, eyelids drifting shut as he leaned into your touch without a moment's hesitation.

"So be it, my little mouse."

It was little effort to begin undressing for him, like a ceremonial offering gilded in fine fabrics for a God to unwrap. You were hoping he would visit that night, when the world was awhirl with the Void's energy and the veil was ever thin. The dress was light, undone with a few untied strings, slipping down your shoulders and onto the bed in a delicate heap. You let them slide down your legs, onto the floor where they vanished from view, eaten up by the Void where it would perpetually float like a ghost on the wind, for as long as the world existed. Or maybe it had always been there, like you, like him.

The Outsider's eyes watched, unreadable and dark in their attentiveness. He never once looked away, gaze flickering down the expanse of your body before returning to your face, watching as you settled yourself back on the bed in a thin chemise. So thin that you were practically bare, breasts flushed and visible through the dreamy fabrics. It was so incredibly human, if only for a moment, how the Outsider looked at you. All hunger, awe, and need, just the smallest of slips betraying several lifetimes of buried humanity, bubbling to the surface at the sight of you. Before he was unreadable again, lips tilted at the corners, lashes lowering in appreciation at how you arranged yourself on the bed.

He approached then, kneeling between your legs in a flash of movement your eyes couldn't quite register. Suddenly there, his face inches from yours, his hands pushing you flat against the mattress without much force. You were an eager supplicant, guiding his hands to the warmth of your skin, watching his face with rapt attention the moment his burning palms made contact with your breasts through the chemise. The Outsider looked as if he could have torn it off in that moment, black eyes alight as he beheld you, fingers shaping around your flesh with the same reverence you had shown him.

"Eager and perfect," The deity hummed, voice echoing all around you as he pulled the fabric up from your trembling form. "And always impatient, my mouse. How I wish I could take my time with you."

He leaned in closer again, lips pressing to yours, one hand bracing again so the other could travel lower, to your awaiting mound. The Outsider pressed the heel of his palm to it, just enough to drag a shivering whine from your throat, a plea at his altar for more of his touch. The scent of sea salt filled all your senses, a taste on your tongue as it melded against his. Warm, coiling, pressing, exploring. Firm, but not commanding. Even if it had tried to swallow you whole, you would have easily allowed it.

When his fingers dipped into your wet heat, you could have wept with relief. The Outsider couldn't afford to take his time, and that much was evident in how he handled you. Smearing slick over your clit, hard circles, then dipping lower. Your entrance was throbbing and warm for his arrival, appropriately yielding as the Outsider hissed, pressing inside. Two fingers easily made their home in your slit, then a third, wiggling against the soft heat of your insides as soft, trembling whimpers spilled out with each new movement. You arched into his touch, but the Outsider left little room for deeper contact, his lips sliding past yours to kiss along the side of your jaw with a groan emerging from his throat.

"Already drenched for me," He observed, voice betraying his delight if only slightly. He stroked his fingers over the mound of your cervix, rubbing upwards hard enough for you to choke out a cry at how stimulation burned at the stems of your clit. "So perfect, little mouse. How I wish I could spend an eternity with you, here in this bed."

You would have echoed his sentiments, had you enough sense to remember how to speak. But that ability was long gone, and all your could do was bury your face in his shoulder, trying to recall how to breathe as the Outsider's burning, thrumming touch thrust in and out of your aching slit.

"Please...!" You managed a gasp, hands sliding into his silken hair as if holding him there would prevent him from ever leaving again. "Inside, please--"

You were getting close to coming on his fingers, but you didn't want that. You wanted to feel his cock inside of you again, shaping your insides, listening to him hiss and gasp your name.

The Outsider shuddered, a very human sensation that felt odd with the ever humming energy of his presence. You felt the movement in his body, then rippling through the Void, backdropped by the howling as things moved and shifted around you in response. As if his very life was all that breathed around you, ever rock, every memory, every floating bit of forgotten debris.

The retreat of his touch was a loss you almost mourned immediately, but any and all thoughts of that fading orgasm were lost the moment you felt him pressing on your thighs, fingers still wet and splayed where they began to position you for his pleasure. You eagerly obeyed, eyes lifting to his face as the Outsider leaned back just enough to sweep his gaze over you, watching as you pulled your knees back just enough to strain, pussy open for his viewing and chemise bunched around your neck. You saw his jaw tighten visibly, head tilting ever so slightly to the side in appreciation at what he saw, but there was little time for admiration, not when he knew what the Void was doing to you with each passing second.

