Michi @michikisan - Tumblr Blog

Dim Nights

A drunk drifter is in the wine cellar, fondly remembering a past time with Roathe. Then the actual Roathe of this time shows up, ready to cause problems. (I wrote this in like one hour, not quality enough to go on AO3 so take my slop. May rewrite.)

The cellar is dim and solely lighted by the glow of the entrance. Dust was blanketed over everything in the cellar, wine kegs lined each side of the narrow room, and on the wall facing away from the entrance, there was a wine rack.

You and Roathe both had your wine of choice and sat on opposite sides of the keg-ridden walls. Your bottle was decorated with a crimson label and his with a blue one; you went for a wine between dry and sweet while he went for the driest bottle on the rack. The cellar was small, and your legs damn near touched the kegs on the opposite side of the narrow cellar.

You and Roathe talked in that cellar till your bottles were empty, and then you talked some more. At one point, the two of you started removing armor and showing off scars, and then-

"Are you always in mourning for me?" He cheekily chides, and it sounds just like how your lover would say it. His voice causes you to lift your head from sitting on your knees, your eyes looking up and finding him in the wine cellar entrance. The narrow alley and the glow of light behind him makes him look like an angel. How deceitful.

Two strips of smudged and watered face paint smear down your cheeks, clear signs of heartache and weakness in Roathe's eyes. You practically stole all the light out of the dim cellar with the sad expression alone.

How could he love such a pathetic creature? And why did he love how much you mourned him now? A part of him preened at the idea of having someone so devoted with the power you had, another part of him dreaded the emotional headache he assumed you would be.

“Something tells me if this past version of Roathe knew about how you would mourn him like a scorned widow, he would have fought against the idea of resetting more."

A small smile crept up on your face. Taking a swig of wine from a blue-labeled bottle, you peered over at Roathe. "I will only ever care for him,” you breathed. “I won’t regret it, I promised him that.” This time, you took a long drink, closing your eyes to keep them from pouring tears.

Roathe stares for a quiet moment. At least you had good taste in wine.

He’s going to try to place it nicely, a keyword, try. Letting out a short, humorless breath, he begins, “Drinking until you are an inebriated mess beyond repair is one way to show you have no regrets.”

Snorting at him, you reply, “I’m in mourning, not regretting.” Yet he’s never seen a face that told the opposite. You're a damn fool.

A growl rose from his chest, his claws feeling itchy, “The lies you spin in your twisted head to weave a blanket of comfort and solitude will leave you cold.” His teeth are glinting as he speaks, tail lashing in the air.

Your reply came just and quick, and sharp, even for a drunk, “Yet here you are, trying to understand it all for your own selfish desire to see what mark you left and how deep it goes.”

You got up from the ground and, with shaky legs, walked toward Roathe, bottle in hand. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you're threatening him. You might be.

“I bet you wonder if you can leave the same mark.” Your eyes were filled with a heady amount of anger, restrained only by a past love. Your teeth grit at the idea.

“You can’t.” You wobbly whispered into the air as you shoved past him to flee the cellar.

Roathe moves before he can think, his clawed hand latching on your arm and pulling you down a step on the stairs. You were still above him, but it mattered not.

His gaze is filled with scrutiny as he glares up at you with all the hellish intent of ill will, “I would never want you now, and I will never understand why I wanted you then.” With finality, he released you to flee, shoving your arm back to you.

A sob ripped out of you, delirious cries filling the cellar. Through tears, you exclaimed, “What a relief!” A crooked grin was plastered on your face that exposed nothing but a raw emotion of pain.

Unbearable. You were utterly miserable to look at.

Like an unknown prayer was answered, which is rare for a devil, you disappeared in a burst of void energy. You took all your pain, uncertainty, and grief with you. Even the damn bottle.

Light returned to the cellar once more, but the energy was all gone. It felt like you filled this place, and now it was empty.

With silent agitation, he left the wine cellar, though burning the wine just to piss off the sycophants and to make sure you never returned there crossed his mind.

ju-liczka

The Drifter invites Roathe over to one of their dwellings, Dormizone to be precise.

The rooms, an arrangement of things form all of theirs and the Operator's adventures. Shelves full of fluffs, walls plastered with posters, trinkets of all kinds imaginable and decorations in styles from Cetus to Orokin and more.

As one could expect, the Devil quickly remarked at their poor taste and lack of coherent aesthetics. After a bit of exploring and snooping around he finally sits on something that could resemble a bed, in a room that one could assume for a bedroom.

"And there I hoped for something better than those Cathedral couches... How disappointing." The Devil sighed with a mocking pout, looking at his lover that clearly must have been already somehow prepared for such reaction.

"You said yes to a broke Drifter that makes furniture from scraps they find. The only thing you can complain about is your own poor choice of partners." The Drifter remarked as they stepped closer to where the Orokin sat.

A hint of something flashed through their face. Embarrassment? Worry? Whatever that was, it was quickly concluded with a soft smile towards their complaining partner.

"If luxury is what you are after... You are free to take any better opportunities that may arise. I won't blame you for it."

"hymf..." Roathe growled softly as the Drifter put their hand on his cheek. He could not help but lean into the gentle touch.