He never undressed fully. You wondered if he could. But your focus was fracturing now, watching the Outsider's lashes lower, the hand that had been pleasuring you mere seconds earlier the very same to undo his slacks, his cock already erect when his palm eased it from its confines. He was a beautiful thing, slightly curved, pale and flushed an almost greyish color at the tip. You could see tendrils, thin and black flitting about the edges of the opening he created, as if something far more sinister waited just on the fabric edges, eager to plunge inside your eagerly awaiting slit. Human, but not quite. As always.

He was pressing closer in the next blink of your eyes, one palm guiding his shaft, the other splayed on the soft mound of your pelvic region. You quaked beneath him, legs trembling as they rested against his shoulders, the Void falling away all around you in favor of your own heartbeat roaring in your ears. You wanted, you needed, you craved. Desperately and endlessly, with all the devotion your body could muster as the mark he left on your hand smoldered and hissed with energy.

You took him in easily, welcoming the hard press of his shaft with slick eagerness. The Outsider groaned, the sound a reverberating echo that thrilled you to your very core, his head bowing just enough for you to see lips pull back from from his teeth, and dark lashes landing against the same cheekbones you had been kissing. You could feel him, cold and burning, thrumming and thick where his shaft spread you wide enough to ache, but not enough to hurt. Your arousal made for quick entry, a blessing and a curse that you tried not to lament. Time was slipping away, and you were ever aware of it now, wishing for each new second you could get before you were left back to the living realm once again.

"So warm," The Outsider whispered, bowing over you and letting the head of his cock align with your cervix. Your arms wrapped around his neck on instinct, pulling the deity in closer so his next utterance was against your neck. "So alive. I can feel your connection to me, crackling with life energy."

You could feel him too. Hollow, endless, dark and light all at the same time. Nothing and everything, yet utterly real in your arms, his cock pressing hard into your aching hole.

"Y-yes..." You whimpered, biting softly at the edge of his jaw, just above the dark line of his collar. "Yours, always."

The Outsider sucked in air through his teeth at that, another shudder passing down his spine. You felt it under your fingers mere seconds before he began to rut into you, shallow and hard, head bowed and face pressing to the crook of your neck. Any and all thoughts fell away then, and you didn't bother trying to maintain them. All was lost to the rhythmic grinding of his cock in your sheath, sometimes sloppy, desperate in a way that seemed ill befitting of a God. You reveled in it, head tilting back and back arching into his thrusts, moans tearing themselves out of your throat and heat overflowing from your core. He was right when he said you crumbled easily at his touch, because you were unravelling faster than you could ever put yourself back together again.

Time was impossible to gauge then, as your body writhed against his. Never long enough to sate you, to sate him. You could feel the Outsider's cock pumping and thrusting against the slick walls of your insides, his teeth biting down into the fleshy part of your shoulder, hands holding your waist fast against his own. Parts of him seemed to blur around the edges, flickering, almost crystalline and black with Void energy. You kissed those spots, panting and whimpering, desperate to make him feel as good as you felt. Pleasure was coiling in your gut, rising faster than it had before. A dull throb becoming a crescendo, hips twisting against the Outsider to deepen his thrusts, to keep his cockhead rutting right against the innermost stem of your clit. All the while trying to maintain your pleasure, if only for a little while.

You wanted to draw it out as long as possible, but couldn't focus long enough to slow yourself down. He was devouring you whole, and your orgasm was something you knew full well could not be avoided.

"Outsider...!" Your cry tore out of your throat the moment that pleasure peaked, hips locking hard against his and your hands tightening on the back of his clothing. You spasmed, insides throbbing with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut and warmth like a flood through your lower half. Dizzying and quick, then slowing, heady and heavy in your womb and hips.

He snarled against your shoulder, teeth still digging in the moment his rutting thrusts grew in desperation. You were locked hard in his embrace, head tilted back as the Outsider clung to you, form trembling, his cock deep inside your pussy and his voice more raw and human than you had ever heard it.

"Y/N--"

Your name felt like a prayer and plea on his lips, a shuddering echo that passed through the Void as he came hard into your wet insides. The Outsider bowed over you, breathing heavily, one hand smoothing up your sweat-slick back and clenching at the chemise fabric hard enough to tear it. You felt the almost cold heat of his seed gush against your cervix, filling you in great bursts that had your hips jolting and trembling from the stimulation. Over and over, again and again. Until your eyes rolled back in your head, and you felt on the cusp of coming again just from the sensation of him filling up your sheath.

You could have stayed there forever, writhing with pleasure, tasting the salt of his skin and feeling the burning, chilly essence of the Void on your tongue. It swam in your head, making it heavy, and for a moment you felt as if drifting out to sea, unable to feel your limbs aside from where the Outsider's hands touched you. Those spots burned with frozen fire, tracing lines across your thrumming pulse, your name a whispered prayer on the Void wind.

It slowed like an ebbing tide, the Outsider kissing from your chest to your lips in one swift, desperate line. You could still feel him throbbing inside, his essence thick and full in the spaces his cock didn't occupy. You trembled at the way he pressed into you, the attempts he made at getting every touch he could in before that inevitable end found you there in the Void's stomach.

You knew it was there. The return, waiting for those last few moments of pleasure to flicker and die before the Outsider sent you back to the waking world.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, voice hitching softly where it bled into his ear, "Stay, please."

There was a pause, a strain. His face against your own, cheek to cheek, fingers threaded into your hair and the familiar weight of his body pressing yours into the bed.

When he spoke again, his voice was unbearably soft, gentle, longing just as much as you felt. Punctuated by several presses of his lips against your temple, your cheek, your mouth as the Outsider's whisper echoed endlessly into the Void.

"I am always with you, mouse. And you will always find your way back to me."

You wanted to protest. To beg, to plead for a place in the Void at his side, even if it meant being swallowed whole as he had once been, all those years ago when the Outsider was still human.

But you didn't get the chance.

You awoke in your bed gasping, blinking once and finding the canopy bed above your prone form, instead of the Void's floating visage.

It was disorienting for a moment, being back in your waking body. You still wore the dress you fell asleep in, only now it was drenched in sweat, your thighs slick with your own arousal and the Outsider's seed. You felt the sticky heat of a summer morning replacing the Void cold, skin shuddering in revulsion at the sharp contrast and a hand raising to your forehead with a groan. How strange it was to awaken in that bed again, heart racing, pleasure a ghost along your flesh and the lingering essence of the Outsider's touch still there with you in the waking realm.

You lay there for quite some time, catching your breath. Letting the hollow sensation of being alone settle back in again. It takes a few minutes for you to realize that the sensation of falling you had experienced had been you losing yourself to the Void, if only a little bit. It left you feeling a familiar ache in your chest, eyes fluttering shut as you listened to the chirping cicadas in the outside trees of the estate, waiting for the hollow knock of a maid to come help set up your morning bath.

He was right. He always was.

You would return to him again, and he was always there with you, his energies crackling in your hands, your throat, and hissing from the rune still sitting under your pillow.

And maybe someday the Void would get to swallow you whole. All you hoped was it would have the good graces to keep you there, to be at the Outsider's side so he wouldn't have to spend another day in that eternity alone and wanting.

(Hope you enjoyed <3)

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[minthe-drawings]

commission for @/luna

[spirit-of-the-void]

Hello! I hope you're doing well! I don't know if you still have the request open, but if so, I might have a request for a medicine seller x female reader. Kon or Ri doesn't matter. I've been thinking about this for a while now. Kurisuriuri would be one of those who like piercings, and his partner would ask him to get one for her (ears maybe? Or tongue, please? 🛐🛐🛐). Anyway, it's up to you.

I want to add that I read your entire fic about them on AO3! It's simply wonderful, and your writing is incredible! Keep posting, I'll be there ❤️❤️

Sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my first language.

Sweetheart, I would be DELIGHTED to do my first Medicine Seller ask <3 Thank you for reading my fic pookie ilu mwah

-Medicine Seller X Reader-

"Pretty things should be adorned with equally pretty things, don't you think?" It had been uttered in a passing conversation at your lips, utterly innocuous despite the actual longing behind it. The Medicine Seller was a beautiful man, utterly perfect in so many aspect that you continued to struggle in articulating it. The curve of his elvish ears, the coy, painted on smile of his dark purple, upper lip. His pale yellow eyes, ever observant, clear and calm despite all the obstacles he faced and witness. The swordsman was utterly otherworldly in appeal within the time you had known him, and yet your mind wandered, wanted, dreamed. He was like a pretty painting, refined and colorful, but the bare line of the trigram's ears made you pout at times, imagining what it would look like with additions, silver or gold jewelry that would glitter in the sun. The thought of smoothing your thumb over the shell of his ear and feeling the cold obstruction of metal felt oddly scandalous, sending a shiver up your spine. You had been intimate with him before, knew what he was capable of, knew that his body was a thing of longing and rapture. The idea of him having piercings was just a fun little bonus, a secret fantasy that had you grinning like an idiot and kicking your feet when he wasn't there to catch it. But imagine your surprise upon seeing the Medicine Seller again, on a random week where he left you in town to rest while he handled a mononoke. It happened at times, especially when you were not at your best. Either sick on your period, or generally fatigued. It was annoying, but necessary--you learned not to mind, and the swordsman usually returned a few days or weeks later utterly nonplussed, yet happy to see you safe.