"But, remember... I will always have a place waiting just for you."

The Drifter whispered tenderly, placing a soft kiss onto the Devil's temple making him huff in annoyance. His ears already turned bright pink and his sharp tail was bouncing off the mattress wildly behind him. He reached to grab onto his lover that was looking down at him. Their gaze full with that sweetly sickening, loving, genuineness that still hasn't fully sink in with the man. It still felt too good to be true at times.

"I think... I will stick with my poor choices then..." The Devil said, finally returning a simile and pulling the Drifter down onto their so-called "bed".

eldritchlotus

A silly lil sketch of something that is 100% canon to my Drifter/Lyon romance lmao. Maybe one day I'll actually render the first panel.

haedia

WIP Whenever

Because I'm too impatient to wait for tomorrow... Even though it'll be further along by then. Lol.

Thanks to a combination of certain voicelines in game and a gifset I saw (but forgot to reblog), I was instantly inspired to make this happen.

Here's a peek at part of it:

prince--ofnothing

Thinking.. About Drifroathe because of course I am.

My drifter, Atelier, pronouns he/they.

Atelier being tired enough that he doses off in La Cathédrale, because give that man a good rest, and Roathe noticing after he remembers he was supposed to be getting a visit and just noticing this pink haired freak utterly wiped out family guy death pose style on the pews. And Roathe is just utterly gobsmacked, How the fuck do you sleep there, surely that can't be comfortable? And he's RIGHT it's not comfortable at all but the drifter is just so fucking tired running around chasing everything Entrati fucks up to care. So what woukd Roathe do? Roathe, just, awkwardly scooping up this utter bastard of a man who'd made it quite obvious he doesn't care where he sleeps because need I tell you, for those of you who've never sat on old wooden pews, they hurt your ass. They're uncomfortable and awkward and no offense, Christians, but I'd rather die than ever sit on a pew again.

So Roathe scoops this freak man up and carries him back over to his "comfy" little wooden throne and just fully cradles him because what the fuck else is he suppose to do?? Leave his lover to suffer? Sure Atelier wouIdn't CARE about waking up sore, but Roathe cares, partly because he wouldn't be responsible for the soreness but also partly because there's something soothing about the weight of the drifter asleep on his lap, and the slow beating of his heart, and the way that heartbeat thrums slightly against his claws when they rest on the drifter's neck...

The drifter waking up confused because he teleported like 15ft whilst asleep and Roathe staring down at him with the SOFTEST expression before realising oh shit, fuck, he is awake.

"Did you enjoy your nap, pet?"

"you moved me??"

"Admit it, I'm far more comfortable than those blasted pews."

PLEASE. PLEAAAASE...

It's not a lot but it's important to ME.

coelasquid

Sometimes we’re unsatisfied with a thing we made because when it only existed in our head, we saw all the things it could have been and when it’s done we know all the things that it isn’t, but we can’t see the way it expands into a million new things when someone else unpacks it in their head.

coelasquid

Sometimes I wonder how many of the 90 thousand people who have interacted with this post have been like “I think I’ll go to OP’s blog and see what other lovely nuggets of wisdom they have” and then get hit with a wall of nothing but homoerotic drawings of the men from the Yakuza franchise.

haroldjaffe

[Image description:

Panel 1:

A frustrated artist with a big colorful thought bubble labeled INFINITE POTENTIAL over their head and a pencil in one hand hunches over a blank sheet of paper and asks, "How do I pack this down into sometime I can actually share?"

Panel 2:

The artist looks at a small grey box in their hands and asks incredulously, "All that work for THIS?!" Brow furrowed, they shove it off on a second person. "Here you go, I made this, it sucks."

Panel 3:

The recipient peeks into the small grey box and colorful light pours out onto them. Holding the open box, they look around in awe, surrounded by the colors of infinite potential the artist had originally imagined.]

coelasquid

The middle person is the one who drew all the homoerotic yakuza art

blackberrys0da

could you make a paw tutorial? like how you draw paws?

Looks more like a guide rather than a tutorial, but I hope it’s still helpful

Also, I made a similar post on anthro paws as well if you’re interested

kilgarraara

there is a cutscene in my head

shalalalalaw

The mental image of Drifter hanging out in the Crypt with the Triad for whayever reason and starting to hum the song of Duviri is not leaving me.

Would it echo? Would it petter out into thick silence in the dark? Would any of the Triad ask to hear it sung clear and full?

I cannot imagine Drifter without Duviri, even with them out of it, and I don't think they'd ever abandon it. It's the love of an old home, regardless of how much it hurt them - once it was their safe haven.

doggojin

How would your preferred Hex and Devils Triad partners interact with eachother?

Well...

(KIM chat "spoiler" below)

honestlyitsjustsam

their aesthetic is so pleasing to me..i cant STOP drawing themm

ju-liczka

Ok listen to me...

What if... Flambae not only makes Robert have a better diet but also supports him with his workout? And he is just so god damn proud of Roberts progress. Obviously also flexing himself at any given moment ofc but seeing his man become visibly in better shape day by day would just be so satisfying for him~