This time, he returned just as you were done setting up your bed for the evening. The clack of sandals on hardwood floors had your heart leaping up into your throat, head turning just as the sliding paper door opened to your room with his visage in the doorway.

Diving into his arms was second nature, your lips tilted in a relieved smile and hands instinctively lifting to his hair. There was a warmth to the trigram's expression when your body was against his, those white lashes lowering and his lips tilting into a genuine, bemused smile. He always smelled sweet, not a hair out of place, his lips soft on yours and the fabric of his kimono a familiar softness.

"Welcome back," You greeted cheerfully, fingers sliding down the back of his ears without thinking only to pause at the feeling of something new. Your gaze widened a bit, shifting to the side at seeing additions on both ears--little silver, round earrings, new and shiny even in the dim lighting. "Wh--when did you...?" The Medicine Seller let out a low hum, lowering your hands from his face so he could thread your fingers between himself and your body. Squeezing softly, purposefully. So strong and sure. "Are they to your liking?" He inquired, raising one hand to trace one of the pieces of jewelry contemplatively, gaze meeting yours with all the energy of a lazy wildcat. "You mentioned adornments, did you not? I passed a shop on the way there, and thought of you."

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, doing giddy little jumping jacks at how the additions just barely peeked out of his hair, a secret little change that made you feel close to a feral animal. For some reason, it had your stomach in excitedly little knots, wondering what it would feel like to taste the metal on your tongue as well. It was a bit shameless. You didn't care.

"I like them. They suit you," There was a breathiness to your voice, no attempts at masking your desire being made as your fingers threaded behind his neck, stroking the smaller hairs there in cute little heart patterns. "And by that, I mean they make me want to wrestle you onto that futon." The Medicine Seller chuckled at that, briefly flashing the sharpness of his canines at you as his own hands slid down to your waist and squeezed enough to put his point across. "Oh?" He purred, leaning downward to put himself at your eyelevel and giving ample view of his pretty, red, yellow, and blue markings. "Then perhaps this should excite you even further."

He opened his mouth, tongue just slightly peeking out to show a small, silver ball glistening with saliva where it most certainly hadn't been days ago. Your arousal tripled, head spinning like a top ready to fly off of your head as you grabbed his jaw on instinct, mouth opening like a shocked fish as you examined the new addition to his tongue without any shame at all.

"Oh my god."

(Hope you enjoyed that friend <3)

[spirit-of-the-void]

Me and my partner designed a Sandman Shaker charm, inspired by Morpheus trapped in a basement for 100 years 👏🏻

This is the first prototype, but in the future we will probably make Dream bigger in size 💕 please let us know if you would like a kickstarter to fund his updated release!

TikTok is @spirit_of_the_void ✨

[spirit-of-the-void]

DnD Oneshot

Summary: Howdy loves. figured I’d upload some personal writing cause I feel bad for not being active at fucking all on here for a while. This oneshot features two NPCs from my last DND campaign, Corvus and Tobias. Both had a rather awful run in with a bad society of doctors. Tobias is a Drow trans man, and Corvus is an eldritch horror tiefling. I literally love them both, I hope you enjoy it. He/Him pronouns for both. 

TW: Blood, Body Horror, Bone stuff, etc. Corvus is a tad scary. Yall know what to expect from a monster fucker. 

Also if anyone has questions about how Toby prefers to carry himself as a trans man, and how he prefers his body to be presented, ask me. I essentially wrote this how I was instructed too, and it helped me learn a lot in the process <3

Oneshot:

The Wilted Rose, despite the debauchery of such an establishment, was astoundingly lovely.

Tobias couldn’t remember a time when he was last doted on this much, and certainly not by so many beautiful species here to court and seduce their patrons. Certainly the physicians society incident was horrific, but…the drow was met with an astounding amount of tenderness on that subject. No one touched him without permission, and all sexual nature was left outside his allotted room. Madam Bliss encouraged him to stay as long as humanly possible in terms of mental and physical recovery, and even offered work if the Drow wished to stay permanently.

Keep reading

[spirit-of-the-void]

Shattering Monotony: Chapter 2

Notes: Hello I’m a whore, bringing more monster content no one asked for. The cold brew has me zooming and this is all I can offer atm.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309432/chapters/95127997

Enjoy!

[meowpurrnom]

Say hello to my Eeveelution frozen cocktail menu! Eevee: cake vodka, Kahlua, Bailey’s, chocolate eclair ice cream bar, chocolate syrup Vaporeon: rum, Malibu, blue curacao, pineapple juice, Sprite Jolteon: tequila, red bull, margarita mix, lemon juice, Sprite, salt on the rim Flareon: fireball whiskey, peach schnapps, iced tea, lemonade, dash of strawberry syrup (for color) Espeon: strawberry vodka, Hpnotiq Harmonie, Chambord, cranberry juice, Sprite Umbreon: bourbon, coke, lemon juice, orange juice Glaceon: rum, blue curacao, peppermint schnapps, lemonade, soda water, sugar on the rim Leafeon: tequila, peach schnapps, lime juice, ginger ale, mint, honey and a drop of chocolate syrup for decoration Sylveon: cake vodka, strawberry vodka, Bailey’s, strawberry shortcake ice cream bar, cream, strawberry syrup

[pixelvted-deactivated20131026]

fucking oh god

[homonymph]

FUCK I WANT

[valtsv]

i see you all talking about "gender envy" this and "gender envy" that, but i never see any respect for the originals. the pioneers. the founding fathers.

[valtsv]

do milo james thatch and jim hawkins mean nothing to you

[yamino]

[yamino]

Have another fake preview…

[yamino]

You guys are just encouraging me with these notes. 👀

[glumshoe]

My cat has ice cream prescience.

I don’t know how she does it. I don’t know how she reads my intent so clearly.

When I walk to the kitchen to get a popsicle or thaw a slice of banana bread or warm up some mango slices, she doesn’t care. She stays on her chair and waits patiently.

But when I walk to the kitchen to scoop myself a bowl of ice cream, she’s at my heels SHRIEKING by the time I turn on the light. She knows. She’s not smelling it, she’s not hearing me say ‘ice cream’, she’s not accustomed to some predictable pattern because I rarely eat ice cream.

But she fucking figures out before I even reach the refrigerator. It’s the only human food she asks for, and I have to give her a small tithe of it to keep her from shredding the skin from my legs and popping my eardrums. She’s terrifying.

[cipheramnesia]

Registering the unique “ice cream gait”, try walking without rhythm so the cat will not be able to track your movements.

[glumshoe]

But what if it’s not my Ice Cream Groove… what if I excuse pheromones of Ice Cream Intent?

There have to be ways to thwart her Ice Cream Knowledge. Perhaps I will have to trick myself into believing that I’m actually getting up to thaw leftovers, and then I’ll start exuding Leftover Intent pheromones.

[glumshoe]

I DID IT!

I got up to make myself a cup of tea, thought Tea Thoughts, and then at the last moment I filled my tea cup with ice cream instead of tea.

My cat didn’t even notice. She didn’t smell it, or pester me while I was eating, or come running and yodeling her need when I opened the freezer.

I am free.

[casual-derg]

What happens if you think about ice cream while getting something else?

[glumshoe]

I just tested this. I got up thinking Ice Cream Thoughts, and by the time I got to the kitchen, guess who was at my heels meowing?

[glumshoe]

THIS IS SHE:

[valtsv]

the one experience that unites all 90s and early 2000s kids is experiencing at least one work of fiction with a deceptively adorable illustration of cute animals on the cover who live in societies with an established political system, hierarchy of leadership and culture and are driven from their homes by human activity and/or engage in violent conflicts with other animals in similar communities that lead to many of the characters’ brutal deaths, which are described in graphic detail and which left you briefly emotionally traumatized by being confronted with the concept of your own fragile mortality before you were 10

[valtsv]

the 4 horsemen

[valtsv]

it has been brought to my attention that this was an ENTIRE GENRE of children’s fiction for some reason

[jadedaceofspades-deactivated202]

You forgot An American Tail

[tyhplosion]

the way artists draw themselves is so funny like we all make ourselves look like exhausted gremlins and then there’s fucking. elmer “butch” hartman who managed to make his self insert oc look like a complete and total douchebag

[tyhplosion]

I Literally Have Never Seen A Man Be So Self Absorbed

[liquidstar]

OP it gets worse.  Theres an actual character in The Fairly Odd Parents that’s a caricature of Butch Hartman (And voiced by him) named “DR. Rip Studwell” and his defining character trait is being hot 

[thegalaxyabittotheleft]

He changed his icon bc of this post specifically

[tyhplosion]

good.

[realbutchhartman]

Can’t a man have confidence tumblr user ‘tyhplosion’?

[tyhplosion]

HELLO???????????????